Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

Bill interrupted him. “You told Alice all that. I’m confident she’ll follow your instructions to the letter.”

Driscoll held up his cuffed hands. “Are these necessary?”

“They were for Thatcher when he was suspected of the crime you’ve confessed to. They stay on. You poisoned my wife.”

“Bernie brought two cases of liquor to my office and left them to be spiked with a slow-working poison, so it wouldn’t be immediately noticed. He told me those bottles were to be ‘gifts’ for members of the Johnson family. I had no way of knowing that Mrs. Amos would be allotted some, too.”

Bill had admitted to Thatcher during his tell-all on the porch that Croft was Daisy’s supplier of bootleg whiskey. That he’d given her bottles spiked with arsenic was indicative of the malice he felt toward Bill as well as Daisy for choosing Bill over him.

“Is she still in danger?” Bill was asking Driscoll. “And you had better not bullshit me.”

“The arsenic will remain in her system, but for how long depends on a number of factors. That’s why I emphasize flushing it out and neutralizing it as much as possible.”

“Could she still die of it?”

“It can cause complications, organ damage and so forth, that can eventually prove fatal. It’s a toxin, after all. Had I not acted so swiftly and given her the lavage, more than likely she would have succumbed.”

To Thatcher, Driscoll was a complete mystery. He was like the doctor in that book. Two men with opposing personalities living inside the same body. One minute Driscoll was bawling like a child caught misbehaving, the next he was calm, detached, even defiant.

Within an hour the man had admitted to poisoning bottles of liquor he knew would be consumed by human beings and had confessed to murdering his wife and unborn baby. Thatcher rather agreed with Patsy Kemp, who’d said with bitterness: They ought to hang the bastard twice.

Bill was now asking Driscoll why he had agreed to poison the bourbon.

“Bernie had me over a barrel.” He poured out the whole sordid story about Croft trying to recruit him to transport booze on his rural route. “I was offended. I’m a physician, not a bootlegger.”

He looked down at his linked fingers. “But then, the night Mila… When I needed Bernie to see me through that crisis, he did so. He and that old bag at Lefty’s quickly set up the incident with the prostitute so I would have a cover story for leaving the house at that hour of the night.”

“Did Gert know about Mila?” Bill asked.

“I don’t believe so. Bernie said she was a whore at heart and wouldn’t ask questions so long as she was paid.” He sighed deeply. “Anyway, after that night, he owned me body and soul. I was subjected to a lot of humiliation from him. I tolerated it, believing I had no other choice. But when I found out that he’d told Norma about Pointer’s Gap, I—”

“What?” Bill held up his hand. “Run that past us again.”

“Norma knew about Mila. She sprang it on me the afternoon she brought Arthur to the house. I was floored, flabbergasted. Bernie was the only person who could have told her, except for the men who actually buried the body, and they were all Mexicans who didn’t even speak English.

“I had trusted Bernie to keep the secret. We’d made a pact. When I learned that he’d told Norma, I accosted him on the street.” He described a volatile encounter in an alleyway. “I was livid.”

Thatcher sat forward and placed his forearms on his thighs. “You were livid. What about Croft?”

“Smug. He said I was naïve to think that he wouldn’t have held some collateral for doing me such a huge favor. I told him that Norma was using it to pressure me into marriage. He agreed that people would become suspicious if she and I married too soon, and that Norma should be made to understand that. He offered to speak to her on my behalf, but I told him I would handle it. I…I hadn’t gotten around to it.”

Thatcher looked over at Bill, who, like him, appeared to have realized the significance of Bernie Croft’s offer to impress understanding upon Norma Blanchard.

Bill stood and pulled Driscoll out of his chair. “Just so we understand one another, Gabe. If Daisy gets well, you’ll stand trial and be judged by a jury of your peers. If she succumbs, you won’t live to see trial.”

Driscoll jerked his arm free. “There’s gratitude for you. I saved your wife’s life, and you repay me by issuing threats? First him,” he said, looking at Thatcher with scorn, “now you. Isn’t it against the law to threaten a suspect in your custody? Doesn’t that violate a lawman’s code of ethics?”

“I don’t give a damn.” Bill hauled off and slammed his fist into Gabe’s face. He fell backward and landed on the floor, out cold.

There was one knock on the front door before Scotty pushed it open and walked in. He looked down at Driscoll. “What happened?”

“He was trying to escape,” Bill said. “When you get him back to the jail, put him in shackles, too. What about our mayor?”

“That’s what I came to tell you. I know where he’s at.”

* * *



“What I think? We ought to go into town and check on her.”

“We heard you the first dozen times you said that.”