I hesitate. “Promise to keep this confidential?”
“Of course.”
“Pastor Sam.”
“Really.” She’s quiet for a while, working her hands together. The crickets grow louder. A breeze ruffles the leaves. “Well, this is quite concerning,” she finally says.
“Agreed.”
“Does the pastor have any idea who this killer might be?”
“She has an unproven theory that it’s Kai.”
“Kai? Kai Gilchrist? That mealymouth suck-up?” She laughs. “Honestly, I can’t believe it. He’d be scared of a bug.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“I suppose. Still . . . I find it hard to believe.”
“Honestly, so do I. But could you do me a couple of favors?”
“Anything.”
“First, don’t repeat what I’ve told you about a potential serial killer to anyone. I don’t want to cause panic.”
“Of course. I promise. What else?”
“Can you poke around a little? See if there are any rumors out there that might help us find this killer. Or even identify the Angel. That person may have access to information we need. I don’t have to tell you this is a life-or-death matter.”
She nods, a smile brightening her face. “I promise I’ll make a few calls first thing in the morning.”
“Thanks. And lock your doors tonight. If there truly is a killer out there, you could be in danger.”
“Me? In danger? How very exciting.” She rubs her hands together. “I must say this is a thrilling turn of events. Murder and mayhem at Serenity Acres. They’ll make a movie about us one day.”
“Hopefully the good guys win.”
“Hopefully. Now, before you leave, be a gentleman and refill my glass.”
“I thought you were tired.”
“I was, but not anymore.”
An hour later, I’m working my way through administration, wondering how the hell I’ll get into Kai’s offices, when I catch a lucky break. A housekeeper steps from his lair and offers me a tired smile. “Hola,” she says.
“Hola . . .” I scan her name tag. “Maria.”
Maria is young and pretty, a Latina woman. Something about her face reminds me of Tina, and I tap the side of my head. “You can leave that door unlocked,” I say. “I’ve been asked to inspect the room.”
She screws up her forehead and stares at me, and I realize she doesn’t understand. So, I fumble through my terrible Spanish, making it clear I want to go inside. I finish up by patting my security badge like I’m someone in a position of power. I feel a tinge of guilt when it works.
“Bueno,” she says in a tiny voice, pushing her heavy cart down the hall. I wait until she’s rounded a corner and then step into the outer office, shutting the door behind me with a click.
The lights are off, so I fumble for my flashlight and wave it around the outside room. Everything is perfectly organized; there’s not a piece of paper in sight. I quietly cross to Kai’s inner sanctum and gently open the door. I hear voices in the hallway and freeze, heart pounding, until they fade away.
What the hell am I doing? I wonder. What could I possibly find? But I think of Ruth’s and the pastor’s theory and grit my teeth and continue on. I search through Kai’s drawers and rifle through his files, but the sharpest thing I come across is nail clippers. I open the top drawer of his desk and discover a pad of paper covered in what looks to be passwords. I aim my cell and take a photo and almost laugh at what he’s written on top. KaiRocksIt. Kai Rocks It? Are you kidding me? That has to be his computer password. Further proof the guy’s an idiot and a jerk on top of that.
I stare at his computer, tempted to conduct a quick search. Do I dare log in? Will I be caught? My heart rumbles like a train in my chest. What if every keystroke is monitored? I wouldn’t put that past Finn and his corporate thugs. Still, it’s late, and I’m guessing they don’t work all night. I decide to give it a try.
I take a seat and wiggle the mouse until the computer screen glows bright. I enter KaiRocksIt and wait while the icon scrolls round and round. And then? Damn. I’m in.
Taking a deep breath, I log into his email and begin to search. I type in the word destitute. A few trivial memos pop up. Then I try murder, but that only leads to a long thread on how best to suppress the news of Milo’s death. I try to think of other search terms and then recall Ruth using the word insolvent. I type in the nine letters and find an email with an interesting attachment—a nasty memo, yes, but nothing close to a murder confession. Still, I decide to forward it to Ruth. At least she’ll know I tried. I read it a second time before hitting “Send.”
I want to emphasize that I’ve been using every means at my disposal to eliminate the insolvents from our rolls. Luckily, we’ve recently had an unusually high number of deaths that have thinned the ranks of the defaulters from forty to thirty-five. That alone has allowed us to bring in new guests resulting in $5 million in down payments with an additional $75 thousand in monthly cash flow. I hope that will alleviate some of your concerns. I expect to have more good news in the near future . . .
“Zach?”
I look up into a shadow, thick and dark. I shut down the program, but it’s too late.
Three
Wednesday, October 2
Finn didn’t say a word when he walked me to security. He motioned that I should follow, and I did exactly as I was told. He ordered me into the back office and told me to wait until he returned. It’s a windowless room used for storage that stinks like metal gone to rust. It’s lit by one flickering fluorescent light that drones nonstop. Boxes are piled high in one corner, old computer equipment in the other. The decrepit wooden desk I’m seated behind is covered in layers of greasy dust.
I get up and slowly pace until my pulse stops racing and exhaustion creeps into my bones. Then I settle into a chair and tug my cell phone from my pocket. It’s 5:30 a.m. Should I text Ruth and tell her what happened? No, stupid. Your phone could be confiscated and used for evidence. How about I give her a quick call? Another stupid idea. The best thing I can do is nothing. Stay calm and let the situation unfold.
As the minutes tick by, my nerves ratchet up, and I try focusing on what I’ve learned. I think back on the pastor’s accusations, on Kate’s assumptions, on the wording of Kai’s memo. Do the puzzle pieces fit together, or are we just shoving them into place? And if Kai isn’t the killer, who is? How about Finn? He has the skill and the demeanor, but what’s the motive? Did corporate hire him to cull the herd? Maybe, but most likely not. How about a nurse? A doctor? A caretaker? Selena sure gets around. And what about Pastor Sam? Maybe she’s not the ambassador. Maybe she’s the Angel, like Kate believes. But if so, why is she lying? Who is she trying to protect? I shake my head. I spent too many years drowning in the bottle. My brain is no longer sharp.
Just when I’ve had enough of the solitary confinement, the door rattles open, and Finn steps inside. He holds two Styrofoam cups of coffee and offers me one. “It’s black,” he says.
“Black works.” I take a nip and grimace. The liquid is hot and bitter. Black as black can be. But I keep on drinking, hoping it will help to clear away the fog.
Finn shuts the door, pulls up a folding chair, and glares at me, stone faced. “Well?” he says after a few moments. He doesn’t blink, just stares at me with his creepy lashless eyes. He reminds me of a wolf. A wolf who has cornered his prey.
“Well what?” Two can play the waiting game. It’s from Interrogation 101. If he’s not the serial killer, maybe he’s somehow involved in the crime. I scan his face for clues, but the military has served him well. He shows no expression at all except for a slight twitch of his upper lip.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Talk about what?”
“About breaking into Kai’s office.”
“I didn’t break in.”
“You lied about your purpose to the housekeeping staff.”
“I
t wasn’t a lie.” Not exactly.
“You told the housekeeper you were asked to inspect the room.”
Guess little Maria was neither as sweet nor as dumb as I thought. “Just doing my job.”
“And what part of your job was that?”
“The part where I look into anything suspicious.”
“And there was something suspicious going on?”
“I thought so.”
“Like . . . ?”
“Thought I heard something.”
Finn drains his coffee in one gulp, even though it’s close to boiling hot. He then crushes the cup with his hand and tosses it into a pile of trash. “Time to cut the crap,” he says, leveling his eyes on mine. “What were you doing on Kai’s computer?”
“Messing around.”
He folds his arms and leans back. “You can make this easy, or you can make this hard. As soon as our tech guy gets in this morning, he’ll scan Kai’s computer and know exactly what you were up to.”
“Be my guest.” I say those words nonchalantly, but that’s not how I feel. It was stupid of me to forward that email to Ruth. Now they’ll know she was involved. If I can get to her, I can at least warn her, and she can come up with some sort of cover. I stumble to my feet, and a lightning bolt shoots from knee to spine, the pain ragged and raw. “Shit,” I mumble, leaning against the wall. “You can’t hold me here. I’m an employee, not a soldier, in case you’re confused.”
“Sit,” Finn orders, and after a few quick beats of my heart, I do what he says. I fold my arms, willing my knee pain away, and stare into his narrowing eyes. He stands, his gaze locked on mine. “You may not be willing to speak to me, but try copping that attitude with the police.” He yanks open the door and calls out, and a moment later, Javier steps into the room.
“Morning, Zach,” he says.
“Morning.” I slump in my seat.
Javier turns to Finn and nods. “Mind if I take over from here?”
“Be my guest.”
Finn steps from the room, slamming the door behind him.
“That man has quite the temper,” Javier says, settling into Finn’s chair, which creaks under his weight. “So tell me,” he says. “Why am I here?”
I stare at Javier, knowing his game. He’ll be friendly, try to get me to talk. And there are some things I want to tell him. But I have to carefully pick and choose what I say. “Finn claims I broke into our CEO’s office.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“But you were in the room . . . ?”
“Yes.”
“And on the computer . . . ?”
“For research.”
“On what?”
“A potential crime.”
Javier rubs his chin. “What crime?”
I think on that. The memo may be evidence of management behaving badly, but it doesn’t confirm a crime. I’ve got to do a little more sleuthing and take the time to build my case. “I’m not ready to talk about that.”
He nods, considering, then sets his hands on his thighs. “Okay. So you just happened to be in the CEO’s office, and somehow you came across his password, and you were perusing his computer, and . . . help me here, Zach. It kind of sounds like breaking and entering. And this Finn guy is demanding we press charges.”
“Jesus.” I shift in my chair to ease the pain. “They can fire me. I’ll go away. No need to involve you or the police.”
“Except . . .”
I don’t like the way he says that. Nor the way he fixes his eyes on a point above my head. “Except what?”
“There have been some developments in the Nurse Milo case . . .”
“You found the killer?” I feel a sudden surge of optimism that this mess could get resolved.
“Maybe the killer. More likely witnesses. Or possibly accomplices.” He pauses to straighten his tie.
“Tell me.”
“We’ve received information that confirms two men were at the scene of the crime that morning. Both employees. One younger, one older. One a security guard. One a kitchen worker who was there to purchase drugs.” He gazes at me, his eyes unyielding, and I can’t stop the heat from creeping up my face. I’ve never been good at poker. The truth is, I suck. I lick my lips, thinking I’d give anything for a shot of whiskey. “I can explain,” I say.
“Be my guest.” Javier crosses his legs and leans back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together. “But do us both a favor and make it the truth.”
I work my thumbs into my throbbing knee. “You’ve got to believe me. There’s nothing sinister about this. Maybe stupid, but not sinister.”
“I’ll buy that. Now go on.” He’s watching me closely, not like a friend but like a cat getting ready to pounce.
“Adam had gotten himself into a bit of a mess.”
Javier pulls a pen and a pad of paper from his pocket. “Adam . . . ?”
“Adam Mosby.”
“Ruth Mosby’s son?”
“Yes.”
He writes something down. “Isn’t that the kid who was supposed to be watching Hunter the day he drowned?”
I nod, refusing to look him in the eye. “It is.”
“And you were willing to help him out?”
“I was.”
“Well, you’re a far better man than I am.”
Tell him, Tina says. He deserves to know the truth.
I tap the side of my head. What is Tina doing here? I thought she’d left for good. “Not now,” I mumble.
Yes, now.
I fix my gaze on Javier’s questioning eyes. “The thing is, I owe him.”
He frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“Ruth and I . . . well, we told a lie that day.”
“The day Hunter died?”
“Yeah.”
Javier’s eyes narrow. “What kind of lie?”
It takes a moment for me to answer. “A chickenshit one. Adam wasn’t the reason Hunter drowned. It was us. Me and Ruth.” I take a few deep breaths before continuing. “That afternoon Hunter was having a blast in his pool, and the thing is, the water was only a few inches deep. And Adam was out there watching, so . . .”
“So?”
“So . . . we kinda disappeared into Ruth’s bedroom for a while.”
“You mean . . . ?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.” Javier sags like he’s been gut punched. Then he throws his shoulders back. “And to think I felt sorry for you all these years. I’ve been an idiot.”
“You have to understand . . .”
He raises his hand. “No,” he says coldly. “Actually, I don’t.”
“But Javier . . .”
“And don’t call me Javier. From now on, it’s Detective Ruiz.” He scribbles in his notepad.
You did the right thing, Tina whispers.
“Go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Javier says. “Not until you answer all of my questions.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
He shakes his head at that. “Let’s go back to what you were saying. What kind of ‘mess’ had Adam gotten into?”
Of course Javier already knows the answer. “He had a spat with his wife.”
“Define a spat.”
“She accused him of battery.”
“When?”
“Couple of months ago.”
“And Adam has a history of . . .”
“Of narcotics abuse. So does his wife. But that’s over, at least for Adam. He’s clean, I promise.”
“Then why was he meeting Milo?”
“He needed some Adderall.”
“An illegal transaction, correct?”
“Yes, but nothing terrible. His drug days are over.”
Javier lifts his gaze from his pad of paper and works me over with his eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I say with a lot more conviction than I feel.
“Huh. That’s interesting.” He flips back through his pad and stares at it
close. “When he was arrested, they found a stash of opioids in the house. His wife claims they were his. Neither of them had a prescription.”
“They didn’t belong to him,” I say firmly.
“Of course not.”
“I’m serious. His wife’s the dopehead.” Why the hell didn’t Adam tell me about the opioids? What else don’t I know?
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“You clean?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“The kind I have to ask.”
Anger simmers in my gut, low and hot. “The hell you do.”
He nods. “Maybe it would be best if I read you your rights.”
The anger subsides and is replaced by panic. The office light flickers and dims. “You’re going to arrest me?”
“Looks that way.”
“But why . . . ?”
“You lied to me, Zach. And I’m pretty damn sure you’re lying to me again.”
I sputter through my next words. “I lied to you because I was trying to keep the kid out of more trouble. Stupid, I know, but my intentions were good. Adam’s mistake was to skip a doctor and go direct to Milo for his Adderall. And when he came across Milo’s body . . . well, he panicked and called me for help.”
Javier writes something down, probably a reminder to subpoena our cell phones. “And that’s when you told him to lie.”
“I didn’t tell him.”
He rolls his eyes. “You agreed you would help in a cover-up.”
I want to slug Javier in the face. This is why he’s so good at interrogation. He pokes and prods his suspects until he gets them to say or do something that incriminates their asses. Adam would never survive under questioning. His temper would get to him first. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I continue. “I know this looks bad. I really do. But it’s all a coincidence meant to deflect you from the truth. You know Nurse Milo was a dealer, right?”
He nods. “We have evidence that Milo stole meds from the nurse’s station and the patients. It’s really no surprise. He’d been previously charged with a number of small crimes involving use and possession and even spent a year in jail for burglary.”
“So how’d he get a job here?”
What She Never Said Page 24
