"Are you hearing me?" Ecklie asked when Catherine didn't respond.
"Yeah, I hear you," Catherine said, deciding that she wouldn't avoid the conflict, either. She thought Gil might have been proud of her next statement. "Now you hear me. I'm sorry the mayor called you. I will make every effort not to contact Helena Cameron directly again. But by seeing her once, I obtained information valuable to the case."
"The case is open and shut, Catherine. We know who the victim was, and we know who shot him and why. McCann won't be charged. What else matters?"
"It's not that simple, I'm afraid. What was Troy Cameron doing at the estate? Where has he been for the last ten years? And more important, where is Daria Cameron now, and does her disappearance have anything to do with her brother's reappearance? That's the case, and there's nothing simple about it."
Ecklie paused, then let out a long sigh. "All right, you made your point. I'm not going to second-guess you, and I'll back you up as far as I can. You know hat. But do us all a favor, and go through Vega and Coatsworth, from now on, okay?"
"Okay, Conrad. I'll go through them if I can. And I won't disturb Mrs. Cameron if I don't absolutely have to. Good enough?"
He nodded wearily, letting his shoulders droop and rubbing his temples with his fingertips, as if trying to ease a sudden headache. He hated backing down, but Catherine had made it clear that she wasn't going to. More important, she was in the right. Gil definitely would have loved this. "I guess it'll have to be."
"Looks like it," she said. "Now, if you don't mind, I still have a lot of work to do."
"Sure, get to it," he said. Halfway through the doorway, he stopped. "Just wrap it up tight, okay?" he tossed back over his shoulder.
"No problem," Catherine said. "You can take that to the bank."
Doc Robbins was still in the morgue, which both astonished and pleased Catherine. He was a family man, and she knew he liked to get home after his shift to be with them. And although he never let on that it bothered him, he was a double amputee, and pulling a double shift had to involve a fair amount of pain on his part. He looked weary, and his shoulders were slightly hunched. He was probably putting more weight on his forearm crutches than he usually did.
But it pleased her because he knew more about medicine than most MDs she had known, having been one himself before switching to a career as a medical examiner. She knew he kept up on the latest medical developments, too, even when they didn't appear to affect his work directly. She needed a doctor now, and she didn't think Hutch Boullet would be interested in talking with her any further.
"Long day, Catherine," he said. Coming from him, it didn't sound like a complaint, simply an observation. He said it with a grin on his face, and he was one of the few men she knew whose eyes actually did twinkle when he smiled. She liked him a great deal, even though, for all the twinkling and smiling and genial conversation, there was something about him that he kept hidden, not just from her but from everyone.
Everyone at the lab, at least. And she was positive that there were things about his working life that he kept from his family. He seemed intent on separating the two facets of his life, as if to guarantee that they did not start to impinge on each other, to flow together like two rivers joining. She couldn't blame him for that; she liked to keep Lindsey and her work, which so often involved violence and death, as far apart as she could. Nobody wanted to go home and tell the kids about the victim found facedown in a house with claw marks from a hammer on her head and insects infesting her body. You shared the good stories, the ones with happy endings, and the others you talked about only at work – or, for some people, on a therapist's couch.
But she often wondered about the parts of Doc Robbins she didn't know, would likely never know. He was a sweet man, a kind man, and she would have liked a glimpse at the private man away from his morgue.
"Ain't it the truth?" she said, aware that she had been silent for too long, and he was looking at her in puzzlement.
"I won't waste your time, then. You wouldn't be here if there wasn't something I could do for you."
"Albert Robbins, talking to you is never a waste of time."
He performed a shallow bow. "Compliment accepted. I sense a 'but' lurking behind it somewhere, tough."
"But… there is something you can do for me."
"Name it."
She described Helena Cameron's skin color and what she had heard about Daria's, what Dr. BoulIet had told her of Daria's condition, the congestion of her heart, the lines on the Cameron women's fingernails, and the brittleness of Daria's hair and nails. Robbins listened quietly, nodding along from lime to time, one finger to his lips. "I don't know if it's some kind of a genetic condition or what," said Catherine. "Something passed from mother to daughter?"
"I do have an idea, but let me confirm something," he said. He went into his office and returned with a heavy volume.
"Do you want a hand with that?' Catherine asked. "Looks like it weighs a ton."
"The publishers of medical reference books rarely make a priority of concision," Doc Robbins said. "If one word is good, ten are better. But I've got it, thanks." He opened the book on one of the stainless steel counters and started flipping pages. Catherine watched his back, appreciating his efforts. He must have had better things to do. Like getting out of there and going home.
"Here we go."
"You found something?'
"I thought it was this but wanted to make sure. There's nothing worse than a doctor who doesn't double-check a diagnosis. Well, maybe there is, but not many things. Anyway, what you're describing sounds very much like selenium poisoning."
"Poisoning," Catherine echoed.
"That's correct, yes."
"Not a virus or anything like that. They're not actually ill."
"Not precisely, no. The only diagnosis I can think of that fits the symptoms you've described is selenium poisoning. Keep in mind that I haven't examined the patient myself, so it's obviously only a preliminary diagnosis. But I have some confidence that an exam would bear it out."
"Would their family doctor reach this same conclusion?"
"Not necessarily, at least not at first. A general practitioner would be most concerned about the heart and might, for a while, see the skin discoloration as jaundice, until the orange color became more pronounced. But it would take a while for anyone without forensic training to get to selenium poisoning."
"I thought maybe that was it," Catherine said. "But it's been years since we've encountered it, and I figure medical diagnoses are best left to the pros. Is selenium poisoning always fatal?"
"Usually, if it's not caught in time. Its effects can be reversed, as long as the patient isn't too far gone."
"Okay," she said. "Thanks, Doc. I have to go." Her shoes clicked across the morgue's tile floor as she hurried toward the exit.
She called Sam Vega on her way to her car. He answered on the second ring. "You're still working, too?" she asked.
"I am."
"Good. Meet me at the Cameron estate.'
"When?"
"Now. Or sooner."
"Sounds important. I'm on my way."
"It is," Catherine said. "I'll see you there."