A Wife's Secret (A Pax Arrington Mystery Book 4)

by Elle Gray

  The Seattle Police Department, formerly under the so-called leadership of Deputy Chief Ricardo Torres, claims it was an oversight by the techs and analysts. They didn’t think to snap a picture of the ice. To me, that’s about as believable as the techs and analysts forgetting to snap a picture of the murder weapon at a crime scene. It just doesn’t pass the smell test for me. Even more so now that I know Torres was in the pocket of the Thirteen. He was being paid to interfere with, or even kill Blake, at their direction. Is it really outside the realm of possibility that he was paid to either take Veronica out or cover up the actual facts surrounding her death? I don’t think so.

  I’m relatively certain Veronica wasn’t mixed up in anything related to the Thirteen. Obviously, I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think so. Nothing I’ve found among her papers and things leads me to that conclusion at this point. But knowing that Torres is willing to sell his services and integrity to the highest bidder only reinforces my belief that it was whatever Veronica was working on that got her killed. She got too close to something or somebody and they greenlit her for it.

  I just haven’t been able to figure out what that story was. She had a thousand irons in the fire and of course, she was secretive about it all. Veronica always played her cards close to the vest and I never pushed her to talk about anything until she was ready. She had a way of doing things. A set routine. I respected her process. She knew I was there to bounce things off, which she did from time to time. Otherwise, I let her do her thing.

  In retrospect, I wish I would have dug a little deeper. I wish I knew what she’d been working on in the days and weeks leading up to her death. It would have given me a place to start looking for her killers. Or could have at least answered the questions that have plagued me since her death. But I’ve looked through every notebook, every computer file, and every scrap of paper in this office and I have absolutely nothing to show for it.

  I’ve tried to follow a few rabbit holes that have cropped up in the last couple of years. I took down a notorious serial killer by the name of Alvin Perry, who’d played sadistic games in the manner of a Sherlock Holmes villain with me. Once behind bars, he forwarded me the name of a drug called Xytophyl. I did as deep a dive as I could, eventually following what crumbs I could find to contact a hacker named Brian Takahashi. Turns out he used to work with Veronica on this case involving Xytophyl, but both he—and I—still have no idea what was really going on.

  Takahashi was the one who put me onto a secretive group he claims may have killed Veronica. He said there was a group called Aurora Nova—the New Dawn. I looked into this Aurora Nova as well as Lomtin Laboratories, the manufacturer of Xytophyl, and that’s been a dry well so far.

  My eyes fall on the picture in the silver frame on the corner of the desk. It’s a shot of Veronica with her little sister, Olivia. It’s one of the only pictures of them together she had. Veronica and her sister weren’t exceptionally close, and I know that’s something she always regretted. I wish they could have found their way back to each other before Veronica died. Unfortunately, there was never time. Or rather, they never made the time for each other.

  Olivia joined the Bureau and is based back in DC. She’s almost thirty now and reminds me a lot of my late wife. She’s got a small, pretty face with big green doe eyes, auburn hair, and skin the color of alabaster. To look at her, you’d think she looks more like a librarian than a federal agent, but she’s a lot tougher than she seems. Her biggest problem is that, unlike her big sister, she lacks confidence. Veronica had it in spades, but Olivia comes up a bit short in that department. I’ve never understood why. She’s incredibly intelligent, capable, and has that dogged determination that seems to be a genetic trait among the Knight women. She just doesn’t believe in herself all that much.

  She and I didn’t talk all that much when Veronica was still alive. I’ve always gotten the very distinct vibe that Olivia doesn’t care for me very much. Though she’s never said as much, I’m pretty sure she thinks of me as some spoiled, entitled rich boy—and she wouldn’t entirely be wrong in that assumption. When Veronica and I first got together, I was very much a spoiled, entitled, boorish jerk. I admit that. But Olivia has never given me credit for my personal growth. I’m a very different person today than the man Veronica met back in the day. She changed me, and though I’m not perfect, I like to think, I’ve changed for the better.

  Since she’s on my mind anyway, I grab my cellphone and call up my contacts then hit the button to call her. I lean back in the chair and pivot around, staring out at the city again. As I press the phone to my ear, I watch as flashes of lightning light up patches of the clouds overhead. The storm is moving closer. Olivia connects the call on the third ring.

  “Knight,” she answers.

  She obviously didn’t check her caller ID before answering the call. There was part of me that thought she might actually send me to voicemail.

  “Olivia, it’s Paxton,” I start. “How are you?”

  There’s a slight pause on the line and when she does speak, her voice is cold and flat. I’ve been updating her on the status of my investigation into Veronica’s death every so often since her sister died. I know she looks forward to these calls about as much as she’d look forward to a root canal, but I feel like it’s my duty. Olivia is also the only living link I have to Veronica anymore, so hearing her voice is almost like I’m keeping her spirit alive.

  “H—hi, Paxton. I’m fine, thank you,” she says, her tone robotic. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  As I speak, I look at the picture of them together again and wish they’d been able to make the time to mend whatever fence stood between them.

  “What can I do for you, Paxton?”

  “I just wanted to touch base with you. I don’t have anything new to report but—”

  “Paxton, I appreciate that you haven’t given up on finding the—truth,” she says.

  My frown deepens as her words wash over me. The way she said that bit about finding the truth tells me she’s accepted the official report. I’m left wondering if that’s always been the case and I haven’t noticed it before or if she’s just lost hope.

  “It’s just—it’s been a long time since Olivia died, Paxton,” she says. “A really long time.”

  “I know it has. But I’m still looking for the people responsible for her death.”

  “She died in a car accident,” Olivia says.

  Her words are like a dagger to my heart. I thought if anybody would keep the faith and never lose hope, it would be Olivia. Maybe they weren’t close, but they were still sisters. I assumed she’d always want to get to the actual truth and not some potentially compromised report issued by an organization as incompetent and corrupt as the SPD.

  “I don’t believe that Olivia. And deep down, I don’t think you do either.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t even know me. And you most certainly have no idea what I believe or don’t believe,” she replies, her voice colder than the Arctic tundra.

  Almost three thousand miles separate us, but she sounds even further away than that. I run a hand through my hair and try to organize my thoughts, but it feels like I had my legs taken out from under me. I never expected Olivia to give up.

  “You’re right. That was presumptuous of me,” I say. “I apologize for that.”

  “Paxton, listen. I appreciate you calling me about the case, but I can’t keep doing this,” she sighs. “Every time you call, it’s like bringing me back to that moment again. It’s like a weight holding me down, suffocating me. I need to move forward with my life just so I can breathe, and far be it for me to tell you what to do, but I think it would be good if you found a way to do the same.”

  I get to my feet and step to the window, watching as the lightning flashes and the first drops of rain start to hit the glass.

  “You do what you need to do though, Paxton,” she continues. “I just—please stop calling me
with this. I can’t do this anymore.”

  I feel like she kicked me in the gut and drove all the air from my lungs. I have to force myself to understand, though. Or if not understand, at least respect her decision.

  Olivia and I are very different people. Probably why we don’t get along all that well. Where I need to face this head-on, devoting all my focus and energy to it, she is the type who needs distance from it just to stay sane. Not that that’s wrong or that it means she loves her sister any less.

  It’s just another way we all process grief differently.

  “I get it, Olivia. I get it,” I tell her. “I won’t bother you again.”

  “Take care of yourself, Paxton. I mean that.”

  “I will. You do the same.”

  She clicks off the call and I slip the phone into my pocket and stare out at the rain falling over the city feeling more alone and isolated than ever. But it is what it is. I turn and look at the photo of Veronica and her sister again and frown.

  “Looks like we’re on our own. The last ones left standing,” I say. “I’m going to find out who did this to you, Veronica. I swear it. I will find them.”

  Four

  Arrington Investigations; Downtown Seattle

  “Can you help me?”

  I look at the file sitting open on my desk in front of me. It’s everything the woman sitting across the desk from me has collected over the years she’s been searching for her birth parents. Searching but never finding. I can see the emotional toll it’s taken on her.

  “We can definitely look into this for you, Ms. Burrow,” I tell her. “Just see Amy at the front. She’ll have you sign a few documents, and we’ll get the ball rolling.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Arrington,” she says, her eyes shimmering with tears.

  “Please, just call me Paxton. Or just Pax.”

  We get to our feet, and I extend my hand. She takes it in both of hers with a firm grip and shakes my hand. I can see the gratitude in her expression and just hope we can come through for her. I have little doubt we’ll find her parents—Brody is a master at finding people who don’t want to be found. But I have no idea what will happen once we do. What if they don’t want to see her or be part of her life?

  She gives me one more smile then leaves my office. I sit down again and go through the file one more time, a little more carefully this time, committing it all to memory. Brody could probably close out a case like this in ten minutes by working his keyboard magic. But I’m probably going to pass this off to my other investigator, Nick Moreno, to do the follow-up and leg work. Still, it’s a good idea for me to be up to speed on it anyway.

  After going through Ms. Burrow’s notes, I close the file, pondering what it must be like to have a family out there you don’t know. Wondering what it’s like knowing your parents gave you up and never looked back. It’s no wonder that she had that haunted look in her eyes. It’s a different kind of pain than I feel after losing a wife, but I can still somewhat relate to how she’s feeling. That’s why I want to help her.

  I look through the glass wall of my office and see Ms. Burrow going over the paperwork with Amy. She signs the documents then stands up and gives me a wave before turning and crossing the lobby to the elevator. As the doors close, I turn back to my computer and call up my emails and am surprised to see one from Brian Takahashi.

  Takahashi has not entirely been forthcoming with information ever since we made contact. With Brody’s help, I broke into his place a little while back just to see who he is and what he’s about. What I found is a paranoid guy who doesn’t leave his house all that often because he thinks the government is out to get him. He seems really close to the type you’d see walking around in a paper robe and a tinfoil hat talking to bushes and trees.

  I suppose with the recent revelations of the Thirteen and all their methods coming to light, he was right at least about some of it. But I don’t think that’s what’s at play here. The group he mentioned, Aurora Nova, has not come up at all related to the Thirteen case, and neither have Xytophyl or Lomtin Labs. For all my searching, I’ve still found nothing to back up the assertion that they got Veronica killed. Part of me wants to write it off as more of Takahashi’s paranoid claptrap. I haven’t closed the book on the Xytophyl thread entirely though, because Lomtin Labs was somewhat corroborated by Alvin Perry.

  It’s not lost on me that after Perry passed me the note, he died of mysterious circumstances in a maximum-security prison, and the prison guard who had facilitated the visit was coincidentally murdered in a park shortly after that. Just out of curiosity, I’d love a chance to find out how Perry really died, but that case was kept in-house by the state board of corrections. No chance for me to get a crack at it.

  As far as I know—and I looked really hard—there was no link between Perry and Takahashi. I had Brody search digitally and he never found anything either. That lent the idea that Lomtin Labs was involved with Veronica’s death a little credence in my book. We scoured every known surface of the Internet, searching for something, anything, but ultimately came up empty. There’s something there though. I can feel it. But it remains out of reach. Try as I might, I can’t tease the information or connection out into the light. It’s more of a dead-end rather than a dry hole.

  There are a lot of things that still need to be figured out. A lot of questions that need answers. The most pressing one right now is trying to figure out what Takahashi is emailing me for, since his opinion of me is about as low as Torres’. Takahashi said he thinks I should have been the one to die in that car wreck—not Veronica. Frankly, I can’t say I don’t understand or share the sentiment.

  I open the email, curious just what it’s about, and the first line sends a cold rush of ice flowing through my veins. I read it a second and then a third time, letting the words soak into my mind.

  “Paxton, if you’re reading this, that means I’m dead.”

  The power of those words hit me hard. Far harder than they should have given the fact that I didn’t really know the guy. But it’s just eerie getting an email that starts off like that. It does pique my curiosity even higher though, so I read on.

  Paxton, if you’re reading this, that means I’m dead.

  Because of the nature of what I was working on with Veronica, I had to put certain contingencies in place. One of those contingencies is this email. I’m using a program that requires me to enter a code every twenty-four hours. Failure to enter the code triggered the alert and sent the email to you. Hence, if you’re reading this, I failed to enter the code, which means I’ve more than likely shuffled off this mortal coil.

  I can’t tell you exactly what Veronica was working on because I only had bits and pieces of it. She kept the meat of the story to herself as a safety precaution—which, if you’re reading this email, obviously didn’t work for either of us. Ha ha. Sorry, gallows humor is a coping mechanism of mine.

  Anyway, a while back, Veronica tasked me with giving you the information you would need to investigate should anything happen to her. She told me to give it to you when the time is right. Since I’m dead, I suppose there won’t be a better time than now. For security’s sake though, you will need to work for it. I don’t want to spell it out in an email that could be intercepted by the NSA, CIA, FBI, or another alphabet agency we don’t even know about yet.

  The first clue I need to give you is an address: 6471 Walker Street. The second piece of the puzzle is 1432D. It will require a key—WHICH YOU ALREADY HAVE.

  Well, I guess that’s it. I can’t believe I’m dead. I took precautions to keep this from happening, but it looks like they got me anyway. I guess I always knew it would happen one day. There’s not much I can do about it now. It just sucks.

  Anyway, good luck. I hope you find out who killed Veronica—and me—and put a bullet in them. In fact, make it two.

  ~B. Takahashi

  At the bottom of the page is a strange design of some sort. It looks like some kind of a logo or something. Ben
eath that is a series of letters and numbers. It’s a code, obviously, but I have no idea what it says. I’m not much of a codebreaker. Good thing for me, I know somebody who is. I print out the email and use a highlighter to circle the code. After that, I get to my feet, walk out of my office, and head straight over to Brody’s. He’s just getting off the phone when I step in and close the door behind me.

  “How’s Marcy?” I ask.

  “How’d you know I was talking to Marcy?”

  “Because you’ve got that stupid, lovestruck schoolboy smile on your face,” I reply.

  “Shut it, jerk,” he laughs. “What are you invading my personal space for anyway?”

  I drop the email on his desk in front of him and sit down in one of the chairs that sit before his desk. Brody picks it up and reads through it a couple of times before looking up at me.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he whispers.

  “He certainly sounds serious.”

  “What’s this logo down here at the bottom?” he asks.

  I shrug. “No idea. Maybe he thought it was a symbol of protection. You know, keep the NSA or CIA from being able to zap his email from the computer?”

  Brody chuckles. “Probably. Guy was a few fries short of a Happy Meal.”

  “That he was,” I say and point to the code at the bottom. “It’s that code I wanted you to look at though. I was hoping you had some codebreaking program that might be able to crack it.”