“After we’d exchanged pleasantries, I said, “Are you aware that Maribeth Galleston had rheumatic fever as a child, and a relapse of some kind while in college?” “I am. Are you aware you’re once again meddling in official police business?” “I’m doing no such thing,” I said, offended at the very idea. “You’re the one who said the case was closed, that the CID was no longer interested in the so-called accident. You couldn’t be bothered to run tests on the potassium or find out who was having affair...s with whom. You’re more interested in football players taking illegal substances to make their biceps bulge and their triceps triple.” He grumbled for a moment, then said, “I told you that in confidence, and then asked you to butt out of the Galleston investigation. It is closed. Hold a vigil beside her bed at the hospital, send her flowers, read her one of those fanciful mystery novels in which the busybody amateur sleuth outwits the plodding policeman, or, if none of that appeals, mind your own business.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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