Page 7

Normally, Jessie would have come here with Ryan.

But they had decided to split investigative duties. Since he was a detective and had more authority when it came to getting people to answer questions, he was at Wiley McComb, the investment bank where James Whitaker worked, talking to his co-workers.

That meant Jessie would talk to Dr. Roth alone. She didn’t have the power to formally question someone without an LAPD officer present, but since the toxicologist worked for the department, there was no concern that she would refuse to answer.

Still, Jessie was apprehensive. She’d heard that Amelia Roth had something of a…caustic personality that was only tolerated because she was so good at her job. So she was surprised that when she entered the outer office, the place seemed so chill.

She was in a small, currently empty waiting room that reminded her of a doctor’s office. There were three chairs along the wall with a small table in the middle that had celebrity magazines on it. Smooth jazz played over the speaker system.

She stepped up to the closed, frosted reception window and knocked softly. The door slid open to reveal a twenty-something guy with frizzy blond hair, pale skin, and thick glasses.

“Yes?” he said irritably.

"I'm Jessie Hunt," she replied as pleasantly as she could. "I'm supposed to talk to Dr. Roth about a case I'm working on."

“Jessie Hunt,” he repeated his voice unusually high-pitched. “I’ve heard of you. You’re the one who tangles with serial killers. Wasn’t your dad one?”

“He was,” she said, keeping the smile plastered to her face. “Is Dr. Roth available?

“She’s in the back,” he said. “I’m her lab assistant, Monty. I have to check your ID before I can buzz you back.”

She showed it to him. He looked it over more closely than she would have expected. Then he buzzed the door. When she opened it, she found that he had moved directly in front of her in the doorway.

“Didn’t you end up killing your dad?” he asked, standing uncomfortably close.

“I did, Monty,” she confirmed. “It was kind of a ‘him’ or ‘me’ situation. So you probably don’t want to piss me off.”

“Leave her alone, Monty,” a female voice called out from behind him. “You’re making the genius profiler nervous. Stop invading her personal space.”

Jessie looked in the direction of the voice and saw someone emerge from behind a whiteboard at the back of what appeared to be a lab. It was a woman in a white lab coat, which hardly did her justice.

She had flaming red hair that cascaded down her shoulders to her elbows. She wore expensive glasses that didn't mask her bright, blue eyes. Her skin was pale, too, but not like Monty's. It had a delicate, well-cared-for porcelain quality to it. She wore a bold, fuchsia buttoned top and a form-fitting black skirt that stopped just below the knees. Even without her high heels, it was clear that the woman was several inches taller than Jessie, likely well over six feet. With them, she was closer to six foot four.

“Dr. Roth, I presume?” Jessie asked, hoping to start things off on a lighter note.

“Yes,” she answered, apparently not getting the arcane reference being paraphrased. “Who else would it be?”

“No one,” Jessie said, giving up on the attempt to establish some kind of repartee. “Thanks for meeting with me. I know the medical examiner was stumped on the origin of the poison used on James Whitaker. He said you might have better luck. Was he right?”

“It’s never luck, Ms. Hunt,” Roth said sharply, “but yes, I’ve had some success in determining the toxin used to kill your victim. Why don’t you join me back here?”

Jessie wandered to the back of the lab and joined Roth on the other side of the whiteboard, which was covered in equations she couldn’t begin to understand. The doctor nodded at the board as if just looking at it should give Jessie her answers.

“I see it,” she replied, “but I don’t get it. Chemistry was never my strongest subject. Maybe you should walk me through what you’ve discovered.”

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius,” Roth noted tartly.

“I’ve never claimed to be,” Jessie told her, doing her best not to let the woman get under her skin. “Maybe you’re thinking of yourself. But I’m happy to try to learn whatever you can teach me.”

She couldn’t but wonder if having her own little fiefdom hadn’t screwed up Roth’s ability to interact with visitors in an appropriate way. Or maybe the woman was like this all the time. Either way, Jessie wasn’t enjoying it.

“In that case, I’ll dispense with the exciting particulars,” Roth said. “The dumbed-down version is that whoever poisoned Mr. Whitaker didn’t just find a poison and use it. He created his own.”

“What?” Jessie said, unprepared for that answer.

“The killer combined a series of chemicals that might seem harmless on their own. But in concert, they would have the desired effect. The combination would be odorless and tasteless in smaller amounts. And small amounts are all that would be needed to do what the police report says happened.”

“Are you saying that this poison was designed to work in this specific manner?”

“Quite likely,” Roth said. “That, or someone stumbled onto it as a lucky accident. Hard to be certain. Either way, it’s nasty stuff. It wouldn’t have an obvious immediate effect. But within about fifteen minutes, the victim would begin to feel some discomfort. They might dismiss it as just starting to get sick or, as it initially seemed in this case, food poisoning. But at some point between a half hour and forty-five minutes after ingesting the poison, the pain would become more acute.”

“How long after that before they are at risk of death?” Jessie asked.

“That’s the most insidious thing, Ms. Hunt,” Dr. Roth said, turning her attention away from the whiteboard to stare directly at her. “If brought to a hospital and administered the proper medication, this poison isn’t necessarily fatal. The odds of recovery are quite good. But if untreated, the victim has about an hour and a half, maybe two at the outside, before the poison’s effects are irreversible. The person who did this must have known that. That’s why he stuck around until it was too late to do anything.”

“That fits,” Jessie mused aloud. “The Whitakers got home from the restaurant around nine. He was probably poisoned sometime in the half hour prior to that. And we know that he was dead by 10:41.”

“Sounds about right,” Roth agreed.

“So what kind of person would have the sort of knowledge needed to ‘create’ a poison. Are we talking someone who’d require medical expertise?”

"That would certainly make it easier for them," Roth answered. "A doctor, nurse, or pharmacist would be a prime suspect in my book. But it doesn't have to be a medical professional. A scientist, or even just someone with an affinity for chemistry who did the required research, might be able to create the right concoction. Hell, even Monty over there could probably do it if he was more patient and less sloppy in his work."

Jessie looked over at the lab assistant, who appeared offended by the accusation that he might be a killer.

“I’m not sloppy,” he said petulantly.

Jessie found it mildly amusing that he was more hurt at the attack on his work habits than the suggestion that he could be a murderer.

“For the record, where were you last night, Monty?” Dr. Roth demanded, appearing to be enjoying herself for the first time in the conversation.

“I was at a double bill of the Andrew Garfield Spider-man movies,” he answered immediately. “I dressed up as The Lizard. He’s the villain in the first one.”

“Of course you did,” Roth said, before turning back to Jessie. “Well, I guess he’s off the hook then.”

Jessie was tempted to ask Roth where she was last night, not because she suspected the woman. They were confident the killer was male. But she thought the doctor deserved to be knocked down a peg or two, for both her general arrogance and her treatment of Monty. But she held her tongue. She might have more questions for Roth, and it wouldn’t do any good to alienate her.

“Are these components difficult to get?” she asked instead.

“Unfortunately, not as difficult as they should be,” Roth said. “I’ve never looked into it, but I’d be willing to bet that a quick hunt on the dark web would get your killer what he needed.”

Jessie nodded. That was doubly dispiriting. Not only would it make it nearly impossible to track down the source of the poison, but it could also mean something far worse.

They didn’t yet know if this was a one-off attack focused specifically on the Whitakers. If it was, then as awful as what happened last night had been, they could breathe a little easier while they searched for the culprit.

But if this was part of some larger mission, if the killer had more attacks in mind, then it sounded like he wouldn't have any trouble finding more of his weapon of choice.