Page 18 of Manner of Death
Bashir shook his head. “One of the symptoms is vomiting.”
“Ah. Point taken. Is there any way to detect it in his system?”
“Yes, but it’ll take time. I won’t know for sure until the toxicology report comes back, so I wanted to loop you guys in so you can check his home for evidence.”
“Good to know.” Villeray took out his phone. “You said it’s… What was the toxin again?”
“Yellow oleander.”
“Yellow oleander,” the detective murmured to himself as he typed it in. “I’ll have to look up what that looks like so—” He paused, then flicked his eyes toward Bashir, his expression full of earnestness and curiosity. “It’s a flower, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Villeray nodded as he typed something else into his phone. “We’ve got CSI techs at his apartment right now. No idea yet if that’s where he died, or if there was another secondary location, but it’s a start.”
“Any leads at all?”
Sighing, Villeray shook his head. “No. We tried to interview his parents, but they’re a mess. Understandably so, you know? So they didn’t give us much. Same with his girlfriend.” He tucked his phone into his pocket. “I’ll try talking to her again later. I think she’s just in shock right now.”
Once again, compassion from a cop shouldn’t have been a novelty. It shouldn’t have done these weird fluttery things to Bashir’s insides.
He’s an actor, Bashir.
So why can’t I convince myself this is all an act?
He ignored the hell out of all that and shifted his weight. “I can’t imagine.” He paused, then added, “I don’t know how you deal with the living.”
“It’s, um…” Villeray rolled his shoulders. “It’s a lot tougher than I thought it would be. That’s… I mean, when I joined the force, I worried how I’d react the first time I saw…” He nodded toward Christopher. “But the hard part is definitely the living.”
“That’s why I went into this line of work.” Bashir almost slid his hands into his pockets, but he remembered at the last second that he was wearing less than clean gloves. Instead he rested a hand on the autopsy table beside his clipboard. “I had every intention of becoming a physician, but as soon as I started my rotations, I knew it wasn’t for me.”
Villeray’s brow pinched. “Yeah?”
Bashir nodded. “The emergency department was what did me in. It was just…” He shuddered at the memory. “You’d treat one person who was in horrible pain or was terrified or had been failed by the system. Then you’d move to the next room and do it all over again. All night. Every shift. I just… I couldn’t do it.”
The detective studied him. “Wow. I don’t think I could cope with that either. It’s bad enough the families of victims, or the survivors, or…” He shook his head. “It’s hard.” Then he huffed a soft laugh. “But someone has to do it, right?”
“Someone, yeah. I think I’ll stick with…” Bashir tilted his head toward Christopher.
“Well, you handle that part, and I’ll deal with…” Villeray held up his phone.
Bashir actually managed a chuckle. “Deal.”
That earned him a smile that was far too gorgeous for this situation. And for a cop. Because Bashir was not interested in cops and didn’t date cops and definitely didn’t notice or care when cops had sexy smiles or beautiful eyes. Damn it.
“Um. Anyway.” Villeray schooled his expression. “I should catch up with Kurt and follow up on this. Thanks for the tip about the yellow… uh…”
“Yellow oleander.”
“Right. That.” Another quick smile. “Hopefully I won’t see you on a scene again any time soon.”
“Yeah. Let’s hope.”
Villeray turned to go, and his parting words stuck with Bashir. Hopefully they wouldn’t see each other on a scene for a long time. But… he was suddenly disappointed at the prospect of not seeing this detective—this cop, for fuck’s sake—at all.
Bashir mouthed a curse. Then he called out, “Detective?”
Villeray turned in the doorway. “Hmm?” God, his eyes were so pretty.