“Very much so.”
“Junior, here, thinks this is funny, gents. He wheeled on Chip: “What
the fuck do you think is going on here? You think one of Daddy’s
attorneys is going to get you out of this? We’ve got you on videotape
trying to kill your kid-everything from loading the needle to sticking
it in. Want to guess where the camera is?”
Chip kept smiling but panic fueled his eyes. They blinked, popped,
raced around the room. Suddenly he shut them and dropped his head to
his chest, muttering.
ø”What’s that?” said Huenengarth. “What’d you say?”
“Discussion closed.”
Huenengarth came closer. Atttempted murder’s not some dinky-shit
Chapter Eleven. What kind of scum would do this to his own flesh and
blood?”
Chip kept his head down.
“Well,” said Huenengarth, you can always start a new project-Cliff
Notes for jailhouse lawyers. Those big bucks in maximum lockup are
gonna love your educated anus.”
Chip didn’t move. His body had gone loose-meditative-and Milo had to
work at holding him upright.
A sound came from the bed. Cassie shifting position. Chip looked at
her.
She moved again, but remained asleep.
A terrible look came onto his face-disappointment at an unfinished
job.
Enough hatred to fuel a war.
All three of us saw it. The room got very small.
Huenengarth reddened and puffed like a bullfrog.
“Happy rest of your life, fuckhead,” he whispered. Then he stomped
out.
When the door closed, Chip snickered, but it sounded forced.
Milo pushed him toward the door. They got out just before Stephanie
arrived with the emergency team.
I watched Cassie sleep. Stephanie left with the team, but came back
about a half hour later.
“How’s Cindy doing?” I said.
“She’ll probably have a monster headache but she’ll survive.”
“She may need to be detoxed,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper.
“He said she was habituated, though he denied dosing her-made a real
big point of saying he didn’t have any drugs on him. But I’m sure he
slipped it in her coffee, did it plenty of times before tonight. Every
time I saw him here, he had a cup with him.”
She shook her head, sat on the bed, and pulled her stethoscope from
around her neck. Warming the disk with her breath, she placed it on
Cassie’s chest and listened.
When she was through, I said, Any dope in Cassie’s system?”
“No, just low sugar. Her whisper was weak. She lifted Cassie’s free
arm and took a pulse. “Nice and regular.” She put the arm down.
She sat there for a moment, then tucked the covers up around Cassie’s
neck and touched a soft cheek. The drapes were open. I saw her look
out at the night with tired eyes.
“It makes no sense,” she said. “Why did he use insulin, right after
you found the injectors? Unless Cindy didn’t tell him you found
them.
Was their communication that bad?”
“I’m sure she did tell him, and that’s exactly why he used them. He
planted them there for me to find. Made a special call to verify that
I was coming out and making sure he wouldn’t be there.
Playing concerned daddy, but he was really pinpointing the TIME
Because he knew we had to suspect Munchausen by now, and he was hoping
I’d snoop, discover the cylinders, and suspect Cindy, just as I did.
What could be more logical: They were her aunt’s samples. She was in
charge of the house, so she’d be the most likely one to hide them
there. And she was the mother-that stacked the deck against her from
the beginning. The first time I met him he made a point of telling me
they had a traditional marriage-child rearing was her bailiwick.”
“Pointing a finger at her right from the beginning.” She shook her
head in disbelief. “So . . . orchestrated.”
“Meticulously. And if I hadn’t found the cylinders during yesterday’s
visit, there would have been plenty of other opportunities for him to
set her up.”
“What a monster,” she said.
“The devil wears jogging clothes.”
She hugged herself.
I said, “How big of a dosage was loaded into the Insuject?”
She looked at Cassie and lowered her voice to a whisper. “More than