Chapter 17 · Dad Says Poisoner

James spread the case file across his kitchen table at two in the morning. Coffee'd gone cold an hour ago. He didn't care.

The bottle. The luggage. The search. The timing.

Something was wrong.

Callahan had found the arsenic too fast. Way too fast. James had been on a hundred searches. You don't walk into a suspect's room and pull evidence in under ten minutes unless you already know where it is.

He flipped back through Callahan's report. Checked the timeline.

Philip Roy had offered the search. Volunteered it. Before the warrant was even drafted.

James tapped his pen against the photo of the bottle. Clear glass. No label. Found at the bottom of a leather travel case that looked expensive. New.

Who travels with arsenic at the bottom of their bag and doesn't even wrap it? Doesn't hide it under a false lining or inside a shaving kit?

An amateur. Or someone who wanted to get caught.

Or someone who never put it there at all.

James stood. Paced to the window. The street outside was empty. A milk truck rattled past.