Chapter 20
cause of death
BRANWEN
She couldn’t believe it had worked.
She’d actually talked Francis into letting her accompany him to the ME’s office. Maybe she’d try to call him Frank as a thank you.
She knew Dr. Singh because his wife visited the Spa for yoga and massage. A former Denver metro ER doctor, the Singh family had moved to Crystal Valley. Big city types often tried to slow down and leave the rat race, but most didn’t last, moving back after a few years. The Singhs were different; they’d made it their home, their daughters were thriving in elementary school and local, and they were a part of the community.
Francis had driven them, and now they were walking up to the central office of the Medical Examiner, which covered multiple counties but sat on the edge of Crystal Valley. The county owned a lot of land, preserving it for parks and natural spaces, the reason tourists came to the mountains. The M.E.’s office sat at the edge of one of these all-natural spaces, a well-used trail visible from the door, bikers and hikers headed into the foothills. They might be surprised, or horrified, if they realized what was inside this building. She’d grown up in the old country where having wakes for the recently departed in your home was normal. There was a reason it was called the ME building, without MORGUE in big letters over the entrance.
Wearing his black Sheriff’s department polo, jeans, and black Vans, Francis paused, his hand still on the door. “Branwen.”
She gave him her best non-mischievous smile, as if she were still a Head of School talking to parents about the antics of their children. “I’m not going to cause trouble.”
Francis nodded. “You are a fly on the wall.”
“Of course.”
He looked at her a beat longer, then pulled the door open for her.
Walking in, the smell of strong disinfectant assaulted Branwen’s nose. Better than decomposing flesh, she thought. “Come on in!” Dr Singh called out.
“Hey, Vik,” Francis greeted him. “You know Branwen Lewis, don’t you?”
Vik stood, wearing navy blue scrubs with his name embroidered on them, holding out his hand; Branwen shook it.
“We’ve met.” Branwen gave him a smile. “Your daughters are delightful.”
“My wife and I think so, too.” He gave her a huge smile. “Have a seat, please.” He sat back down, pulled open a drawer and lit a small stick of Japanese temple incense as they sat opposite him. His fingers clicked rapidly on his keyboard, then he turned the computer screen so they all could see.
“As I speculated at the scene, Phil died from poisoning. Water hemlock, and an easily lethal amount from how quickly it worked. His last moments were far from pleasant, progressively losing motor control, which is why his golf cart was in such an odd location, and why he’d fallen out of it. Muscle convulsions from the cicutoxin and then death. Based on his stomach contents, he had a traditional breakfast and then, as we’ve discussed, his herbal formula. Since the water hemlock had to be introduced int he last six hours of Phil’s life, he had to be poisoned after 4 a.m. The poison was in his breakfast or herbal formula. However, because of the bitterness of water hemlock, I find it hard to believe it could hide in eggs, toast, sausage in a lethal dose. My money is on the herbal formula.”
“Lilly’s formula, made at Olivia’s, would never poison someone,” Branwen said.
“Hey, I’m no skeptic. My wife and I both used acupuncture and herbal medicine to get pregnant with our girls, after years of trying,” Vik said. “But somehow, in some way, Phil ingested this. Mine is to say what was ingested; your job is to figure the who and the why.” Vik looked at Francis. “I already sent this file to your office. Besides the poison, Phil was in good shape: active, clean arteries, some minor arthritis, great blood pressure. Even his lungs were fairly healthy, despite the cigar habit. If Phil hadn’t been poisoned, he could have lived to 90 or longer.”
Branwen pressed her lips together, watching Francis ponder Vik’s report. “Well,” he paused, “he didn’t suffer from loneliness, that’s for sure.”
Vik chuckled. “Deterioration as we age is often compounded by a lack of social connections and community. I’ve only heard rumors, but it seems Phil had zero problems with connections.”
“So we need to know how the poison got into his formula,” said Francis. “Olivia has security and quality control, but she’s running the whole shop by herself. Phil sometimes had his delivered, so we’ll have to look into that angle.”
A panicked feeling hit Branwen’s chest. “Oh, my gosh. There could be more wherever Phil was living. Because he wasn’t living with Elaine, right?”
“We aren’t sure where Phil was living, honestly. Gabriel is in his office at the golf course, or I’d wonder if he was sleeping there. And with the mystery fiancee, he could have been staying with her.”
“We need to find the rest of the formula,” Branwen said, an unsettled feeling in her stomach.
Francis pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll get my office manager on this, notifying Phil’s family and friends.” He stood up and shook Vik’s hand. “Thanks again.”
Branwen followed him out, pulling out her phone when it dinged. “Lilly texted. Apparently Mansfield has called her in to work her paralegal, mediator capacity for…wow. They’ve moved the reading of Phil’s will to tomorrow afternoon. He’ll barely be in the ground.”
Francis’ brow wrinkled, and he stood, leaning against his official vehicle. “That has Elaine written all over it.”
Branwen nodded. “And that means something is up.”
They climbed into the car and drove off.