Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [11]
“Who’s your suspect?”
“The man who found Spalding’s body. His name is Kevin Kerney. He’s the chief of police in Santa Fe, New Mexico, which coincidentally is where Spalding’s wife has a house.”
“This could come back to bite you,” Price said.
“Just because he’s a cop doesn’t mean he gets a free pass,” Lowrey said.
Price hung up, contacted the pathologist, and then by phone tracked down Dr. Gilbert, who fortunately was handling weekend calls and emergencies for his group practice.
Gilbert responded to the news with surprise. “Clifford was in three months ago,” he said. “His health was good and his blood work results were fine.”
“What about the original course of treatment for the Graves’ disease?” Price asked.
“Radioactive iodine was used to destroy the thyroid gland and stop production of the hormone. It was completely successful.”
“When was that?” Price asked.
“Ten or eleven years ago,” Gilbert replied. “Clifford had all the classic symptoms, but he’d let them go untreated thinking it was just stress related. He’d recently divorced his first wife and was about to remarry. He came in for a prenuptial physical exam and that’s when I made the diagnosis.”
“Were there any complications?” Price asked.
“It caused some weakening of his heart muscles,” Gilbert answered. “But I put him on a diet and exercise program that he religiously maintained. I saw no further deterioration.”
“Would not taking his pill cause heart failure?”
“Certainly not by forgetting to take his medication for a day. But in the long term, too little or too much of the drug can put the patient at risk for a variety of medical problems. The key is to maintain the patient on a stabilized thyroid hormone replacement regime. That’s why periodic blood work to determine medication levels is vital.”
Price described the pill he’d found, and the dosage for it listed in the PDR.
“That’s what I prescribed,” Gilbert said. “I haven’t changed the dosage in two years.”
Price thanked the doctor, hung up, and reported back to Lowrey.
“Bag and tag everything you have,” she said, “and turn it in to evidence.”
“Will do,” Price said, nodding to the board-certified forensic pathologist, who stood in the office doorway looking not at all pleased and rather impatient.
He dropped the headset in the cradle and stood.
“Am I here because of one of Ellie Lowrey’s legendary hunches?” the pathologist asked.
“You could say that,” Price said. “Mind if I assist?”
“You damn well better,” the pathologist said. “I have a dinner party to go to tonight.”
Using a borrowed western saddle lent to him by one of the trainers, Kerney rode each of the four geldings around the track, first in a slow trot using the reins to see how they responded to the bit, then moving them quickly from a canter to a gallop, letting them run for a while to test their endurance. Of the four, he favored a red roan and a gray, because of their smooth gaits, calm dispositions, and swift, tight turns.
He watched Sergeant Lowrey drive up to the stalls just as he finished saddling Comeuppance, the stud horse. Other than the sheer fun of having a racing stallion under him, he had no compelling reason to check out Comeuppance on the track. He’d already decided to buy him, ship him home, and get him started servicing the mares. But he wanted the experience of running him full-tilt along the rail of the racetrack.
Lowrey was still a good thirty feet away as Kerney swung into the saddle and nodded at the stable hand, who opened the gate to the track. He adjusted the strap to the helmet Wheeler had asked him to wear, touched his heels against Comeuppance’s flanks, and the horse surged through the gate at a full gallop.
Why the horse couldn’t sire fast runners was anybody’s guess. He had good speed and power. Bent low over Comeuppance’s neck, Kerney gave him his head for a full quarter-mile, enjoying every second of the ride. But he sensed that the horse was running under protest, with little enthusiasm. He slowed the stallion