Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

stomach. I wonder if I sustained a concussion in the fall. Then I remember the syringe and terrible realization dawns.
    “What the hell did you do?” My voice is phlegmy, my words slurred.
    “Word around town is that you’ve had some problems with alcohol, Chief Burkholder.” He’s wearing studious-looking glasses and peers down at me through the bifocals. “Do you know how patients with acute alcoholism are treated when they enter rehab and go into detox? It’s quite fascinating, actually. I wrote a thesis on the subject when I was in college, before I decided to go into pediatric genetics.”
    I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words, the situation. Beneath me, the exam table dips as if I’m on a raft that’s careening down some wild, white-water river.
    “The abrupt cessation of alcohol can send a patient’s body into severe physical withdrawal, which can be very unpleasant. As a preventative measure, the attending physician may administer an IV infusion of grain alcohol.” A faint smile traces his lips. “The college kids call it Everclear, I believe, though I’ve never indulged in any of that brain-cell-killing behavior myself.”
    “What did you do?” My words are garbled. When I try to rise, he pushes me back down. “What the hell did you do!” But I recognize the effects. I feel the alcohol flowing through my veins, attacking my coordination and balance, affecting my reflexes and thought processes. “You son of a bitch.”
    He tsks. “I administered the injection while you were unconscious. Directly into your bloodstream with a small-gauge hypodermic at the groin, where no one will find the site.” Gently, he pats my left thigh an inch or so from my crotch. “Sorry.”
    I can’t bring his face into focus. My eyes keep trying to roll back. I know the table isn’t moving, but the rocking sensation is so real, I feel as if I’m going to be flung into space. In the back of my mind, I wonder if he gave me a fatal dose. If he’s waiting for me to take my last breath.
    “Why would you do that?” I twist and try to slide off the table. “Why?”
    He grasps my throat, pushes me back. For the first time I notice the latex gloves on his hands. “We’re going to take a little ride.”
    “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
    The corners of his mouth curve. “Do you know that old stone quarry a mile or so down the road? The one off that dirt track by the Shilt farm? I’m told the kids swim there in summer.”
    I’m so overwhelmed by the bizarreness of what’s happening that it takes me a moment to recall the place he’s referring to. It’s an abandoned quarry known for its deep, cold water.
    “You’re out of your mind,” I slur.
    “I’m afraid you’re about to exercise some extraordinarily poor judgment this evening, Chief Burkholder. Being a peace officer, you should know better than to drink and drive.” He brandishes a small bottle of vodka. “Your drink of choice, no?”
    “Nobody will believe that.”
    “People always believe the worst. Especially if it’s juicy.” His smile is cruel. “You see, you’re going to have an unfortunate accident this evening.”
    “You can’t do that.” My thoughts are so muddled I can barely speak. “You’re insane.”
    “I assure you, I’m quite sane.” Bending, he puts his mouth next to my ear and whispers, “You’re going to drive your Explorer into the quarry. You’ll be belted in, drunk out of your mind and, unfortunately for you, unable to escape. The weight of the engine will carry your vehicle to the bottom some sixty feet down. It’s a tragic accident and the perfect murder rolled into one.”
    The cigarette stench of his breath repulses me. “There’s no such thing as the perfect murder.”
    “Oh, there might be a few questions. An autopsy will be conducted.” His eyes narrow on mine. “They won’t find the injection site. And any bruises you’ve sustained tonight can be explained away in your struggle to escape the sinking vehicle. With so much alcohol in your system and this bottle of vodka as evidence…” He shrugs. “On the bright side, the alcohol will act as a sort of anesthesia and ease your discomfort. Drowning isn’t such a bad way to go, is it? No blood, anyway.”
    I roll, swing my feet to the floor, but my balance is skewed. I stagger and go to my knees. My head spins and I fall onto my side and end up flopping around like a fish.
    I’m aware of Armitage coming around the table