by Karen Dionne
“But Camelot didn’t last.”
“It never does, does it? The first crack came when the boys were ten and fourteen and Bob and Janet separated. Bob had fallen ill by then. It was a terrible time for all of us. Polycystic kidney disease is an absolutely horrific illness. The body just keeps producing cysts. There’s no cure, no way to stop it. The cysts are noncancerous, and they vary in size, so a person might be forgiven for thinking the disease is something a person could live with. But as the number of cysts accumulate and the cysts fill with fluid, they grow to an enormous size. A normal kidney weighs less than a third of a pound. The kidney of a PKD sufferer can weigh as much as thirty pounds. Can you imagine the pain? To say nothing of the suffering the victim goes through on their way to eventual kidney failure.”
Rutz ran his hand through his wild hair. “Janet couldn’t cope, couldn’t stand to see Bob go through all that. She was weak, and she dealt with it in the worst possible way. Left him, left the boys, took up with one of her students. I suppose she was desperate for something to distract her—she was starting to show symptoms herself—but it ended badly. Her lover got her pregnant and then left her high and dry, and an alcoholic into the bargain. She went downhill pretty soon after the baby was born. A boy.”
Beneath the table, Goddard’s leg twitched with excitement. The boys’ mother had a son by another man? Lance and Guy had a half-brother? Goddard was careful to keep his expression neutral. He could feel a similar tension vibrating off of Linden, could almost see the gears turning in her brain. No doubt thinking of the four hundred thousand dollars in Lance’s trust. Thinking that if the half-brother was alive, he would stand to inherit. And that if he knew about the trust, he had a motive to kill them both.
“Did Lance and Guy know they had a half-brother?”
“They did not. After Janet left, Bob made sure they never saw her again. After everything she put them through, he didn’t want her in their lives. Her or her bastard son.
“I realize that sounds harsh,” Rutz continued, “but what we did was in the boys’ best interests. Janet was drinking heavily. Bob and I had to shield the boys from that. At first, we told them that she’d gone for an extended visit to their grandmother. Then when Bob died, I told them Janet had died at her mother’s. I didn’t let them go to Bob’s funeral. I was worried that Janet would show up, but as it turned out, she was already gravely ill. She was dead within the year. From then on, I was the only constant in the boys’ life.”
Rutz paused and lifted his chin. “Judge me if you will, but to this day, I believe I did the right thing. The boys went to live with Bob’s parents until they came of age. The grandparents were as disgusted with Janet as I was, and were only too happy to continue the deception. And really, what did it matter? After we knew that Janet also had polycystic kidney disease, her early death was a given. It was only a matter of time. The boys received a substantial inheritance when their grandparents passed away, but how can money compensate for the loss of your family? How can it give you closure?”
Rutz glared. Goddard tipped his head to concede the point. If he’d been in Rutz’s position, who was to say he’d have done differently? The picture Rutz painted of the Marsee brothers’ background was enlightening. Children of privilege, both financial and academic. On top of the world, until they weren’t. Guy must have used his share of the inheritance to purchase his extravagant apartment, even if he couldn’t quite afford to stock it with real works of art, just good imitations. Given what they knew about Lance, it seemed safe to presume that his share of the inheritance had been donated to the Black Bear Casino.
“Is that why Guy became a data analyst? He was following in your footsteps because he looked up to you as his substitute father?”
“Perhaps. I like to think so,” Rutz admitted. “Regardless, Guy was well-suited for the work. He had a gift for numbers that was truly extraordinary. You’ve heard of the term ‘autistic savant.’ Although Guy wasn’t autistic; his disorder was more along the lines of Asperger’s syndrome, not that he was ever officially diagnosed. Which was the real reason he found it difficult to make friends.”
“Let’s go back to their half-brother,” Goddard said. “How old would he be now?”
“Lance was four when his mother left, five when his brother was born. That would make the half-brother twenty-seven.”
“And you’re certain that Lance and Guy knew nothing about him?”
“Absolutely. As I’ve already told you, it was better for everyone that way. He was adopted, but I kept track of him during his early years. As it turned out, the boy was deeply flawed.”
“Deeply flawed? How?”
“The boy was just wrong. He wasn’t like other children, no empathy, no kindness. Cold. And he seemed to enjoy hurting others, both mentally and physically. I wouldn’t be surprised if today he has a criminal record. He may even be dead.”
“So you’re not in touch with him? When was the last time you saw or spoke to him?”
“I really couldn’t say. Years, certainly. I have no idea where he might be now.”
Except… for the first time during the lengthy interview, Rutz did not look Goddard in the eye. He’d licked his lips when he said it had been years since he’d talked to the half-brother, then unconsciously scratched the bridge of his nose.
Rutz was lying.
“Are you sure you haven’t been in touch with him?” Goddard pressed. “You’d swear to it under oath? I’m warning you, Dr. Rutz. We have ways of finding things out. You really don’t want to lie to us.” Again the unspoken implication.
Rutz sat up straight, offended. “I’m not lying. I received one phone call several months ago at his instigation. That can hardly be construed as being ‘in touch.’”
“He called you. What did he want?”
Rutz waved his hand dismissively. “He had some cockamamie idea that he’d found a way to cure polycystic kidney disease, if you can imagine that. As if better minds than his weren’t already at work on the problem. He wanted me to invest in his scheme. Frankly, I was surprised that he even knew the name of the disease that killed his mother. But as it turns out, he wasn’t a stupid man. Judging by our conversation, he was every bit as intelligent as his half-brothers. At any rate, I turned him down flat. I don’t have that kind of money, wouldn’t have given it to him if I had. And it’s absolutely true that I have no idea where he is today or what he’s doing.”
Rutz lifted his chin, challenging Goddard to accuse him of lying again.
“Does this half-brother have a name?” Goddard asked.
“Campbell. Neil Campbell. And now we’re done. Charge me, or let me go. Either way, I want my attorney.”
27
Sarah faced off with the nurse in charge of the burn unit at Harborview Medical. Barely five feet and pretty as a model, the nurse was the kind of woman who was smart and determined enough to get where she was despite the double handicap of her small size and good looks.
“It’s absolutely imperative that I speak with Mr. Campbell,” Sarah said. “Call a doctor. I want to speak to someone in authority.”
“There’s no point, the doctor won’t consider removing Mr. Campbell’s sedation. I’m sorry. We have to consider what’s in the best interest of the patient.”
“And I have to consider what’s in the best interest of my investigation. This man has vital information regarding a murder.” Possibly two. Never mind the fact that he might well have committed them both.
The woman drew herself up to her full height. The look she gave Sarah could have crumbled a marble statue.
“I don’t think you understand,” the nurse said. “Mr. Campbell has suffered second and third-degree burns over eighty percent of his body. If he wasn’t in an induced coma he’d be in agony. He could die.”
“That’s exactly my point. I need to hear what he has to say now.”
“And I told you that waking him up is not my call. It’s up to his doctor.”
“Then get his doctor.”
The nurse shook her head emphatically and put her hand on the desk phone. Making sure Sarah saw it. Letting Sarah know she was ready to call security if Sarah didn’t back down.
Sarah clenched her fists and turned away. She stomped off down the corridor and rode the elevator down to the lobby. Walking quickly, she exited the building through the double doors and found the smoking area in an outdoor courtyard next to the parking lot. She lit up and paced back and forth, trying to organize her thoughts.
Campbell was Lance and Guy Marsee’s half-brother. Highly intelligent, and—if what Rutz had said about his character was true—completely without conscience. A lethal combination? Quite possibly. The AFIS search she’d done before coming to the hospital revealed that Campbell had been in trouble with the law repeatedly. His juvenile records were sealed, but just the fact that he had a juvie record spoke volumes. His adult rap sheet included a baker’s dozen of minor and not-so-minor charges, including a prison stretch for assault with a deadly weapon. Thinking that he was capable of murder was not a stretch.
She tossed the cigarette and ground it under her foot, then went back inside and rode the elevator to the tenth floor. She hoped the charge nurse had had a chance to cool down enough to change her mind. Sarah’s was the voice of reason. She wasn’t asking the nurse to wake up Campbell herself. Only to call a doctor.
Sarah’s hopes climbed higher when she stepped off the elevator and saw that a different nurse was behind the counter. Pleasant-looking, grandmotherly, rotund. She smiled sweetly and showed her badge.
“I need to speak with Mr. Campbell in room 1011,” she said. “It’s very important.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Mr. Campbell is unconscious.”
“I understand that. I need someone to wake him up.”
Gray Hair looked surprised. “I can’t possibly authorize that.”
“I’m not asking you to. Please. Just call Mr. Campbell’s doctor. This is a police matter. It won’t take long, but it’s important. I just need to ask Mr. Campbell a few questions.”
The nurse pursed her lips as she considered Sarah’s request. For a moment, Sarah thought she was home free when the nurse nodded and laid her pen on top of a stack of patient charts. Then: “Let me go ask the charge nurse what she thinks. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
And back on the merry-go-round they went.
Sarah leaned against the counter. A not-so-subtle message for anyone who happened to be looking that she was planning to stay until she got her way. Nothing was more important right now than interviewing Campbell. She’d camp out in the waiting room day and night, get a death-bed confession if she had to.
The gray-haired nurse returned. Sarah could tell immediately from her expression that nothing had changed.
“No dice?” she said pleasantly. Making an effort to maintain a semblance of cordiality.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse said with a shrug. She looked sincere. Not that that was going to help Sarah’s case. “I promise, we’ll call you the moment Mr. Campbell is able to talk with you. I was wondering, though. Do you happen to know if Hugo is all right? I’d like to be able to tell him when he wakes up.”
“I’m sorry. Who?”
“Hugo. Mr. Campbell’s little boy. Before we put Mr. Campbell under, he kept asking for him, wanting to know if Hugo was all right. I suppose he thought the boy was also burned in the fire. Of course we told him his son was fine, even though we didn’t know either way. But when he does wake up, I’d like to be able to tell him the truth.”
Sarah had to press her lips together to avoid lashing out. She was beyond frustrated. This woman wouldn’t help with her investigation, yet she expected Sarah to take on the additional chore of finding out what had happened to Campbell’s boy? Still, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to get on the nurse’s good side. If she agreed to look into the boy’s whereabouts, maybe this woman would cooperate as well. Give a favor, get a favor in return.
“I imagine he’s in foster care,” Sarah said as pleasantly as she was able. “If you like, I can look into it.”
“Oh, would you? That would be wonderful. I—”
She broke off and looked down. Sarah followed her gaze. Behind the counter, a row of lights had begun to flash. At the same time, the speaker system crackled to life. Code blue.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “You have to leave. Now.” She ran off down the hall. Sarah ran after her. An orderly passed them, pushing what Sarah assumed was a crash cart. She ran faster. Followed the cart to room 1011.
“You can’t be in here,” the charge nurse shouted as Sarah ran into Campbell’s room.
“This man is a witness in my investigation! I need to talk to him! Now!”
“Get her out of here!” the charge nurse shouted.
A pair of orderlies grabbed Sarah by the arms and muscled her out into the hallway. She pushed past them as soon as they released her and ran back. They followed her in and grabbed her again. Shoved her back into the hallway. Held onto her arms.
“You can’t go in there,” one of the orderlies said. “Stay here. Let us do our job. You don’t want him to die, do you?”
“Of course not.” Sarah shook her head. The orderlies let go. They went back inside Campbell’s room, and shut the door.
Sarah moved to the window. A man straddled Campbell on the bed doing chest compressions. Someone else jabbed a needle in his arm. Sarah caught a glimpse of the monitor before the charge nurse came over to the window and jerked the cord and the blinds fell.
Flatlined.
28
Goddard drummed his hands on the steering wheel on his way to Rockland Diagnostics as he sang along with the Blues Brothers tune blasting from the CD player. Oh baba don’t you wanna go, back to that same old place, sweet home, Chicago-o-o… drawing out the last note of the chorus as the song finished in a happy riot of drums and cymbals. A cheerful, foot-tapping, sing-along song, all sunshine and blue skies that was perfectly suited to his mood. Never mind that the real sky overhead was so foreboding; it looked like the rain that had dogged him since he left the station was going to change to snow at any second. Goddard didn’t care. Not even a hurricane could spoil his good mood.
He still couldn’t believe his luck. Or his inspiration, or his brilliance, or his genius, or his intuition, or whatever you wanted to call his discovery of the link between Rutz and the Marsee brothers. Without it they would never have known that Neil Campbell was the Marsees’ half-brother. It seemed a fair supposition that Campbell had found out about the brothers’ “secret project” and had tried to get Rutz to buy in. Otherwise how could you explain the coincidence? Both Campbell and the Marsees looking into a cure for a rare disease at exactly the same time? It couldn’t be chance.
It never failed to astound him how a random query, a chance encounter, a word spoken at the right time, could blow a case wide open. Or how one small variance could make all the difference. If Rutz had been the boys’ official guardian instead of their godfather, he and Linden could have uncovered that fact easily enough through the usual channels. But Rutz as godfather was an obscure detail that under normal circumstances wouldn’t even make it into print beyond a notice in a church bulletin at the time of the boys’ christening. Whether it was sheer dumb luck that the article in the online alumni newsletter had linked their names, or whether it was fate, didn’t matter. The important thing was that Rutz had wanted to keep the relationship hidden. He’d almost succeeded. Almost.
As for why Rutz had been determined to conceal that particular detail to the point where he barely acknowledged being acquainted with Guy Marsee, Goddard could only guess. Whatever the reason, he certainly wasn’t swallowing the whole “it doesn’t matter who killed them” B.S. that Rutz had tried to feed him. Goddard had a theory, one he hoped would grow legs after he interviewed the technician at Rockland Diagnostics who’d run the Marsee brothers’ DNA, and it had nothing to do with how Rutz felt about
closure.
He turned into the parking lot, detouring around a pothole that could have doubled as a duck pond. He thought about the questions that Rutz’s interview had raised. Was Rutz lying when he said the two halves of the family didn’t know each other? Were all three brothers working together on the PKD project? Was the picture Rutz had drawn of Campbell as a conscienceless man a fabrication? If the answer to any of those questions was yes, then maybe he and Linden had it backwards. Maybe, instead of being a suspect, Campbell too was a victim. Maybe it wasn’t chance that his trailer exploded the same day the brothers were shot. In which case, he and Linden needed to take a long, hard look at the esteemed Dr. Nelson Rutz.
He locked the doors of his aging Crown Vic and hurried with his head down against the rain toward the building. There was waterfront, he reflected as he splashed his way through the puddles, and then there was waterfront. This was definitely the downscale kind. Rusty cranes. Empty loading docks. A sliver of gray water barely visible between a row of corrugated sheet metal warehouses and swaybacked wooden buildings. Not an area of the city where he would have expected to find a state-of-the-art genetics testing lab. Still, Goddard preferred neighborhoods like this to the downtown waterfront’s renovated glitz and glamour. The peeling paint and neon signs reflecting in the puddles on the crumbling sidewalks spoke to him more eloquently than winding boardwalks and trendy shops.
No name on the front of the building. No doubt keeping a low profile to keep thieves and degenerates away. Making it look like there was nothing special going on inside, when in reality, the building was probably full of thousands, maybe even millions of dollars’ worth of equipment.
He tugged open the door. Inside, the no-frills approach continued. No fancy lobby, no perky receptionist, just a cluster of desks crowded into a common workspace. Which was all very progressive and democratic, but figuring out which person he should approach to ask for the technician he’d spoken to on the phone was going to be a problem. Goddard stood awkwardly near the door with his hands in his pockets. Just as he was considering calling out the man’s name to see who looked up on the off chance that the technician was in the room, a young man at the desk nearest to him came to his rescue. “Who are you looking for?”
