Chapter 20
Carlita tightened her grip on the phone. “Yes, please give me the lab results.”
“The fettuccine sample you brought in contains chlorophacinone, and diphacinone.”
“Which is?”
“Ingredients for rat poison.”
She reached out to steady herself. “Rat poison?”
“To be more specific, they were first-generation ingredients.” Ilene explained that based on the quantities, it would require a heightened level of consumption to be lethal to a human.
“So, not enough to kill someone, but enough to make them sick.”
“Correct.”
“Out of curiosity, what would it take for the poison to be deadly?”
“A second-generation superwarfarin, typically containing Brodifacoum, Bromadiolone, Difethialone or Difenacoum,” Ilene said.
“We call them the b’s and the d’s – bombs of death.
Second-generation rodenticides are more potent and used to exterminate rodents who have built a resistance to the weaker, first-generation poison. ”
“I see. What you’re saying is if someone had put the bombs of death in the food, it could have killed them?”
“In a large enough quantity, yes.”
“What about the other food samples I dropped off?”
“Nothing was found in any of those.”
“Is there a way for me to get a copy of the report?”
“Of course.” Ilene’s voice grew muffled. “I have your information.” She repeated Carlita’s email address. “I’ll forward a copy of the report.”
“Thank you.” She started to end the call. Ilene stopped her. “Do you plan to pick up the samples?”
“What are my other options?”
“We can dispose of them for you.”
Carlita hesitated. Technically, it was potential evidence, but the implications, putting Ravello’s in the center of another police investigation, were concerning.
Although it wouldn’t matter. The police had their samples and more than likely already had the results, which meant soon…very soon, the cops would be on her doorstep again, this time looking for her.
Reservations were already tanking. A full-blown investigation with news coverage was all it would take to ruin Ravello’s.
“Can you hang onto them for me? I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“Of course. While we were talking, I forwarded the report.”
“Thank you.” Carlita ended the call and sat staring blankly into space. A horrifying thought occurred to her. She dialed Arnie’s cell phone number.
“Hey, Carlita. I’ve been wondering if you heard back from the lab yet.”
“I just got off the phone with them.”
“What did they say?”
“The fettuccine contains traces of first-generation…” Carlita consulted the notes she’d jotted down while talking. “First-generation rat poison, not enough to kill someone but enough to make them sick. Do we have rat poison at the restaurant?”
“No. We have a local company that handles pest control. They use a non-lethal, non-toxic product safe for restaurants.”
Carlita clutched her chest. “That’s a relief.”
“Someone brought the poison with them and mixed it in the pasta?”
“It appears so.” She told him the lab was holding onto the samples until tomorrow, until she decided what to do with them.
“I’m sorry this happened,” Arnie said. “What is the saying? Let no good deed go unpunished. If you need me to do anything, let me know.”
“I will.” She thanked him. After ending the call, she opened her email account, confirming Ilene had forwarded the report.
Carlita skimmed through the entire document. Most of it was mumbo jumbo—technical terms she didn’t understand, although words popped out, the words Ilene had used including first-generation warfarin.
Using the cut-and-paste feature, she began researching side effects of the poison, all of them matching Sonny’s and Yvonne’s symptoms. Nausea, vomiting, stomach cramps.
Carlita thought about what Reese had told her: how Sonny complained about his motorcycle’s brakes not working. There was also the Thursday Riding Club’s accident. The more she learned, the more she was convinced Creed wasn’t the intended target. It was Sonny.
Perhaps Paul Maul was behind the frightening series of near-misses and eventual demise of the man, but how could Carlita prove it?
She tracked down the city’s website and typed Sonny’s name in the search bar. Drilling down, she finally found him listed under the tax commissioner’s office. His official title: Sonny Skidz, Tax Records Supervisor.
Pete returned home and found his wife seated at the kitchen counter, papers strewn everywhere. “What are you working on?” He hung his keys on the hook by the door and gave her a quick hug.
“I’m trying to piece together the events leading up to Sonny Skidz’s demise.”
“You finally heard from the lab?”
“I had to call them. They found traces of rat poison in the fettuccine.”
“Rat poison?”
“According to Arnie, we don’t use rat poison at the restaurant. We have a pest control company that treats using a non-toxic, environmentally safe product.”
“Meaning someone brought rat poison with them and mixed it into the pasta,” Pete grimly replied. “The police have samples. I’m sure they came up with the same results and you’ll be hearing from them.”
“Within hours, no doubt.” Carlita held up her notepad. “Sonny’s motorcycle brakes went out. Creed’s accident happened around the same time, followed by the poisoning at the party.”
“Ending with Sonny’s death at the hospital.”
“Correct. I would bet money one of his visitors took him out.”
“Short of having a list, it will be nearly impossible to figure out who it was.”
“The dots have to connect. The person had to have been riding with the biker group, attended the engagement party, and visited Sonny at the hospital.”
“Or it could be coincidental. Not the rat poison, of course, but the accident and maybe he had bad brakes.”
Carlita wrinkled her nose. “What are the odds of all these happening within a short timeframe? The police are already calling his death a homicide.”
“What you’re saying is if you can figure out who visited Sonny, you’ll be able to narrow down the list of potential suspects.”
“Exactly.”
“Short of hacking into the hospital’s surveillance system and accessing the recordings from the time Sonny was admitted until his death, I don’t see how you’ll be able to accomplish your goal.”
“I can’t, but there is someone who can.”
“Elvira,” Pete and Carlita said in unison.
“Sounds like you’ve figured out your next move.”
“I’ve already asked her. She flat-out refused.”
“Did you offer her cold, hard cash?”
“I threw out an amount I thought was too good to turn down, but she did.”
“There must be a reason,” Pete said.
“She claims she could lose her business license if she’s caught hacking into any government or NPO institution.”
“An NPO?”
“A government-affiliated non-profit organization. I have no idea if this is true, but according to Elvira, hospitals are off the table as far as hacking into their systems because they’re viewed the same way government agencies are.”
“If I were you, I would try again,” he suggested. “Sweeten the pot.”
Carlita drummed her fingers on the counter. “It’s worth a shot. I need to know who visited Sonny.”
“Tell you what—after dinner, we’ll take Rambo for a walk and swing by Walton Square. You can ask her in person.”
“I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”
“It’s not your mess. It’s our mess,” Pete corrected. “Besides, I have a trick or two up my sleeve if she refuses again.”
“It will be harder for her to say no when I’m on my knees begging,” Carlita sighed. “If we don’t nip this in the bud and figure out what happened, Ravello’s business is on the downhill slide.”
“Not to mention there’s a killer walking free.”
“Agreed.” Carlita scooped up her papers. “Let’s grab a bite to eat and head out. The sooner we crack this case, the better.”