Past Imperfect Read Free Page B

burned away the last of the vapor. Superior stretched away to merge imperceptibly with the horizon, interrupted only by the distant Huron Islands, the interplay of light and shadow on their steep cliffs creating misty castles suspended in air, unreal as a desert mirage. A light breeze was now teasing the lake with sporadic gusts, sending intermittent streams of ripples skipping across its surface.
    The doctor cleared his throat and touched the handkerchief to his lips before he spoke. “Anaphylaxis is a complicated reaction, but basically it boils down to one thing, the tissues swell and cut off the airway and the victim chokes to death. I can’t say he never knew what hit him, but he wouldn’t have suffered long. If the epinephrine had no effect at all he would have passed out within fifteen minutes or so and probably not lived long after that.”
    Fifteen minutes? The way Nels had been sitting it didn’t look like he’d lasted much more than fifteen seconds. “But why wouldn’t the epinephrine have an effect? Why didn’t it work?”
    â€œHow the hell would I know? I’m a doctor, not a magician!” Guibard balled the handkerchief and stuffed it into his pants pocket. “Maybe the sting went straight into a vein or artery. Maybe he didn’t get the shot in soon enough. Maybe some of it ended up on the floor. The shot didn’t help much. If it had, he’d have had time to get his pants on and start to head back in. At least he’d have still been alive when Jonas showed up.”
    â€œAre you sure he wasn’t?” McIntire asked. “He might have only been unconscious. Maybe if they’d put
him
in that motorboat and gone in ‘lickety-split’ you could have saved him.”
    The doctor picked up his bag. “It’s possible, but not very likely. It looks like he lost consciousness within minutes. The syringe was lying like he’d just dropped it. Simon was sure he was dead. He did what he thought was best; that’s all you can ask.”
    â€œIt sounded a bit to me like old Simon did what he thought would be the least time consuming. Did you notice that he even went so far as to help himself to Nels’ hooks and bait? Sat right next to him and chopped the heads off those fish, couldn’t even be bothered to cover the poor man, just let him lay there half naked in his own…”
    â€œ
Shit,
John. You can say it. You’re not in some duchess’ drawing room now.” Guibard looked at McIntire with an air of astonishment mingled with that same patronizing sympathy he had shown at his sea-sickness. “And, Jeez, come down to earth. The Lindstroms weren’t headed out to make a few casts and have a goddamn picnic lunch. This time of year they’re working eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, just to stay alive. The time Simon spent hanging around here means it’ll be midnight before he gets to bed tonight, and he’ll be up again at three o’clock tomorrow morning.”
    The wiry coroner climbed up into the pilot house, lowered himself with enviable agility out the narrow door into his bobbing motorboat and departed, leaving a somewhat chagrined McIntire alone with a fourteen-year-old boy and the body of his childhood friend.
    McIntire slid the door of the hatch into place and called up to Jonas that they could go. Without a word, the young man cranked up the anchor and started the engine. They moved off at an agonizingly slow crawl. Guibard need have no worries about their having a long wait for the ambulance.
    With the hatch closed, the mélange of odors combined with the monotonous grumble of the engine to make the space even more claustrophobic. The only light entered through the narrow doorway to the pilot house and four tiny portholes, two near the bow, two in the stern. McIntire bent his head under the low ceiling and shuffled unsteadily toward the rear, where an arrangement of