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  “You blame me because I took Martha to a midwife. You blame me because she almost died. But I got her here in time, didn’t I? I’ve been the one for Martha all along, Mrs. Branden. You’d better believe it.”

  37

  Sunday, November 3 4:45 P.M.

  DICK Pomeroy turned the key to unlock his lab in the chemistry building and said, “You carried the day at faculty meeting, Mike. Fabulous speech.”

  Branden followed the chemist into the lab and said, “I guess it wasn’t such an unpopular position, after all.”

  “Thought Royce was going to pop a vessel!” Pomeroy said and laughed. “You had all the scientists to start with. But you swung the others, too. Well done, Professor.”

  “You put your two cents in,” Branden said.

  “Pesticide hydrolysis,” Pomeroy said with a self-congratulatory tone. “Couldn’t let them drone on about the environment without acquainting them with the facts!”

  “A lot of people don’t like science, Dick. You have to allow for that.”

  “Doesn’t mean I have to let them off the hook when they get the facts wrong. Pesticides aren’t ‘an eternal scourge.’”

  “You nearly lost even me with that one,” Branden said.

  “President cut me off. Point is, modern pesticides can be made to hydrolyze in time. That makes them less dangerous. Rain and ground water eventually chew ’em up. If our students took enough science, they’d know that.”

  “We haven’t all heard the term hydrolysis before,” Branden said.

  “Reaction with water. All it means, Mike. Lots of things hydrolyze. Pesticides, for one, if they’re built right.”

  Pomeroy put on his lab coat and stood at one of the black bench-tops in his lab. He used a small brush to sweep powder from the top of one of his electronic balances. “See this?” he said. “I have to start over every year with new kids. Students can’t even bother to clean up after themselves.”

  Branden studied the room. “Your labs seem immaculate, Dick,” he countered.

  Pomeroy sighed. “I try,” he said. At one of the sinks, he began rinsing beakers and hanging them upside down on pegs to dry. “Anyway,” he said, “thanks for the help today.”

  Branden said, “No problem. But, as I said, your comments helped, too.”

  “I just think that if the Greens are going to express an opinion, they ought to know some science, first. They have to take those science classes to be liberally educated.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Branden said.

  On a shelf, there were several dozen bound notebooks, each labeled on the spine, some in English and some in Japanese. “Are these your lab books?” Branden asked.

  “Right,” Pomeroy said, and dried his hands on his lab coat. He took one down and opened it to a random page. “I send samples out to various companies for bio-assays. Looking for new drugs.”

  “You get the samples in Peru?” Branden asked.

  “Right. Forests and mountains. We bring the samples back, isolate the compounds here, and then I have patent arrangements with the companies.”

  “Lucrative?” Branden asked.

  “Let’s just say I haven’t had to write any government grant proposals in recent years.”

  “Good for the students, I’ll bet,” Branden said.

  “I hire quite a few, yes. Chemistry majors, mostly,” Pomeroy said, and replaced the lab book, aligning the spine carefully with the others on the shelf.

  “I suppose you get Favor money, too,” Branden said.

  “Yes, a good amount,” Pomeroy said.

  Branden remembered the rumor about the Pomeroy and Favor affair, couldn’t remember where he had heard it first, and decided to let that drop.

  Pomeroy said, “Now that there’s to be extra money for the college, perhaps Favor money could get in the research game even more.”

  “It looks as if there’ll be plenty of money for everyone,” Branden said. “More money all around. That’s the fair way.”

  “If it’s spent the right way,” Pomeroy observed, and swabbed out the spigot on a water purifier.

  “I’m pushing Arne for faculty input on a committee to handle the new money,” Branden said.

  “Fat chance, Mike.”

  “I’ve got to try.”

  “The board of trustees has probably already spent that money on buildings.”

  “I’d rather see it spent on academic programs,” Branden said. “Not that buildings aren’t important.”

  Pomeroy put glassware away in a drawer and turned in place to inspect the lab. Satisfied, he took off his lab coat and sat down at a small desk in the corner. He motioned Branden to a seat on a lab stool. Then, he snapped his fingers and said, “You wanted a water sample.” At the water purifier, he said, “My water purifying unit has been on the fritz for a while.”

  “That’s OK,” Branden said. “Whatever water you’ve been using. For some tests Coroner Taggert is running.”

  Pomeroy dispensed a sample into a little bottle with a ground glass stopper and handed it to Branden.

  Branden said, “Is this the same type of bottle you gave to Juliet Favor?”

  “Yep. DMSO.”

  “DMSO and water,” Branden said. “Why the water?”

  Pomeroy said, “To dilute it. Straight DMSO used to make her nauseous. I don’t know what’s wrong with this purifier, though. It’s been a little out of whack for a couple of weeks.”

  Branden held up the bottle and eyed the clear liquid. “I understand Sally Favor worked for you, once,” he said.

  “One summer and the following fall semester. I needed someone who could work up the bio samples, and she was in the molecular biology program. She was good at chemistry, too. Sonny, I am afraid, is another story.”

  “I’m grateful for the extension on his exam,” Branden said, with his hand on the doorknob.

  “Sure,” Pomeroy said. “Think nothing of it.”

  38

  Sunday, November 3 5:00 P.M.

  ONCE Martha had been transferred from the emergency room to a room on the second floor of the hospital, Evelyn Carson came out to the small waiting area at the end of the hall and sat next to Caroline, on a couch facing Ben Schlabaugh.

  “How is she?” Caroline asked.

  “Can I see her?” Schlabaugh asked.

  “Better, and no,” Evelyn replied to the two questions.

  Schlabaugh, dejected, slouched back in his seat.

  Caroline asked, “What can you tell us?”

  “I can’t discuss everything,” Evelyn said, “but she’s out of the woods, as they say. It was an accidental overdose, as I told you before.”

  “What can I do to help?” Caroline asked, ignoring Schlabaugh.

  Evelyn motioned to Ben and said, “Mr. Schlabaugh may eventually be in a better position to help than anyone.”

  “You said I couldn’t see her,” Schlabaugh said, still slouched.

  “Not at the moment,” Evelyn said. “But, I would like you to be available in the next couple of weeks. She’ll need your help to remember and to understand many bad things that I think happened to her as a child. You may be the key to her being able to face her nightmares. Are you up to that, Mr. Schlabaugh?”

  Said Ben, nodding, “I’d do anything for Martha.”

  “What’s to be done right now?” Caroline asked.

  “There are several issues, now,” Evelyn said. “First, Martha is confused about Sonny Favor. That relationship appears to be over. Sonny offered her $20,000 last night to have an abortion.”

  Caroline groaned and shook her head. Schlabaugh slapped his knee hard, and his cheeks flushed crimson.

  “I don’t think she is considering it,” Evelyn said. “An abortion would be unfortunate. There are too many issues to deal with, now. Sonny Favor must be a brat.”

  “What about college?” Caroline asked.

  Evelyn said, “Martha has to face her problems, now, Caroline. School will have to take a back seat to th
erapy.”

  Caroline began to cry softly, tears spilling freely onto her cheeks. Evelyn took Caroline’s hand. “Martha’s nightmares,” she said, “are most probably real memories coming forward from the subconscious. Memories she suppressed as a child. She won’t be ready for school for a very long time. She is beginning to realize that her memories are not just bad dreams. She’s just starting to realize that the nightmares aren’t going to go away just yet. There’s a lot of confusion, too. It’ll take time to sort the real memories from imagined ones. For the moment, she talks in a child’s soft whisper when she describes some of them. There must have been a bad neighbor.”

  Schlabaugh said, “Yes, he’s dead, now.”

  “That may be most unfortunate,” Evelyn said.

  “Why?” Caroline said. “I say good riddance.”

  “It prevents her from confronting her abuser,” Evelyn said. “That sometimes makes the healing harder, because there isn’t a simple route to closure, when your tormentor is dead.”

  39

  Sunday, November 3 5:15 P.M.

  PROFESSOR Branden carried the water sample into Joel Pomerene Hospital late that Sunday afternoon, expecting to leave it at the desk out front for Missy Taggert. Instead, the lab was open. He found Missy working, and delivered the vial personally.

  “Working late on a Sunday?” he asked. “Favor was only murdered Friday.”

  Missy took the vial of water and said, “Trying to get ahead on this one, Mike. Bruce and I have concert tickets in Chicago. We’ll be leaving this evening.”

  Branden smiled. “That’s the water from Dick Pomeroy’s lab,” he said and pointed at the bottle.

  “Is it tap water or RO from his scrubber?” Missy asked.

  “RO?”

  “Reverse Osmosis,” Missy explained. “Dick has a water purifier. A purple and white contraption with a spigot on the end of a flexible hose.”

  “Then that’s RO water,” Branden said. “It ought to be the purest.”

  Missy drew a sample into a small syringe. At one of her instruments, she injected the sample and watched the computer screen next to the machine. Once the trace was complete, she displayed the graph, overlaid one from computer memory, and found them to align almost perfectly. “Some peaks are shorter or taller,” she said, “but that’s considered a perfect match.”

  “What are you matching?” Branden asked.

  “This new water sample and the water that was mixed in with the DMSO bottle I found out at Favor’s place.”

  “They match that well?” Branden asked.

  “Enough to say that Pomeroy got his water from the same spigot. Somebody ought to tell him his RO system is marginal, though.”

  “He said that himself,” Branden said.

  “It’s just a matter of switching in two new scrubber cartridges,” Missy said, and placed the medicine bottle on a shelf.

  “I can tell you more about how Favor died,” Missy said. “Good old-fashioned heart attack.”

  “You’re kidding,” Branden said.

  “Her heart stopped. That’s all. Whoever clobbered her over the head, they were wasting their time. Favor was dead long before that.”

  “Not much blood from the head wound, then,” Branden surmised. “Her heart had stopped pumping.”

  “Right.”

  Branden thought about Martha Lehman. He said, “You found Favor’s blood on the rugby trophy?”

  “And on Martha Lehman’s apron,” Missy said, motioning to the benchtop where she had laid the apron down for analysis.

  “You think the heart attack was natural causes, then?”

  “I have no reason to suspect otherwise.”

  “No fingerprints on the rugby trophy, other than Henry DiSalvo’s?”

  “Right. Bruce has a theory.”

  Branden crossed his arms and leaned back against the lab bench.

  Missy said, “The theory is that Martha Lehman took the heavy trophy upstairs, hit Favor over the head, carried the trophy back downstairs, dropped it on the marble floor—and there’s your star crack in the marble—wiped off blood and all the fingerprints, and set it up on the shelf backwards, because she didn’t know which was the front and which was the back. Then, Henry DiSalvo noticed it, and turned it around.”

  Branden tapped his foot nervously and thought. “Trouble is,” he said shortly, “I can’t picture Martha Lehman trying to hurt anyone.”

  “Bruce sure can,” Missy said. “He’s on his way upstairs to question her now.”

  “Upstairs?” Branden pressed.

  “They brought her in with an apparent overdose, Mike. She’s had some kind of nervous breakdown. Caroline and Evelyn brought her in, and Bruce just went up before you got here.”

  Branden ran out of the lab and took the stairs two at a time.

  40

  Sunday, November 3 5:25 P.M.

  ABRUPTLY, Sheriff Robertson pushed through the stairwell door on the second floor of Pomerene Hospital, with two deputies in tow. He marched up to Evelyn Carson and said, “You’ve got Martha Lehman here.”

  The two deputies continued down the hall, and took positions outside Martha’s room. Evelyn Carson bounded to her feet and said, “I can’t let you see her. She’s too fragile now.”

  “I’m gonna see her, Evelyn,” Bruce said. “Right now. It’s Juliet Favor’s blood on her apron, and I have plenty of questions for that girl, let me tell you.”

  Dr. Carson buttonholed a nurse on the floor, marched to Martha’s room, and positioned herself and the nurse in front of the door. Robertson came forward slowly, tucking his shirttail into his pants. He was still breathing hard from the climb up the stairs. He brushed a handkerchief across his sweaty forehead and said, “You’re gonna have to step aside, Evelyn.”

  Carson said, “She’s my patient, Bruce, and I’m telling you, right now, that she is in critical condition. You’re staying out, and that’s final.”

  “We’re going in,” Robertson announced, and took a step toward the door.

  Dr. Carson and the nurse blocked his way. Carson said, “There’s no need to traumatize her, Bruce. This girl is emotionally and mentally crippled, and you’ll only make it worse.”

  “She’s to be questioned at the very least, and perhaps even arrested,” Robertson said, and one of the deputies took out a pair of handcuffs.

  “I’ll get an injunction,” Carson said.

  “Do that,” Robertson said.

  “It’ll go badly for you, Bruce,” Evelyn reasoned, “if I advise against this as her physician, and your actions harm my patient.” She read a softening in the sheriff’s expression and added, “I promise you, she’s not going anywhere. There’s no need to arrest her, and I’d rather you didn’t even question her at this time.”

  Robertson relaxed and took a step back.

  To Deputy Armbruster he said, “Stan, you’re posted on this door. If anyone brings Ms. Lehman out, you’re to inform me.” To Evelyn Carson, he added, “And I’m telling you, Evelyn, right now, that Martha Lehman is a material witness in the attempted murder of Juliet Favor. That means I can put her in jail if I think she’s gonna bolt.”

  At that point, Professor Branden came through the stairwell door at the end of the hall. He appraised the crowd in front of Martha’s door, and marched up to Robertson. As he approached, he saw one of the deputies putting handcuffs back in the pouch on his duty belt. To Robertson, he snapped, “I know what you’re doing, Bruce, and you’re wrong!”

  Robertson drew the professor aside and spoke quietly, but forcefully. “At the very least, Mike, she’s a material witness, or an accomplice. I think she tried to murder Juliet Favor. The blood on her apron, and on the trophy, both match Juliet Favor’s. So does the blood in Sonny Favor’s Lexus, which Daniel Bliss saw parked at the Favor mansion just before dawn. The last known driver was Martha Lehman.”

  “And you know full well,” Branden said, heated, “that Favor was dead long before anyone cracked her skull.”


  “Before Martha Lehman cracked her skull,” Robertson countered.

  Impulsively, Branden said, “For all we know, Sonny Favor cracked her skull.” The thought startled him as he said it. Somehow, giving voice to the idea brought it to the fore in his mind, and he scrambled mentally to align puzzle pieces. Yes, that all fits, he thought. “Probably, Bruce,” he said, “Martha saw Sonny, or someone, with that trophy and did nothing more than clean up someone else’s mess.” Privately, Branden was thinking rapidly about Sonny Favor. Where had he been? What had he done? Slept all night in his room? Probably not. So strong was the professor’s conviction that Martha had not harmed Juliet Favor, whether dead or alive at the time, that he realized, finally, that he should long ago have considered the reasons why Martha might have carried the trophy downstairs and wiped off the blood. It was Sonny, he realized. She had been protecting Sonny. Check that, he thought, to be sure. Robertson would not accept pure conjecture. “Bruce,” he said, “you may be right. Martha Lehman is a witness. But nothing more than that.”

  “You’re guessing, now, Professor,” Robertson said.

  “I know. I can’t bring myself to believe that Martha would have struck Juliet Favor with anything, much less a weapon like that heavy trophy.”

  “You’ve got a blind spot about Martha Lehman,” Robertson said, and studied the professor’s expression.

  Branden turned, walked slowly back to the waiting room near the stairs, and sat in a low armchair. He saw the morgue in his mind. Martha Lehman’s bloody apron, with blood wiped up after the blow to Favor’s head. A new vision of Sonny Favor. Attempted murder? Not by Martha. He was sure of that. The heart attack? Implausible. And the timeline? Complicated in the extreme. His mind wandered the possibilities. There was so very much more to do. Talk to Sonny Favor, tonight. Bliss too, a key witness, and he probably doesn’t even know it. And Sally Favor, as soon as possible. All the evidence to sort through, again. Because nothing seemed right, at all. Because Juliet Favor, as fit as she evidently was, was an unlikely candidate for a heart attack. Somehow, Branden thought, all of the pieces of this puzzle were going to fit.