Page 19 of The Paternity Puzzle
She offered a weary smile. “I’m here for the same reason you are.” She straightened her shoulders and surveyed their elegant surroundings. “Our deceased gentleman must have friends in high places.”
“You don’t know him?” Royce asked.
She glanced down at the man her technicians were photographing. “Should I?”
“Dr. Jean Claude Matisse,” Diego said.
Dr. Fawkes arched a brow. “And you think all doctors know one another? Medical examiners don’t get invited to sit at the cool kids’ table.”
“You can sit with me any day, Doc,” Royce told her.
She smiled gently. “Tell me why this doctor is so important.”
“He was a renowned fertility specialist in the country,” Royce told her. “He last practiced in Savannah and retired here.”
“Ahhh.” Fawkes nodded her head toward the statue in the water fountain. “She makes more sense now.”
“Which goddess is she?” Diego asked.
“Flora,” Fawkes replied. “She’s a Roman goddess who represents spring, abundance, and fertility.”
Royce turned his gaze and scrutinized the garden through a new lens. One might think the doctor had established the colorful, lush plantings as a tribute to the goddess. In a way, the plants almost looked like worshiping servants at her feet. “That’s something,” he said. Felix would have a field day with this information when Royce could share it. “There’s an empty decanter of booze and a prescription for benzodiazepines on the patio table. At first glance, this seems like an overdose, but I’m not sure if it’s accidental or intentional.” The medical examiner and her investigators would take lead until there was evidence of a crime. Royce was acting as her support at the moment.
“I will put blood, urine, and vitreous humor through my automated immunoanalyzer to get preliminary toxicology reports for drugs and alcohol in his system, but that alone won’t tell us if he’d intended to die or got carried away with experimenting.”
“How long before we have some answers, Doc?”
“Thirty minutes for the initial drug and alcohol test results, but I need to do a complete autopsy first. I’ll try to have preliminary data in twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”
“That’s much better than waiting two or three months for results to come back from a forensics lab,” Royce said.
“I may have to send samples off for additional testing or to double-check ambiguous results. But the toxicology won’t be the only factor in my ruling, and I expect Dr. Matisse’s body will provide a lot of answers for me.” She placed her hands on the small of her back and stretched her spine. “I’ll need to review his medical records and talk to his family about his recent state of mind and what was going on in his life. His organ and hair samples will reveal if this is a long-term habit for the doctor or a newer hobby, but I won’t have those answers quickly. The crime scene technicians will dust the decanter, glass, and pill bottle for fingerprints. I’ll run tests on the contents and residues to see if someone has tampered with them, but—”
“Those results will take time,” Royce finished for her.
“Unfortunately.” Dr. Fawkes scanned the patio area before meeting Royce’s gaze. “Will you send me your interview notes after you speak to the person who found Dr. Matisse? I’ll read them after performing the autopsy and will contact the family if I need additional details to determine his cause of death.”
“Sure thing,” Royce said. “I’ll send you my notes right away.” He scanned the expanse of the outdoor living space and couldn’t find a single shred of evidence pointing to foul play. It was just as pristine as the interior. “Everything is under control here. We’ll head back inside and talk to Julia Matisse.”
“We’ll talk when I know more,” Dr. Fawkes said.
Royce and Diego retraced their steps through the house to the midway point, made a left turn down a hallway, and followed the directions Julia had given them to find her mother’s salon.
“What’s a salon?” Diego whispered.
“It’s what French high society called their social gatherings for intellectual conversations.”
Diego stopped suddenly, forcing Royce to halt too. “How in the hell doyouknow that?”
Royce quirked a brow. “I don’t care for your tone, Fuentes.”
“You had to learn it from Sawyer,” Diego said.
Royce wanted to get angry at his assumption, but everyone knew Sawyer was the intellectual one in their relationship with a law degree from Duke University. If Royce let things like the truth bother him, he’d never be happy. So he shrugged. “My guy loves to watch documentaries about anything and everything.” Sniffling came from the room nearest them, and Royce gestured for them to continue. Once they fell into step, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I think a salon in this instance is probably a fancy or formal room to gather.”
“I thought that was called a parlor.”
“I consider them to be the same thing, but I’m sure my super-intelligent husband could tell you the difference.”