Caskets & Conspiracies

by Nellie K Neves

  My laughter was low and a little sad for the nannies he had tortured.

  “But why? Were they horrible?”

  His sight dropped to the mess of papers again.

  “No,” he admitted, finally embarrassed. “They were all great.”

  “Then why—”

  “Because,” he interrupted, “when I did something wrong, my mom would come home immediately and even though she was yelling at me, we were spending time together. Then at the end, she would hug me and say something nice. It was worth all the trouble just to get time where I felt like a normal kid.”

  “You missed her. That’s why you acted out?”

  “Can you miss what you don’t know?” It was not a question for me but a question he appeared to have struggled with for years.

  “But now? Now you have something?” I could not hide the optimism in my voice, as if she were my mother as well.

  “Now we are starting over,” he clarified. “Honestly, she’s a stranger to me, like a roommate I never met.” He swallowed the emotions. “Now we’re both on our own, trying to make life work and trying to get know each other for the first time. But, yeah. So far she’s great. Sometimes she visits me, brings food,” his smile was soft and endearing, “washes laundry, scolds me for my bad manners, and I feel like a kid again. Maybe for the first time. It’s nice.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Her family was really into horses. When I was little, she put me in polo lessons, but I was really bad. Broke my arm during my first match. My father was furious with me, but Mom realized it just wasn’t my sport. Anyway, Mom is on my great-grandfather’s ranch in Idaho. Open fields, big sunsets. She likes the quiet.”

  “You seem pretty secluded out here on your bluff too.”

  His sigh was not heavy but introspective.

  “Yeah. Well, when someone screams at you every day about what a failure you are, you start looking for silence to balance it out. She found hers, and I found mine.”

  I swapped two papers and scribbled a note then took two more papers from the printer. There was a question in my mind, but I wasn’t sure if I had the right to ask it. It sat there burning into me like a hot coal until I could not bear it.

  “I know he yelled, but did he ever hurt you or your mother?”

  “Hurt is a relative thing, Lindy.”

  He pulled himself to his feet, and I worried that I had pushed him too far. He strode to a desk and removed a bag of gummy bears. He collapsed next to me once more, candy in hand.

  “He knocked me around as a kid. Nothing real serious. But I don’t know if he hit my mom. He could have, I guess. It was dumb stuff in my case. If spoke out of line or talked back, it was a quick swipe to the back of my head or a slap across my cheek.”

  He ate another handful and waited a moment.

  “It hurt for a little while, but I always got over it. When I was in high school and he was getting after mom, I told him to stop. It was the only time I ever stood up to him. Charles shoved me into a wall so hard that I left a dent in the sheetrock. That one was pretty painful.”

  He pulled a few gummy bears out and then set them back again.

  “The real hurt, the real pain was never being good enough, always coming up short my entire life. I could never please him. Second in my class, and he screamed at me for disgracing the family name. Top of my class, and he would scold me for my arrogance. I won an award for decathlon, and he couldn’t see past my crooked collar and a wrinkle in my shirt. Just one lousy wrinkle.”

  His laugh was bitter as he picked out a stack of red gummy bears to eat all at once.

  “Even that stupid tattoo. He was infuriated when I wouldn’t get one in medical school. Now that I’m not his puppet anymore, I’m glad I said no.”

  That word caught my attention.

  “Tattoo? He wanted you to get a tattoo?”

  Ryder rolled his eyes and set the gummy bear bag back in his stash drawer.

  “That symbol by his thumb. All his doctor friends have them and a few guys at Pharmaco. He got really obsessive in my last year of medical school, demanding that I get one. I made it all the way to the shop, but chickened out. I hate needles.” He smiled broadly. “First sign that I’d make a bad doctor, right? For a while I drew one with permanent marker, and I swear it was the nicest he had ever been. But he surprised me at school once, and it had washed off. I swear he nearly killed me.”

  I hung on every word. I had been chasing the symbol since the start of the case, and Ryder had known all along? “The capital A with the embellishment?”

  I grabbed a pen and drew the symbol I had seen. “This? It looks like this?”

  Ryder’s nod was hesitant. “What’s this about?”

  “I guess it looks like that. It’s an ancient symbol for hope or at least that is what he told me.” His brow furrowed deeply as if my interest were crazy.

  “What do you mean?” I demanded a little too sharply.

  “I don’t remember the entire story. Charles told it to me most of my life like a bedtime story. He used to say that when I was old enough, it would all make sense.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to jog his memory. His voice was slow as he said, “All these lines mean something,” he groaned as he struggled to remember. “The apex here where the points converge, that’s an arrow for a compass. The enlightened must follow a certain path.” His finger traced the swirling embellishment. “This is obviously an infinity sign, signifying eternity, or eternal consequences when the enlightened turns away.” He ran his pointer finger over the line at the top. “This signified the lone path that the enlightened must follow, at times walking on faith alone with only the hope of his heart to carry him.”

  I watched carefully as he explained the symbol I had found over and over again as I had worked the case. In all honesty the details didn’t matter to me. “You’re sure it means hope?”

  His shoulder barely moved as he shrugged. “That’s what he told me” He circled the center of the symbol with his index finger. “I always thought I could see the H for hope hidden in this area near the infinity sign. What is this about?”

  I tried to explain slowly. Even though the relationship was strained, he was still Ryder’s father.

  “I think your father is into something really dangerous.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  I stared hard at the papers in front of me. It had to be there. The connection had to be there. Frustrated I looked back to Ryder.

  “You said you had information from Pharmaco. What was it?”

  Overwhelmed, his eyes bugged for a moment. “I learned a lot, but,” his hand swept over the pile, “I don’t know how it fits with all this.”

  “Just tell me what you know. I’ll put it together.”

  His eyes focused on the back wall, lost in the mural of the melting city.

  “Well, first of all, Jace, the guy I replaced, wasn’t fired. He jumped off the roof.” He waited a moment then added, “I think he was pushed. I was talking with this other guy in my department, and he said Jace had just finished some huge project, and he was bragging about getting in on something big, loads of money, that sort of thing.”

  He jumped to his feet and pulled a messenger bag from a hook on the wall. Unbuckling the front he pulled out a folder and slapped it down. “I stole the company record of his death from HR. It was an incident, so there were pictures.”

  I flipped open the manila folder and skimmed the report. The record said all facts were consistent with suicide, but I was not so sure. The young man fell almost directly below the building. Jumpers have a tendency to jump outward to ensure that the job is completed. Also, in one of the stomach-turning photos, I saw the earpiece of his glasses still hooked over his ear. While it was not always the case, more often than not, jumpers left their glasses behind so they would not see the earth as they plummeted to their demise.

  While I continued to scour the pictures, Ryder turned away, unable to stoma
ch the gore. Just as I was about to close the folder, I set my finger down on a picture.

  “Ryder, what do you see?”

  He refused to look. “I’ve seen the pictures. It’s probably his brain.”

  I tugged at his shirt and tapped my finger against the photo. “No. This here. What do you see?”

  He squinted and brought the picture closer. “It’s the tattoo, I think, but newer.”

  Ryder confirmed what I had seen. The edges of the tattoo were still raised, and it was not from the jump. I saw Amos’s tattoo the day after he had it inked, the irritation and gleam were exactly the same.

  “It’s maybe twenty-four hours old.”

  Ryder echoed my sentiments without spelling it out. “Why would he get a tattoo if he were just going to kill himself?”

  “More importantly, why did they kill him if he had just joined them?”

  Ryder ruminated over the thought for a moment, letting his eyes scan the chaos of evidence in front of him. With quick fingers, he snatched a photo from the rubble.

  “Why do you have a picture of Richard Wagnor?”

  I glanced at the picture and shook my head. The name was familiar, though I could not place it. But the name was wrong.

  “That’s Trevor Cripley. He was the lawyer on all of the will changes.”

  “You’re wrong. That is Richard Wagnor, the CEO of Pharmaco. I should know. I’ve been working as his assistant.”

  It had to be something. I had to find where I had heard that name before. I shifted through a stack of papers, ignoring Ryder’s confused glances.

  Finally I found a note from Kip, “Church lists Richard Wagnor as the owner.” I had found the same name when I had searched the city records.

  “But why would a pharmaceutical company buy a church?” Ryder asked.

  I could feel the trail for the first time. I could not see it, but I could feel it. I grabbed a stack of papers and started sorting through the employees that had been fired by The Hope Affiliates. I tried to bring Ryder up to speed as I worked.

  “I already knew that Joel and Hannah Edwards had stolen the identities of real people within The Hope Affiliates, but I have not figured out their true identities or how they became involved with the church.”

  My hands stopped flipping as I saw the employee picture of the woman I knew as Hannah Edwards. “Stacy Shrupe,” I read aloud Hannah’s real name. “She was fired for embezzlement and criminal misuse of information. She stole account information and passed it on to her boyfriend, Walter Brimley.” I turned the page to find Joel staring back at me in black and white. “Walter was a professional con man and would contact the donors as a member of The Hope Affiliates and tell them the donation had failed and would instruct them to wire a donation to a different account.” I whistled through my teeth. “They stole over $300,000 in two weeks before they ran away.”

  “At least you know where they came from before they landed here.”

  I thought of the fragile faith I had developed in that tiny casket. It was a relief to know they had never been servants of the church, just wolves in sheep’s clothing as I had suspected all along. It also saddened me to think of Neil Davidson, the preacher who had died in the wake of the hostile takeover. I said a silent prayer that a true follower of God would find the small faithful flock out in Laurel.

  “How does it all fit together though?” Ryder asked. “You said that Richard, the CEO, is also a lawyer?”

  I nodded. “That’s what Kip found. This lawyer, Trevor Cripley, shows up on every will that was changed at the last minute, and yet you say he’s the head of Pharmaco.”

  Ryder was not listening. “He has the tattoo. Richard, I mean. It’s hidden really well, but it’s on his neck, below his collar. I saw it the other day when I was taking the final drafts in. His tie was undone, and the top button of his shirt was open. I remembered thinking that it looked just like Charles’s tattoo.”

  It was all so close but still not connected. The tattoo, Joel and Hannah, the deaths, so many deaths that called for justice.

  “I can’t see it,” I admitted. “I can’t solve it.”

  I thought of Ryder’s father and all the deaths that had come from his prescriptions.

  “Ryder, explain something to me. Why would a doctor prescribe something that would make a person sicker?”

  He frowned deeply. “They wouldn’t. I mean, all drugs have risks, but a doctor should weigh the risk against the benefit each time he prescribes a medicine.”

  “Can medicines get around the FDA?”

  “The answer I was taught in school is no, but there are concerns in the medical field that many pharmaceutical companies buy off the FDA.”

  I thought of Rose and her sickness. Stella had told me she had started a supplement, not a prescribed medication.

  “Is there an advantage to developing a supplement versus a prescribed medication? I mean, if you were worried it might not pass certain tests.”

  “Sure. Medications are strictly tested, and it is a pretty high standard. There are rumors of falsified results and case studies, but with supplements, the standard is much lower. Essentially, you could get away with a lot more.”

  “So if a company wanted—”

  Ryder’s hand shot up. “Hold on. You think Pharmaco is killing people on purpose? That’s crazy, Lindy. They’re in the business of healing. I mean I hate working there, but at the core, it’s medicine.”

  He was right, at least on a logical level. What would be the purpose of killing people they could medicate to make money for years? Without insurance, my daily injections would cost upward of $4,000 a month. Why kill me off when they could stand to make a profit? And beyond that, if all of Pharmaco was based off murder, the numbers would be noticeable. There would be no bribe big enough to hide mass murder.

  “So why just a few of them?” I asked out loud.

  “I need a drink. Do you want a beer?” Ryder asked.

  My thoughts were elsewhere, but I replied, “I don’t drink, remember?”

  “Fine. I’ll get water.” He groaned dramatically and left the room.

  I closed my eyes and tried to shuffle the pieces. I thought about the types of killers I had studied in school, but they did not fit. This was calculated but not personal. The pill was what killed the victim, not a firsthand attack from the murderer.

  I tried to focus, but the darkness in my mind called up images from the casket. Dark and endless, I could almost hear the angel of death knocking. It had been Ryder hitting his shovel against the casket, but in my delirious state, I could have sworn it was the angel of death.

  No. I had changed my mind. In my darkest hour, I had changed the title.

  Angel of mercy.

  “How about root beer? Do you drink that, or am I giving up soda for you too?”

  I was miles away. The pieces were falling into place.

  “Have you ever worked with an angel of mercy in your medical days?”

  His eyebrows rose, creating lines on his forehead. “I can see why you avoid alcohol. You get pretty loopy without it, Huckleberry.”

  I pushed myself to my feet and back to the computer. The search did not take long. They were more common than anyone liked to think. I tapped the screen.

  “I’m not talking about a real angel, Ryder. I mean doctors or nurses who believe they should end human suffering before it gets bad.”

  “What? Like assisted suicide?” he asked as he drew near.

  “Sometimes. But more often the victim has nothing to do with it.” I clicked on an article. “See this one? He was a nurse in a mental hospital. He overdosed the patients who were too far gone in his opinion.”

  I clicked on a second article. “Or this one. She was a nurse who worked with terminal-cancer patients. She killed fourteen before she was caught.”

  “But Lindy, these are people, not an entire company.” He wanted to believe me. I could see it. “How could you prove it anyway? I’ve seen the test results from Sodex
us and the other drugs. They were clean.”

  I thought of the papers I had found in the church, the real test results.

  “No. Those weren’t originals,” I told him. “I found the real ones before I was knocked out in the church. Yours were the forged ones.”

  “That’s why Jace was killed,” Ryder said. “He falsified them and thought he was on the inside. Then they killed him to tie up the loose ends.” Pain welled up in his eyes. “The tattoo. That’s how they identify the others who feel like they do. It’s like a secret society or something.”

  “Did you see any boxes that had that symbol or anything marked ‘The Hope Allegiance’?”

  The name struck a chord with Ryder. “There were files in the basement. I saw them briefly. If we had copies of those and the forged documents, we could match them against the real papers you found—”

  I shook my head. “It won’t tie in Hannah and Joel, and it won’t give us Stella’s murderer.”

  I knew what I had to do. “I need a look at Richard Wagnor’s desk. I need evidence that ties him to the church and to Hannah and Joel.”

  I looked at Ryder and hoped I hid the fear I felt well. “I need you to get me into his office.”

  Chapter 23

  We argued for what felt like the rest of the day. Ryder hated my plan but could not come up with a better one. That evening I left a message with Uncle Shane. I made another call to Chief Saunders. He was even less thrilled with my idea, and I had not even told him the full plan, but I had promised to work as a team, and that door swung both ways. My final call was to a man who called himself St. Anthony. There was no greeting, just a beep. I left a message with my name, my old address, and the year my sister was stolen. It was not much, but by the time I left my number, the tears and Ryder had returned.

  At the end of the night, as I lay in Ryder’s sleeping embrace again, the plan was set. I reflected on the past couple of months. My entire life had changed in a short time. My sister was alive, and my aunt was dead. Ryder had gone from a stranger to something more than a friend. A month ago my disease was the biggest threat on my life, and tomorrow I would look a murderer in the eye and ask him to tell me all his secrets. For years I had taken a daily medication without missing a single injection, and in just a month, my schedule had become spotty and my regimen unreliable. I had no idea how that would affect my future. Just thirty days before, all I had wanted was to become a consultant for the police department. As I struggled with the idea of being part of a team, I became dependent on a partner I had never wanted.