Let Darkness Come Read Free Page B

But we’ll know more once we review the medical examiner’s report.”
    The man turns, as if to walk away, but Antonio catches his arm. “You and your team—you did a thorough search, right? Got everything you needed?”
    â€œFor a man who doesn’t believe his son had enemies, you seem convinced that something’s amiss.”
    â€œI’m not convinced,” Antonio says. “But if the autopsy reveals that someone did harm my son, I don’t want you to miss a thing. If someone murdered my boy, I want that person to pay.”

Chapter Seven
    D rawing a jagged breath, Antonio rubs the tense muscles at the back of his neck and approaches the morgue. For more than a week, he has been waiting for the autopsy results. As an exercise in courtesy he has refused to badger the chief medical examiner, but he has also spread the word that he would appreciate timely answers to the questions of how and why Jeffrey died. If the reason for Jeffrey’s death lies in a genetic health problem, Jason might be affected, too. The boys, after all, are twins.
    The baby-faced assistant who escorted Antonio into the morgue last week greets him in the waiting room and leads him to the medical examiner’s unimpressive office. “Wow,” the idiot says, lingering after Antonio takes a seat. “I’ve never seen toxicology results come back so fast. You must have friends in really high places.”
    Antonio swallows his irritation and crosses his legs at the ankle, waiting for the M.E. to arrive. Insensitive creatures like the man in the doorway have no business working with the public; they should be confined to interaction with computers and cadavers. Let them impress lab rats with their painfully obtuse observations, but keep them away from grieving fathers who can’t understand why fools survive and the brilliant die young.
    He looks up, distracted, when the door opens and a fresh wave of formaldehyde-scented air flows into the room. The chief medical examiner enters, followed by a man with afamiliar face. “Detective,” Antonio says, standing. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
    The cop shakes his hand. “I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”
    â€œDoes your presence mean I’m about to hear bad news?”
    â€œMr. Tomassi, I’m James Drew.” The M.E. gestures toward the chair. “If you’ll have a seat, I’d like to share my findings. I’ve asked Detective Malone to join us because he has news, as well.”
    Antonio draws a deep breath and sinks back into the proffered seat. The detective slides a stool from beneath a counter and perches on the edge, notebook in hand.
    The M.E. pulls a folder to the center of his desk and laces his fingers. “First, Mr. Tomassi, let me say how sorry I am to be in this position. I was acquainted with your son, and knew him to be a man of great strength and moral courage.”
    Antonio struggles to swallow over a suddenly tight throat. “Thank you.”
    â€œThat’s why—” Dr. Drew opens the folder “—it’s hard for me to share this report. Your son was in excellent physical condition, as you’ve assured us, but the toxicology report indicated elevated vitreous insulin.”
    â€œWhat—” Antonio pauses to steady his voice. “What does that mean, exactly?”
    The M.E. folds his hands again. “The vitreous is the clear, jellylike substance found between the eye’s lens and retina. Insulin overdose is almost impossible to prove, because insulin breaks down in the body postmortem. Even the vitreous fluids will not reveal an overdose of insulin unless the fatal dose was massive—an unfortunate exception which does apply to your son’s case.”
    Antonio lifts his hand to his mouth, taking a moment to compose himself. “My son would not have made a mistake with his injection. He knew how to use a meter,