Stork Raving Mad: A Meg Langslow Mystery (A Meg Lanslow Mystery)

almost absently. “After all, we know that the blow to her head was not what killed Dr. Wright.”
    “We do?” Kathy said.
    “Yes,” the chief said. “The wound made by the statue didn’t bleed, indicating that Dr. Wright was already dead when it was made.”
    “But who would hit a dead woman over the head like that?” Kathy asked.
    “Someone who didn’t realize she was dead,” I said. “Someone who thought she was just asleep, the way I did when I first found the body.”
    “Then if the man who hit her didn’t kill her, who did?” Kathy said. “And how?”
    “We have reason to believe that she was injected with a fatal overdose of her own insulin,” the chief said.
    “Oh.” I could see Kathy digesting this. She glanced up at me, but to my relief, it wasn’t a reproachful glance. “I can see why you’re arresting me, then,” she said finally.
    The chief sighed.
    “I’m not arresting anyone yet,” he said, “since we don’t technicallyknow the cause of death. Dr. Langslow’s pretty sure it’s insulin overdose, and I have every confidence that he’s right. But a judge is going to want to see a toxicology report, and we don’t have that tonight. So for now, you’re free to go. Don’t leave town, though.”
    “And you might want to find a defense attorney, just in case,” I said, reaching for my notebook. “I can give you some names.”
    “Thanks,” Kathy said. She accepted the slip of paper I offered, tucked it into her purse, and stood up.
    “You’re absolutely sure you didn’t tell anyone else about Dr. Wright’s diabetes?” the chief asked.
    “I wish,” Kathy said. “I wish I could tell you that I announced it at the last cast party and posted it on the department Face-book page, but I didn’t.”
    “If you find anything that indicates someone else does know, let me know immediately,” the chief said.
    Kathy nodded and left.
    The chief and I sat in silence as her footsteps disappeared down the hall.
    “Seems like a nice lady,” he said at last.
    “She is,” I said.
    “I notice you’re not hurrying to assure me that she couldn’t possibly have done it.”
    I sighed.
    “She cares so much about the department,” I said. “About her boss and the rest of the faculty and all the students.”
    “I don’t go into a murder investigation looking for a villain,” the chief said. “All too often, the killer is someone who cares alittle too much about something and gets carried away when that something is threatened. So you think she’s the killer.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I certainly hope not. And I can’t tell you how glad I am that it’s your job, not mine, to figure that out.”
    “Though you have been rather busy sending me suspects and witnesses.” Was that a hint of a chuckle in his voice?
    “Can I help it if people keep confessing things to me, or to each other when I’m within earshot?”
    “No,” he said. Yes, there was definitely amusement in his voice. “I appreciate your promptness in bringing all these bits of information to me instead of running wild trying to solve the case yourself. Which reminds me.” He stood up, walked over to the door, and stuck his head out into the hall. “Sammy!”
    A few seconds later, Sammy entered, accompanied by Horace.
    “Sammy, could you go and get—what’s wrong?”
    I glanced up. Sammy looked so morose that I immediately wondered if Hawkeye had taken a turn for the worse. Rocky and Bullwinkle, apparently already animal lovers in the womb, squirmed with anxiety.
    “Sammy?” The chief’s voice was suddenly gentler. “What’s wrong?”
    “We’re never going to catch the jerk who hit Hawkeye, are we?” Sammy said. “He’s going to get away with it.”
    “We’ll catch him,” the chief said. “Debbie Anne’s got that list of possible vehicles down at the station. There’s only about thirty of them. I know you’re disappointed that we haven’t already caught him, but you understand the murder investigation has to take priority.”
    Sammy nodded. I knew exactly how he felt. What a rotten break that the hit-and-run—which normally would have been the biggest case the Caerphilly police saw for weeks—had to happen on the same day as a murder. I felt a brief, irrational pang of resentment—against Dr. Wright or her killer, I wasn’t sure which. Maybe both.
    “But in a day or so, we’ll be able to get to that list,” the chief went on. I noticed that he was reaching down to