"No, that's warfarin, an anticoagulant."
"But he's going to be all right, isn't he?" asked Annie Sue. She pushed close to her mother, as if seeking physical comfort and her big blue eyes were frightened. "He's not going to die, is he? Is he?"
"Now hush that kind of talk," said Nadine, but she, too, was shaken. "Doctor?"
He shook his head. "I wish I could give you a cut-and-dried answer, Mrs. Knott, but chronic arsenic poisoning's a tricky thing. We don't yet know how much neurological damage there is. The lack of paralysis is encouraging, but the anesthesias in his legs and extremities, the liver involvement—"
We stood numbly as all that medical terminology flowed over us. What it boiled down to was that Herman would probably recover, but it was going to be long and slow—six months or longer—and he might never recover full feeling in his fingers and feet. A wheelchair could not be ruled out.
Nor was treatment itself going to be a simple thing. Some doctors advocated doing nothing. Let the body heal itself. If a more aggressive course were taken, the antidote might be as dangerous as the arsenic itself.
Yet even as we listened, we all kept circling back to the central question: how the devil was he getting arsenic? Because on that point, the doctor was quite clear: Herman had ingested the stuff more than once in the last ten days.
The doctor finished outlining the treatment they planned to use. As he rose to go, he cocked his head and looked around the circle of faces surrounding him. "You live close to one another? See each other every day? Then perhaps I should check. Is everybody healthy? Any stomach cramps or nausea that won't go away? Summer flu? Dizziness, pins and needles in your fingers or toes? Numbness?"
We all shook our heads, although I saw a considering expression cross the face of Nadine's sister. Her robustly healthy body imprisoned the soul of a hypochondriac.
"Great!" He closed Herman's chart with a snap. "Oh, one thing more, Mrs. Knott. Someone from Environmental Health will probably be in contact with Mr. Knott and you to try to trace the source of the arsenic. They'll want you to think what you two may have eaten or drunk differently, any places where he eats that you and your family don't, maybe a list of all the locations he's worked lately that might have old arsenic-based paint or wallpaper, things like that. Okay?"
The family milled around as he left, so simultaneously worried and titillated that no one else seemed to notice the looks Dwight and Terry exchanged before following the doctor from the waiting room. I slipped out, too, and hurried down the hall after them. As they rounded a corner, I heard the doctor say, "Well, yes, I suppose there always is that possibility, Major Bryant."
"What possibility?" I asked, halting them in their tracks.
The doctor turned and frowned, Terry immediately went into his official secrets mode, but Dwight said, "I don't believe you've met Herman's sister. This is Judge Deborah Knott, Doctor."
"Judge?"
"Judicial District Eleven-C," I said. "What possibility?"
"That your brother's poisoning was not accidental," he answered bluntly.
"That someone poisoned Herman? On purpose?"
The three men shuffled their feet and I could have laughed if it hadn't been so outrageous.
"I almost forgot. Yeah. Her husband was treated here, wasn't he? Well, you can push that notion right out of your heads," I said hotly. "Nadine Knott is no Blanche Taylor Moore. Come on, Dwight! Terry? You guys have known Nadine forever. Can't you see how upset and worried she is?"
"The Reverend Moore was never my patient," the doctor said carefully, "but I'm told Mrs. Moore was a loving wife right up to the minute they arrested her. And they say she was real attentive to the boyfriend who did die. Brought him potato soup when he was in Baptist Hospital, even spoon fed him. Held the straw for him to sip iced tea. The nurses thought she was a real sweetie."
"I know, I know," I said impatiently. "And later they found out that there was arsenic in the soup and arsenic in the tea." I turned to Dwight and Terry. "But this is Nadine!"
"Wives aren't the only ones who do things like that," Terry said soothingly. "Besides, it'll probably turn out to be a contaminated well or something at some old house that's being renovated."
"We're just touching all the bases," Dwight chimed in. "Laying the groundwork for the public health guy."
"Long as you don't forget this is Herman, for God's sake."
The doctor had his hand on a door marked STAFF ONLY, but I asked, "While we're laying groundwork, Doctor, can you give us any idea of when he first got the arsenic? Didn't I read somewhere that you could tell by the hair or fingernails?"
He looked amused. "Well, yes, but the simplest way, if the patient is still alive, is just to ask him when he first started feeling rotten. Mr. Knott said he went to a party or something about ten days ago—the second of July? —and that night he experienced stomach cramps. At the time, he thought he might've eaten too many cucumber sandwiches or drunk too much lime punch."
Cucumber sandwiches? Lime punch?
"Wasn't your swearing-in reception on the second?" asked Dwight. * * *
We were allowed to go in and see Herman, a few of us at a time; first Nadine and her four children, then his brothers and me. He was groggy still and pasty-faced and looked so vulnerable lying there in a hospital gown that I had to go straight over and hug him.
"Now, now," he said with a ghost of his old gruffness. "I'm gonna be fine. You don't need to cry over me yet."
Technically, I was no longer Herman's attorney, but neither Dwight nor Terry said anything about my being there when they came in to question Herman about Tuesday night. Nadine had insisted that he not be told about Bannerman's attack on Annie Sue until he was stronger, and she wasn't real happy that he even had to know that Bannerman had died there that night.
She needn't have worried. Herman was too exhausted to wonder why we wound up asking him about a county inspector he'd barely known. Far as he was concerned, Dwight and Terry were just a couple of good old friends come to see how he was faring. As for Tuesday night, he could barely remember anything specific.
"I was feeling so terrible bad I guess I was ugly to you and Annie Sue," he told me in sideways apology.
I just patted his calloused, work-worn hand. "Did you stay long after I left?"
"Naw. I was right in behind you and her girlfriends. She was mad as fire at me for telling her what she did wrong, and I have to tell you, Deb'rah, my stomach hurt so bad I was almost to the point I didn't care. I figured one of the inspectors would catch anything too dangerous about it before it got covered up."
"The inspector came by that night," I said. "Did you see him?"
Herman shook his head.
"Some young guy," I pressed him gently. "Carver Bannerman. You ever meet him?"
"Bannerman?" He frowned. "No, can't say as I have. Not to know the name. He pass Annie Sue's work all right?"
Terry rescued me. "Well, old son, you sure gave everybody a good scare."
"Weird, idn it?" he said sleepily. "Arsenic. Wonder where in the world I got it?"
"The wonder's how you were able to keep moving," said Dwight.
"Daddy'd never let us give in to being sick," Herman said and fell asleep with a smile on his lips.
CHAPTER 15
SURFACE PREPARATION
"Proper surface preparation is an essential part of any paint job; paint will not adhere well, provide the required surface protection, or present a good appearance unless the surface has been properly treated."
The investigator from Environmental Health, an environmental epidemiologist to give him his official title, was named Gordon O'Connor. Thirtyish, going bald early. Despite laid-back sneakers and jeans, there was an edginess about his wiry build that made me think he'd probably been a nerd in grade school. An intelligent nerd with something of a terrier's nervous intensity just before he picks up the rabbit's trail.