Hunter did as he was told; Carmine looked at the size of the hand with a lifting heart. The injection apparatus came out. “I need you to separate your fingers very slightly, Doctor, while keeping your hand extended and steady.”
Carmine positioned the steel saucer over the gap between the index and middle fingers, then, gently, making sure he didn’t catch the skin, he thrust the hypodermic between the fingers until the saucer rested on their backs.
“Tighten your fingers together to grip the tube I’ve just put between them,” Carmine instructed, and turned the hand over, palm side up. There was no sign of the tip of the hypodermic.
“Keep your fingers tightly together while I fiddle,” he said, probing into the fissure between the two fingers. There! The tip of the hypodermic was a good three millimeters short of protruding out the palm side of Hunter’s hand.
“Okay,” he said, “now we’ll try the other fingers, then the other hand as well.”
Finally the tip of the hypodermic did barely show, between the right hand’s third and pinky fingers. Not enough control to do the job, Carmine decided.
“Thank you, Doctor. You may go home. Millie is here too, and we’ve finished with her as well. Go home together.”
Millie and Jim looked at each other, but didn’t speak until they were safely in their own car, driving out of the County Services parking lot.
“What a terrible day,” she said, not knowing where to start.
“How long were you there?”
“From noon.”
He grinned, trying to make light of it. “Beat you by three hours, kid.”
“We’re the main suspects, Jim.”
“Well, that was inevitable once they found out we knew John in California. We’re the missing link.”
“Since I know it wasn’t us, who was it?” she asked.
“I wish I knew. Whoever it is, the cops haven’t found him yet,” said Jim in a flat voice. His eyes slid sideways toward her, flicked back to the road. “What did you say about John’s hitting on you in California?”
“I tried to make them see how unimportant it was, but it’s so hard trying to tell people who weren’t there what it really was like.” She squeezed his thigh. “You got the time wrong, was the worst. I could see their ears prick.”
“Oh, Jesus, did I? By much?”
“Not at all!” she said airily. “A mere six months. I tried to explain that was normal for you, but they found that hard to credit. Honestly, Jim! The day before we left for Chicago?”
“Wasn’t it? I thought it was, but a lot’s happened since.”
“How can we persuade them that it wasn’t the end of the world for us?” she asked.
“Don’t let it chew at you, honey. Everything sorts itself out sooner or later, so they’re going to find their suspicions fade away. There’s a big difference between suspicion and proof we were involved, because we weren’t involved.”
“It’s Davina Tunbull!” Millie cried.
“Has to be,” Jim agreed. “John Hall was a threat to her precious Alexis, and Tom Tinkerman to her prosperity. I mean, even if John told her and Max he didn’t want any part of Tunbull money, he may have lied. Davina’s got a shady past.”
“How do you know that?” Millie asked curiously.
“She drank a little too much champagne back when the book was in manuscript, and said a few things she shouldn’t have.”
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 8, 1969
It was barely dawn when Liam Connor double-parked on a street in Queens not far from JFK airport; he walked up five steps to a pale blue front door, found the sticker that said Q.V. Preston, and rang its bell. Clearly things had gone to plan; the door clicked and opened, though Liam didn’t need to enter. His quarry was coming out, rugged up for a winter ride to Connecticut.
“Freeze the balls off of a brass monkey,” said Mr. Q.V. Preston as he settled into the passenger seat and actually groped for a seat belt. That told Liam that he didn’t ride around in many cars; the seat belt advocates were having a hard time of it convincing the populace to buckle up, and cops were the worst offenders — too much like restraints.
“Car’s warm, Mr. Preston.”
“Are we allowed to stop for breakfast in this great little diner in Co-op City?”
“Sure,” said Liam, under orders to be nice.
The three-hour journey (with breakfast included) passed very pleasantly; Mr. Q.V. Preston was full of interesting stories, and the diner in Co-op City was superb. Liam earmarked it for future sallies to the Big Apple.
Most importantly, Mr. Q.V. Preston thoroughly enjoyed his outing, plucked from his everyday routines as he had been, he explained to Carmine, who welcomed him and put him into Delia’s office for his interview, as its chairs were more comfortable and it did indeed bear a woman’s touch, like vases of dried flowers. He would conduct the questioning, but all of his or Abe’s teams who could be here were, scattered casually around the room as for a nice chat.