Authors: Vannetta Chapman
C
ALLIE SEETHED ALL THE WAY TO THE POLICE STATION.
Each time Black looked into the rearview mirror she glowered at him. This was nothing like the first time. Oh, she was shaking the same—but it was from anger instead of fear.
How dare he take her in again?
In front of everyone
again
! At this point she’d soon have her own locker at the police station.
When Black opened the door and motioned for her to go first, she couldn’t stop the smart remark. “I think I remember the way.”
The dark eyebrows arched up, but still he said nothing. It infuriated her, made her want to stomp her feet on the steps of Shipshewana Police Department, but she resisted. She would not give him the satisfaction of a tantrum. No doubt he expected one.
She passed Andrew Gavin heading out as she walked in. Whatever was going on, he knew about it. He met her eyes, but said nothing. His gaze lingered, locked with hers, and Callie realized there was something there she didn’t want to see. Disappointment?
But why? She hadn’t done anything.
Black picked up a case folder from the girl working the desk as
he ushered her into the same interrogation room—same freshly painted white walls, same drab metal table, same three chairs.
The only thing that gave her any comfort was knowing Adalyn would soon occupy one.
As if Black read her thoughts, he dropped the file folder on the table and perched on the edge of a chair. “Before your lawyer gets here, how about you tell me where you got the poison?”
“What?”
“Come on, Harper. You know how this works. Smart city gal like you, bet you watch all the crime shows—
CSI, Law and Order,
and old reruns of
Murder, She Wrote”
He paused to offer a smile, but it wasn’t genuine. It was sad, and seemed almost filled with regret. “Things work differently in small towns though. We’re more like Max hunting a bird. We don’t let go until we catch our man—or woman.”
“Is this supposed to intimidate me, Officer Black?” Callie leaned well across the halfway point of the table though she had to scootch to the end of her chair to do it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you want to play it that way?” The black in his eyes turned to steel, and it occurred to Callie that here was an adversary she didn’t want to cross if she didn’t have to.
So why did she have to?
He opened the file.
A picture of Stakehorn, laid out on a morgue slab, was stapled to the left. On the right was one of those two prong fasteners she hadn’t seen since she used to go into her father’s engineering office and help his receptionist with the filing during the summer. The top sheet was a toxicology report.
“How long did you think it would take us to learn that you were a pharmaceutical rep?”
“What?”
“That you have a degree in bio-medical science?”
“But—”
“In fact, you graduated cum laude.”
“I didn’t think—”
“Clearly.”
“What difference does it make?”
“Maybe because Stakehorn was killed with poison.”
Callie felt the salad in her stomach tumble and turn sour.
“Maybe because the poison used was something any pharmaceutical rep would have access to.” Black stood, walked around the table, and moved behind her chair, leaning in until his voice was just inches from her ear—a voice that was no longer loud, but had instead become a whisper. “Maybe because now you have more than motive—you have access to the substance used to commit murder.”
The scene flashed back in her memory as her fingers gripped the edge of the metal table. Stakehorn at his desk, his face pale, lifeless. His hand reaching out over the stack of papers. Brown liquid on the floor …
Callie’s hand came up, covered her mouth, even as her pulse thudded through her veins. “It was in his coffee.”
“Okay. We’re getting somewhere. When did you put it in his coffee?” Black walked back around the table, sat down opposite her, and waited.
“No. I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t even get there until he was already dead.”
“How would I know that?” Black sat back, crossed his arms, and waited.
“Most poisons would have broken down in a hot liquid. It would have had to been administered fairly quickly …”
“Say by the person who made his cup of coffee?”
Callie had recovered her equilibrium. Now her mind was back at the university, back in the classroom and the textbooks. She barely heard Black or the accusatory note in his voice.
“Depending on what the substance was, the person could have stirred it in his coffee and handed it to him, but only a few pharmaceuticals wouldn’t have a bitter taste.” Callie sat back, mirroring Black’s posture. “And as I said, the chemicals would have broken down in the hot, acidic liquid quickly. Unless he drank at least half the cup, he would have become sick, likely very sick, but he wouldn’t have died from it.”
“From what?”
“Any number of things. Atropine is deadly. Anyone could have access to it. The common plant is called nightshade.”
Callie noticed he didn’t take notes.
“Many ordinary seeds are toxic—cherries, potatoes, peaches, and apple seeds. This information is available on the net, Shane.” She liked using his first name, liked the way it made her feel he didn’t have the superior hand here.
“Or in a bio-med class.”
Narrowing her eyes, Callie forced her voice to remain steady. “Surely even you know that the castor bean is the deadliest plant poison on earth.”
His relaxed pose was infuriating her.
“One tiny castor bean is enough to kill an adult within a few minutes. Instead of questioning me, maybe you should be checking people’s gardens.” When he still didn’t answer, she snatched at the folder. “What does your report say? What killed him?”
“Inconclusive, sweetheart.” Black slapped the folder shut. “Thanks for the toxicology lesson though. Now if you’ll sign a confession stating exactly how you did it, we can move on to the next phase of this investigation.”
Callie’s temper spiked at the same time her hand came down on top of his, on top of the folder, surprising them both. “I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t do it.”
“Because you say you didn’t?”
“Check your autopsy report again.” Callie pulled the folder
out from under his hand and threw it across the table at him. “Does it or doesn’t it show toxic levels of poison?”
An impenetrable mask covered Black’s features. “I’m the one asking questions here, Miss Harper.”
“Maybe Stakehorn ingested some, but I seriously doubt he swallowed enough to kill him. He might have taken enough to induce a coronary.” Callie shook her head. “I don’t know. Check with his doctor. See who knew enough about him and who had access to the drugs.”
“Pharmaceutical reps have access to samples. Samples of the wrong drug would have been enough. Samples of the wrong drug—possibly something meant to make it look like a natural herb …” Black’s voice was a low growl, though his expression remained impassive.
“Shane, think about it. I barely knew this man. I had no reason to want him dead.”
“You had every reason. According to witnesses, you did. Shall we go back over their testimony again?”
Callie waved away the sheets he was flipping through.
“How long had he been dead when I arrived?” she asked.
“Why did you move to Shipshewana?”
“What?” Why was he changing the topic when they were clearly on to something?
“You hadn’t seen your aunt in over fifteen years, then you suddenly come back because she died. You suddenly quit your job and moved here. Why?”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Was Daisy Powell really your aunt? Would you be willing to submit to a lie detector test? Offer a DNA sample?”
“You’re completely insane. Is this even about Stakehorn’s murder?”
“Of course it is. Why did you put poison in his coffee?”
Callie took a deep breath, tried to push away the absurd
questions he’d just thrown at her. “What substance was in it? Maybe I can help you. Maybe I can help your investigation and together we can find who did this.”
“I don’t need your help, sweetheart. I need your confession.” Black stood, both hands braced against the table, leaning toward her, the wolf-smile playing on his lips.
“And I’m telling you I have nothing to confess.” Callie stood as well, though the top of her head didn’t reach his chin. She wasn’t about to take his accusations sitting down.
She didn’t care about the one-way mirror, or the gun he was wearing, or the scowl on his face.
This was absurd.
She had not killed a man she barely knew.
Shane Black bullying her wouldn’t change that fact.
Adalyn walked in and found them that way.
“My. Looks like I’m missing out on all the fun.” Adalyn didn’t bother with preliminaries, simply took her seat beside Callie and began pulling out a pad of paper, pen, and tape recorder from her bag.
This time the Louis Vuitton was a summer white. The sight of it temporarily snapped Callie out of her battle with Black.
Where did Adalyn purchase her handbags? They weren’t briefcases exactly. They were incredibly stylish. How did she afford them? Everything else about the woman screamed fiscal responsibility. The bags—they were a thing of beauty.
She locked eyes with Adalyn, and the lawyer smiled, nearly winked.
“Ladies? Hello? Did I lose you? Some sort of secret ESP going on? Because I have a murder investigation I’d like to wrap up if you two are finished grinning at one another.” For the first time since she’d known him, real irritation and bewilderment filled Black’s voice.
Adalyn clicked the ON button so that the micro-recorder
began whirling, and she gestured with her right hand. “By all means, Shane. Go right ahead and investigate.”
“Tell me about your concealed handgun license, Miss Harper.”
“Why, was he shot?”
Adalyn laughed and wrote on her pad, “Good, girl.”
“So you admit you have one,” Shane continued.
“Of course I have one.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Shane switched tactics. “How long have you had it?”
“Since I was twenty-two.”
“What type of weapon do you own?”
“None of your business.”
Adalyn placed a check by her earlier comment.
“Don’t you find it unusual for a woman to have a concealed permit?”
“Not where I come from, Officer Black. Does it intimidate you for a woman to be able to defend herself?”
“Did you bring your weapon with you to Indiana?”
“I did not.”
“You can prove that?”
“I flew. You can check with the airlines. They tend to be itchy about such things.”
He continued in the same vein for another thirty minutes, ending with a warning that she remain in the Shipshewana area.
“I own a shop here. Where would I go?”
“Just wouldn’t want you to have any ideas about running home to Texas. I’d hate to have to come looking for you.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Adalyn reached out and put her hand on Callie’s arm. “Next time you need to speak with my client, call her or myself. Pick her up again, with no more than this, and I’ll file a harassment charge.”
Black made an annoying sound, but Adalyn paused long enough to let him know she was serious.
“It might not stick, Shane, but it will bury you in paperwork.”
This time when they stepped out into the afternoon, storm clouds were building in the north.
“I’ll give you a ride home. Wouldn’t want you to get caught in a downpour.”
“Thanks. Couldn’t ask for much more than a lawyer who’s free and provides taxi service.”
Callie filled Adalyn in on the first part of the interrogation until they’d rounded the corner on Main Street.
“He’s still fishing, Callie, and he’s trying to intimidate you. I’ve known Shane Black since he was the star pitcher in LaGrange County. He could throw a fast ball better than anyone before or since, but the real secret in Shane’s game was the way he could stare a batter down.” She patted her on the arm as she pulled in front of Daisy’s Quilt Shop. “Look, Max is glad to see you.”
“Thank you, Adalyn.”
“You’re welcome, dear. If you come up with any ideas on the poison angle, email or call me. Otherwise let’s meet on Thursday for lunch and see if there have been any other developments.”
Deborah watched Callie exit Adalyn’s car. She’d been gone less than an hour, but it seemed much longer.
Deborah rushed out into the side yard, reached Callie at the same moment Max did. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“He didn’t—”
“What?”
Deborah laughed. “I don’t know. I suppose I was afraid he might keep you there or something.”
Callie sank onto the bench. “He has no evidence, just a lot of hunches—which are wrong.”
Deborah rested a hand on her shoulder. “You stay here with Max. Catch your breath. I’ll go back and finish stocking for tomorrow.”
“No, you need to get home. I’m sure baby Joshua is ready for his
mamm
.”
Smiling, Deborah gave Max a firm pat on the head. “Joshua is fine. My
schweschder
stopped in earlier and said she’d left him with her oldest girl. He’d had his lunch and was napping. Take your time here. Rest.”
Thirty minutes later, Callie was inside, explaining about the poison, about her job in Houston, and about how Black had connected the two.
“Because you had the knowledge doesn’t mean you did it.”
“Tell that to Black.”
“He has to investigate every possibility. It’s his job.”
Callie stopped refilling the thread display. “How exactly do you know so much about him?”
Deborah didn’t answer, and Callie pushed harder. “It was a criminal matter, wasn’t it? But I thought the Amish don’t pursue matters in court.”
“I can’t speak to you of this, Callie.” Deborah’s brown eyes looked directly into Callie’s dark ones as she spoke.
She wanted to be honest, but she couldn’t give Callie the details about Esther she wanted. Just remembering those days brought tears to her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling, prayed for wisdom, then refocused on Callie.