Chapter 4 — What the Body Knew

Sandra Kim called on Friday afternoon.Priya was at her desk with the Pellman Press production records — two hundred pages of proof approvals and paper specifications and nothing yet that was wrong — and she answered on the first ring."Your specific list," Kim said. "You want to tell me how you knew to ask?"Priya sat forward. "Tell me what you found.""Veratrum alkaloids. Specifically a compound consistent with veratramine — a naturally derived cardiotoxin. The dermal absorption assays on his hands and forearms came back with trace levels." A pause. "The concentration in his system is consistent with transdermal absorption over a period of one to two hours, not ingestion.""Not ingestion," Priya said. "So not the champagne.""Not the champagne, not the food. Something he touched. Or something that touched him." Kim paused. "Veratramine causes cardiac arrhythmia leading to arrest. At a sufficient dose, absorbed through skin over ninety minutes or so, the effect would be indistinguishable from sudden cardiac arrest in a man who had not been tested for this specific compound. Which he wouldn't have been, absent a reason to look.""How difficult is it to obtain?""Veratramine? It's derived from a plant — Veratrum californicum, false hellebore. Not commercially available in pure form without significant chemistry expertise. It's not a kitchen poison. Someone who knew what they were doing extracted it or synthesized an analogue." Kim's voice was precise. "This is a sophisticated compound, Detective. The person who used this knew pharmacology."After she hung up, Priya sat very still.A naturally derived cardiotoxin. Absorbed through skin. One to two hours.Conrad Vane had accepted a folded program from Elise Hartwell at seven-eleven PM. He had placed it in his interior breast pocket, against his shirt, against his skin. He had carried it for ninety-six minutes. He had died at eight forty-seven.She called Webb."We need the program," she said. "Whatever it takes. Find out what happened to the printed materials from the Meridian cleanup.""Already on it. Venue staff bagged and recycled everything. Standard post-event. The recycling was collected Saturday morning — that's the day after the gala.""Where does the recycling go?""Sorting facility in the Bronx." He paused. "It's Friday, Priya. Paper from a Thursday night event would have been processed by now."She knew this. She also knew she couldn't stop working from it."We need a warrant for Elise Hartwell's communications — email, phone — going back six months. I have enough for a judge now. The tox results plus the footage plus the timeline." She paused. "And I need to know where she went in the three days before the gala.""On what grounds for the warrant?""She is the only person who demonstrably placed an object in contact with Conrad Vane's skin prior to his death from a compound that requires skin contact to be delivered." She paused. "That's not nothing."Webb was quiet for a moment. "No," he said. "It's not nothing. It's also not a print on a gun.""No. It's not." Priya looked at the Pellman Press records. "Which is why we need more."