Thursday
Thursday evening passed slowly. In between treatments, Ginny lay quietly, trying not to think. She had spoken to the investigating officer again. He left her with one question ringing in her ears. “Who would have access to your skates, Ginny?”
As a rule, she kept the skates locked in the trunk of her car. At rinkside, it would be almost impossible to remove a skate, tamper with it, and return it to her bag without her missing it. She carried the bag into the building, sat down, and put her skates on. If she had to go to the bathroom, she wore them in. At the end of the session, she took the skates off, wiped them, and put them in her bag, then carried the bag out to the car and locked them in the trunk, where they stayed until she needed them again.
So, probably nothing had happened at the rink. On the other hand, lots of people had access to her car at work. She parked in the hospital garage, the same one used by the patients, the doctors, and the visitors. Ditto when shopping, or visiting friends, or at the library. Dozens of places. Anyone could have broken in. That had to be it. Some public place, probably without surveillance cameras, probably at night.
Ginny shook herself mentally. If the skates had been stolen, all of those scenarios would make sense, but they hadn’t. Someone had taken one skate, sabotaged it, then put it back in such a way that she hadn’t even noticed. That meant someone who knew her, her car, and her routines. Someone careful about details.
Steve’s words floated into her head. “Easy to get hold of, but it would take someone with a chemistry background to recognize its potential.” How many people who knew she skated fit that description?
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.” Ginny blinked as Detective Tran slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Good evening, Miss Forbes. How are you?”
“Hello, Detective. Fine, thank you.”
The detective pursed her lips. “You lie badly.”
Ginny smiled. “So my mother always told me.”
“May I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“I’ve already filed a report.”
The detective nodded. “I know. Dr. Mackenzie called me. He seems to think there may be a connection between this accident and the death of Professor Craig.”
The older woman sat down, then leaned forward.
“I know you do not feel up to it, but I would like to hear what happened from you. Would you mind going over it again?”
Ginny frowned, thinking she minded very much, but not knowing how to get out of it. She watched the detective take notes with neat, precise little movements.
“Was there anyone at the rink who would also be at the hospital, or at the genealogy conference?”
Ginny shook her head, and immediately regretted it. “No. It’s the one area of my life where there’s no crossover.”
“No crossover?”
“What I mean is, the hospital is near where I live. Same with the church and the library. But the rink is halfway across town. When I go skating, I always go alone. None of my friends like to skate the way I do. They go once a year, maybe, and then we go to the outdoor rink, just for the fun of it. So when I go skating I see a different group of people.”
“I see. Do you ever socialize with them?”
“No. We see each other at the rink, then go our separate ways.”
“Is there any one of them who might want to put you out of action for some reason?”
“I can’t think so. I don’t compete. I just skate around and then go home. No threat to anyone. No hard feelings, no conflicts, no problems that I know of. It’s a very civilized group.”
The detective nodded. “Who among your acquaintance would understand the dangers of tampering with a skate blade?”
Ginny frowned. “Pretty nearly everyone knows a loose skate blade is dangerous. There was a national competition where one of the woman skaters quit in the middle of her program, saying she had a loose blade.”
“And did she?”
Ginny shrugged. “Who knows? They let her re-skate, but, as a result, the whole television audience got a lesson in the construction of a skate and how the blade is attached to it.”
“I see. That brings us back to the crucial question. Who had access to your skates? Think, Ginny. Someone got to them. Who could it have been?”
Ginny put her head in her hands. “No one! The blade just slipped, that’s all. Please leave me alone.”
Detective Tran nodded and rose. “I am sorry to distress you. We can finish this later. You will let me know if you think of anything that might be useful.”
Ginny closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but couldn’t turn her brain off. It kept nagging at her, telling her she had to pay attention, had to sit up and face this.
“But I don’t want to,” Ginny admitted to herself. “I don’t like the idea that anyone would deliberately try to hurt me.” She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to count the dots on the acoustical tiles. They seemed to be moving, fading in and out. Was it the lighting? The drugs? The head injury?
It wasn’t the access to her skates that was the problem. Lots of people had access to her car and the police were busy fingerprinting them all. If Detective Tran was right, though, and the attack on her was related to Professor Craig’s death, it implied someone who wanted her off the case. How many of the people on her Suspects list knew she was still investigating? How many knew she skated? How many knew how to modify the blade mounting in a way that would be hard to spot?
Elaine knew she skated. Mrs. Campbell did not. Hal, of course. Mark Craig? Had she mentioned it to him or to Theresa? Not Mr. Adams. She hadn’t spoken to him at all. Someone else might have, of course. Jim? What had she said to Jim? Or Himself? In truth, any of them could have found out. It was no secret.
Assuming she could still rule out Mark Craig (on the grounds he was in Tennessee when Professor Craig was attacked), Elaine Larson, and Fiona Campbell (both on the grounds there was no evidence either had had access to the lethal virus), that left three names still on her list.
Samuel Adams was a businessman. His degrees were in business management, not science, so it was highly unlikely he had the chemistry background necessary.
Which left only two, both of whom had studied chemistry and presumably had sufficient knowledge to recognize the potential in the compound Steve had found on her skate.
Ginny curled up on her side feeling sick at her stomach. She was shaking, too, and it must have shown on the monitoring system because one of the nurses came down to check on her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Would you please call this number for me?” Ginny asked, handing her Detective Tran’s card.
“Sure.” The nurse placed the call, then handed the phone over. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“This is Detective Tran.”
Ginny swallowed hard. “Detective Tran, I may have a lead for you.” She explained what she had come up with and why.
There was a moment of silence. “I think we should put a guard on your door.”
“Yes.”
“Is there someone you trust who can sit with you until we get there?”
“No. How long will it take?”
“Twenty minutes. Stay alert and do not be afraid to make a lot of noise if you have to.”
Ginny hung up the phone, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was going to be a long twenty minutes.
The nurse came back, bearing a sedative and Ginny was forced to be firm in refusing it without explaining why.
“You should sleep.”
“I’m expecting someone and it’s rather important that I be awake.”
“Okay, but let me know if you change your mind.”
“Thank you.” The door closed behind her, the pneumatic brake easing it shut slowly, silently.
Fifteen minutes left.
A tap on the door. Ginny found her heart pounding. “Come in.”
“Good evening, Ginny.” Dr. Armstrong, coming to check on her. Ginny breathed again. He stayed for seven minutes, taking her through the neuro exam and summarizing what remained to be done before they could send her home. Ginny tried to listen. He snapped the overhead lights off as he left.
Sitting in the charged darkness, Ginny found the hair rising on her arms. Five minutes to go.
This time there was no tap on the door. Someone was pushing it slowly open, peering around the doorframe, making almost no noise. Ginny’s hand closed on the ice bucket, the only thing she could think of that might slow him down. She tensed, prepared to fight.
“Ginny?”
“Caroline! Oh, thank God!” Ginny turned the over-the-bed light on and motioned to her friend. “Come in, please.”
Caroline looked at her and frowned. “Who — what — were you expecting?”
“Never mind. I’m so glad to see you.”
“You look awful.”
“Thanks, I needed that.”
Caroline smiled and settled down in the chair. “Was that Dr. Mackenzie I saw coming down the hall?”
Ginny caught her breath. “Probably not. Dr. Armstrong was just in here.”
“Oh. Is he a blond, too?”
No. He wasn’t. Ginny made a non-committal reply and settled down to find out what had been going on while she was laid up in the hospital. Caroline was still talking when the first policeman arrived.
* * *