Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel) (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Lee stared at
the birds for a few moments, her heart thumping. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Not anymore. For whatever reason, she had become a magnet for the local avian
population, and she had a not-so-sneaky suspicion that it had to do with the
onyx bird in her purse. She could admit to making a fool of herself. She could
admit to making mistakes. But she wasn’t sure she could admit to this strange
phenomenon. After all, she’d just accused Patrick of seeing too many bad movies;
now she felt as if she were living inside one. But since none of the live birds
had threatened her in any way, at least not yet, she decided to ignore them as
she turned to get into the car. With a parting glance in her rearview mirror,
she left the birds behind and drove to the hospital.

She parked in a
lot reserved for employees and entered the hospital from the east side, heading
for the espresso bar. Two corridors converged into a spacious waiting room,
flanked by sliding glass doors leading to an outdoor patio and small garden
area. It was early, and the gift shop was closed, but the volunteer sales
person was inside counting change, getting ready to open. The espresso bar,
with its assortment of muffins, biscotti, and bottles of flavorings, sat close
by.

Lee had a plan.
This was the early morning gathering hole for many employees. Lee sometimes
came down for a mocha latte´ or a hot chocolate. But many of the employees came
as regular as clockwork, and you could almost set your watch by their daily appearance.
Jack Burns, the lab manager, was one of those. In fact, he was the first in
line, chatting easily with the young man who busied himself making drinks. Lee
waited until Jack had paid for his specially brewed coffee and then intercepted
him.

“Jack, do you
have a few minutes?”

Jack Burns
turned with a smile. He was built like a telephone pole with large hands and
feet and was dressed in his signature bow tie and button-down collar.

“Sure, Lee. I
have a few minutes. But I just spent my last farthing.” He pulled out the
lining of his pockets to show that he was broke.

Lee acknowledged
the humor with a chuckle. “I’m not here for a donation. I was hoping I could
ask you a few questions. Can we sit over here for a minute?” She indicated two
facing chairs.

He looked at
his watch. “I have a nine-thirty, so no problem.”

Lee sat down
facing the garden. Jack sat with his long legs stretched awkwardly in front of
him as he sipped at the cinnamon-spiced coffee.

“What’s up?”

Lee had
purposely avoided caffeine that morning, but couldn’t help noticing a drop of
foam that clung to Jack’s lips. After a moment, he used his finger to clean it
off, allowing Lee to focus on why she was there.

On the drive
over, she’d decided she would first try to gather clinical information to help
her understand just how Diane had died. Then she would back-track with as many
people as she could to determine exactly what Diane had done, where she had
gone, and whom she had come into contact with on the day she died. Jack was her
link to Bud Maddox and could also tell her more about the drug that had killed
Diane.

“Um, I…” Lee
stammered uncertainly.

“You off today?”
he interrupted her, noticing her casual attire.

“Yeah, I’m
taking some time off… Diane’s death and all.”

“Of course. I’d
forgotten. How are you doing?”

“It’s been
hard.”

She relaxed a
bit now that the subject was out in the open. In the background, the light
chatter from a group of nurses offset the metallic whirring of the espresso
machine. Jack looked over his glasses at her, cradling the hot coffee in both
hands.

 “I didn’t know
Diane well, but I know the two of you were close.” He sipped the hot liquid,
keeping the cup close to his lips.

“Actually,
that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m confused about how she died. I
thought maybe you could explain a few things.”

Jack lowered
the cup and crossed one leg over the other, looking like a gangly giraffe, all
legs and knees.

“I’ll do the
best I can. What do you want to know?”

Lee sat
forward. She remembered how she’d felt in school when she’d been keenly
interested in a subject. This felt the same way.

“I want to know
how much insulin it would take to kill someone.”

Jack flinched
slightly. “Wow, I heard she killed herself with an injection of something. So,
it was insulin.” He shook his head in sympathy. “Let me see. I’m not a
physician, so I’m not sure I can answer that. You should really go see Janine.”

“Why don’t you
give it your best shot?”

“Was Diane a
diabetic?”

“No, but her
cat was.”

He couldn’t
mask a look of genuine surprise. “That’s a new one. Although I guess an animal
could be diabetic as easily as a human. Her cat would only need a fraction of
the insulin a human would use, however. How many times do they think she
injected herself?”

“Just once. It
was a large syringe.”

His eyebrows
arched. “Really?  That’s curious.” He took another swig of coffee and the bow
tie bounced up and down as he swallowed.

“Why is that
curious?”

“Well,” he
paused, adjusting the heavy, black glasses that graced his angular nose, “when
you told me she had a diabetic cat, I assumed her method of suicide was just a
convenience.”

“I think that’s
what the police assumed, too. What surprises you about that?”

“I would have
thought she would use a very small syringe for her cat. Not a large one.”

“She did use a
small syringe for the cat.”

He stared at
Lee for a moment, but Lee’s gaze didn’t waver. Whatever he was thinking to
himself, she decided to ignore it. She wasn’t going to apologize anymore for
what she knew to be true, or to pretend the facts weren’t the facts.

“What are you
saying, Lee?”

“I’m only
saying that I know for a fact that Diane normally used a very small syringe to
give injections to her cat, just as you suggested.”

“Well, I
suppose if she intended to do herself in…sorry,” he shrugged. “But, if she
intended to kill herself, she would probably just go out and get a larger
syringe. It’s hard to believe someone would inject themselves once, reload, and
inject themselves again with a small syringe.”

Lee frowned at
his logic. “I think that’s exactly what the police assumed, too.”

Jack took
another sip of coffee, his long bony fingers wrapped around the large paper
cup. Lee slid her feet onto the floor and leaned forward with her elbows
resting on her knees. It was time to go for broke.

“What would get
someone fired from a position in a hospital lab?”

This time he
had to gulp in order not to choke on the hot coffee. “Why in the world do you
ask that?”

“I’m just curious.”

He eyed her
suspiciously now, placed the coffee on the table next to him and folded his
large hands in his lap, lacing one long finger over a bright green class ring.
He was clearly contemplating the question. Lee bit her lip, but kept silent.
Jack had a kind face, with high set cheekbones and a long jaw line. Even over
the thick scent of cinnamon from the coffee, there was the slight smell of a
tangy aftershave. He re-crossed his legs and then folded his arms over his
narrow chest. If he was conflicted about answering her question, he had finally
resolved it.

“Well, you know
as well as I do that we fire people for continually being late to work,
incompetence, inaccuracies…things like that. But I think you want something
more.”

She nodded and
he continued.

“Well, the lab
is a complicated place. It’s also highly regulated and highly confidential.
There are a lot of other reasons why someone might be fired. Drug and alcohol abuse.
Breach of confidentiality. Falsifying information. What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know,
but speaking of confidentiality, you won’t say anything about our conversation
to anyone, will you?”

He knitted his
brows. “Not if you don’t want me to. But, I have a feeling this has nothing to
do with fundraising.”

“No, it
doesn’t. I’d just prefer you didn’t say anything. Okay, let’s go back. I
understand you’d fire someone for drug or alcohol abuse and breaking
confidentiality. But why would someone falsify information?”

“Are you
kidding?  There are a host of infectious, sexually transmitted diseases, and
terminal illnesses out there. People who have them don’t want other people to
know
they have them. Spouses, employers, insurance companies. You name it. We screen
it, and we find it. Not to mention drug use.”

“And that
information could be used against someone?”

“People are
fired for drug abuse. And sometimes a person with a history of a communicable
disease has a tough time getting a job. Then there’s the social stigma.”

“So, if someone
knew how, they could use that information…I don’t know…to maybe blackmail
someone?”

“I guess,” he
smiled noncommittally. “I’ve never done it myself, you understand.”

Lee ignored the
joke because a large bird had just landed on a branch outside the window. She
eyed it cautiously.

“I don’t claim
to know the criminal mind,” he continued, “but I do know that people who do
that sort of thing are incredibly creative. It would be like breaking into your
house. If someone wanted to do it badly enough, they could figure it out.”

His example
made Lee sit back in her chair. He continued, oblivious to her reaction. He
paused and looked at her a little like a parent patronizing a child.

“What does this
have to do with Diane’s suicide?”

“I’m not sure
it does. Thanks for your time, Jack. You’ve helped a lot.”

With an
apologetic shrug, she got up to leave, but stopped when he raised his hand.

“Wait a minute.
Don’t give up so easily.”

“What do you
mean?”  She sat back down, watching the bird out of the corner of her eye. It
sat placidly on a branch, watching her.

“Look, I’m no
dummy. There are a number of ways someone in the lab could commit a crime. I
hope that none of them happen in my lab, you understand. But I assume that’s
what you’re looking for. I like mysteries as much as the next person, so I suppose
if I
had
a devious mind…”  He stroked his chin and lifted his eyes in
contemplation. “Okay. Here’s one example of falsifying information. We have
something called the Drug Confirmation Room. It’s a high security area where we
confirm and store positive drug screens. Only five people have access to the
room.”

This
information had a familiar ring to it. “Who are the five people?”

“Three lab
techs, the pathologist, and myself.”

Now her inner
bell clanged, making her ears ring as she remembered Robin’s safety report at
the Executive Team meeting.

“So, how would
someone do something illegal?”

“Well, that’s
where we actually confirm that someone is using drugs. I suppose if you knew
someone had tested positively, you could blackmail them. Of course, I have no
idea how much money there would be in it.”

“Okay,” she
said, diverting her attention away from the bird, “let’s say someone tested
positive for cocaine use. Could that person be blackmailed by someone, say in
the lab, in order to change the positive results to negative results?”

“I suppose so.
They’d have to have a way to run a second test.”

“Could it be
done without anyone knowing it?”

“Maybe,” he
shrugged. “At least for a while. I think it
would be
discovered eventually. But that’s just one example. There are probably more.”

“Robin read the
most recent safety committee report in the Administrative Team meeting
yesterday and said the door to the GCMS room was left open a few weeks ago.
Does that have anything to do with drug confirmations?”

“It’s the same
room.” They stared at each other until his eyes narrowed. “Lee, what’s going
on?”

She ignored his
question and leaned forward again, nearly touching his knee. “Jack, who orders
drug screens?”

“Just about
every major company in the area, as well as most of the small ones. We do
pre-employment drug testing for all of them through the Occupational Health
program and then random employer requests on employees they may be suspicious
of.”

“Thanks, Jack.
I appreciate your time.”

She rose and
Jack stood this time as well, forgetting his coffee.

“Lee, I’m not
sure what you’re up to, but I hope you’re not getting in over your head.”

“So do I.”

She turned away
just as someone called out Jack’s name. Andrew Platt approached them from the
hallway.

“Lee, what are
you doing here?” he asked casually. “I thought you would be…you know… taking
some time off.”

“I’m just
wrapping up a few loose ends. See you guys later.”

She turned and
headed for the basement, glancing out the window as she passed. The bird was
gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Lee took the
elevator to a cold, unmarked foyer in the basement, where the white walls and
the chipped linoleum floors created a glaring and depressing tunnel going off
in two directions. The stale odor of paint thinner pinpointed the location of
the maintenance department down the hallway to the right. To the left was
housekeeping. She made a quick turn to her left and into a small suite of
offices marked DIABETES EDUCATION and weaved her way to the back where a petite
woman with a decades-old beehive hairstyle sat with her back to the door. Lee
knocked gently on the wall to announce herself.

“Janine, you
got a minute?”

The woman
turned with a look of surprise, pushing a pair of red-framed glasses up her
nose. Janine Fletcher was the hospital’s Diabetes Education Coordinator, and it
was her job to instruct patients on proper diet and the self-administration of
insulin.

“Hi, Lee. I
don’t see you down here often. What can I do for you?”

Lee usually
avoided interaction with Janine because her appearance was so off-putting. She
had large round eyes accentuated with heavy make-up, made worse because she had
removed her eyebrows in favor of drawing on artificial ones that arched high above
her natural brow-line. The macro lenses in her glasses magnified her eyes to
the point that she looked like one of those cheap Halloween masks you might buy
at the dime store.

“I was
wondering if you could answer a few questions for me about diabetes.”

The perfectly
matched eyebrows pinched together in pained sympathy. “Oh, Lee, have you been
diagnosed?”

“Oh, no,
nothing like that. I just had some questions.”

The brows
lowered and the mask expressed confusion. It was so distracting that Lee made
the decision to focus on the rims of her glasses instead of making direct eye
contact. Patrick had once said that actors often did this during intimate
scenes on stage in order to maintain their concentration, and yet make the
scenes believable. She only hoped Janine wouldn’t notice.

“My assistant
was found dead last week from an apparent suicide,” Lee said, staring at the
red plastic frames of Janine’s glasses. She couldn’t see the other woman’s
reaction, but thought she recognized a look of surprise.

“How awful,”
the mask spoke.

“The police say
she killed herself with an overdose of insulin.”

“My goodness!” 
This time the brows pulled the eyes open wide. Janine gestured to a chair. “Why
don’t you sit down?  What would you like to know?”

Lee rolled out
the chair from the adjoining desk and sat down. The size of the room placed her
knees only inches from Janine’s. Lee saw Janine at monthly manager’s meetings
and noticed that she often changed the color of her glasses to match her dress.
Today a red skirt peeked out from underneath her white lab coat.

“Diabetics take
insulin all the time, so I was surprised it could kill you. How much would it
take?”

“It’s like they
say, too much of anything, even a good thing, can kill you. But it would depend
on a number of things. Her height and weight. Was Diane a diabetic?”

“No, she
wasn’t. But she had a diabetic cat. That’s where the police think she got the
insulin.”

“Oh, that’s
interesting. Well, let me think. There are a variety of types of insulin. Some
are faster acting than others.” The petite, bird-like hands pulled out a chart
from a stack of papers on her desk. “There are two types of diabetes. Type 1
diabetes is where the body makes little or no insulin at all.”

Janine pointed
to the top of the chart labeled “Type 1 Diabetes
”
where an arrow pointed
at a list of symptoms. It was clear she’d given this lecture many times before.

“People with
Type 1 diabetes must take insulin in order to live.”

“And you have
to inject it?” Lee asked for confirmation.

“That’s right.
You can’t take it in pill form. The second type is called Type 2 Diabetes.” She
pointed to the bottom of the chart.

“Clever
distinction,” Lee muttered cynically.

“Many people
who have Type 2 diabetes control it with diet, although many do take insulin.”

“Is it the same
for cats?”

“I’m not a vet,
but I’d assume it’s the same. Probably for an animal the size of a cat, you’d
use long-acting insulin.”

She stretched
across the desk to reach into a second pile of papers where she pulled out a
sheet and pointed to the top of a chart.

“This is
Humalog. Rapid-acting insulin like this would be taken with a meal. You want it
to mimic the pancreas to get a quick reaction.” She pointed further down on the
chart. “Then you’d use it in combination with longer acting insulin like Lente
or Ultralente. That way you would maintain the basal level of insulin in the
blood stream. Make sense?”

Lee made the
mistake of turning to look directly at her and flinched at the sight of her
eyes magnified so close. “I guess so,” she stuttered, looking away. “The
difference is in how fast the body absorbs it, right?”

“Correct. So
for instance, the cat might use a pre-mixed combination like NPH, because you
can’t force a cat to eat. At least I know I can’t force mine. So you couldn’t
use Humalog. You’d want to provide insulin that stays in the blood stream over say,
10 to 12 hours, in order to avoid low blood sugar reactions.”

“Interesting,”
Lee mused. “Thanks. But how much insulin would it take to kill someone?”

Janine sat back.
“Again, that’s hard to say. One unit of insulin lowers the blood sugar in a
person about 25 points. A person without diabetes runs a blood sugar of 60 to
110 milligrams per deciliter.” She paused, recognizing Lee’s confusion. “You
don’t need to understand that. What you need to know is that a person without
diabetes would rarely drop below 60. Forty to fifty units of fast-acting
insulin could probably kill a person if they didn’t respond by eating,” she
finished.

“So…how much is
a unit?”

The nurse
reached for a Zip-loc bag on her desk, ripped it open, and produced a syringe
encased in plastic.

“This is a 100-unit
syringe. Each little line indicates two units,” she said, using her fingernail
to trace the short lines on the base of the syringe before handing the syringe
to Lee.

Lee froze as
she took the syringe into her hand. It was the same type of syringe that had
taken her friend’s life. Janine reached into a drawer to pull out another bag
and removed a much smaller syringe.

“This is what
they call a Terumo syringe. It measures in half units and is often used for
children. I suppose this could be used for cats,” she added with a shrug.

Lee took the
second syringe and said, “This is exactly the kind of syringe Diane used for
her cat. But wouldn’t one this size hold enough to kill someone?”

 “The small
syringe will hold only up to twenty-five
units.”

“Twenty-five
units,” Lee uttered slowly. “So she would have had to inject herself twice?”

 “I guess so,”
the nurse said. Janine took the syringes back and put them away. “I hope I’ve
helped, Lee.”

“You’ve been a
big help,” Lee replied. “Just one last question. How long would it take for
someone to die from insulin?”

The other woman
paused before answering.

“The right
amount of Humalog could take as little as ten to fifteen minutes.”

Lee felt a
shock wave ripple through her body. “But that means Diane could’ve been able to
fight back.”

“Fight back? 
What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Lee
sputtered, but she leaned forward, intent on knowing the truth. “I just need to
know. Would the person be awake and alert?  It’s important, Janine.”

Janine’s body
tensed, the muscles flexing across her jaw line.

“Yes, I think
they’d be conscious for several minutes. Now, I need to get back to work, Lee.”

Janine picked
up the phone as if to make a call. The interview was over. Lee turned to exit
on her own. At the door, she glanced back to say thank you, but Janine had
turned and was looking directly at her. Under Lee’s scrutiny, she slowly
replaced the phone without waiting for a connection.

Lee smiled
awkwardly and left, wondering who Janine had been calling.