Friday
It was Friday, almost noon. Ginny settled into her own bed and closed her eyes. She’d had no idea how hard it was to be discharged from a hospital. All she’d ever done was transfer a patient to the floor. Because she was not allowed to drive herself home, her mother had arranged a substitute teacher and come to see her safely through the process.
Ginny was glad, for the umpteenth time, she and her mother shared the house she had grown up in. They led separate lives, but they were not alone, and her mother was the sensible sort. She had provided Ginny with ice water and pulled the shades and left her to rest. Number one on her discharge instructions sheet said, “Rest for two or three days.” Ginny intended to follow that instruction.
* * *
Jim lay in bed aching in every muscle. He rubbed a hand over his face. The last time he’d actually slept was Tuesday night. He needed to sleep, he knew that, but he couldn’t seem to let go. He glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. He’d been dozing, drifting in and out for three hours. Not enough sleep. Not nearly enough.
The literature on sleep deprivation said not to fight it. If you couldn’t sleep, you should get up and do something. Maybe the best thing for him was to get out of the house and go do a little investigating. He’d gotten the address of the ice rink from Mrs. Forbes. It might be useful to look over the scene of the crime and talk to the skate shop guy.
The rink turned out to be much larger than Jim had realized. The building looked more like a warehouse than a sports arena. Once inside he found three ice surfaces; two Olympic-sized and one smaller one, off in the corner. The large ice surfaces were equipped with stadium seating. There were scoreboards, lights, sound systems, and a sort of recess at the back that held a machine that looked like a street sweeper.
It was also three stories tall, meaning the ceilings went clear to the roof over the two big ice surfaces, but in the middle there was a ramp leading up to a viewing area. It was lined with tables and hockey puck-proof windows. From here, Jim could look down on both of the big rinks. He watched in fascination as a young skater-in-training flew through the air suspended by a rope and harness device controlled by her coach. She must be learning something dangerous as she was wearing a very solid looking helmet. Jim grimly approved.
Ramps led down to the ice surfaces, the skate rental, and locker rooms. On the entry level were the main desk, the café, and the shop. Jim stepped into the shop, weaving his way between the displays, headed for the back wall and a doorway leading to a brightly lit work area.
Jim knocked on the doorframe, looking around. He could see shelves, cabinets, and cubbyholes filled with skates and cardboard boxes; a tool chest, tools he recognized, and some he did not; a long workbench with machines on it that looked dangerous to fingers and unprotected eyes; pegboards hung with supplies; instruction manuals on the shelves; and a prominently displayed first aid kit.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Steve Cheshire.”
“Well, you found him. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Jim Mackenzie. We spoke on the phone.”
“Oh, yes. Dr. Mackenzie, about Ginny Forbes.”
“Yes. I was hoping you could tell me what you told her, about the tampering.”
“Sure.” The technician picked up a skate boot and showed Jim how the blade is normally mounted. “We mark the location, then drill holes, then put a drop of glue in, then screw in the screws, and let it dry. Sometimes I add waterproofing.”
Jim watched, noticing he used a metal device to hold the boot in place as he worked. “Is that a clamp?”
Steve nodded. “It’s a mounting stand. It will hold the blade still relative to the sole of the boot. I use it when I have to drill new holes, like when I’m mounting a blade on a new pair of skates.” He picked up an obviously older skate and held it out so Jim could see. “But if the holes are the same and I’m just switching out the blade, or replacing one that came off for some reason, I can do it this way.” He demonstrated.
“You put your hand inside the boot.”
“Yes.” Steve set the second skate boot down, glanced at his fingers, then wiped some excess glue off his hands onto his pants.
Jim’s eyes narrowed. He was beginning to get an idea. “Do you ever get glue inside the boot?”
“I try not to. It’s epoxy, which bonds really well to the leather. If I get some inside, I’ll have to clean it out. The skaters need a clean, smooth surface inside.”
“A clean, smooth surface.”
“Right, so it won’t raise a blister.”
Jim drew in a deep breath. Yes. That was definitely an idea. He held out his hand. “Thank you very much. This has been a real help.”
Jim made his way from there to the edge of the Rink B ice surface and leaned over the railing. It was easy to see where she had gone down. There were still pylons up around the impact zone. The police must have finished their investigation, though, because someone with a chisel was busy gouging the blood out of the surface of the ice. Jim felt an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was her blood being tossed into a bucket to be carted off and disposed of elsewhere. He watched for a moment, then turned and made his way back up the ramp and out into the parking lot.
* * *
“Ginny?” Her mother’s voice penetrated the light doze and brought her to consciousness.
“Ummm?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, dear, but there’s a detective here to see you. Shall I send her away?”
Ginny pushed herself up.
“No, I’d better see her.”
Detective Tran eyed Ginny for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been studying those spreadsheets you and Dr. Mackenzie put together. They are,” she hesitated for a moment, “interesting.”
“In what way?”
“Where did you get your information, please?”
“From the CDC and from the Internet.”
“I see.” The Detective sat without speaking for another long moment, then seemed to make up her mind about something. “You would have made a good detective.”
“Thank you.” Ginny wasn’t quite up to feeling irritated, but it was just one more example of the general ignorance that surrounded her profession. “It’s what I do, at work, and in my hobby.”
“I see.” Silence again.
“What may I do for you, Detective?”
The older woman shifted in the chair, her face unreadable. “The work is incomplete.”
Ginny’s mouth twitched. “I was interrupted.”
Detective Tran smiled. “Yes. I wonder if you feel well enough to continue?”
Ginny blinked. Her discharge instructions had been extensive and explicit. Dr. Armstrong wanted her to avoid computer work until he saw her again next week. No sports, no driving, nothing that strained her eyes or raised her blood pressure. She frowned slightly. “My doctor said I was not to do anything other than sleep until next week.”
Detective Tran’s frown matched Ginny’s. “I am afraid there may be some urgency.”
Ginny met her eyes. “You think he may try again.”
She nodded.
“What can I do to help?”
“There is a note that the time frame for the attack on Professor Craig has not been clarified. Would you explain, please?”
By way of answer, Ginny picked up her phone and dialed Alex. She posed the question.
“Yes,” he said. “It checks out.”
“Thank you.” She hung up. “The CDC has now confirmed the calculations made by Dr. Mackenzie are reliable.” She set the phone down and closed her eyes. Jim had been right.
“So the Professor was attacked on Wednesday afternoon while he was at the library, in full view of the patrons and staff?”
“Not in full view. Based on where the lancet was found, he was in the stacks, so the shelves and books would have been between him and any casual observers. You’d need to be peering down the aisle to see what happened.”
“I think it is time to check alibis.”
Ginny looked at the detective. “That’s your department.”
“Yes, it is.” She pulled a notebook from her pocket and consulted it. “You were not in the library that day.”
Ginny’s eyebrows rose. It was a question, albeit a very discreet one.
“I was not.”
“You were at the convention center.”
“Yes.”
“Was there anyone you are aware of who left the convention center and went to the library?”
Ginny blinked. “I have no idea.”
The detective held her gaze for a moment longer than seemed necessary.
“You and Dr. Mackenzie collected the ‘sign-in sheets’ I believe they are called?”
“Chip Galloway took them as part of the CDC investigation. I don’t know if he returned them or not. He also had the attendance records from the convention.”
Detective Tran nodded, flipping over a page in her notebook. “Dr. Mackenzie visited the library on Tuesday and was asking for information on who was present on the previous Wednesday, correct?”
“So he told me.”
Detective Tran pulled something else from her pocket and unfolded it, looked at it a moment, then regarded Ginny. “In your spreadsheet,” she indicated the papers in her hand, “you eliminated potential suspects on the grounds they were not present at the library during that window of opportunity.”
“Yes.”
The detective held Ginny’s eye for a long moment. What on earth was she fishing for, Ginny wondered?
“There is an error in your spreadsheet.”
“Oh?”
“Mrs. Campbell was present. She was on the surveillance tapes from the garage for that afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Hal had said so. Ginny blinked. “But—”
“Yes?”
Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “She had no access to my skates.”
“The two incidents may be unrelated.”
Ginny nodded slowly. Maybe. But she didn’t believe it. “Maybe you should ask her about it.”
“We have.”
Ginny’s head was beginning to hurt. “Then how can I help you, Detective?”
“Think, Ginny. Who else left the convention center that afternoon?”
“Hundreds of people were coming and going. And there must have been dozens who went to the library. It was part of the package.” She looked at the older woman. “Is there someone in particular you’re thinking of?”
“I am not at liberty to say. If you remember something, it might provide evidence to either include or exclude a specific individual.”
The doorbell rang and Ginny heard her mother answer it, then enter a debate with the new visitor.
“I will try,” Ginny said to the detective, “but I don’t think I can add anything to what I’ve already told you.”
There was a knock on her door. “I apologize for interrupting you,” Mrs. Forbes said, “but there’s someone here to see Detective Tran.”
“Me?”
“He said the station told him you were here.”
“And who is this man?”
Mrs. Forbes glanced over at Ginny, then back to the detective. “Dr. Mackenzie.”
Detective Tran rose. “I will come down.” She gathered up her purse and notebook, then faced Ginny.
“I would be most grateful if you would let me know if you think of anything. I will be available all weekend. You have my number.”
* * *