Game Theory--A Katerina Carter Fraud Legal Thriller

by Colleen Cross

  She peered in the kitchen window. Deserted. Still devoid of furniture as it had been on her last visit. Even the dishes stacked beside the sink were untouched. She turned the key in the lock and went inside.

  She headed straight for the refrigerator and grimaced when she remembered the orange juice’s acrid aftertaste. It hadn’t occurred to her that the juice was anything other than spoiled until the doctor’s diagnosis. Both she and Harry became sick shortly after breakfast with orange juice. She had just a sip, which could explain her lesser symptoms. But the nausea after that sip had been unmistakable. Along with the bitter taste. Kat realized that she hadn’t mixed Harry’s orange juice for several weeks. It had been already prepared, a full jug inside the refrigerator. This despite the fact that Harry hadn’t been eating, washing dishes, or even putting away food.

  And during that time, Harry had complained of stomach aches, but his doctor had ignored it, focusing on his Alzheimer’s diagnosis. Poisoning explained a lot—his pallor, sweating, and general malaise. His symptoms fluctuated, inconsistent with flu symptoms. But would Hillary go so far as to poison Harry? What other explanation was there?

  Kat opened the refrigerator. The shelves were empty. Where else could she look?

  Kat swore under her breath.

  No doubt Hillary had destroyed any evidence after Harry’s diagnosis. But the results had only come this morning. The absence of snow tracks meant the bottle must have been disposed of before last night’s snowfall.

  Kat pulled out her cell phone and called Connor Whitehall. More than anything, she just needed someone to talk to. Someone that would understand. She reached Connor’s voicemail instead. She didn’t leave a message. Instead, she slumped down the kitchen wall to the floor, and buried her head in her hands.

  She was out of ideas, but had to do something. Poisoning seemed far-fetched, yet according to the hospital, it was true. She felt like she was part of a weird reality TV show she never asked to be on.

  She could ask another doctor to examine Harry. But even she believed the hospital doctor’s diagnosis. Poison made sense. Trouble was, suspecting her meant they weren’t looking at anyone else.

  Maybe the juice carafe was in the garbage? Kat stood so rapidly that she was dizzy.

  After steadying herself, she checked the kitchen garbage.

  Empty.

  She opened the kitchen door and ran down the back stairs. Once in the lane, she pulled off the garbage can lid. Even in the cold, the pungent odor of garbage wafted up and assaulted her. She opened the garage door and grabbed Harry’s gardening gloves from the workbench.

  Returning to the garbage can, she began the unpleasant task of sifting through the full can of garbage. She stuck her hand down through the layers, through both saturated paper bags and soiled plastic ones. It wasn’t long before a shard of glass dug into her canvas glove.

  She lifted the top most layers off the heap and tossed them onto the garbage can lid on the ground. One quarter of the way down was a bunch of broken glass. It was the orange juice carafe, broken.

  Now what? Even if she had the container tested, what did it mean? While it could corroborate the doctor’s suspicions, it certainly didn’t prove her innocence. Worse, it likely incriminated her more, since the hospital had already concluded she was the culprit. At any rate, she figured it was better to preserve it than lose it to the landfill. She retrieved the pieces and dropped them into a container.

  She could ask Connor Whitehall what to do next.

  Kat felt eyes on her and glanced across the lane to see Mrs. Brantford. Harry’s neighbor stood by her open gate, eyeing Kat with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

  Kat waved.

  Mrs. Brantford brought her arm up slowly, looking uncertain. She waved slowly, then turned away, closing her gate behind her.

  Odd. Mrs. Brantford usually cornered her, eager to talk. But she had no time to spare anyways. She returned to the garage and searched for a container to put the broken glass into. She spied a small cardboard box and reached to pull it down when she saw three Garden Heaven shopping bags on top of the workbench. She was certain they hadn’t been there the other day.

  She peered inside one of the bags. Two-pound bags of No-Gro pesticide. She pulled out one of the packages and stopped when she saw the skull-and-crossbones poison symbol. Did Harry even use chemicals in his garden? She couldn’t remember. In any event, six packages was enough to kill everything on a small farm, let alone a garden on a city lot.

  She studied the receipt. The pesticides had been purchased two weeks ago, shortly before closing time. Where was Harry at that time? Did he buy the pesticides? She doubted it. Garden Heaven was a half-hour drive away, and his garage door had already been disabled as of the receipt date. That meant he wouldn’t have been able to get the Lincoln out of the garage. The purchase was also made around dinner time, so he would have been with her and Jace at the time it was bought.

  She skimmed the label. Just below the poison symbol was the ingredients list, all unfamiliar and unpronounceable chemical names. She hadn’t heard of any of them.

  She slipped the Garden Heaven receipt into her pocket. Who the hell bought pesticides in December?

  Chapter 60

  Kat finally arrived at Connor Whitehall’s office just before five. She brushed past the receptionist and blew straight into Connor’s office.

  “You have to help me. I’m positive Hillary’s trying to poison Harry.” She plopped down in the chair opposite his desk and just as quickly stood again.

  Connor faced his computer screen. He swiveled around and eyed her. “Well, hello to you too. That’s a pretty strong accusation. Are you sure?”

  Kat recounted her suspicions about the orange juice and Hillary. “The only problem is—it’s gone. The only evidence I’ve got are these shards of glass.” She didn’t mention the pesticide because she wanted to be sure before laying an accusation. She’d check out Garden Heaven first. Maybe she could find out who bought it.

  She handed him the cardboard box with the broken orange juice carafe. It contained several inch-sized pieces of the glass along with part of the plastic handle. “I think she’s trying to kill him.”

  “You need more proof than this.”

  “The proof is in the motive, Connor. She’s desperate for money and tired of Harry. She wants him out of the way. So she can get whatever’s left of his estate.”

  Connor shook his head. “Not enough. If these pieces of glass were analyzed for fingerprints, what would they show? Probably yours, Harry’s, and Hillary’s. Exactly who you might expect to be pouring a glass of juice. You need something more substantial to prove Hillary had a hand in this.”

  “But how? I’m at my wit’s end.”

  “I don’t know exactly. But I’m confident you’ll find a way. You’ll have to. The hospital will likely recommend the police file charges against you.”

  “Suspicions aren’t facts. There’s nothing that points to me either.”

  Connor waved her away. “Harry’s around you all the time. You prepare his meals, and by your own accounts, Hillary is never around. Proximity is enough to make you a suspect. Which leads me to the next issue. I’m not a criminal lawyer. Should they go ahead, you’ll need a good one to represent you.”

  “I can’t believe this. I’m the only one taking care of Harry—watching out for him. And because of that, I’m accused of poisoning him!” Kat jumped from her chair. “It’s not fair!”

  Connor motioned her to the chair. “Calm down. You haven’t been charged yet. Yes, the medical staff is pursuing that, but it takes more than just their suspicion to actually lay a charge. I’m just preparing you for what might come next.”

  Kat sat down. “But they’re completely overlooking Hillary. Why aren’t her visits supervised? Shouldn’t they supervise all visits as a precaution?”

  “Probably, but no one has given them a reason to do so. And somehow the doctor already suspects you. Did you poison him?” He peered
over his glasses at her.

  “Of course not!” Kat jumped up, knocking over a glass of water on the edge of the desk. “How could you even say such a thing?”

  “I apologize, but I have to ask.” Connor stood and grabbed a golf shirt off his coat rack. He sopped up the water with the shirt and dropped it on the floor. “You really need to calm down, Kat. This doesn’t help matters.”

  “Sorry.” Connor was right. “And sorry about the water.”

  He waved her off. “I brought one of the doctors to see Harry today. He certainly seems to be getting better in the hospital.”

  “That’s because Hillary can’t poison him while he’s there.” Kat leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. “I know how crazy it sounds. Even I can’t believe Harry’s been poisoned. But I didn’t do it, and whoever did needs to be stopped. Why does the doctor assume it’s me?”

  “You’re the obvious suspect. You brought him to the hospital. You said yourself you’re taking care of him. Harry’s with you at the office all day and after hours, too. Almost all the time.”

  “It has to be that way. Harry can’t be left alone, Connor. You’ve seen his condition.”

  “I know. But you can understand the doctor’s suspicions. She has to err on the side of safety where her patient’s concerned. Anyways—I did have a chance to talk to Harry about his mental capacity. He insists he’s perfectly fine.”

  “Of course he’s going to say that. He can’t see what’s wrong.” Kat felt a lump in her throat. It was all a vicious circle.

  “He did agree to a medical assessment, though. To ‘prove those doctors wrong,’ as he put it. I’ll try to have it done before the end of the week.”

  “He can’t wait that long. He’s now destitute, Connor. Pretty serious consequences for a family squabble. No one takes financial abuse seriously. Why?” Hillary might not have held up Harry at gunpoint, but she robbed him just the same.

  “It’s not that they don’t, Kat. It’s just that the onus of proof is on the victim.”

  “A victim who can no longer take care of himself? That’s so unfair.” Kat felt helpless. She couldn’t do anything about the house, since Harry hadn’t been proven incompetent at the time of the title transfer. The forged signature was a possibility, but charges and a court date were in the distant future. By then Hillary would be long gone.

  “Surely the police can do something about this.”

  “Kat, you said yourself, there’s no concrete proof.”

  Kat threw her arms up in the air. “He lost his house, Connor. His bank account has been emptied and he’s got loans he’ll never be able to pay. Hillary’s now on his house title. She’s driving a Porsche and wearing the jewelry he paid for. Look at who’s benefitting. How obvious does the motive have to be?”

  “I know. But the courts are black and white. You already know this. You need to build a case, with proof that she took the money without his knowledge or consent. Or prove he was unable to give his consent because of his mental incompetence. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment.”

  “But he doesn’t have the capacity to understand what she’s doing. She’s ruined him.”

  “That may be. But we can only move forward—after he’s been assessed as mentally incompetent.”

  “So everything to date is lost? His money, his house, everything? I can’t believe this. How can the law be so unfair?”

  “It might seem unfair. But we can’t go back and question his mental incompetence at some point in the past. There was no objective assessment of his condition at that time. No matter how you recall his state of mind. Without a qualified medical doctor’s opinion, it’s just a matter of opinion.” He patted her hand. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  Harry’s money was gone, and now his health was in jeopardy. What did it take to stop Hillary? If no one was going to help her, she’d do it the hard way. The only way to prove her innocence was to prove Hillary’s guilt.

  Chapter 61

  Ten minutes later Kat pulled into Garden Heaven’s gravel parking lot. There were only two other cars in the lot. Who bought plants and gardening supplies in the dead of winter?

  The gravel crunched under her feet as she headed for the front door. A wind whipped up and snapped at a torn banner across the front of the store. She unzipped her jacket and went inside.

  “Can I help you?”

  Business must be slow. The fifty-something woman practically accosted her before she was even inside. She wore a Garden Heaven green golf shirt with the name tag Rosemary. She wiped her hands on the thighs of loose-fitting jeans as she smiled at Kat.

  Kat smiled back and pulled the sales receipt from her pocket. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for some information.”

  Rosemary frowned. “I’m afraid this is nonreturnable. It’s past our fourteen-day return policy.” Her eyes darted to Kat, waiting for a reaction.

  “I don’t want to return it—I’m just wondering if you’re the one who sold it.” Kat held out the receipt.

  “What difference does that make?” Nevertheless, Rosemary took the receipt. She pulled down the glasses perched on her head and studied it. “Yep, I rang this sale up. I remember that day.”

  Kat’s hopes soared. “You remember the person who bought this?”

  “Normally, I don’t. But this one I do—it was my anniversary that day. I had closed a bit early. A woman rushed in here—I hadn’t locked up yet. I told her we were closed, but she ignored me. She wouldn’t leave, so finally I gave up asking her. She was out in five minutes and I hadn’t closed my cash yet. So I just rang it up. It was the easiest way to get rid of her.”

  Kat pulled out a photograph of Hillary. “Is this the woman you saw?”

  “Um...could be. Then again, maybe not. I’m not good with faces. Can’t say for sure.”

  “Okay.” Kat’s shoulders slumped as her hopes faded. She thanked Rosemary and headed for the door. That’s when she saw it.

  Garden Heaven had a surveillance camera, right above the door. She turned around and pointed to the camera. “Rosemary, is that camera on all the time?”

  “Should be. Why?”

  “I’m investigating a fraud. Please save the footage—don’t erase anything. It might be important for the case.”

  Rosemary’s eyes widened. “What kind of case? A criminal one?”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. As far as Kat was concerned, Hillary was a criminal. And Rosemary hadn’t specifically asked if she was from the police. She wasn’t about to elaborate, either. “Someone could be in danger. I don’t suppose—no.”

  “Suppose what?” Rosemary’s eyes lit up.

  Exactly the spark of interest Kat had hoped for.

  Kat tapped her watch. “Well, I’m racing against time and I’ve got several leads. If I could just have a quick peek at your video, I can rule this one in or out. But never mind, I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”

  Kat let out a heavy sigh, hoping to elicit Rosemary’s sympathy.

  It worked.

  “It’s no trouble. I’m the owner, so I can do what I want. It’s dead slow today. We can access the footage on my computer.” She motioned Kat to follow her over to a desk by the florist department.

  Less than a minute later they sat in front of Rosemary’s computer. Rosemary started a program and within a few mouse clicks they were viewing the film from that day. Another slow day from what Kat could see. Rosemary played it in fast-forward mode. The door opened and closed, and people came and went in rapid motion. Less than a dozen customers so far. Exactly what you’d expect in December.

  “Wait. Go back a minute.” The latest woman was blurry, but there was something familiar about her. Kat’s pulse quickened.

  Rosemary slowed the footage to play mode.

  The sound on the tape was garbled, but the picture was clear. A woman in black entered the store and strode towards the rear. Rosemary followed her, motioning towards the door and saying something Kat couldn�
�t make out. Probably protesting that the store was closed, no doubt. The woman’s back was to the camera, and she wore a long coat. Hillary always wore black.

  No one entered or left the store for the next few minutes. Rosemary fast-forwarded the tape until the figure stepped up to the cashier. She pushed a shopping cart filled with bags about the same size and color as the pesticide bags in Harry’s garage.

  “Now I remember her,” Rosemary said. “She was dressed different, you know? Most gardeners don’t wear high heels. The occasional one maybe, dropping by on their lunch break or on their way home after work. But this was right before closing. Another thing—absolutely no one buys pesticides in December.”

  “What’s the pesticide used for?”

  “It’s broad spectrum, meaning it kills anything. But you’d need a serious infestation to use something this strong. It kills absolutely everything it comes in contact with.”

  Kat shuddered. “Even people?”

  Rosemary’s mouth dropped open. “Well, it is poison. Did someone die?”

  “Almost. Any chance I can have a copy of that tape?”

  After an eternity fighting her way back home during rush-hour traffic, Kat sat in her upstairs study, wondering how to link the pesticide to Harry’s toxicology report. A report she didn’t actually have. A CD copy of Garden Heaven’s footage lay on the side of her desk.

  Finding Hillary on tape making the purchase had been a huge step forward. It wasn’t yet enough to charge Hillary, but it was enough to make her run. Kat wanted to ensure she faced justice for her actions.

  She’d visit Connor Whitehall’s office in the morning with the footage and to get his advice on the next steps. Was the receipt enough evidence? No way was she going to simply hand it over to the police. After all that had happened in Hideaway Bay, she couldn’t blindly trust them without a back-up plan.

  Now she turned her attention back to the pesticide itself. One by one, she typed each ingredient listed on the label into the computer. She wanted to rush to the hospital—and the police—with her suspicions, but knew she had to build a case first. Otherwise they’d never believe her.