Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

I allowed myself to drift along in the dark waters of the river, not feeling the cold, not feeling the pain. I continued my slow descent to the bottom of the river.
    My happiest memories of my mother flooded my mind—the summers we spent in Baie Ste. Paul together visiting family; the day she let me drive the car by myself the first time; the time she brought home my puppy, Coco, and presented her to me on my birthday. How she used to say “je t’aime … je t’aime … je t’aime …” exactly three times as she kissed my forehead every night before I went to sleep. And how, at the end, she was more concerned about me than she was about herself. I wondered if this was how she felt when her time was short, wrapped in the warm embrace of a death that came too soon and not soon enough.
    She offered me her hand.
    “Just relax and stay still. I’ll help you,” I heard just before blacking out.

Thirty-Three
     
    Throwing up river water is so incredibly vile that words cannot describe it.
    I awoke to find Queen practically kneeling on my chest, her hands crossed one over the other, pumping strenuously. I struggled to get up but only succeeded in retching all over the dock and myself.
    “Stay down,” she said, taking her hands off my chest and moving them to my shoulders.
    I did what she said and hoped that by remaining prone on the dock, I wouldn’t have to throw up any more water. In the distance, I heard sirens.
    “Where’s Greg?” I asked.
    Queen smiled and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “He’s on the boat,” she said. She wiped a clump of hair away from my forehead. “Don’t worry about him.”
    In the distance, I could hear a low growl followed by a few short angry barks. I stayed flat on my back for a few minutes and listened to what was taking place around me. I closed my eyes and drifted off.
    When I came to again, I was in a darkened hospital room. The décor of the rooms hadn’t changed that much since my mother had taken her last breaths here. At the end of the bed, I could see Crawford’s lanky frame, outlined in the glow from the fluorescent night-light that was lit beneath the shelf that housed the television. I let out a little croak and got his attention.
    I grabbed my throat. “My throat hurts.”
    He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss my head. “When were you going to tell me that you can’t swim?”
    “Never, if I could help it,” I said. I coughed, clearing whatever it was that was preventing me from speaking clearly.
    He gave me his patented “sad face,” the one that’s reserved for next of kin. “We’re going to have to fix that.”
    “Let me guess,” I said, my voice getting stronger. “You swam for your high school team in addition to being the star center of the basketball team.”
    “Not quite,” he said. “But I do know how to swim.”
    “Good for you.” I sat up a little straighter in the bed. “I can’t ice-skate, either.”
    “Me, neither.”
    “Good. Finally, something we have in common,” I said. I leaned forward to pick up a cup of ice water on the tray next to the bed and took a long sip. “What happened?”
    “Your friend Greg poisoned Carter Wilmott,” Crawford said. Alerted by Queen, the other members of the village boating association, or whatever they called themselves, had detained Greg until the police had arrived. He was already in custody, and judging from the information Crawford had, spilling his guts.
    “I got that impression when he confessed and subsequently threw me overboard.”
    “He was putting arsenic in his coffee, slowly poisoning him over time. Not sure how long this had been going on, but long enough to kill the poor bastard.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes.
    “So he didn’t want to blow him up?” I wondered aloud if the explosive device was an insurance policy that Greg had also masterminded to make sure the job was done thoroughly.
    He shook his head. “Nope. And he didn’t want to poison him to death, either. According to what I heard, he only wanted to make Carter sick, not kill him. Apparently he went a little overboard on the arsenic, which slowly built up in Carter’s system. I didn’t get much information from Detective Madden other than what I just told you.” He smiled. “I don’t know why but that lady just doesn’t like me.”
    “How did I get out of the water?”
    He let out a belly laugh. “You’re never going to believe this part.”
    “Try