Corpse Suzette

said.
“Nurse Bridget, you lead the way.”
     
    * * *
     
    Exam Room One wasn’t much
bigger than a closet. In one corner was a chair, the sort that kids sat in at
school with a half desk in front of them. A blood pressure machine hung on the
wall, and the smell of alcohol hung in the air.
    Locked cabinets filled with
large bottles and tiny vials lined another wall, and a counter held the
supplies, cotton balls and swabs, gauze squares and bandages, all in spotless
glass and stainless steel containers.
    “So, if he recently
injected himself here at the clinic,” Dirk said, looking around, “it probably
would have been in this room?”
    “Most likely,” Bridget
replied.
    “Go through it with us,
step by step, how he would have done it.”
    “Well, he would have opened
this drawer and taken out a syringe. One like this,” she said, going through
the motions. “Laid it over here on this tray. Gotten one of these alcohol wipes
and laid it here, too. Then he would have used his key to get into this cabinet
and taken out a vial of the B 12 .” She removed one of the small
bottles of clear liquid, the one nearest her in the box, closed the cabinet and
locked it.
    “Then he would have loaded
the syringe like this, tapped it to get the air bubbles to rise, pressed the
plunger to expel the air and laid the syringe on the tray. He would have rolled
up his pant leg, or dropped his trousers and cleaned the spot on his thigh with
the alcohol wipe. Then he would have injected it into his thigh, right here in
the muscle.”
    “And what then?” Dirk
wanted to know.
    “He would have thrown the
needle into the biowaste can under the cabinet there.”
    “And the empty vial?”
    “Tossed there, in the
regular trash can.”
    Eagerly, Dirk reached for
the can and looked inside. But Savannah was a step ahead of him. She had
already donned a pair of surgical gloves. She took the can from him and began
to rummage among the small amount of garbage inside.
    In seconds, she had found
it—a small vial with printing on the side. “Is this it?” she asked, holding it
up for Bridget’s inspection.
    “Yes, that’s it.”
    Dirk pulled a small brown
paper bag from his jacket pocket and held it open for Savannah to drop it
inside. He promptly sealed it and began to scribble the date and other
pertinent information on what was now an evidence bag.
    Savannah continued to
scrounge around until she had found the rest of what she was looking for. “Is
this the top from that bottle?” she asked, showing it, as well, to their
resident nurse.
    Bridget studied the top for
a moment, then nodded. “That’s it.”
    “Good job, ladies,” Dirk
said, as he opened a second bag for Savannah.
    “Oh, so for now we’re
ladies and not broads?” Savannah asked teasingly as she watched him seal that
one, too.
    “Nope,” he said. “No broads
around here at the moment. You two definitely qualify as ladies in my book.
Now, let’s see if you dames can help me find that syringe, too.”

Chapter

11
     
     
     
    Y ou didn’t have to give us a
ride over here, Savannah,” Tammy said, leaning over Savannah’s shoulder from
the back seat. “I could have taken Abby myself. My bug’s been running better
lately.”
    Savannah decided to be kind
and not mention that Tammy’s VW Bug was about ready to be swatted and put out
of its misery. The car was on its last tire and had been for months. When you
had to pour in more oil than gas on a regular basis, it was time to start
thinking about trading up to a later model... say, from the seventies or
eighties. As much as the Moonlight Magnolia team loved their classics, a car
that got you places “most” of the time didn’t cut it.
    “No problem,” she said. “I
wanted to drop by there and nose around anyway. This gives me a good excuse.”
She turned to Abigail, who sat glumly in the seat next to her. “Another
appointment with that hotty, Jeremy... that can’t be too dreary a prospect.
Huh, Abby?”
    To her surprise, a tiny
smile appeared on Abigail’s lips and a soft look came into her eyes. “I like
Jeremy,” she replied. “He’s kind. He treats me with respect.”
    “Of course he does,” Tammy
said. “Why shouldn’t he?”
    “People don’t always do
what they should,” Abigail replied. “Take that jerk in the car ahead....”
    Savannah studied the
bomb-mobile in front of them, an old sedan with four different colors of primer
instead of paint, and bumper stickers galore that