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“No,” I said.
“No,” Connor confirmed.
“In fact, any dose of cyanide big enough to make him sick would have produced some kind of symptoms. But when he left, he was fine?”
“Yes.”
“Then he couldn’t have been poisoned at dinner. It had to have occurred at some other point – and at a high enough dosage to kill him in the 20 minutes it took to get from your penthouse to the hospital.”
Bert smiled. “You should be a lawyer.” Then he turned to the rest of us. “That was my first order of business after I get out of here, to find a poisons expert to do exactly what Johnny just did: establish the timeline. If what he’s saying is true, we punch a hole in their case big enough to drive a Mack truck through. But there’s still the problem of the cyanide in the garbage disposal. Which means – ”
“That somebody planted it to frame me,” Connor finished. “Which means we’ve got a traitor in our midst.”
