“So how do you figure Atropine would do the job on Dad?” Matthew asked.
“He’s weak,” Lewis said. “And if it was administered properly, it would seize his lungs, and since he was dying anyway…”
Peggy huffed and stormed from the room. “Smooth,” Carl said. “I just had her calmed down and thinking that we might just be reasonable people.”
“Would you like me to go and talk with her?” Coneely asked.
“No,” Carl said. “She thinks you’re the ring leader.”
“That’s not fair,” Marjorie said. “Dad didn’t get this idea from Fr. Coneely. He’s been discussing this since before Fr. Coneely even came to the parish.”
“What about nicotine?” Melvin asked.
“What are you talking about?” Matthew said.
“I think nicotine is hard to trace, isn’t it? Why couldn’t a person use nicotine instead of Atropine. It’s easier to get. I’m just talking hypothetically, you understand.”
“Wouldn’t nicotine leave a stain?” Carl said. “Besides, how would you administer it without arousing suspicion?”
“You could just put it in his food,” Jenkins said joining in on the conversation between picture flashing.
“I know a way to do it without arousing suspicion,” Coneely said, “but we couldn’t use nicotine because of the stain.”
“What are you saying?” Marjorie asked. “You’ve actually thought this out?”
“No,” Coneely said. “I just know of a way to do it.”
“How?” Matthew asked.
“Yes, Father,” Lewis said, “please elaborate.” Thus was laid the fatal trap that would doom Coneely to the suspicions of the enforcers of the law, the media and the public at large.
“What kind of poison would you use?” Matthew asked after hearing Coneely's poisoned-anointing-oils plan laid out.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Coneely said. “I was just making conversation. It would have to be a topical poison that reacts quickly; so probably an insecticide of some sort or a natural toxin like those frogs produce in the Amazon.”
“Where would you get that?” Lewis asked.
“I don’t know,” Coneely said.
“Maybe at a rare pet store,” Marjorie suggested.
“No,” Carl said. “Somebody would remember selling you that. It would have to be something that you already have access to; like mercury from a thermometer or furniture polish or something. Where did you say you got this idea from, Father?”
“It’s just an idea I had, is all. We were talking about it, and I had the idea. Forget about it. It’s just hypothetical.”
“I still think you could use nicotine,” Melvin said. “It kills topically. And it’s an insecticide, and everybody has access to it. And it would be mixed in oil so that nobody would see the stain.”
“Who has access to nicotine?” Marjorie challenged her husband.
“Smokers do,” he said. “If you save up a lot of butts, then soak them in water and then reduce the water, you end up with a heavy concentration of nicotine.”
“Nicotine burns the skin,” Carl said.
“What about a houseplant?” Sara said joining in the game for the first time. “Like oleander or monkshood? Could you extract a topical poison from them? Nobody would think twice about somebody buying a houseplant.” She noticed that everybody was staring at her. Until now, it had all seemed like harmless speculation, but there was something more sinister seeming when the housefrau had interjected. “I’m just saying…”
“They’re just trying to relieve some stress,” Sam said to the radio reporter. “We’d never plan to actually kill our own father.”
“I understand,” Hancock said.
“Maybe we should call an end to this,” Coneely said.
“Maybe we should have done that ten minutes ago,” Carl said.
Hancock switched off his recorder, and Coneely escorted the reporters to the front door. Sara held the door for them as they left; and once outside, Coneely thanked the men for coming and apologized that it hadn’t gone as planned. The reporters assured him that they had ample material to work with, and Coneely joked that he was sure they had. That was the problem. Then, as the men were about to get in their cars, Peggy pulled into the driveway. She had gone out in her huff earlier, and now she returned to confront her family with her anger. Seeing that the reporters were leaving, she rushed from her car to the street-side and confronted Coneely.
“You,” she said as Hancock switched on his recorder. “You may think that you have some holy mission to murder my father, but so long as I have anything to say about it, you’ll never get the chance.”
“Peggy,” Coneely said, “your father is a sick man. He’ll never survive long enough to see euthanasia legalized. This isn’t about our trying to euthanize your father. It’s about getting the laws changed for the next suffering man or woman. If it makes you feel better, your father is going to die a long, slow agonizing death.” He regretted the words as soon as he’d spoken them, but having spoken them, it was too late to try to undo the damage.
“My father,” Peggy answered, “will die when God takes him. When it happens, I’ll be there to comfort him. Now, I’m going inside to tell my family that I love them even though I hate what they are doing, and I don’t want to see you here again until we call you to offer the last rites.”
***
Schwartz had been listening to this tale with his eyes closed, but he suddenly started when Coneely had gotten to this point. “She invited you to administer the last rites?” he asked.
“Yes,” Coneely said. “Well, she’d gone before I’d said that one could poison the anointing oil, so she wasn’t aware of the idea at that point.”
“Do you know who told her that you had made that suggestion?”
“No. I assume it was one of her siblings. Does it matter?”
“It may,” Schwartz said. “Now,” Schwartz said closing his eyes again, “tell me about the events of the day that you arrived to actually administer the last rites. Begin with the phone call summoning you to their home.”
***
Coneely had been watching the news when his phone rang. It was Fr. Donatelli, his predecessor as pastor at St. Bart’s. “Michael,” Donatelli had said, “I just got a call from Carl Hanson. His father is extremely weak, and he is asking for last rites. Would you mind if I came with you? I was pastor for a long time, and it might help if Peggy sees that I am with you.”
“Is that what the family requested,” Coneely asked.
“They did,” Donatelli said, “and I think they’re right.”
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes,” Coneely said.
“Would you mind if I drive? I can pick you up in ten minutes. I’m already halfway there. I called you on my cell phone.”
When the two men arrived at the Hanson house, it took several minutes for anybody to answer the door. The entire family had congregated in the death room, and they were slow to answer the knock. Finally Lewis had greeted them. Once he’d shown them into the house, others came out to see the holy relics the men had brought into their home. Coneely opened a bag and handed several of the relatives white candles. He asked that these be lit and that all but one of the family members return to the sickroom. He instructed that they not speak to him when he entered the room, as he would be carrying the Eucharist, but one of the family members should greet him with a candle. They agreed that it should be Carl since he was eldest. Coneely said they should kneel when he entered, and that he would say some prayers. He told them that he would sprinkle their father with holy water and give him communion, but that then the family would have to leave him alone with their father to hear his confession.
Schwartz interrupted to ask how he could hear the confession of a man who was too weak to speak and was sleeping most of the time. Coneely explained that it was ceremonial, and that he merely asked Mr. Hanson if he was sorry for his sins and he gave a single prayer as penan
ce which Mr. Hanson presumably said in his head. Schwartz asked if he was correct to assume that nobody had witnessed this, and Coneely confirmed that this was not technically correct because the family was watching from the opposite side of the French doors which were mostly clear glass and covered only with a translucent linen curtain. After hearing the confession, he had anointed the dying man, and he gave the last blessing, "Through this holy anointing, and by His most tender mercy, may the Lord pardon you what sins you have committed by sight, hearing, speech …” and so on as he rubbed oil on each of the touch spots.
“Where was Donatelli during this part of the ceremony?” Schwartz asked.
“He was in the hall with the family. Anyway, after I’d finished administering the rite, I said a brief prayer and left Mr. Hanson alone in the room. I was carrying the oil, so Sara Hanson held the door for me, and I rejoined the family in the hall, and we walked down toward the front door where the hall opened out into a foyer where there was more room.”
“And none of the family members shook hands with you to thank you for your service to their father?”
“I don’t believe so. Anyway, once we reached the hall, Sara asked if we’d like to go into the kitchen for something to drink or for some cake. We said we should be going, but that if the family needed anything else to be sure to call us. I think that that was when Melissa Hanson began to cry, so Sam excused the two of them, and they went into the kitchen. Sara went with them, and Fr. Donatelli stepped closer to the door. Lewis then asked me what to do if his father survived the night after all. He wanted to know if we should minister the last rite a second time. I began to explain that it wasn’t necessary unless a substantial time passed. That’s when Peggy started up. She wanted to know what I would consider a substantial length of time. She said something like, ‘You mean if the poison doesn’t take this time, you’ll come back and try again?’ I guess she had heard about the instance in the kitchen in the meantime.
“Well, I told her that I could assure her that nobody had poisoned her father, and she said that nobody better have because she could find out if they had. Fr. Donatelli touched my shoulder and suggested that it would be best if we left, so I said my good-byes as Fr. Donatelli held open the door for me and guided me out the door.
“And that’s it. We got in the car, and he drove me home. The next thing I knew, I got a call from Matthew Hanson that his father had passed shortly after I’d gone, and that Peggy was insisting on an autopsy. I didn’t worry much about it at that time, because I knew that I hadn’t poisoned the anointing oil.”
“Well,” Schwartz said, “It’s a good thing you do know that, because aside from the person who actually did do it, you’re the only person who can know that for sure.” Personally, I found Schwartz’s remark a little over the top. — True, but over the top.
Chapter 21
A hard rain was falling on that Tuesday morning as we finished our breakfasts of eggs Benedict. Schwartz was laying out a plan of action for the day, and Mia was helping Bev clear the table when the doorbell announced an early morning arrival. Beverly went to see to the visitor as Schwartz continued to sketch out his plan for the day. “While I tend to my morning garage time, Miss Hoskin, would you be so kind as to arrange for Matthew Hanson to meet us at a neutral location this morning before lunch?”
“That won’t be possible,” Trevor said as he entered the dining room from the central entry. Water was dripping from his hair and shoes, so he stopped in the entry rather than track into the dining room.
“Detective Johns,” Schwartz said in a pleasant tone. “What brings you here in the rain? Has there been a break in the case?”
“The case is solved, and I think it had something to do with that message you asked me to deliver to Matthew Hanson. I’d like you to tell me what your objective was when you asked me to relay it?” He seemed agitated. He had not said that the case was solved in a way that suggested that he was pleased with the outcome, and Schwartz could see this in Trevor’s demeanor as well as I could.
“Solved?” Schwartz said. “What do you mean? A confession?”
“A confession, yes,” Trevor said with a hostile undertone.
“May I ask who confessed?” Schwartz said nonplused. “Do you have someone in custody?”
“You know damned well who confessed,” Trevor said sounding more defeated than angry. “Matthew Hanson confessed in his suicide note.”
“Suicide?” I said though the question was echoed by Schwartz.
“Late last night Matthew Hanson poisoned himself at home. He swallowed a large dose of Chlordane mixed into a glass of scotch,” Trevor explained. “He was found by his paper boy four hours ago at about five this morning.”
“How did the paper boy know he was dead?” Schwartz asked.
“The door to his apartment was ajar. The boy could see him lying on the floor with a small empty medicine bottle in his hand, and his coloring and position made it obvious that he wasn’t sleeping.”
“And he left a suicide note?” Schwartz asked.
“Yes,” Trevor said.
“In which he confessed?” Schwartz asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Trevor said.
“Was the note in his handwriting?” Schwartz asked.
“It wasn’t written by hand,” Trevor said. “It was in his lap-top. But nobody else could have written the note, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was password protected. It took one of our technicians the better part of an hour to crack it, and he was using special software.”
“What made you think to look in the lap-top for his note?” Schwartz asked, and then he added, “And please come in and sit down.”
“First you tell me why you wanted Matthew to know about the medal you found in the dirt? It was to put pressure on him to do something like this, wasn’t it?” Trevor sat at the large oval table, his long bangs trailing rivulets down into his eyes. “I don’t think you figured he’d kill himself, but if you thought it would make him desperate…”
Schwartz interrupted. “He’s not the one that I thought was guilty. I believed that he was shielding somebody else. I thought that if he felt Coneely was going to actually be convicted, he’d come forward with what he was concealing.” Schwartz was squeezing his lower lip with intermittent pressure — almost as if he were trying to milk it for an idea. Beverly brought in a cup of hot tea and placed it on the table before Trevor. Trevor made a gesture of thanks and took a sip. Finally Schwartz was ready to speak again. “Why did you look in the lap-top for the note?”
“It was plugged in and resting on the coffee table near the body. It seemed to have been one of the last things he’d handled,” Johns explained.
“Have you a copy of the suicide note on your person?”
“It’s right here in my notebook in my jacket. I just got it over the radio as I pulled in here.” Trevor removed his notebook from his inside pocket, opened it, and read;
Knowing as I do that Fr. Coneely did not kill my father, it would be unthinkable for me to allow him to be convicted as the guilty party. There are motives which nobody is considering for which I am responsible. My father had to die when he did. I can’t tell you where the poison came from. Fr. Coneely had no access. Coneely was not in on the plan. I’m sorry.
After he read the note, he passed his notebook over to Schwartz who handed it to me when he’d finished. Schwartz asked, “I understand that the lap-top was password protected, but was it dusted for fingerprints?”
“Yes,” Trevor said, “we dusted every inch of it before we let the tech handle it. His were the only prints on it. We even dusted the keys, and each one is a match for his prints alone, except for a few that were too smudged to take a clean print from.”
“Can you find out for me which ones were smudged?”
“Why?” Trevor asked. “They weren’t any of the keys used to type the note. They were the odd keys, you know, the function keys and the arrows, but those are keys that people use with special att
ention, so they hit them harder and smear more easily. No, we’re convinced that he typed the note.”
Schwartz began milking his lip again. “He doesn’t specifically say that he killed his father,” Schwartz said as much to himself as to us. “All he says conclusively is that Coneely didn’t do it.”
“He also says that he was responsible,” Trevor said.
“For the motive,” Schwartz pointed out, “not for the commission of the murder.”
“You’re splitting hairs,” Trevor said. “And if you’re bothered by the fact that he doesn’t spell out the motive, we’re already onto that one.”
“Yes,” Schwartz said, “I know. He’s talking about the lapsing insurance plan.”
“What?” I said.
Trevor explained. “The old man had a life insurance policy which he’d stopped paying months earlier. The grace period was set to lapse the day after he died. As it stands, the family is due to receive a three-million-dollar payoff which they’ll split six — well — five ways now. Actually, they may have to slug it out with the insurance company since the old man was murdered by a beneficiary.”
“And Matthew knew about this?” I asked.
“We think they all knew about it, but we believe that they didn’t all know that they all knew. We also were keeping it from them that we knew about it. We thought it might be useful. I told Mr. Schwartz about it when I brought him into the case, but I swore him to secrecy.”
Schwartz insisted, “He talks about a plan. He says that Coneely knew nothing of the plan. That suggests more people.”
“Not necessarily,” Trevor said, “but we’re not ruling it out altogether. Thing is, this ties it all up in a nice neat little package that the diocese will be happy with, the euthanasia people can live with, that Hanson’s insurance company’s lawyers like, and which the D.A. is thrilled with, so the case is closed. You’ll be paid for your services and be given the city’s official thanks. And on a personal note, I’m happy to hear that you didn’t plan this result.”