Roadside Crosses

toward Edie. “But I think he’s going to start there.”
    Still, Murder One was harrowing enough. That could mean twenty-five years in prison for Edie.
    The lawyer continued, “Now, for our defense, justification doesn’t apply, or mistake or self-defense. Ending the man’s pain and suffering would be relevant at sentencing. But if the jury believed you intended to end his life, however merciful your motive, they would have to find you guilty of first-degree murder.”
    “The defense, then,” Dance said, “is on the facts.”
    “Exactly. First, we attack the autopsy and the cause of death. The coroner’s conclusion was that Millar died because the morphine drip was open too far and that an antihistamine had been added to the solution. That led to respiratory, and then cardiac, failure. We’ll get experts to say that this was wrong. He died of natural causes as a result of the fire. The drugs were irrelevant.
    “Second, we assert that Edie didn’t do it at all. Somebody else administered the drugs either intentionally to kill him, or by mistake. We want to try to find people who might’ve been around—somebody who might’ve seen the killer. Or somebody who might be the killer. What about it, Edie? Was anybody near ICU around the time Juan died?”
    The woman replied, “There were some nurses down on that wing. But that was all. His family was gone. And there were no visitors.”
    “Well, I’ll keep looking into it.” Sheedy’s face was growing grave. “Now, we come to the big problem. The medication that was added to the IV was diphenhydramine.”
    “The antihistamine,” Edie said.
    “In the police raid on your house, they recovered a bottle of a brand-name version of diphenhydramine. The bottle was empty.”
    “What?” Stuart gasped.
    “It was found in the garage, hidden under some rags.”
    “Impossible.”
    “And a syringe with a small bit of dried morphine on it. The same brand of morphine that was in Juan Millar’s IV drip.”
    Edie muttered, “I didn’t put it there. Of course I didn’t.”
    “We know that, Mom.”
    The lawyer added, “Apparently no fingerprints or significant trace.”
    Dance said, “The perp planted it.”
    “Which is what we’ll try to prove. Either he or she intended to kill Millar, or did it by mistake. In eithercase, they hid the bottle and syringe in your garage to shift the blame.”
    Edie was frowning. She looked at her daughter. “Remember earlier in the month, just after Juan died, I told you I heard a noise outside. It was coming from the garage. I’ll bet somebody was there.”
    “That’s right,” Dance agreed, though she couldn’t actually recall it—the manhunt for Daniel Pell had occupied all her thoughts then.
    “Of course . . .” Dance fell silent.
    “What?”
    “Well, one thing we’ll have to work around. I’d stationed a deputy outside their house—for security. Harper will want to know why he didn’t see anything.”
    “Or,” Edie said, “we should find out if he did see the intruder.”
    “Right,” Dance said quickly. She gave Sheedy the name of the deputy.
    “I’ll check that out too.” He added, “The only other thing we have is a report that the patient told you, ‘Kill me.’ And you told several people that. There are witnesses.”
    “Right,” Edie said, sounding defensive, her eyes slipping to Dance.
    The agent suddenly had a terrible thought: Would she be called to testify against her mother? She felt physically ill at this idea. She said, “But she wouldn’t tell anybody that if she were really intent on killing somebody.”
    “True. But remember, Harper is going for splash. Not for logic. A quote like that . . . well, let’s hope Harper doesn’t find out about it.” He rose. “When I hear from the experts and get details of the autopsyreport, I’ll let you know. Are there any questions?”
    Edie’s face revealed that, yes, she had about a thousand. But she merely shook her head.
    “It’s not hopeless, Edie. The evidence in the garage is troublesome but we’ll do the best we can with that.” Sheedy gathered up his papers, organized them and put them into his briefcase. He shook everyone’s hand and gave reassuring smiles to them all. Stuart saw him to the door, the floor creaking under his solid weight.
    Dance too rose. She said to her mother, “Are you sure the kids won’t be too much? I can take them back to Martine’s.”
    “No, no. I’ve been looking forward to seeing