Okay, this is the last sample. If I do much more, you guys might figure the entire thing out before I'm even finished!
Antonio Tomassi stares at the body of his dead son as a cold wave of grief shivers the skin on his arms and neck. Beside him, Jason keeps murmuring, “How? How could this happen?”, but Antonio cannot think or reason. Shock has engulfed him in its clammy wake, and he can barely maintain an upright posture.
He places his hand on Jeffrey’s lifeless shoulder and feels a shudder move through him.
The young man in the lab coat clasps his hands over his clipboard. “The M.E. will want to do an autopsy. It’s routine in matters like this.”
When a perfectly healthy young man stops breathing for no apparent reason, he means.
“How could this happen?” Jason asks again. “How does a guy like Jeff die in his sleep? He was fit, he worked out—”
The weasel-faced youngster shrugs. “We can’t say until we have the autopsy and toxicology results. It would help us to know, though, if he had any pre-existing medical conditions.”
“He was strong,” Jason insists. “My brother was in perfect health.”
“Diabetes.” Antonio pries the word from his tongue. “Jeffrey had diabetes.”
“But that was under control,” Jason argues. “He hasn’t had any health problems in years. Jeff knew how to manage his condition.”
“If he was getting worse, Erin would have said something.” Antonio focuses on his only surviving son. “Did you see Erin? Is she here?”
Jason jerks his chin toward the door. “She’s curled up in a chair out there. In shock, if you ask me.”
Antonio exhales softly. He can’t blame his daughter-in-law for being stupefied by this unexpected turn of events. No one was more alive, more bursting with energy and potential than Jeffrey Tomassi, Illinois state senator and potential U.S. Congressman. No man in Chicago had a brighter future, and now it was . . . gone. Why?
The intrusive idiot in the white coat clears his throat. “We’ll release the autopsy results as soon as we know something. Toxicology reports, however, can take up to six weeks—”
“I won’t wait that long.” Antonio fixes the youngster in a hot stare. “I want those results as soon as possible.”
“But the reports usually take a couple of months. There’s a backlog at the lab, especially at this time of year.”
“Have someone call me as soon as those reports come in,” Antonio says, buttoning the top button on his overcoat. “I will not rest until I know what killed my son.”