Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,126
indicate drug toxicity.’ ” He looked back at Joyce. “I took drugs, Joyce. I never said I didn’t.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Read the rest.”
John read to himself this time. The doctor had indicated that John’s symptoms were not consistent with an overdose of cocaine and heroin. He suspected another drug was involved. Further blood tests were inconclusive, but testing was recommended on the powdered substance found at the scene.
The powdered substance. Michael had given him the baggie. John had never done heroin in his life. He had assumed good old Woody was trying to do him a favor, when in fact he had been trying to knock him out. Not just knock him out. Maybe there had been something else in that bag besides cocaine and heroin. John knew from prison talk that the labs could only find what they were specifically looking for. Michael could have spiked the speedball with something even more potent, something that would finish the job in case the volatile mixture didn’t.
“What?” Joyce asked.
John’s surprise must have registered on his face. He had been focusing on Mary Alice all this time. Had Michael meant to kill John, too? Had he thought to make it easier for himself to do whatever he wanted with Mary Alice and leave the blame at the foot of John’s grave?
Two days after Mary Alice’s body had been found, Michael and his mother had come by to visit. John was laid up in his room, feeling like shit, hiding behind a story he told to his mother about having a bad cold when in fact he could barely breathe every time he thought about Mary Alice’s body lying beside him in her bed.
Michael had been the same as always, at least as far as John could recall. His cousin had stayed with him in his room, talking about—what?—John couldn’t remember now. Something stupid, he was sure. John had fallen asleep. Was it then that Michael had planted the knife in his closet? Was it then that Michael had formed his plan? Or had somebody else worked it out from the beginning, sent Michael upstairs with the knife, told him to put it in John’s closet so that there would be something concrete that tied him to Mary Alice’s bedroom?
“Johnny?” Joyce said. She hadn’t called him that since they were kids. “What is it?”
He closed the folder. “What do you remember about Aunt Lydia?”
“She was your lawyer.” Joyce added, “She quit criminal law and went over to corporate after what happened to you. She said she lost her stomach for it. She never forgave herself for not being able to help you.”
“I’ll bet.”
Joyce was obviously taken aback by the hatred in his tone. “I’m serious, John. She came to see Mom at the hospital.”
“When was this?”
“I guess it was the day before Mom passed away. They had just put the tube down her throat so she could breathe.” Joyce paused, collecting herself. “She was in a lot of pain. They had her on a morphine drip. I’m not even sure she knew Kathy and I were there, let alone Lydia.”
“What did Lydia say to her?”
“I have no idea. We left them alone.” She added, “She looked really bad. Aunt Lydia, I mean. She hadn’t seen Mom in years but she couldn’t stop crying. I never thought they were close, but maybe during the trial…I don’t know. I was so upset back then that I wasn’t paying much attention to anybody.”
“You didn’t hear anything?”
“No,” Joyce said. “Well, just at the end. I came back too soon, I guess. Lydia was holding Mom’s hand. We’d told her the doctors said she didn’t have long, maybe a day at the most.” Joyce paused, probably thinking back on the scene. “Mom’s eyes were closed—I don’t even think she was aware that Lydia was there.” She tilted her head. “But Lydia was sobbing. Really sobbing, John, like her heart was broken. She was shaking, and she kept saying, ‘I’m so sorry, Emily. I’m so sorry.’ ” Joyce concluded, “She never forgave herself. She never got over losing your case.”
Right, John thought. Aunt Lydia was probably plenty over it now. Nothing like unburdening your sins to someone who wouldn’t live to tell them.
He asked, “How was Mom after she left?”
“Still out of it,” Joyce answered. “She slept all of the time. It was hard for her to keep her eyes open.”
“Did she say anything?”
“She couldn’t, John. She had the tube down her throat.”