started to lose his sight—or maybe he never had full
vision—he brooded. Finally he got on a list for cornea
recipients. Even there, he knew that he probably
wasn’t high on the list, and in some twisted, deranged
way, decided to speed up the process. He found out—
probably from Margie, his sister-in-law—where he
stood on that list and which patients were organ donors
at Good Cheer. Obsessed with the concept of finally
being able to see clearly, he began to eliminate patients. Not just any patients, but successful ones, the
type of person he could never be. Yes, those victims
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were all organ donors, though he didn’t necessarily expect to get their corneas.”
Judith paused to pick up the notes she’d taken down
from Sister Jacqueline. “On each of the dates that Somosa and Fremont died, Jim had scheduled medical
tests, right up to Tuesday when Bob Randall had his
surgery. Jim didn’t strike me as a healthy person,
though he may also have been a hypochondriac. I suspect he faked that faint to allay suspicion. Anyway, he
talked his doctors into a CAT scan, an ultrasound, and
an MRI. But he never took those tests, he had a homeless person do it for him. Renie told me after she had
her MRI for her shoulder that all she had to do when
she went to the place where they did the test was hand
them some information in a folder she’d gotten from
the reception desk.”
“Judith’s right,” Renie chimed in. “I thought it was
odd at the time, and even asked the people giving the
test how they knew it was really me. They said they
didn’t, I could be anybody as long as I was female and
of a certain age.”
“This deception not only gave Jim an alibi,” Judith
went on, “but allowed him to get the homeless men to
drop off the special treats for his victims. Jim couldn’t
risk doing it himself, and he certainly never could have
put the drugs into the IVs. He couldn’t see well enough.”
“Hold on,” Woody interrupted. “How could Jim
know what special drinks Joaquin Somosa and Joan
Fremont wanted?”
“Margie,” Judith said simply. “She’d hardly be suspicious of such an innocent question. Even though she
may have delivered the drinks—though not her husband’s booze—it wouldn’t dawn on her that Jim had
purchased the stuff.”
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“Still,” Renie put in, “it must have occurred to
Margie that the lethal drugs were in those drinks.
That’s why she referred to herself as ‘the vessel.’ ”
Joe was still looking skeptical. “How,” he asked,
“could Jim ensure that he’d actually get corneas if he
wasn’t at the top of the list?”
“He couldn’t,” Judith said. “First of all, he may not
have been down as far as you’d think. Even if the
medical tests showed that something was wrong, it
wasn’t really him undergoing the tests. If one of the
homeless men turned up with a problem, Jim could
simply ask to retake the test and claim a medical mistake. But another key was the weather. Organs are
flown in from all over the country. When we first met
Jim, he mentioned that he knew there was a big storm
coming in. That usually means the airport is closed—
and it was—so that if a local donor died, the corneas
could only be delivered by helicopter. And, having
maneuvered himself to the top of the city’s list, he
knew he’d be here to receive them. Even if he wasn’t
number one, he was at the hospital. Another recipient
might not have been able to reach a hospital in this
weather.”
“Taylor,” Renie murmured. “I overheard Bob Randall talking to someone named Taylor. Addison Kirby
said that was the name of his wife’s eye doctor. Maybe
he was Jim’s doctor, too, and Bob was thanking him
for good news, like Jim being near the top of the recipient list.”
“That would make sense,” Judith said.
Joe sucked in his breath, an effort that obviously cost
him pain. “So a cold-blooded killer with new eyes is
lying across the hall from us?”
Judith nodded. “I’m afraid he is.”
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Woody shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such a
strange homicide case. All those innocent victims.”
“Three in the hospital,” Judith said. “The number
three was symbolic to Jim. His brother had saved three
lives—Jim’s, and two children who were rescued by
Bob from a house fire. It was as if Jim had to do just
the opposite—take three successful lives, including
that of the mirror twin who had saved him from drowning. The three homeless men may have—perhaps subconsciously—symbolized his own inferiority. Jim felt
like them—a loser.”
“I wonder,” Renie said, “if Bob was really as big a
jerk as Jim and the rest of the family indicated.”
“I’ll bet he was,” Judith replied. “Big sports stars
can be very hard to live with.”
“What,” Joe inquired, “about Addison Kirby getting
run down? Was that an accident or something Jim
cooked up?”
“I’m not sure,” Judith admitted. “I’m not even certain who was driving. It might have been Jim after he
got the homeless man to steal the Camry from the dealership. He might have told the guy to run over Addison, or at that point Jim himself may have been
driving. If so, he may not even have seen Addison
Kirby. We’ll know when Woody checks for hairs and
fibers.”
“Good Lord!” Renie cried. “Jim may have driven
our car? It’s a wonder we didn’t find it in pieces!”
“He wouldn’t have driven it far,” Judith said dryly.
“Jim had used the homeless to help him get around, no
doubt stealing cars and returning them, perhaps before
the owners knew they were gone. This time, he had to
leave Bill and Renie’s Camry because of the bad
weather. Plus, the last homeless victim was staying
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315
closer to the hospital because the camp had been
moved from under the freeway. The snowstorm
worked both for and against Jim Randall. And of
course he couldn’t take a chance of being seen with his
stooge.”
“Say,” Renie put in, “was Jim Randall the one who
got into my suitcase? And who was it you glimpsed in
the ICU?”
“I still don’t know who was in the ICU,” Judith
replied, “but I’m sure it wasn’t Jim. It was dark, he
couldn’t see well, and I can’t think of any reason why
he’d be interested in us.” She gave Woody a shrewd
look. “Why don’t you tell us who the intruder in our
room was? Could it be the same person I saw in the
ICU?”
“Ah . . .” Woody looked embarrassed. “I’m not supposed to say . . .”
“Come on, Woody,” Judith coaxed. “Tell us.”
Woody glanced at Joe. “She exerts a certain irresistible power, doesn’t she?”
“In more ways than one,” Joe murmured, the gold
flecks flashing in his green eyes.
“I guess it’s all right to reveal the truth,” Woody said,
though he cast a wary gaze on the closed door. “The intruder in your room was Harold Abernethy.”
“Who?” Judith and Renie chorused.
Woody bestowed his engaging grin on the cousins.
“I knew you wouldn’t know who he was. Well,” he