Perfect Poison by M. William Phelps

the details of Henry’s fateful night, regarding Gilbert and Perrault’s e-mail correspondence throughout the night, Julia Hudon told the Hampshire Gazette newspaper that Gilbert “was e-mailing her lover while my son was dying.”

CHAPTER 16
    Like many of his comrades, seventy-two-year-old Army veteran Francis Marier never claimed to be a war hero—just one of the lucky ones. On D-Day, June 6, 1944, when soldiers were being killed on the beaches of Normandy as if they were skeet targets, Marier escaped without a blemish.
    As the decades after the war passed, Marier developed problems one might assume were a manifestation of his days in combat. He became obsessed with food. For the past several years, the six-foot-one, two-hundred-and-ninety-pound Marier would sit down with his brother and knock off ten pounds of corned beef in a weekend. His doctors warned him about overeating and placed him on an 1800-calorie-a-day diet, punctuated by extensive exercise, but Marier rarely adhered to it. Adding to his problems, “Buck,” as he liked to be called, lived on the second floor of a small efficiency apartment that didn’t have a kitchen. This forced him to eat at local restaurants for the better part of his life.
    When he was admitted to the VAMC during the fall of 1995, Buck Marier was suffering from “a history of adult onset diabetes mellitus maintained on insulin,” along with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD), a respiratory illness brought on by smoking that generally evolves into emphysema. Patients with COPD have trouble breathing. They wheeze. And a deep recurring cough hampers their daily life.
    By December 5, 1995, the VAMC had Marier’s diabetes under control and discharged him a few days later. Knowing he was unable to care for himself, Marier planned on going to live with his nephew, Raymond Marier, in Chicopee. His right foot had been amputated at the ankle some time ago, and he had trouble maneuvering the stairs where he lived.
    One of the primary problems that landed Marier back at the VAMC had nothing directly to do with his blood sugar, COPD or heart. It was his repeated bouts with cellutitus. Diabetics fight a constant battle with circulation. Cellutitus is a byproduct of the disease. Ulcers develop on the surface of the skin and can get out of control if not contained.
    After just a few weeks of being home, on December 19, Marier once again admitted himself to the VAMC, after developing an acute ulcer on the lower extremity of his left leg—a hole about the size of a pea. If it wasn’t treated immediately, Marier was smart enough to know he could lose the entire leg.
    As with all diabetics, Marier’s blood sugar level (BSL) was checked and monitored upon his admission. Even though it came in at 155, which was somewhat higher than normal, his doctors agreed it wasn’t that big of an issue because Marier had a strong heart and no history of heart problems.
    It became apparent from that same initial examination that Marier had, at least for the past two weeks, taken heed to his doctor’s orders and had been watching his diet. For he now weighed two hundred and seventy-seven pounds, almost fifteen pounds less than his previous admission.
    Nevertheless, Marier’s condition was unusual. Many of the vets admitted to the VAMC with similar problems weren’t so lucky. What separated Buck from most others was that he was not totally dependent upon the care of the Ward C nurses. He could shave himself, eat on his own, move around fluidly in a wheelchair, and get dressed by himself.
    RN John Wall was Marier’s nurse on the night of December 19, and even Wall noticed how well he was doing.
    â€œHe was on bed rest . . .” Wall later remembered, “[he] had a snack after dinner—as most diabetics do—and had even wheeled himself into the restroom to shave.”
    The following day, Marier woke up, ate breakfast and, not being