“You want me to leave?”
“Come on, don’t be like that.” She held out her hands to receive the laptop and the cord.
“Let me set it up right for you.” He put the computer on the wheeled table used for her water and meals, then proceeded to hunt for an outlet, plugged it in, and tugged the charging end through the handle on the bed and wound it there. “Ready for when you need it. Just a feeling, but I’m sure you’ll run the battery dry.”
“Thank you.”
“Uh-huh. Now, I better get going before a nurse gives me the boot.”
“Oh, no, not until you update me.”
Terry looked over his shoulder to the doorway, and Madison suspected he must have snuck past the nursing station. He took a deep breath that lifted his shoulders and sat in the chair to her right.
“How did things pan out with John Clayton and his knives?” she asked.
“He didn’t do it. At least we can’t put him in the area of the attack, and the knives from the Pig King and his apartment aren’t a match for the stainless in Carson’s wound.”
“So you had to cut him loose.”
“Yeah.”
“Was the stainless steel ever linked to a specific brand of knife?”
“Nope. Just run-of-the-mill.”
“Okay, well, we keep moving forward. Do we know the con man’s real name yet?”
“You’d be the first to know…well, after me.”
It was disappointing and frustrating it was taking so long to find Abbott. She’d checked her email just before her voicemail, and she still hadn’t heard back from the prison on Long’s cellmates. “And what about Shannon…” She couldn’t bring her last name to mind.
“Shannon Keller. Nothing’s turned up on her.”
“Don’t tell me it’s another fake name? Did you try a reverse search using the address she rented from Stevens to see what name kicked back?”
“Yeah, and no luck. Just the landlord Jerrod Stevens.”
“If we could find her, she could possibly lead us to Abbott.”
“Yes,” Terry dragged out, “but you’re missing the part where I can’t track her down.”
Madison tried to think about how to go about finding this Shannon woman. “What if we got ahold of Keller’s rent checks? Maybe the account’s still active and the bank will have her number and her current address.”
“Okay, I can give that a try.” Terry pointed to the laptop. “I loaded all the unlocked files from Carson’s hard drive that seem to pertain to Abbott.”
“And nothing with his real name?”
Terry shook his head. “Not that I could find. I don’t think that Carson uncovered that before she died.”
“Huh,” was all she said, but she was thinking that it might poke a hole in their theory of Carson confronting Abbott. Even if she had proof of his conning other women—if he had—there’d need to be a real name to charge him with the crimes.
“Anyway, I really need to go.” Terry got up, was midway to the door and turned. “How are you doing anyway?”
“I’ll be fine. You know it.”
“Suppose I wouldn’t expect anything else. Take care, and I’ll stay in touch. I know you will.” He smirked and left the room.
She turned on the laptop, and as she waited for the log-in screen, she recalled Terry’s question about how she was doing. Honestly, she didn’t want to give it too much thought. She was going to be a mother, and it didn’t matter how many times that reality slammed into her consciousness, it was hard to process.
Having something else to occupy her mind was going to be a blessing.
She went to the file manager and got to work. There were several text files and quite a few JPEGs. She clicked on the first one and arrowed from one to the next. It was definitely Saul Abbott based on the picture Lana had provided them. The shots were taken at different times of day, in various locations that she couldn’t readily identify. After she rolled through them, she put her attention on Carson’s text documents. There were eleven files, and she started with a file called Deceived.
When it opened, Madison was faced with a list of names. A quick comparison told her they matched the file names. She guessed that Deceived was the master overview file with the others providing more individualized information. She scanned the women’s names: Maria Barker, Melody Anderson, Natalie Reese, Margie Torres, Linda Chapman, Elizabeth Evans, Kathy Burke, Erica Murray, Hannah Wade, and Jane Maxwell.
Madison opened the file labeled Reese. As suspected, it was a background file on the woman. When she started dating Abbott, for how long, details of their relationship, how much he took her for. Reese had started seeing Abbott nine and a half years ago, not long after he got out of prison, according to Carl Long. Abbott hadn’t wasted any time getting to work, but Madison wondered what had sent Abbott to prison in the first place.
The other files were much of the same information.
She read until her eyes got heavy and she couldn’t resist closing them anymore. She slipped into a deep, dreamless slumber.
-
Thirty-Seven
Madison couldn’t get out of the hospital fast enough. It was Friday evening, and she and Troy were still waiting on the final word from Dr. Hunt on whether she was clear to leave.
“I still can’t believe that you’ve been working from your bed,” Troy groaned.
He had discovered her yesterday, fast asleep, with the table and laptop still in front of her. He’d moved the computer to the farthest point on the nightstand. She’d have to get out of bed to reach it. Not a problem, but the fact that Troy stuck to her side was.
But even with him next to her for hours on end, she couldn’t get herself to bring up the ring. It already felt like there was a sizzling, underlying tension between them, and she didn’t feel like fanning it to spark. Troy also seemed to be avoiding the topic of the accident. Likely because he had no leads and didn’t want to pressure her. Her memories of the accident weren’t much clearer, but as Hunt told her, it was common for temporary amnesia in the case of traumatic injury. She just wished that she could conjure the driver’s face. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew who it was. In fact, she was sure of it. But the who continued to evade her.
“Then again,” he went on, “I shouldn’t be surprised, but I will be having a talk with Terry. Even Winston told you to rest and take all the time you need.”
Sergeant Winston had dropped by again during visiting hours last night. Troy had been around to hear his admonition. Madison took Winston’s words to mean that because she was a woman, he expected she’d be too weak to show up for days or weeks.
“So I called Estelle,” Troy began. “I told her we’re looking for a four-bedroom with a decent-size yard.”
“Please tell me you didn’t say anything about…” Madison couldn’t bring herself to say baby. She’d had a couple days to come to grips with the pregnancy, but she still found that she was detached from the idea. There was a part of her mind that had shifted it into an alternate reality.
“No, of course not. We promised not to tell anyone until after your first trimester.”
“That’s right.”
“Anyway, as soon as you’re feeling up for it, she has a few places in mind for us to take a look at.”
“Wonderful.” She did her best to infuse as much excitement into the word as she could, but it came out sounding like someone was tugging down on it, sapping it of its typical mirth.
“You do still want that?” he asked, his normal confidence missing.
“Yes, of course.” She put her hand on his forearm. She hoped as she peered into his eyes that he wouldn’t ask the same question about the baby. It was going to change their lives, flip them upside down. And how she hated parents who blamed their children for everything—from being late for things to making the
ir life more arduous. After all, they chose to have kids…or did they? There were probably a lot of mothers and fathers out there who had been in the same place as she and Troy with baby being a surprise. Troy had put it that way, and she thought how much better surprise sounded than mistake, which implied the child wasn’t wanted. And everyone loved surprises. At least it had a more positive connotation to it. “How is Estelle, by the way?” she asked, trying to shift her thoughts from the baby.
“She’s doing all right. She’s worried about you.”
Dr. Hunt came into the room, and Madison tried to read him as she sat straighter. It still hurt to move, but the drugs and rest must have been working because she wasn’t in quite as much pain.
“All right, so I have all your test results back,” he began. “I feel confident in releasing you, but you need to take it easy.”
“When can I go back to work?” she blurted out.
The doctor smiled at Troy. “You were right.”
“I have a case that needs my attention,” she said, earning the doctor’s gaze again.
“I’m sure Terry and others in the department can handle it,” Troy said.
She faced him. “I don’t want others to handle my case.”
“You don’t need to keep such a tight hold on—”
“I do,” she ground out, her heart racing.
Troy shook his head and clenched his jaw.
“Remember the baby,” the doctor said. “This is your first, and it’s important to take good care of yourself, especially at the beginning. Or have you decided to terminate?”
Madison looked at Troy. “I’m keeping the baby.” It was an instinctive response, even if it went against what she thought she wanted. There was a definitive line for her, though, between not necessarily wanting a child and aborting one.
Troy nodded and smiled. “I agree.”
“Well then, congratulations to both of you.”
“You said to take care of myself, but I can walk and move around?”
“Yes, of course. Just no running.”
“No worry there.” She smirked at Troy. “And I can also talk, right?” She had a purpose for the pointed questions.
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I don’t see why I can’t do my job.” She looked at Troy, not for permission, but ready to defend herself if need be. She had no intention of letting this baby run her life after she gave birth, and she certainly wasn’t going to have it dictate everything while growing inside her.
“I see you’re a police detective,” Dr. Hunt said gingerly. “It’s probably quite a stressful job.”
“I’ve been doing it for a lot of years,” she said, as if that made it easier.
The doctor glanced from her to Troy, back to her.
“There can be a lot of pressure,” she admitted. “But I can manage.”
“And if you can’t?” Troy interjected.
She met his gaze, and his concern softened her core. “Then I’ll pull back.” At least that was what she’d said. She might be pregnant and on medication, but the driver of that pickup had put her in the hospital. What was their intent—to injure or to kill? She needed the answers, and she was more driven than ever to find them.
-
Thirty-Eight
The house smelled like a funeral home and looked like a flower shop. Chelsea and Cynthia came out of the kitchen and told her that casseroles were in the fridge and to call if there was anything she needed.
“I mean it,” Cynthia repeated at the entry before leaving, and Madison had this horrible cinch in her chest. Her mind kept coming back to Garrett Murphy returning to the lab. What if he had noticed the mystery woman’s face on Cynthia’s monitor and felt threatened? Had he been the driver who struck her?
“Thanks,” she said.
Troy closed the door behind her, and the house felt so quiet with them gone—except for her mind, which was whirling. She really could use Hershey’s fur, but he wasn’t there. “Where’s Hershey?”
“At the kennel. I figured having him around might be too much for now.”
She nodded, but Hershey never felt like any amount of work to her, and she missed the little guy. Troy must have been thinking he’d need to take care of her, and having Hershey there as well would be a lot. “You know I’m fine, right?”
Troy met her gaze, and in his eyes, she witnessed how exhausted he was.
“Never mind,” she conceded. “You’re probably right, and you’ve been through a lot too. You must have been scared.”
“If I were you, I’d say something similar to ‘more than I’d like to admit.’”
“Seriously? As if I’m the only one in our relationship who holds back their true feelings.”
“I am one hundred percent open with you, Maddy. I have been from the beginning.”
She wanted to contest his claim. The ring hidden away in the laundry closet proved he wasn’t as open as he was trying to present himself. Then again, maybe he was still planning to pop the question. If so, why not after finding out about the baby? It would have been the perfect time to seal the commitment of their relationship, but maybe he didn’t want to force it. Really, she could spin with all the hypotheticals.
He helped get her positioned on the couch with a pillow at her back and her legs along the length of the couch and over his lap. He started to rub her feet.
She closed her eyes. “You can do that forever.”
“Then I’m not doing it right.” He kneaded his knuckles a little harder into her soles.
“Ouch.”
“You have a lot of tension down here for someone who’s been lying on their ass for a few days.”
At first, she heard lying their ass off. It was moments when she was alone with Troy that guilt ate her, gnawing her bones, sucking her marrow. She had never exactly lied to him. More like omissions or white lies, saying she was working. He’d think she meant a murder case, but his assumptions weren’t her responsibility.
Troy stopped the foot massage, rested his hands on her shins, and let out a deep breath.
“You all right there?” she asked.
He smiled at her. An expression she used to nearly beg for him to show popped up often and easily since the baby news. His enthusiasm over their child made her feel like a charlatan.
“Things are going to change a lot around here,” he said, confirming his mind was on the baby.
“They sure are.” She wanted to amuse him and talk about their future, but she would rather close her eyes and plug her ears to the pregnancy. Nothing against the baby, but she’d never planned on being a mother. Maybe if she switched the subject… “No luck on finding the truck that hit me yet?” A throwaway question and a poor attempt at conversation. Troy would have told her if he’d had any news.
“Not yet. I have local collision centers and body shops on the lookout. Whoever struck you could have taken their truck outside the city though. Who knows? So…I was thinking I could order in some Chinese.”
Apparently, he didn’t want to talk about the lack of progress. “It’s been a long time. But didn’t Chelsea and Cynthia bring food?”
“They sure did.” They met each other’s eyes and laughed. She clutched her side.
It felt good not being the one on the receiving end of cooking insults for a change.
“I’ll call.” Troy patted her leg and got up from the couch. He paced the room as he placed their order.
While the thought of real food that didn’t come from a hospital cafeteria sounded like heaven, she couldn’t wait for life to return to a relative normal, even if that period would only last until the baby’s arrival.
“Food should be here in forty minutes.” He pocketed his phone and returned to the couch.
“Which means ten.” Their local Chinese food restaurant was always at their door
faster than their estimate.
“Interested in watching some TV?” He picked up the remote and flicked the television on without waiting for her answer. “Anything you want to watch, name it.”
“An Affair to Remember.” She suggested the chick flick just for a reaction.
“Okay, anything but that.”
She smiled. “I’m good with anything. But sports,” she amended.
He found a sitcom they typically both enjoyed, and they settled in for at least the ten minutes Madison had predicted before there was a knock on the door.
-
Thirty-Nine
Being with Troy last night had felt like it had before Cynthia’s wedding and the AWOL proposal. Too bad Madison’s actions this morning might jeopardize everything. She’d slipped out of bed at a few minutes after four, careful not to wake Troy, who was breathing heavily, his mind playing somewhere in dreamland. If Hershey had been home, it would have been much more difficult to sneak out.
She took Troy’s Expedition instead of a cab because she didn’t want a driver hanging around for what she had planned. She just hoped Troy stayed asleep until she returned home.
It was still pitch black out when she drove to Garrett Murphy’s house. She knew the addresses for Murphy and the Phelps brothers off the top of her head.
Murphy’s was a bungalow. No garage. The driveway had a blue sedan parked at an angle. There was no pickup truck—black or any other color.
She tapped the wheel of the Expedition. What had she really expected—that the truck that hit her would be sitting there for the world to see? Maybe she was really losing it to think Murphy was behind the hit-and-run. Even if he saw the woman’s picture on the Cynthia’s monitor, it didn’t mean he was homicidal. And while she could go into the station and confirm if Murphy or the Phelps brothers owned a black pickup, searching vehicle registrations would come with questions she didn’t want to answer. If only she could put the truck in one of their driveways or garages and build her case from there.
What We Bury Page 19
