I did not visibly react. Benton Wesley was the unit chief of the Bureau’s Criminal Investigative Analysis program, and I had hoped I would not have to see him during the holidays.
“What are you telling me?” I quietly said.
He sat down on the sofa and regarded me thoughtfully for a pause. Then he answered my question with one of his own, “I’m curious about something, Doc. How would you poison someone underwater?”
“Maybe it didn’t happen underwater,” Lucy suggested.
“Maybe he swallowed cyanide before he went diving.”
“No. That’s not what happened,” I said. “Cyanide is very corrosive, and had he taken it orally, I would have seen extensive damage to his stomach. Probably to his esophagus and mouth, as well.”
“So what could have happened?” Marino asked.
“I think he inhaled cyanide gas.”
He looked baffled. “How? Through the compressor?”
“it draws air through an intake valve that’s covered with a filter,” I reminded him. “What someone could have done was simply mix a little hydrochloric acid with a cyanide tablet and hold the vial close enough to the intake valve for the gas to be drawn in.”
“If Eddings inhaled cyanide gas while he was down there,” Lucy said, “what would have happened?”
“A seizure, then death. In seconds.”
I thought of the snagged air hose and wondered if Eddings had been close to the Exploiter’s screw when he suddenly inhaled cyanide gas through his regulator. That might explain the position he was in when I found him.
“Can you test the hookah for cyanide?” Lucy asked.
“Well, we can try,” I said, “but I don’t expect to find anything unless the cyanide tablet was placed directly on the valve’s filter. Even so, things may have been tampered with by the time I got there. We might have better luck with the section of hose that was closest to the body. I’ll start tox testing tomorrow, if I can get anybody to come into the lab on a holiday.”
My niece walked over to a window to look out. “It’s still coming down hard. It’s amazing how it lights up the night. I can see the ocean. It’s this black wall,” she said in a pensive tone.
“What you’re seeing is a wall,” Marino said. “The brick wall at the back of the yard.”
She did not speak for a while, and I thought of how much I missed her. Although I had seen little of her during her undergraduate years at UVA, now we saw each other less, for even when a case brought me to Quantico there was never a guarantee we would find time to visit. It saddened me that her childhood was gone, and a part of me wished she had chosen a life and a career less harsh than what hers must be.
Then she mused as she still gazed out the glass, “So we’ve got a reporter who’s into survivalist weaponry.
Somehow he’s poisoned with cyanide gas while diving around decommissioned ships in a restricted area at night.”
“That’s just a possibility,” I reminded her. “His case is pending. We should be careful not to forget that.”
She turned around. “Where would you get cyanide if you wanted to poison someone’? Would that be hard?”
“You could get it from a variety of industrial settings,” I said.
“Such as?”
“Well, for example, it’s used to extract gold from ore.
It’s also used in metal plating, and as a fumigant, and to manufacture phosphoric acid from bones,” I said. “In other words, anyone from a jeweler to a worker in an industrial plant to an exterminator could have access to cyanide. Plus.
you’re going to find it and hydrochloric acid in any chemical lab.”
“Well,” it was Marino who spoke, “if someone poisoned Eddings, then they had to know he was going to be out in his boat. They had to know where and when.”
“Someone had to know many things,” I agreed. “For example, one would have had to know what type of breathing apparatus Eddings planned to use because had he gone down with scuba gear instead of a hookah, the MO would have had to be entirely different.”
“I just wish we knew what the hell he was doing down there.” Marino opened the screen to tend to the fire.