in spite of his monotonous voice and drab appearance, gave off the vibes of a fanatic.
  Any reasonable person would agree that the line between legitimate and harassment was 
hair-thin.
  Vanadium asked Jim Parkhurst, "Isn't there something called ipecac?"
  "Yes. The dried root of a Brazilian plant, the ipecacuanha. It induces vomiting with 
great effectiveness. The active ingredient is a powdered white alkaloid called emetine."
  This is an over-the-counter drug, isn't it?"
  "Yes. In syrup form. It's a good item for your home medicine chest, in case your child 
ever swallows poison and you need to purge it from him quickly."
  Could have used a bottle of that myself last November."
  "You were poisoned?"
  In that slow, flat delivery with which Junior was becoming increasingly impatient, 
Detective Vanadium said, "We all were, Doctor. It was another election year, remember? 
More than once during that campaign, I could've chugged ipecac. What else would work if I 
wanted to have a good vomit?"
  "Well ... apomorphine hydrochloride."
  
  "Harder to get than ipecac."
  "Yes. Sodium chloride will work, too. Common salt. Mix enough of it with water, and 
it's generally effective."
  "Harder to detect than ipecac or apomorphine hydrochloride."
  "Detect?" Parkhurst asked.
  "In the spew."
  "In the vomitus, you mean?"
  "Sorry. I forgot we're in polite company. Yes, I mean in the vomitus.
  "Well, the lab could detect abnormally high salt levels, but that wouldn't matter in 
court. He could say he ate a lot of salty foods."
  "Salt water would be too cumbersome anyway. He'd have to drink a lot of it shortly 
before he heaved, but he was surrounded by cops with good reason to keep an eye on him. 
Does ipecac come in capsule form?"
  "I suppose anyone could fill some empty gelatin capsules with the syrup," said 
Parkhurst. "But-"
  " Roll your own, so to speak. Then he could palm a few of them, swallow 'em without 
water, and the reaction would be delayed maybe  long enough, until the capsules dissolved 
in his stomach."
  The affable physician sounded as though he was at last beginning to  find the 
detective's unlikely theory and persistent questioning to be tedious. "I seriously doubt 
that a dose of ipecac would produce such a violent response as in this case-not 
pharyngeal hemorrhage, for God's sake. Ipecac is a safe product."
  "If he took triple or quadruple the usual dose-"
  "Wouldn't matter," Parkhurst insisted. "A lot has pretty much the  same effect as a 
little. You can't overdose, because what it does is make  you throw up, and when you 
throw up, you purge yourself of the ipecac  along with everything else."
  "Then, whether a little or a lot, it'll be in his spew. Excuse me, his  vomitus."
  "If you're expecting the hospital to provide a sample of the ejecta, I'm afraid-"
  "Ejecta?"
  "The vomitus."
  Vanadium said, "I'm an easily confused layman, Doctor. If we can't stick to one word 
for it, I'm just going to go back to spew."
  "The paramedics will have disposed of the contents of the emesis basin if they used 
one. And if there were soiled towels or sheeting, they might already have been laundered."
  "That's all right," Vanadium said. "I bagged some at the scene."
  "Bagged?"
  "As evidence."
  Junior felt unspeakably violated. This was outrageous: the inarguably personal, very 
private contents of his stomach, scooped into a plastic evidence bag, without his 
permission, without even his knowledge.
  What next, a stool sample pried out of him while he was knocked unconscious by 
morphine? This barf gathering surely was in violation of the Constitution of the United 
States, a clear contravention of the guarantee against self-incrimination, a slap in the 
face of justice, a violation of the rights of man.
  He had not, of course, taken ipecac or any other emetic, so they would find no evidence 
to use against him. He was angry, nonetheless, as a matter of principle.
  Perhaps Dr. Parkhurst, too, was disturbed by this fascistic and fanatical spew 
sampling, because he became brusque. "I have a few appointments to keep. By the time I 
make evening rounds, I expect Mr. Cain to be conscious, but I'd rather you didn't disturb 
him until tomorrow."
  Instead of responding to the physician's request, Vanadium said, "One more question, 
Doctor. If it was acute nervous emesis, as you suggest, wouldn't there have been another 
cause besides his anguish over the traumatic loss of his wife?"
  "I can't imagine any more-obvious source of extreme anxiety."
  "Guilt," said the detective. "If he killed her, wouldn't an overwhelming sense of guilt 
be as likely as anguish to cause acute nervous emesis?"
  "I couldn't say with any confidence. None of my degrees is in psychology."
  "Humor me with an educated guess, Doctor."
  "I'm a healer, not a prosecutor. I'm not in the habit of making accusations, especially 
not against my own patients."
  "Wouldn't dream of asking you to make it a habit. Just this one time. If anguish, why 
not guilt?"
  A Dr. Parkhurst considered the question, which he ought to have dismissed  out of hand. 
"Well ... yes, I suppose so." Spineless, unethical quack bastard, Junior thought bitterly.
  "I believe I'll just wait here until Mr. Cain wakes," Vanadium said. "I've nothing more 
pressing to do."
  An authoritative note came into Parkhurst's voice, that emperor-of- tone that probably 
was taught in a special medical-school course on intimidation, though he was striking 
this attitude a little too late to be entirely effective. "My patient is in a fragile 
state. He mustn't be agitated, Detective. I really don't want you questioning him until 
tomorrow at the earliest."
  "All right, of course. I won't question him. I'll just ... observe."
  Judging by the sounds Vanadium made, Junior figured that the cop had settled once more 
into the armchair.
  Junior hoped that Parkhurst was more skilled at the practice of medicine than he was at 
browbeating.
  After a long hesitation, the physician said, "You could switch on that lamp."
  "I'll be fine."
  "It won't disturb the patient."
  "I like the dark," Vanadium replied.
  "This is most irregular."
  "Isn't it, though," Vanadium agreed.
  Finally wimping out completely, Parkhurst left the room. The heavy door sighed softly