The Silence That Speaks (Forensic Instincts Book 4)

by Andrea Kane

  “I got them,” Ryan responded.

  “And?”

  “And it looks to me like it’s a USB hard drive with the hard drive itself missing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. The hard drive is a solid rectangular box just bigger than a pack of playing cards. It belongs at the other end of that cable wire.”

  “So someone stole it.”

  “Seems that way. But whether that someone knew or just guessed that the drive held the information they wanted so badly—that, I don’t know.”

  “My guess is that Conrad’s place was the first target,” Marc said, still rummaging through loose papers. “So, if they did get something here, it wasn’t enough. Not if they still tore Madeline’s place apart.”

  “True.” Ryan made a disgusted sound. “Man, do I wish I could get my hands on that hard drive.”

  Marc frowned as he continued to find no other leads in any of the strewn file folders, most of which were labeled with technical medical names.

  He straightened, knowing in his gut that he’d done all he could at Conrad’s place.

  “The only thing we have in our favor is knowing that they probably haven’t found the information they’re looking for,” he told Ryan. “We’ve got to find it ourselves before they do. Meanwhile, I’ve got a quick matter to take care of before I head back.”

  “What kind of matter?”

  “When I got here, I saw this kid down the block who gave me a bad feeling. I doubt it has anything to do with us, but I’m going to check him out.”

  “Okay.” Ryan sounded puzzled, but he accepted Marc’s gut instincts without further question. “Do what you have to. Then go home and chill out.”

  Marc left the building the same way he’d come in. He unzipped his duffel bag, stuffed the mask inside and pulled out his parka. Once that was on, he looked like everyone else on the street—just not as classy.

  He slung his duffel bag onto his shoulder and strolled along the sidewalk, turning in the direction where the kid had been standing before.

  Sure enough, he was still there. Only this time, he was poised like a predator, staring intently across the street. There was a switchblade clutched in his hand.

  Marc’s gaze shifted to follow the hoodlum’s view. There was a thirtysomething woman standing at the corner, waiting to cross the street. Dark hair, slim—she had the same body type and coloring as Madeline. She was texting somebody, and her handbag was swinging freely, half-open, on her shoulder.

  The kid’s hand tightened on his blade handle, waiting for the woman to cross. He was clearly ready to be as violent as necessary to get his hands on that purse.

  Something inside Marc snapped.

  He reached the kid in a heartbeat, before the traffic light had time to change.

  Accosting him from behind, Marc locked an arm around his neck, squeezing until the kid was gasping for air and struggling to free himself.

  “Drop it,” Marc commanded quietly.

  The switchblade clattered to the ground.

  “I suggest you get the hell out of here now.” Marc’s arm squeezed tighter, and the guy whimpered in pain and fear. “If I ever see you around here again, I’m going to break your neck. Are we clear?”

  Against the inside of Marc’s elbow, the kid nodded.

  “Good. Now go.” Marc practically flung the kid into the street.

  Scrambling to his feet, the kid took off like a gunshot. He never once looked back. Marc scooped up the switchblade and pocketed it.

  The traffic light changed.

  The woman stopped texting and crossed the street, passing right in front of Marc, without the slightest idea of what he’d just saved her from.

  Turning up the collar of his parka, Marc walked off in the darkness.

  * * *

  Casey was waiting up, pacing in the conference room, when Marc got back. He didn’t look the slightest bit surprised to see her up and at ’em at midnight.

  “Hey,” he greeted her, tossing his jacket and duffel bag onto a chair. “Where’s Hero?”

  “Sleeping on my bed. What did you find?”

  “Conrad’s place was tossed like a salad.” He scowled. “Other than that, not a fucking thing. On the plus side, it’s what I didn’t find that might mean something.”

  He went on to explain what Ryan had told him about the Mac Pro and the missing hard drive.

  “Dammit.” Casey sank down into a chair, crossing one leg angrily over the other. “We’ve got to find out who has that hard drive and what’s on it.”

  “They themselves might not even know. It could be that they can’t crack it, or that they don’t understand what they’re looking at.”

  “Either way, they’re still trying to kill Madeline and Conrad. So we have zip.”

  “We have suspects,” Marc reminded her. “Now we need to explore them. Want me to take a look at Nancy Lexington’s apartment?”

  Casey shook her head. “Not yet. If Nancy’s at the helm, the hard drive could be at either of her children’s apartments as well as her own. We’re not about to break into one place after another.”

  Marc shrugged. “I’m game.”

  “I’m sure you are. But there are other suspects we need to follow up on. In the meantime, I’ll have Patrick put a tail on each of the Lexingtons. We’ll know every move they make.”

  “Ryan can up that security,” Marc said. “He can bug their phones and put tracking devices on their cars. That way we’ll also know who they visit and who they call—which could include the person or persons they employ to do their dirty work.”

  “Smart idea.” Casey glanced at her watch. “It’s pretty late—but Ryan’s a night owl. I’ll give him a call.”

  “Uh, unless it’s an emergency, I’d give him the rest of the night off. I think he has plans.”

  Casey’s lips twitched. “I hear you. It can wait until morning.”

  Marc nodded. “Anything else before I take off?”

  “Hmm?” Casey’s wheels were still turning. “No, you go catch some sleep. I have some strategizing to do. Dr. Sharon Gilding is still bugging me.”

  “Yeah, well, that neurosurgeon is a bitch. There’s also something going on beneath the surface. I sense it, too.”

  “I have to decide which member of the FI team can get the most information out of her. I’m thinking Claire. She’s the softest and least threatening of us. Plus, she a woman. I don’t think Bitch Doctor likes men.”

  “Particularly her chief competitor.”

  “Conrad.”

  Marc nodded. “My thoughts exactly. I don’t care what she says, Gilding resents the hell out of him for being Ronald’s and Casper’s first choice to be chief of surgery—a job she thinks rightfully belongs to her.”

  “Maybe Claire can zero in on how deep that anger and resentment go if she’s with Gilding one-on-one, without the distractions she had to deal with at the dedication ceremony.”

  “What ‘in’ would Claire use to set up a meeting with Gilding?”

  Casey arched a brow. “She’d appeal to Bitch Doctor’s ego. She’d tell her that all she heard at the dedication ceremony was that Gilding was the best neurosurgeon ever. She’d ask for a half hour of her time to better understand the human brain. It would help her get a grip on her psychic abilities, to understand whether or not they’re real or even plausible.”

  Marc chuckled. “I can hardly wait to hear Claire’s reaction to that.”

  “She’ll hate it. But if it helps solve the case, she’ll do it. The plan needs fine-tuning to make it convincing. That’s what I’ll be doing while you’re sleeping and Ryan is enjoying his ‘plans.’” She paused. “And in the morning, I’ll be calling ‘Information Central.’”

  “Janet Moss.”r />
  “Uh-huh. It’s time that she and I set up a firm lunch date.”

  * * *

  Fonextricity or “Trix”—the nickname chosen by the MixMasters, an online group of hard-core audiophiles—refilled a goblet with zinfandel to ease the daily stress away. The first glass had taken the edge off. The next one would do the trick.

  For the past month, Trix had been asking for advice about synthesizers from fellow MixMasters. A decision about which one to purchase had been made, and Trix was vibrating from excitement at the thought of using the Roland Jupiter-80 synthesizer that had just been delivered. The Sam Ash salesman had promised that this was a big step up from the Juno that Trix was currently using. The online advice and reviews were compelling. The eager salesman threw in a one-year warranty on the gently used Jupiter. So, it was bye-bye, Juno, hello, Jupiter.

  The question was: What song to try on the new Roland?

  The wine helped the answer surface. A perfect choice. The first track to be laid down would be the violins...the most important instrumental voices in the whole endeavor.

  Beginning the process, Trix’s left hand glided over the keys to get a feel for the new synthesizer. Right hand unplugged the USB drive from the MacBook Pro. A frown. The drive looked funny—a white cable paired with a black drive. Looked like a mutant black rat with a white tail. Well, waste not, want not. Might as well reuse the drive even if the color scheme didn’t match. The damned thing hadn’t contained the desired information, anyway.

  Pivoting around on the swivel chair, Trix reached for the masking tape and a black Sharpie in the desk drawer, and then swiveled back. Ripping off a two-inch piece of tape, Trix slapped it on the small drive, clicked the retractable Sharpie and wrote in bold block letters “November 5, 2014—Pachelbel.”

  14

  CASEY TOSSED AND turned all night.

  She felt as if she and her team were running down a dozen labyrinthine paths, but there was no central focus to their investigation.

  Someone wanted Madeline and Conrad dead. It could be for information, but that wouldn’t apply if the killers were Nancy and/or her children. Their motive would be revenge, in which case, the hard drive would be superfluous. Or would it? Had they trashed Conrad’s and Madeline’s apartments and stolen the hard drive looking for evidence—evidence that documented Conrad’s guilt, whether accidental or premeditated, in Ronald’s death? Which begged the question: Why the hell would Conrad deliberately kill his best friend—over a potential merger that would offer him a prestigious position and lots of money?

  It didn’t fit. Even if it did, how could Conrad intentionally screw up a surgery without one of his crackerjack surgical team members spotting it? Further, if they did notice it, how did Conrad keep them quiet? Pay them off to keep their mouths shut?

  With a disgusted sound, Casey threw off the covers and got up. It was five in the morning and still dark outside. A November wind was blowing piles of leaves around, leaving shadows on the windowpane and a chill in the air. It was the perfect time to snuggle back under the covers and doze.

  Not happening. Casey was already reaching for her robe.

  Hero’s head popped up in surprise.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Casey reassured him. “I’m just making a cup of coffee and getting some files. I’ll be back in a minute. You rest.”

  Hero gave her one of his astute brown-eyed stares. Then he put his head down between his front paws. He didn’t shut his eyes, though, and Casey knew he wouldn’t—not until she was back in the room.

  Five minutes later, she walked back in, smiling as Hero spotted her, after which he closed his eyes and settled into his doggy sofa for more sleep. Casey envied him.

  Accepting that her own restless night’s sleep was over, she placed her coffee cup on the nightstand, and plopped the file folders near her pillow. She picked up her backrest and positioned it at the head of the bed. Then she switched on her lamp, and crawled into the bed, settling herself to do some work.

  She reviewed everything she had, and the frustration she felt kept growing. Even the empty file folder labeled “Conrad, Personal” that Hero had sniffed out for Patrick had been a dead end. No prints other than Madeline’s. And to the best of Madeline’s recollection, there had been nothing inside the folder but the scorecard from Conrad’s best round of golf, World Series ticket stubs and a photo of him, Ronald and Doug Wilton looking like the Three Musketeers. Memorable but meaningless to FI’s investigation.

  Claire had sensed lots of negative energy on the folder, but none that translated into a name or a person.

  Tons of theories, no resolutions.

  Opening the Ronald Lexington file, Casey reread the facts she already knew. Well-liked and well-respected hospital administrator. Family consists of blah, blah, blah. Charismatic and charming, with a reputation for liking the ladies—maybe a bit too much.

  Rereading those facts again, two thoughts popped into Casey’s head. One, did Nancy know about her husband’s philandering? Two, why was there no information in this file about Ronald’s surgery?

  The answer to the first question was obvious in Casey’s mind now that she’d spent time with Nancy Lexington. The woman was smart. Casey doubted there was anything about Ronald she didn’t know. If he was cheating on her, she knew it, and she’d know with whom and how many paramours there were.

  How she reacted to that knowledge was another story entirely. It was definitely worth finding out once Ryan’s tools were in place. And definitely worth the FI team finding out who those ladies were and if any of them had a grudge against Conrad.

  The first question led directly into the second. The reason the FI team hadn’t gathered more information on Ronald’s surgery or his personal life was because his death had never been a focus in this investigation. Now that Conrad had become a target and Madeline was not only his ex-wife, but a member of the code team who’d been present in the O.R. when Ronald died, everything had changed. Conrad’s credibility as a surgeon and his motives regarding Ronald’s survival were all of a sudden in question.

  The first person to shed light on this new investigative angle was Conrad himself.

  Casey knew he’d been released from Danbury Hospital. She had to get Conrad’s consent to interview him at Crest Haven without having his psychiatrist perched by his side.

  That shouldn’t be a problem. When she and Marc had visited him at Crest Haven last time, he’d indicated that he was amenable to talking to them without Dr. Oberlin present. Casey doubted he’d changed his mind, especially now that his own life was also at stake.

  But Dr. Oberlin wasn’t the only obstacle. The facility believed Conrad had tried to commit suicide, which meant that the Crest Haven staff would be watching his every move.

  Conrad had given Casey his direct number. She’d call him first and get him on board. After that, she’d need Madeline to make the official phone call to initiate the process, and hopefully get past the suicide patrol.

  Taking a sip of coffee, Casey drew up her knees, holding the mug with one hand and drumming her fingers on it with the other. She’d shower, get dressed and grab something quick to eat. Then she’d take Hero for a long walk.

  By that time it would be late enough to make her phone calls.

  * * *

  Emma had only been candy-striping for a few days, but already she was bored and restless. That was her problem. Casey had been hard as nails when she’d reiterated her expectations. And the truth was, Emma was kind of loving her job at Forensic Instincts, sans Yoda, whom she wished she could smack. But in spite of his pain-in-the-ass lectures on the proper roles and responsibilities of candy-striping, she didn’t want to screw up this job. Soon a month of her probation period would be over. Two more months and she’d be official. She’d get a Forensic Instincts employee ID card, the pass code to the Hirsch pad and maybe even some cool
business cards to show off.

  So she’d put up with Yoda, stick around this antiseptic place that had all the excitement of a high school library and give Casey the information and the access she needed. To do that, she’d keep her eyes and ears open. Most important, she’d flirt with that IT loser, Roger, until she’d gotten what she needed from him.

  That part would be like old times, only easier, since Roger spent most of his time gawking at her face and body, making his awareness of anything else zero. Casey had given her free rein to pick the right opportunity to go for it. Piece of cake. Once she’d finished her job, the team would act, deciding where to concentrate their efforts in the hospital’s internal data system before kicking their plan into motion. Emma couldn’t wait. How awesome was that going to be? Not to mention that she could get the hell out of here and rejoin the team.

  With that motivation, she headed over to a chattering group of candy stripers to see if there was any new gossip she’d missed.

  * * *

  Ryan almost collided with Casey and Hero in the doorway of the brownstone.

  His head came up, and his brows rose in surprise. “Hey. You guys are out walking early. Something up?”

  Casey arched a brow. “An interesting choice of words. It’s the reason Marc talked me out of calling you last night. Have fun?”

  A corner of Ryan’s mouth lifted, and he leaned over to scratch Hero’s ears. “Is nothing sacred anymore?”

  “Oh, please.” Casey rolled her eyes. “Your life is about as private as a celebrity’s.”

  “Touché. Okay, I had a great night. Now, what were you going to call me about?”

  Casey filled him in on what he needed to do regarding the Lexingtons.

  “It’ll be in place this morning. What else?”

  “Morning.” Marc strolled over, interrupting them and glancing at Ryan. “Did you do the gym today, or were you too wiped out?”

  “I don’t get wiped out.” Ryan didn’t even blink. “Just recharged. I’ll go for a run later and the gym tonight. Okay by you?”

  Marc chuckled.

  “What happened with that sleazy kid you were eyeballing last night?” Ryan asked.