Guilt

Drysdale spread his palms. 'I thought she was poisoned. Didn't you just say the chloral-hydrate…?'

'The chloral-hydrate is the drug Dooher gave her to knock her out, make her go to sleep. But what he didn't know was that she was evidently having a tough time with menopause and was already taking a drug called Nardil for depression. Also, just that day she had evidently dosed herself up with Benadryl. She had an allergy shot that morning. So she was already drugged to the gills. Then she drank the champagne. Add alcohol, mix and pour. The chloral-hydrate pushed her over. It did her in.'

'Okay.' Drysdale sighed. 'So what, exactly, does that leave us with? The stabbing is a crime, okay, but it's not Murder One. Hell, it's not Murder Anything to stab a dead body.'

'It is Murder One to poison somebody to death.'

Drysdale sat back in the booth, contemplating it.

A quiet edge crept into Glitsky's voice. He leaned in over the table. 'This works, Art, listen: Amanda's argument isn't going to be that he meant to kill her with chloral-hydrate, even though that was the result. He didn't intend to kill her until he stabbed her later, but he did intend to give her poison, and she died from that. And the beauty is that stabbing her is what proves it.'

'And, of course, we can prove that?'

'We know he stabbed her.'

'Not exactly my question.'

'Okay. This is what we've got. You tell me.' Glitsky outlined it all. It was Dooher's knife and contained only his fingerprints. He had left his house alarm system off and his next-door neighbor had seen him unscrewing his side-door light on the way out to the driving range. Another neighbor saw his car parked on the street around the corner from his house during the time he was supposedly hitting golf balls. Then there was wiping the blade on the victim's clothes, which Glitsky had never encountered before in all his years in Homicide – and now it had happened twice in cases implicating Mark Dooher, three times if you included Chas Brown's Vietnam story. Finally, there was the blood that had been contaminated with EDTA. 'And who else would have stabbed a dead woman and then faked a burglary?'

When Glitsky finished, Drysdale sat still for a moment. 'You've got an eyewitness for the car?'

Glitsky nodded. 'Emil Balian. Swears it was Dooher's car, swears it was that night, that time. Rock solid.'

Drysdale appeared satisfied. There's your case,' he said. 'Don't let that guy die.' A beat. 'But now, just for me, Abe, one more thing. You want to tell me why he did it?'

'Frank's always telling me we don't need motives. We just need evidence.'

'And Frank's right, Abe, he's right. But Chris Locke is going to be curious as to why a model citizen suddenly decides to kill his wife.'

'Don't forget Victor Trang.'

'Okay. Him, too, maybe – two of them for no apparent reason. Why did he do this?'

'Maybe Sheila and Trang were having an affair.' Glitsky held up a hand. 'Just kidding. The real answer is we don't know. Not yet.'

'Well, Chris Locke is going to ask, Abe, and I'd be a whole lot more comfortable if I had something to tell him.'

'Amanda's got two possible theories.'

'Which are?'

'This thing with Sheila's drinking. We've heard some talk – both from neighbors and from some of Dooher's partners, that she got silly when she was out in public. She might have pushed it too far, become an embarrassment.'

'I don't think so,' Drysdale said flatly.

'The other one is money.'

'Money is always good. What kind of money?'

'A million six. Insurance.'

'The wife had a million six? Now we're talking.'

'Well, they both had it.'

'The same amount on each other? Why?'

'I gather when Dooher reorganized his firm a couple of years ago, things got pretty lean. They were living on their savings, deferring his salary, the whole thing. Dooher thought he'd turn it around eventually, and he did, but if he died halfway through, Sheila was pretty exposed, so they started to buy some term on him just in case, and then she evidently wanted to protect him if she died in the middle of it.'

'So, bottom line, Dooher's getting it?'

'Yep.'

Drysdale stretched his neck, looked around the now near-empty bar. 'All right,' he said, slipping out of the booth. 'It could be tighter, but I think we've got enough. I'll tell Amanda that if we need it we're going to go with the insurance.'

Drysdale waited until the end of the day. He was going to be reporting to Chris Locke anyway on a host of other matters, and while he didn't for a moment dream that he'd simply slip this one through, he thought he would package it to appear within the realm of normal business.

Hah.

'As you might imagine, Art, I've already gotten a call on this, warning me to expect just such a moment. The Archbishop is not going to be pleased. He is convinced there is some kind of vendetta going on against Dooher.'

'I don't think so, Chris. I think he killed his wife for a million six in insurance money.'

'And why did he kill Trang? Jesus Christ, Art, people don't just become homicidal maniacs one morning out of the blue for no reason at all.'

Drysdale was suddenly happy – in the midst of this reaming – that he'd earlier decided not to mention as part of his argument the Chas Brown story. Instead, he stuck to the question at hand. 'He killed Trang because Trang pissed him off – hey, I'm not saying it's the best reason I've ever heard – but it worked. He got away with that so he got cocky, decided he could do the same with his wife and collect big time.'

'Why does he want to collect big time? Does he need the money? Is his business failing?'

Since Drysdale knew that, if anything, the contrary was true, he thought it would be wiser to shift gears, get on to the evidence. The point is, this time we've got witnesses, we got fingerprints on the murder weapon. We have one good citizen who saw Dooher's car near his house when he said he was at the driving range. Chris, we've got a case. We've got a righteous Murder One.'

But Locke was still frowning, his head swinging slowly back and forth, side to side. 'And Glitsky's the investigator again? How'd he get on this?'

'I don't know, Chris, but he's-'

'He's got a damn conflict of interest, if you ask my opinion. Even if he's not out to get this guy, for whatever reason, it looks like he is, which is just as bad.' Locke didn't want to add, although they both understood, that Glitsky, who for statistical purposes within the bureaucracy was considered black, was someone Locke couldn't afford politically to alienate or even, to a great degree, to criticize. As a show of solidarity, Locke had even attended Flo's funeral a few weeks before.

'Well, I'm afraid that's water under the bridge now, Chris. Glitsky's the Inspector of record.'

Locke stood still for a moment, then swore and slammed his hand down on his desk. He walked over to the windows and stood staring out, his hands clasped behind his back. Without turning, he spoke conversationally. 'I really, really don't want to charge anybody, much less an influential lawyer, with a murder he didn't commit.'

'No, sir. Neither do I.'

Now Locke did turn. 'What do you think, Art?'

Commitment time. Drysdale spoke right up. 'I think Glitsky's right, though it may be a bitch to prove.'

'You don't think there's anything to him being out to get Dooher, planting evidence, anything like that? Or his wife's death has-'