Chapter 13 - THE BLOOD SAMPLE
Dr. Samuel Reed was seventy-eight.
He lived outside Sarasota.
Investigators interviewed him by video first.
Then Tennessee authorities coordinated collection of the stored sample.
I couldn’t understand why a family doctor would preserve blood for fourteen years.
His explanation was almost as disturbing as the sample itself.
My father had visited him eight days before his death.
Michael complained of dizziness.
Nausea.
Periods of confusion.
He believed the symptoms appeared after eating or drinking at home.
Dr. Reed ran routine tests.
Nothing obvious appeared.
Michael privately told him:
“If something happens to me, do not trust Teresa’s version.”
Dr. Reed thought my father was paranoid.
But he agreed to collect and freeze an additional blood sample because Michael insisted.
Then my father died.
Dr. Reed considered going to police.
Instead, he received seventy-five thousand dollars.
Not from Teresa.
From a medical consulting company linked to Leonard Shaw.
He claimed the payment was for consulting work.
Nobody believed that coincidence.
“Did he keep quiet because Leonard paid him?”
I asked Monroe.
“He denies that.”
“Of course.”
“He claims the consulting contract was unrelated.”
“Do you believe him?”
“We are verifying records.”
The old blood sample was still usable for specialized testing.
Preliminary results showed traces of a prescription sedative.
Not enough to prove repeated poisoning.
But enough to support the toxicology document Jason had preserved.
More disturbing was another substance.
A cardiac medication my father had never been prescribed.
At elevated levels, it could dangerously affect heart rhythm.
I stared at the report.
“So Dad didn’t just have a heart attack.”
“Possibly not.”
“Somebody caused it.”
“We are closer to establishing that.”
“Who had access to that medication?”
The answer came the next day.
Teresa.
She had received the same medication two months before Michael’s death.
Prescription records showed Dr. Reed wrote it for her.
Teresa claimed she stopped taking it because of side effects.
The remaining tablets were never accounted for.
I returned to the jail.
This time she looked tired before I even sat down.
“You had Dad’s medication.”
Her eyes closed.
“It was mine.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I never gave Michael those pills.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Elaine?”
“No.”
“Leonard?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dr. Reed?”
“No.”
“Then how did they get into Dad?”
Teresa slammed both palms on the table.
“I don’t know.”
I stared at her.
For once, her denial felt different.
Not calculated.
Terrified.
“Who else was in the house?”
I asked.
She looked away.
“Teresa.”
“Who else had access to his food?”
She swallowed.
“Your grandmother.”
I froze.
My father’s mother, Evelyn Bradley, had lived with us during the last year of his life.
She had dementia.
She died six months after him.
“You’re blaming Grandma?”
“No.”
“I’m answering your question.”
“She barely knew what day it was.”
“She still cooked sometimes.”
“That is disgusting.”
“I am not saying she poisoned him.”
“Then why mention her?”
“Because you asked who had access.”
I stood.
Teresa’s eyes filled.
“Connor, I did terrible things.”
“I stole.”
“I lied.”
“I let Leonard control me.”
“I hurt Amy.”
“I hurt Frederick.”
The fact she could admit those things and still deny killing Dad made me hesitate.
Then she said:
“But I did not poison Michael.”
I wanted to believe nothing she said.
Yet something in me wondered whether this was the one truth hidden among all her lies.
Outside, David met me with another problem.
Leonard had filed a response to our property case.
He claimed Magnolia Crest purchased the land legally.
He produced signed consent documents.
One bore my signature from 2013.
Another bore my fingerprint.
“My fingerprint?”
I asked.
David nodded.
“How?”
“You tell me.”
I remembered a family dinner around that time.
Teresa had asked me to sign paperwork related to my grandfather’s cemetery parcel.
Elaine had notarized it.
I had pressed my thumb onto an ink pad because she claimed one form required a print.
Had they attached it to something else?
If so, this scheme was more carefully built than I imagined.
David continued.
“There is another complication.”
“What?”
“Magnolia Crest borrowed against the land.”
“How much?”
“Two point four million dollars.”
“Where did the money go?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Who is owed?”
“A private lender.”
“Who?”
He handed me the page.
REED CAPITAL PARTNERS.
I stared at the name.
“Reed?”
“Dr. Samuel Reed?”
“We don’t know.”
Twenty minutes later, we did.
Reed Capital Partners had been created by Samuel Reed’s son.
Daniel Reed.
A commercial lender.
Dr. Reed had not merely accepted money from Leonard.
His family was financially tied to the stolen land.
The doctor’s preserved blood sample suddenly looked less heroic.
Maybe he kept it as protection.
Not for my father.
For himself.
Monroe re-interviewed him.
His story changed.
Yes, he knew about the property.
Yes, his son invested.
No, he did not know signatures were forged.
Yes, Leonard paid him.
No, it was not a bribe.
Then investigators asked the most important question.
“Did you give Teresa the cardiac medication knowing Michael might receive it?”
Dr. Reed requested an attorney.
That was answer enough for me.
But the true surprise came from Mason.
After days of partial cooperation, my cousin finally asked for a deal.
He had information about the birthday party.
Not the documents.
Not the guardianship.
Something else.
He told police my mother had given him a small bottle on the morning of Frederick’s birthday.
She told him it was liquid allergy medicine.
She asked him to pour it into the baby’s cup while Amy was outside bringing decorations from the car.
Mason did it.
Then he saw the amount.
He became worried.
“What did he do?”
I asked.
Monroe looked at me.
“He poured most of it out.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Mason says he emptied approximately two-thirds of the cup and replaced it with water.”
My knees almost weakened.
If he was telling the truth, my cousin might have reduced the dose that reached Frederick.
The same man who tried to steal my deed may have accidentally prevented my son from becoming far sicker.
“What did Teresa intend?”
“We cannot know dosage from memory.”
“But?”
“But the amount Mason describes could have been dangerous.”
I sat down.
The room felt too small.
Monroe continued.
“Mason also says Teresa was angry when Frederick remained awake.”
That sentence turned my stomach.
“She wanted him unconscious?”
“We don’t know.”
Then Mason told investigators what Teresa said next.
“If he won’t sleep, we’ll use Plan B.”
“What was Plan B?”
I asked.
Monroe hesitated.
“Mason says he doesn’t know.”
“But later he saw Teresa talking to Aunt Betsy near the staircase.”
“And?”
“He heard your mother say…”
Monroe looked directly at me.
“‘Amy only needs to be gone for twenty minutes.’”
Twenty minutes.
That number again.
Twenty minutes my father lay on a workshop floor.
Twenty minutes Teresa apparently needed my wife gone.
I felt cold.
“What was upstairs?”
Monroe answered.
“Your office.”
My safe.
The deed.
The insurance paperwork.
But something still didn’t fit.
If all Teresa wanted was paperwork, she could have taken it while Amy washed dishes.
Why did Amy need to be gone?
The answer arrived when forensic analysts finished processing the birthday-party photographs.
One image showed my mother standing behind Amy.
In Teresa’s hand was a set of car keys.
Amy’s car keys.
Another image from the driveway showed Amy’s vehicle with its rear door open.
Inside was an empty infant car seat.
I stared at it.
Then I understood.
Teresa wasn’t planning to move paperwork while Amy was gone.
May you like
She was planning to move Frederick.
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