what she knew (BREAKDOWN Book 4)

by Regan Black

  “You’d know all of that better than me.”

  “Has anyone else mentioned hearing a car?” Ana queried.

  “We’ll ask around today. As you know, homes on Olive Tree Lane are a bit spread out, so the odds are low.”

  Privacy was one of the perks of that area. Ana’s closest neighbor was dead. It still bothered her that she hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary the night Sylvia had died.

  “Tell me more about what you and Sylvia were digging up in your search for Josie.”

  “Sylvia’s line of work gave her unusual access and insight into her clients.” She checked Laney’s reaction, but the woman might as well be playing championship poker. “Josie said she’d been called back to Venezuela. Sylvia didn’t like it, for Josie’s sake. Then a few days later Sylvia came to me, thinking she’d found evidence Josie was being exploited in Venezuela.”

  “Where did she find that evidence?”

  “In a client’s home,” Ana replied. “She didn’t tell me which client.” The dots had been connected a few days ago when Wade Travis lost his teaching job and entered a program to treat his pornography addiction. “When she explained her concern, she admitted she wasn’t sure the young woman was Josie, but the discovery lit a fire under her to find the girl.”

  “And Sylvia involved you because?” Laney pressed.

  It wasn’t the question she was expecting, or the one she was fully prepared to answer yet. In her mind, Troy’s voice reminded her of the high stakes. “We are—were—good friends. Sylvia trusted me to be discreet.”

  “Mm-hm.” Laney shifted, her gaze sharpening. “Ana, did she force you to help her somehow?”

  “What?”

  “I think you know what I’m asking. Did your good friend give you an ultimatum? Help her or else?”

  Ana gaped, not at all sure of the best reply. “Or else? No. Sylvia wasn’t that way.”

  An odd disappointment washed the intensity from Laney’s features. “All right. I’m going home to sleep for a couple of hours.” Clearly exhausted, she braced her hands on her knees as she stood up. “McCabe will follow up with you this afternoon. Hopefully he’ll have some evidence that will help us find the shooter.”

  “Laney wait,” Ana stood as well, her hands clasped at her waist. “Sylvia only came to me rather than the police when she thought Josie was in trouble because I had more knowledge of how women get exploited.”

  “How did you come by that knowledge?”

  “Medical school residencies.” It wasn’t a complete fabrication. Her residencies had bumped up against drug and human trafficking along with plenty of prostitution-induced injuries and illnesses.

  “And you didn’t come to me with this.” Laney’s eyes were hard, accusing. All the earlier sympathy had drained away. “Zion Cole has been throwing money at a reward and you kept this information to yourself. Why not cash in?”

  “Because I don’t know anything.” She shook out her hands, frustrated with herself and Laney and Sylvia’s secrets. “I—we—planned to bring you something concrete, but we only had wispy rumors. Sylvia was murdered before we had anything substantial enough to call proof.”

  Laney stalked back into the room, stopping at opposite side of the bed, her hands gripping the rail hard. “You had enough to feel fine about sending Sylvia to Venezuela to find Josie?”

  “No, we didn’t. I urged her not to go.” Ana’s palms were damp as she realized the magnitude of her error. “I swear, Laney, I wanted to bring you in earlier.”

  “You lectured me about giving Yolanda Cole closure while you were sitting on something helpful to the investigation. What you know might have led us to the killer.”

  “But I wasn’t sitting on anything,” Ana protested. “It’s not like that. I don’t—”

  “Stop.” Laney held up her hands. “Just. Stop. I’m too exhausted for this. I won’t haul you out of here in cuffs, but you will come to the police station when the clinic closes today and tell McCabe and me everything you know. And you’ll bring all your notes and documentation, whatever you have.”

  Ana nodded, protests and excuses and apologies clogging her throat. Pointing out that she didn’t have notes or documentation would only land on deaf ears.

  “If you try to dodge this, Dr. Perez, I will arrest you and charge you with obstruction of justice.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room leaving Ana to wallow in the mess she had created.

  Chapter Eight

  Ana would have preferred to go home, to hide, or even to run. She had the personal leave and confidence in her staff to handle the schedule without her. If a patient had walked in with the symptoms she’d presented last night, she would have insisted that patient rest today and probably tomorrow.

  Instead, Ana got to work.

  She couldn’t grant herself the same care protocol. Not today. She needed to be here for Yolanda Cole’s follow up appointment. Just three weeks ago, Sylvia’s mother had been a vivacious and delightful person, so proud of her one and only child. Yolanda embraced life and people with a warm brand of kindness, and went out of her way to make sure others felt valued.

  Yolanda had no idea how rare that was.

  Approaching the exam room, Laney’s accusations of hypocrisy echoed through Ana’s mind. Laney was wrong, she told herself. She hadn’t pushed for the family’s rights while holding back information that would impact the investigation. It bothered her that Laney questioned her integrity as a doctor and as a friend.

  She pushed all of that out of her head as she knocked on the exam room door. “Mrs. Cole,” she said, stepping inside. “How are you feeling?”

  Yolanda, in her late fifties, had taken excellent care of herself, her commitment to both health and fashion holding her in good stead during the worst possible circumstances. Today, the rose-colored sweater over rich brown slacks put color in her face that almost hid the signs of grief and stress. Her normally bright smile was strained and the shadows under her eyes were still pronounced.

  “I suppose I’m sleeping a bit better.” She lifted her hand toward Ana, as if she wanted to touch the wounds on her face. “What on earth happened to you?” Her gaze dropped to Ana’s bandaged hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Nothing serious,” Ana assured her. “A hunter misfired in the woods last night and caught my deck. Just an awkward accident.”

  “Someone shot at you?”

  “No, no.” She couldn’t let that kind of rumor get started, especially when it was the truth. “A bullet grazed my deck and the splinters caught me. It looks much worse than it is. We’re here to talk about you and how you’re coping.”

  “I’d much rather talk about you.” The concern in Yolanda’s gaze didn’t fade. “I feel so selfish missing Sylvie. I can’t seem to think of anything else. Then I’m so tired.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “So I try to nap, but instead I’m just so… empty.”

  “All of that is perfectly natural. And as we discussed, you’re symptoms are exacerbated by the challenging circumstances. You need time that’s all.”

  “The memorial will help.” She glanced up, her eyes watery as she pressed a hand over her heart. “It has to, right.”

  “It will.” Ana smiled gently. “Have the sleeping pills helped?”

  “Some, thank you. Although you know how I feel about medications.”

  “That’s certainly understandable, but this isn’t the time to be stoic or power through. This is the time to take the support you need. It’s not forever.” She reviewed the intake form on the chart. Yolanda’s blood pressure and pulse were a smidge high, but not worrisome, considering the situation. “We all need help from time to time from friends or medicine or both.”

  “That’s true. Oh, Ana, I miss her so much.”

  “She’d want you to take care of yourself. I was glad to see you out and about on Saturday at the fundraiser for the arts.”

  “It was a nice afternoon.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Several people shared mem
ories of Sylvia. It meant a lot.” She reached for a tissue and then fanned her face. “I put on makeup and mascara today so I wouldn’t blubber.”

  “You can blubber in here anytime. What did you have for breakfast today?”

  “One of the shakes you recommended.”

  “Are those helping?”

  “They stay down better than that heavy sympathy food the church groups keep bringing over.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, that sounds rude and ungrateful.”

  “This is a safe place,” Ana reminded her, stifling a chuckle. “Who’s catering the gathering after the memorial?”

  Yolanda’s eyes lit up. “One of Katherine Windermere’s favorite chefs from San Francisco. The woman makes a teriyaki beef and broccoli that Sylvia raved about. And the chef was gracious enough to agree to be ready within twenty-four hours since we didn’t know when the service would be held.

  “Zion wasn’t in favor of the reception,” she added with a frown. “He’s worried it’s too much for me and I know he’d rather not have a house full of people, but I just need that connection.”

  “Of course you do. It’s natural to want to add to your memories of Sylvia.”

  “You keep saying it’s natural for me to be so devastated and consumed, but here you are, doing your job. You were her one of her best friends. I feel like such a weakling.”

  “Not at all.” Ana couldn’t help it, she reached out and covered Yolanda’s hands. “You’re her mother. Sylvia frequently told me how strong you were. You were her inspiration.”

  “That’s silly. Her father inspired her,” Yolanda said, shying from the praise. “Oh, how they butted heads at times,” she said with a rusty chuckle.

  “Did they?” Curious now, Ana encouraged Yolanda to share. “When?”

  “Off and on through the years.” Her smile turned wistful. “They were so much alike, those two. Strong wills and stronger minds and both of them too stubborn to give an inch when they made a decision.”

  Ana smiled. “I bet they were quite a pair.”

  “I wish Zion would come in and see you too. I might be struggling to eat and sleep, but he’s suffering in his own way.” She rolled her eyes. “Even I know that ridiculous reward is making it harder to find Sylvia’s killer.”

  “Chief McCabe and the entire department are committed to solving the case.”

  “I know they are. The reward is Zion’s way of making restitution. I think he’s feeling guilty. Those last weeks before our Sylvie died the two of them were at odds over something. She wouldn’t even stop to eat lunch with me if her father was around.”

  This was fascinating and troubling news. She and Sylvia had been systematically looking at all of the people in Josie’s life. Had Sylvia suspected Zion of some wrongdoing? The day before she’d been killed, she’d confided in Ana that she was closing in on a likely suspect. Concerned the information would get out, she’d refused to go into any detail via text or phone call. Sylvia had been murdered before they could get together to discuss it.

  Though Ana wanted to press Yolanda for more information Laney might find helpful, she had to tread carefully for the sake of her patient. “Family meals were important to the three of you,” Ana said. “Sylvia told me how you insisted on eating dinner together throughout her childhood.”

  Yolanda bobbed her chin in vigorous agreement. “I think family dinner is a critical element of giving children a solid foundation. Even when Zion traveled, Sylvie and I ate together at the table. Did you have that with your parents?”

  “No, unfortunately. My childhood was a bit rockier than the love and stability you gave Sylvia.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, Dr. Perez. And so pleased you found your way to a fulfilling career.”

  “Thank you.” She rested her hands on the top of the tablet in her lap. “My reason for bringing up dinner goes back to your trouble with keeping down food. The issue might be related to how vital mealtime was to the three of you. Give yourself time, keep supplementing with the shakes, and maybe change one or two things about dinnertime with Zion to give both of you a fresh start and create a new tradition.”

  “That’s quite smart. I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Good. Your blood pressure is still slightly elevated, but everything else looks normal. I’d recommend taking a walk in the sunshine once a day. You have gorgeous views on the property this time of year. You might have more success napping after that.”

  “That’s what I did when Sylvia was a baby,” Yolanda said. “She’d soak up the fresh air and sunshine and then she’d drop off for a long nap.”

  “Sunshine is a proven health booster at any age,” Ana said. “I’ll plan to see you back in a week, but if you need me sooner, just call or come right in. The team up front has instructions to work you in.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Yolanda cradled Ana’s hand gently between her own. “And do take care of yourself. We’d be lost without you around here.”

  “I promise to be careful.” She just couldn’t promise to stay.

  The clinic hummed along through a morning that was only half as hectic as Monday had been. Ana and her staff dealt with regular check-ups and a variety of minor illnesses and injuries, including the first positive strep test of the season.

  An alert for strep went up on the board in the staff room, as well as in the computer system, generating a banner that would pop up on the tablets they used during appointments. If this season followed the pattern of those prior, more cases would come in over the next several days.

  ‘Tis the season, she thought, logging patient notes while she wolfed down half a sandwich and a cup of soup from Stacked at her desk.

  Being the primary caregiver for an entire town had solidified Ana’s sense of purpose and responsibility and given her great satisfaction. Having the support of city leadership for wellness programs added a unique case study opportunity she wished she could seize.

  Early in her life, she’d witnessed a community with zero interest in wellness. In her battered hometown in Colombia, the focus was survival and disease control rather than prevention. Now she was blessed to see the opposite philosophy in action. A healthy lifestyle didn’t take that much work once the mindset was in place.

  Occasionally during her tenure as Shutter Lake’s primary physician, she’d jotted down notes. A couple of times, she’d gone so far as to outline a paper. Though the city might sign off on a publication if their identities were protected, she could never publish. That would be too much pressure on her established identity.

  Especially if she had to bolt. Ah, well. Maybe if she left her notes behind Donovan or her replacement could write it and use it to further a career. She couldn’t afford the attention that sort of publication would bring.

  When the timer on her computer sounded, she cleaned up her lunch and left her office to resume her appointments. In the hallway, she caught a whiff of spice and peppers. The distinct cigar tobacco, aided by the recent events, dragged her back through time.

  Heading home from school, she turned into the street, her breasts hot and itchy under the tight binding that hid her changing shape. The discomfort was forgotten when she saw her father, sitting outside, holding court with two men in suits, a thick cigar in hand.

  Even from this distance she could smell the rich, acrid scents of the tobacco. Not his usual blend, which could only mean he’d cut a deal.

  Panic clawed at her throat. Her feet stopped moving. She’d thought she had more time. Another day or two, at least. A pack was stowed under her bed. When Sergio Rojas prepared to sell his prime women, he often took weeks to negotiate the best price.

  She could see by the smug look on his face he’d found the right buyer for her right off the mark.

  He’d noticed, despite her efforts to hide her changing body. Her value in his eyes was even higher because she knew the life, had particular knowledge about his system. He would want assurances from the buyer, from her, to ensure his business wouldn’t suffer
.

  Her knowledge had saved her from being sold into the sex trade years earlier, when she could have easily been manipulated into giving up his methods. When her soul would have been crushed long before her body died. She’d been told to be grateful he kept her around, continued to see her fed and educated.

  Clearly his generosity had run out.

  She took a step backward, away from the only home she’d known. Her first outward act of defiance. He squinted at her through a wreath of smoke. She backed up again.

  Shock and disbelief gave her the head start she needed.

  She bolted. Ran, but not blindly. Evil as he was, she’d learned from Rojas. She’d planned routes. Created alternates and contingencies.

  She didn’t stop until she was clear of the neighborhood. She kept running, knowing she would never return and never see her family or friends again. She ran away from the hell she knew too well into the absolute unknown. It surely couldn’t be any worse.

  Even without the small pack stashed under her bed, she made her first checkpoint. Her teacher’s elderly aunt gave her some food and the only cash she had on hand.

  Weeks later, hiding in Mexico, she’d learned just how closely Rojas’ lieutenants had tailed her. The woman’s kindness had been repaid with a slow and merciless death.

  Chapter Nine

  Returning home from the clinic, Yolanda watched the chickens scurry out of her way as she circled the house to the gate at the side yard. Following Dr. Perez’s suggestion, she walked on out toward the horse barn, her eyes on the gorgeous view. With nearly a hundred acres it should be easy to forge a path she hadn’t shared with Sylvia, but she couldn’t find it today.

  It seemed every blade of grass or splash of sunlight across the mountainside reminded her of times with her daughter. As a baby and little girl, Sylvia had been fascinated with the animals. Yolanda thought she might pursue a career as a veterinarian. Later, as a young woman, Sylvia shared corners of this vast space with her friends.

  Yolanda and Zion had done everything right. They’d worked hard, their efforts and success rewarded tenfold when they joined others and committed to carve out this idyllic paradise. They might still have their fortune and their health, but what did any of it matter without their precious daughter?