“You should include the family Bible as an item on the warrant. I found it in the kitchen, mixed in with a stack of cookbooks. I assumed it belonged to Hope because Giles was Jewish. At the time, I thought it was just out of place. But it could have been hidden,” Bodhi said in a low voice to Detective Gilbert.
The detective nodded. “Most family Bibles have a space where you can keep handwritten family records—births, deaths, marriages. If Anastasia Kessler’s or Damon Tenley’s name is in that book, it’ll go a long way to proving the connection.”
Detective Martin ended her phone call and returned to the table.
“The neighbor told Officer Vitanni the Noors had a screaming match Tuesday evening. Her windows were closed because of the cold, of course, but when she went down to the curb to get her recycling bin and bring it back to the house, she heard Hope shouting about Giles’ obsession with the past. Giles in turn told Hope he didn’t even know who she was.”
“Good thing Mrs. Remmy chose that precise moment to retrieve her recycling bin,” Detective Gilbert deadpanned.
“Isn’t it, though? She also said that she saw Hope leave the house early this morning. Around seven A.M. She hasn’t returned. Mrs. Remmy invited Vitanni to keep watch from her living room window until Hope comes back.”
If she comes back, Bodhi thought.
Now where did that notion come from?
He wasn’t sure. But if Hope suspected they were getting close to her, she seemed like the type who might take off.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a text notification. He held the phone under the edge of the table and opened his texting app. The message was from Maisy, and it was short:
Damon Tenley is dead. Call me when you can.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Maisy, what happened?”
“Now, is that anyway to greet a friend, sugar?” Maisy drawled.
Bodhi could tell her heart wasn’t in it, but he played along.
“I’m sorry, Maisy. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just was so shocked when I got your text that I forgot my manners.”
“Well, that’s understandable. Isn’t it awful?”
“What happened?” he repeated.
Maisy sighed. “I really wish Penny would just tell you herself, but she insisted she can’t call you, because y’all are on opposite sides. So, if I get any details mixed up, don’t you go blaming me.”
“I won’t,” he promised. As if there was any chance the tough-as-nails investigative reporter hidden within Maisy’s sugar cookie exterior would get her facts wrong.
“Penny’s investigator, Kell, was supposed to go to the prison this afternoon to meet with Damon. Apparently, scheduling legal team visits sometimes goes all wonky, so Kell called out to Fayette this morning to confirm everything and make sure he didn’t drive all the way out there only to find out there was no meeting room set aside or something like that.”
“Okay.”
“Well, he got transferred around a bunch, and they finally connected him with Warden Hardiman himself who said Damon Tenley hanged himself in his cell less than an hour ago.”
“He committed suicide?”
“Mmm-hmm. Now, according to Penny, Kell pushed the warden pretty hard on that fact, and he insisted it was suicide.”
“Why would he kill himself now? It may be a long shot, but there’s a chance his sentence could be overturned.”
“Which is exactly what Kell said. So, Kell went and got Penny and they both talked to the warden who told them ….” She paused dramatically.
Bodhi waited in silence.
“Oh, you’re no fun. You could beg me to tell you, you know. Fine. The warden said Damon Tenley had a visitor first thing this morning. You’ll never guess who it was.”
“Anastasia Kessler.”
“Grr, you really are no fun. How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Warden Hardiman says she’s never visited Damon before, but the corrections officer who escorted him back to his cell reported that he was in decent spirits. Maybe a little quiet, is all. And then a guard came to take him to class—he was taking business courses—and he was swinging from the ceiling or whatnot. It’s just terrible.”
“It is. It’s tragic. Will you let Penny know we’re getting very close to finding out what happened with his DNA and I’m not gonna stop until we have answers? It would mean a lot if you could tell her.”
“Well, I suppose I can’t say no, now can I? I can’t believe y’all are acting exactly like a pair of junior high kids passing messages through a third party. Ask him if he likes me? Why, does she like me? Don’t tell her I wanted to know.”
“It’s not exactly the same. But I appreciate the help.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, here’s another little nugget of assistance, just between the two of us. You know I ordinarily wouldn’t divulge a source, but my DNA tip came from Meghan Ford. She’s apparently considerin’ a run for judge and wants to make her office look good.”
Meghan? Her anger over the leak had all been for show? What a monumental waste of the team’s time.
“That’s interesting.”
“Interesting? No, it’s infuriating. I do not enjoy being manipulated.” Maisy’s temper flared, which had the unexpected effect of flattening her Southern accent.
“That’s fair.”
“Oh, Meghan has no idea what she’s started. I got a very interesting call from Annette Morris, who used to work in the prosecutor’s office and heard about the new issue concerning Damon Tenley’s DNA. Now, Annette told me Meghan made her play a little loose with the evidence during the original trial—to the point that she started looking for jobs as soon as it ended.”
“Did Ms. Morris share any specifics about how Meghan pressured her?” He was thinking of Tory, and the testimony that had made her so uncomfortable that she’d called in sick to avoid taking the stand.
“I don’t have details, but you better believe I’m gonna get them. I lost my shot at an exclusive with Damon, but his death opens up a whole new line of investigation into how and why he was railroaded.”
He shook his head. “Don’t get out over your skis. I’m confident he did kill Raina Noor.”
She tsked at the warning. “I always stick to the truth, Bodhi. You know that.”
He laughed. It was true. For all of Maisy’s theatrics and drama, she was as ethical a journalist as he’d ever met.
“Well, in that case, go get ‘em, tiger.”
“Right back at you, my friend. Now, I gotta run and tell Penny I delivered her message. You should listen to the noon news. The public defender’s office called a press conference.”
Bodhi ended the call and returned to the conference room to share the news of Anastasia Kessler’s visit and Damon Tenley’s subsequent suicide with the team.
“Hardiman’s sure it was suicide?”
“Why would Anastasia visit him now?”
“Do you think she knows he killed himself?”
Overlapping questions were flying at Bodhi too rapidly for him to possibly answer any of them.
Finally, Saul held up a hand.
“Listen, people. Damon Tenley’s suicide is a distraction. It’s theater. Our primary objectives right now should be twofold: We need to find Hope Noor/Anastasia Kessler and we need to get a judge to sign a search warrant for the Noor home. And when I say we, I mean you. Because we”—he paused to gesture toward himself, Tory, and Bodhi—“are forensic scientists and pathologists. So, we’re going to head back to the lab. Best of luck to the rest of you.”
Saul stood, and Tory and Bodhi rose to their feet as well.
Meghan spluttered. “You can’t just walk out and leave this mess in my lap.”
“Respectfully, Meghan, there’s very little the medical examiner’s office can do at this point. Other than prepare for Mr. Tenley’s autopsy, assuming the Department of Corrections is going to send the body to us rather than a state police lab.�
��
Roland Lee kept his eyes locked on his legal pad, committed to staying out of the line of fire. The homicide detectives exchanged a look. Then Detective Gilbert cleared his throat.
“Dr. David, given all this stuff about Hope Noor being a chimera, it’d be helpful to sit down with your people before I draw up the search warrant for Roland to review. Just to make sure I include everything that will help establish that she has this condition.”
Roland remained fixated on his pad of paper. He didn’t even glance up at the mention of his name.
“That’s sensible,” Saul agreed. “Why don’t we walk out together? I’m sure Bodhi and Tory will make time to talk to you and Detective Martin this morning.”
“Definitely,” Tory chimed in.
Bodhi nodded. It would give him a chance to tell the detectives that Penny Geoffries was planning to give a press conference. That tidbit of information wasn’t something he planned to share with the district attorney while she was in her current mood.
Meghan gaped at them for a nanosecond; then she clamped her mouth and turned to glare at Roland. Bodhi cast the lawyer a sympathetic look before he trailed the others out of the conference room, leaving him to his fate.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hope was a cautious driver by nature. When she left the prison, the primary roads were cleared but the secondary roads were still snow covered. The driving conditions, coupled with the emotions that had been stirred up by seeing Damon, had the effect of making her a cautious, slow driver.
She couldn’t afford to get pulled over for speeding or blowing through a red light. Not when she was this close to a fresh start. She’d leave town, at least until things settled down. Damon would keep his mouth shut. Eventually, the police would close the case and Giles’ death would fade into the background.
Her heart was heavy, though. Seeing Damon in an orange jumpsuit, looking old and defeated, had hurt.
He’s giving you a second—third—chance. Don’t waste it.
She nodded to herself. The best way to honor Damon and thank him for his sacrifice would be to live her new life as fully and joyfully as she could. That’s what he wanted for her. That’s what he always wanted for her.
She merged onto the highway, headed north. She’d drive right through Pittsburgh and keep going until she picked up the turnpike in Harmarville. Once she made it to Ohio, she could stop and get some lunch. She’d unfold her map and pick a destination.
Comforted by the prospect of a plan, she loosened her grip on the steering wheel and wriggled her shoulders. Maybe some music would help lift her mood.
She shifted her eyes from the road and pressed the radio button.
“…go to live coverage of a statement from Penny Geoffries with the Allegheny County Public Defender’s Office.”
She rolled her eyes and changed the stations. Before she got too much further in her adventure, she’d have to update the presets. Giles and his incessant love for the news had meant that at least three of the saved stations were devoted to local news.
“—Ms. Geoffries represented Damon Tenley, convicted murderer and the so-called Squirrel Hill Slayer who fatally beat Raina Noor to death in 2012.”
Hope froze for an instant. Then she turned up the volume.
“Mr. Tenley’s name came up in the investigation into Raina Noor’s widower, Giles Noor, who was beaten to death in an eerily similar fashion just last week. We go live to Grant Street to hear what the public defender has to say:
“Thank you for braving the weather, folks. I’m going to read a short, prepared statement. This office represented Damon Tenley. In light of recent reports that the authorities were attempting to tie Mr. Noor’s murder to my client, despite the fact that Mr. Tenley is, and has been, incarcerated in a maximum-security facility, my office was considering reopening Mr. Tenley’s case. Today, Kell Berg, a senior investigator with the office, was scheduled to meet with Mr. Tenley. When he called SCI-Fayette to confirm the arrangements, he was informed that Mr. Tenley was dead. Allegedly, Damon Tenley took his own life in his cell sometime between nine o’clock and ten o’clock this morning. We’re calling on the Department of Corrections and local law enforcement to undertake a thorough review of the circumstances surrounding Mr. Tenley’s demise. We’re also calling on the District Attorney’s Office, the Medical Examiner’s Office, and the Pittsburgh Police Homicide Squad to provide an explanation for the anomalous DNA results that have been reported to the media. Thank you.”
Damon’s dead? Hope’s head spun and her breathing grew shallow.
She’d wanted him to take the fall for her, but not like this.
That’s not true, she corrected herself. You knew you might push him over the edge when you went to see him. Plus, admit it: it’s cleaner this way. With him gone, nobody’s going to keep looking for his partner. You’re almost home free.
Her vision blurred, and she realized she was crying.
She steadied her hands on the wheel and blinked hard to clear away her tears.
It’s going to be okay. Just stick to the plan.
She glanced up and gasped. Her entire rearview mirror was filled with the front of a tractor trailer. She gripped the wheel and squeezed her eyes shut as the truck plowed into the back of her sedan. The car spun sideways, wobbled, and careened off the road and down an embankment. It smacked off a thick tree and came to rest in a gully, just feet from the river.
The truck driver was nearly as shaken as she was. He gripped his hat in one hand and mopped the sweat from his forehead while repeatedly telling her how sorry he was.
She casually patted her hair to confirm her wig was in place then mustered a trembling smile.
“I’m okay,” she assured him.
She unfastened her seat belt.
“I don’t think you oughta move until the first responders get here.”
“You … called 911?” She tried to keep the anger out of her voice.
“Yes, ma’am. My truck’s not damaged, but your car is about totaled. Now don’t you worry, after we fill out the police reports, my home office will call your insurance company and get everything taken care of. But first thing’s first, we have to get you checked out.”
No. No. No.
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“I can’t sit here and wait.” Her mind raced, searching for a reason he’d accept, and then a calm came over her. The truth. The truth would get her out of this. “I … I just found out my brother died this morning. I have to get home.”
She fixed her eyes on his and waited.
“Oh, man … I’m so sorry.” He jammed his hat back on his head and flapped his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Could you give me a lift? My place is right up the hill. I’ll take care of the car later.”
“Uh … what about the police report?”
“You know, with the way the roads are, it could take them a long time to get out here.” She let her eyes fill. “I can’t wait. Please help me.”
She watched his face soften then melt.
Got him.
“Sure. Sure thing, miss.”
She exhaled. “Oh, thank you.”
She grabbed her bag from the back seat and hopped out of the car before he could change his mind. Detouring to her parents’ old place wouldn’t set her back too far, and nobody would think to look for her there. This was a solid plan B.
He held out his hand to help her up the icy hillside.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Burton was sitting at a stainless steel table in Tory Thurmont’s lab. He was trying hard to focus on the DNA lesson Bodhi and Tory were giving him and Chrys. In truth, though, his eyes had glazed over sometime around the part where they’d explained the difference between autologous and allogeneic transplants and the dangers of graft-versus-host disease. He just had to hope that Chrys was paying attention.
Chrys’ cell phone sounded.
“Hang on a sec, that’s probably Office
r Vitanni.” She unlocked the screen. “Huh. No, it’s dispatch.” She shrugged at Burton. “This is Martin.”
Burton watched as her eyes went wide and she flipped open her notebook and started scrawling notes.
“We’re on our way.”
She ended the call and got to her feet. Burton joined her.
“Where are we going?”
“911 got a report of an accident on Route 28 North. An eighteen-wheeler rear ended a sedan and pushed it over the embankment.”
“Injuries?”
“Apparently not. The truck driver called it in. But when the paramedics arrived at the scene, the truck was gone and the sedan had been abandoned. When a traffic unit rolled up, the officers ran the plates and the car came back registered to Hope Noor.”
Burton’s biology-inspired drowsiness lifted and adrenaline pumped through his veins. “Where exactly did this happen?”
“Right before the ramp to the 62nd Street Bridge.”
He squinted at the ceiling. “That’s just down the hill from her childhood home. It’s, what, a mile, a mile and a half? That’s a five-minute drive, tops.”
“Yeah, but her car’s still in the ravine. In this weather, it would take close to an hour to walk it,” Chrys pointed out.
Bodhi cleared his throat. “She got a lift from the truck driver.”
“Are you psychic, now?” Chrys asked.
“I spent enough time with her to know that she’s very good at appealing to a person’s protective instincts. She projects a vulnerability that makes you want to help her.”
“She got to me, too,” Burton admitted.
Tory added, “It seemed to work on Damon Tenley, as well.”
“We’ll have to finish this later,” Chrys said.
“May I tag along?” Bodhi asked.
“No.” Chrys shook her head.
“No. You stay put.” Burton jerked his head toward the door and Chrys followed him out of the room.
Twisted Path Page 18
