Feet.
Near the far corner of the bed, she could see bare feet.
Pulse racing, Vera rushed across the room.
Larry Parson, fully dressed except for shoes, lay supine on the aging carpet. Next to him was a puddle of puke.
Shit!
A quick check of his pulse confirmed he wasn’t breathing. Lips were blue. Skin clammy. A quick check of his eyes showed constricted pupils. She glanced around the room. Spotted a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass.
She called 911.
Once the emergency dispatcher had finished her spiel, Vera said, “This is Vera Boyett. I’m at the Regency Inn, room 121. I’m looking at a middle-aged male I think has possibly overdosed on an unknown substance. No pulse. I’m starting CPR. Please send EMS and call Sheriff Benton for me.”
Vera put her phone on speaker and placed it to the floor next to her so she could start chest compressions. She answered whatever questions the dispatcher had while keeping the necessary rhythm.
“Come on, Larry, breathe!”
By the time EMS arrived, Vera was exhausted, and the man still wasn’t breathing. The paramedics took over, and she grabbed her phone and moved out of their way.
Struggling to slow her pounding heart, she walked over to the other side of the bed and checked the nightstand. Since she was once again without gloves, she didn’t touch the pint of whiskey or the glass next to it. The top drawer was partially opened. She could see a Bible, and on top of it was an open packet of cocaine.
She glanced over at the paramedics. “There’s cocaine in the nightstand. It may have been laced with something.” Which would explain Parson dying on the floor across the room.
What the ever-loving hell? Anger fired through her. Was anyone even remotely related to this case going to survive the investigation?
She watched as the paramedic administered NARCAN.
Vera closed her eyes and shook her head. She took that moment and then she pulled herself together. This could be a crime scene. Maybe not, considering the coke. Could be an accidental overdose. But he’d called Vera, concerned about a visitor he’d had. The only reason to call her was if it somehow related to the case.
“Vee?” Bent was suddenly next to her.
She hadn’t heard him come in.
“Hey.” She exhaled a big breath. “Parson called me and said he wanted to talk. He sounded rattled. Said he’d had a strange visitor. He was supposed to be waiting for me in the parking lot.” She gestured to the scene across the room. “But I found him in here like this.” She shook her head. “I swear, Bent, I was here five minutes after that call.”
A glance in Parson’s direction showed the paramedics preparing to use the defibrillator.
“I’ll call Conover.” He glanced at the nightstand. “You didn’t touch anything?”
“No. I didn’t have any gloves.”
He jerked his head toward the door. “We can wait outside until they’re done, if you like.”
She nodded, defeat tugging at her. “Let’s do that.”
As hot as it was outside, it was still better than being in that room.
Bent made the call to Conover, then propped himself against the passenger door of her SUV. She was already braced there, too frustrated and exhausted to hold herself upright.
“So he said he’d had a strange visitor?”
“I think the word wasweird. Someone he’d met before.” She made a face. “Now that I think about it, he sort of sounded high when we talked. You know, like he’d had a toke or two or a drink or three. But not sloppy. Not really slurring. Just different than when he talked before.”
“Okay. I guess we’ll know more when the toxicology report comes back.” Bent glanced toward the room. “I have a feeling this guy is not coming back from whatever he ingested.”
Bent was right. The paramedics left without the body since Bent wanted the ME to have a look first. A few minutes later Collins arrived—all within about half an hour from when Vera had made that initial call to 911. Then again the hospital was only five minutes away.
