A shadow crossed her face. “Birch still blames himself. He thinks he could have done more for Sophie if he realized how close to the edge she was.”
I picked up the remote to inspect it, but Bettina quickly plucked it out of my hands with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Just don’t want you to give me a bolus by accident, Daisy.”
“I understand. Don’t press the proverbial red button, right?” I chewed on my lip, thinking hard. “Hey, is it possible that someone could have stolen Sophie’s remote to deliver that fatal dose?”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but they’d have to be close. Like in the same room.”
She gave me that kind, sweet smile.
“Diabetes can be a tricky thing, Daisy, especially for someone who’s had it for a long time, like Sophie. Even though I’m very careful, I had an episode myself back in February, right when she died. It gave me the shivers, let me tell you, when I heard what happened to her.”
Chapter Sixteen
I got back on the bike and headed toward Sheepville. I cursed myself that I hadn’t brought my phone with me. I could have called Serrano, instead of having to ride all the way to the police department. Plus it wasn’t too bright of me to be out on the road without one.
As I rode, I wondered how the heck I was going to prove, months later, that Sophie Rosenthal had been murdered. She was dead and buried, the house cleaned out and sold, and her best friend, the only person who might have shed some light on the situation, pardon the pun, had been electrocuted.
The desk sergeant took one look at me and dialed Serrano without being asked this time. I hurried through the back room toward his desk, conscious of my leggings, windbreaker, and sneakers in the midst of all these male fashionistas.
Serrano leaned back in his chair. “What’s up, Daisy?”
I tried to control my breathing. “Can you pull the file on Sophie Rosenthal, please? Now? It’s urgent.”
He let the chair fall forward onto its legs with a crash and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Why the hell did I ever ask for your help? I must have been mad. Or delirious from lack of sleep.”
“Come on, Serrano. I need to see the part that talks about her insulin pump and remote.”
He exhaled and subjected me to that penetrating blue gaze.
I stared right back.
“You realize this is highly irregular,” he said, but he picked up the phone anyway.
When a sergeant brought the file, Serrano quickly flipped through the pages. “This shows that she gave herself a large dose at 2 a.m. Coroner said hypoglycemic shock and then brain death. Apparently when the blood sugar drops too low, a person simply never wakes up.” He read further in silence, while I squirmed on my chair. “They assumed suicide, but there was no note.”
“Yes, so what if someone stole her remote to give her the fatal dose?”
Serrano ignored me and kept reading. “She was also taking sleeping pills. A prescription from Kunes to help after the death of her brother. Sometimes those sleep aids make you do weird things. You ever hear of people sleepwalking, making breakfast, going for a drive, and they have no recollection afterward? She might not have known what she was doing when she gave herself that bolus dose.”
“Do you have a picture of Sophie’s house in the file?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Marybeth Skelton listed it for sale. I bet we can find it on the Internet.”
Serrano sighed, but tapped some keys on his computer. I scooted around to his side of the desk and we both stared at the pictures on the real estate listing.