I have a brainstorm.
“We should dust the pill organizer for prints,” I say. “See who handled it.”
“I’m quite certain, Danny,” says Ceepak, “that each and every one of our suspects made contact with that pill organizer at one time or another.”
He’s right. My idea would be a waste of fingerprint powder.
Now Christine has an idea. “Monae was in charge of organizing the pills. She usually doled out the medicines into their slots early in the morning while Dr. Rosen was asleep. Said it gave her something to do besides watch TV. There’s not much good on at three or four in the morning.”
“We will be talking to Ms. Dunn,” says Ceepak, flipping through his spiral notebook. “As I was about to say, the fact that you literally gave Dr. Rosen the lethal pill or pills does not make you the murderer or even an accessory to the crime if you had no idea that some of the medicines you were administering were actually poison capsules.”
“Good. Because I didn’t.”
“Did you know that Dr. Rosen recently changed his will?”
“Yes. He mentioned it.”
“Do you know what changes he made?”
“No. He didn’t discuss any details. But …”
Christine hesitates.
Ceepak cocks an eyebrow and waits.
“He said Monae and I would be ‘very, very pleased.’”
Monae Dunn actually lives on the mainland, in a town called Williamsville on the far side of the causeway bridge.
Her house is kind of smallish. Which makes the silver 370-Z coupe sitting in her driveway look a little out of place. I checked out the Z the last time I went car-shopping. They start at $33,000.
We let her know that Dr. Rosen had been poisoned.
“Uhm-hmm,” she says knowingly. “I figured as much.”
“You did?”
“I’m semi-psychic. So, who did it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” says Ceepak.
“Well, I know it wasn’t me.”