W Is for Wasted

the first victim died, Reed’s continuation of the suspect drug regimen amounted to criminal negligence.
    Dr. Linton Reed, through his attorney, declined all requests to be interviewed by the police. He took a leave of absence from the university, where his research was suspended. His wife’s family is sufficiently wealthy to underwrite his legal expenses, but after an initial outpouring of protests as to his innocence, his wife has begun to disassociate herself from this once well regarded young researcher whose star fell so swiftly to Earth. Better to be married to a bum than a criminal, says she.
    Eventually a deal was reached between the DA and Reed’s attorney for a plea to voluntary manslaughter with a gun use for twenty-one years in prison. Part of the plea deal was dismissal of the involuntary manslaughter charges in the deaths of the three homeless men because all three suffered from multiple debilitating diseases that, individually or together, could have proved fatal. Analysis confirmed Dace’s claim that the medication he was taking was indeed Glucotace, which was probably responsible for his failing health and eventual death, as well as that of Charles Farmer and Sebastian Glenn. Nonetheless, the DA’s deal with Dr. Reed was supported by Dace’s three children, who announced at the same time that they’d reached an out-of-court settlement with Reed, the university, and Paxton-Pfeiffer, the pharmaceutical company that had supported his research. Each of the Dace children received $150,000 in compensation for their pain and suffering.
    Dace’s will went unchallenged, in part because the legal costs would have been prohibitive, but more importantly, because it would have been inconsistent to claim in a civil suit that their father was of sound mind and body and a victim of premature death at the hands of Reed, thereby justifying a monetary award, and at the same time assert he was so debilitated as a result of drink that he could not competently decide as to the disposition of his assets.
    You may wonder (as who has not?) what I did with the half a million dollars that fell into my lap. After less than one minute of consideration, this is the plan I came up with: I made a generous donation to Harbor House and then I put the rest in my retirement account. Do I feel at all apologetic about my good fortune? Of course not. Are you nuts?!
    But these are procedural odds and ends, some of them months in the making; dry matters when laid up against the lives of Terrence Dace and Felix Beider. I paid to have their remains cremated with the intention of scattering their ashes at some future date. According to the municipal codes governing this matter, I learned that it is illegal to scatter ashes at a public golf course, a public beach, or a public park. Though it was not specifically spelled out, I was certain that flinging them off a freeway overpass would be frowned upon as well, so I set that decision aside temporarily.
    I put William in charge of the memorial service, which was held on the grassy area at the beach where the homeless congregate most days when the weather’s good. There was no sign of Ethan, but Anna was in attendance, as were Ellen and her young family, who’d driven down from Bakersfield. The children had never seen the ocean, and they ran barefoot and shrieking to the water’s edge under Hank’s watchful eye. William was amused by their enthusiasm, smiling to himself as they danced in the surf.
    Henry had adapted and copied portions of Dace’s botanical folios to create a program commemorating the farewell. Pearl and Dandy were there, along with their new friend, Plato the preacher man. Ken and Belva and other volunteers from Harbor House made an appearance, along with assorted staff members. There was no drinking, of course, and I’m happy to report Pearl only excused herself once for a quick smoke behind a tree.
    The day was sunny, the temperature in the midsixties. William wore his best three-piece suit as was fitting for the occasion. His white hair was riffled by the breeze coming off the ocean, and his voice, powdery with age, rang clearly in the open air—in consequence, he later pointed out, of his early mastery of elocution.
    William selected and arranged for the music, saying no send-off would be complete without hymns. He’d hired a solo trumpeter (on my dime, of course), who opened the service by playing “Amazing Grace.” Strangers passing along the beach path