“My daughter said we shouldn’t talk to you anymore,” she replied. Her fingers curled around the door handle, probably preparing to slam it in my face.
“I know recent events have been very upsetting but I only need to ask a couple more things,” I told her, hoping I sounded reassuring. “Then I promise I won’t bother you with anymore questions.”
Mrs. Patterson hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
“I absolutely promise and if you have any complaints, you can contact Lieutenant Graves and let him deal with me,” I told her.
“Five minutes,” she said. “We can talk here at the door.”
“That’s great, thank you. I wanted to ask you why Debby came home?”
“I think I told you before that she was homesick. She decided to come home.”
“Did you question why it took her ten years to get homesick?”
“It crossed my mind but I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. She came home. That was all I wanted.”
“Could there have been any other reason?” I pressed.
Mrs. Patterson frowned, then shook her head, looking confused. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you ask her to come home?”
“I mentioned it indirectly a few times but I didn’t want to push. If you push Debby, she pushes back and I didn’t want her to never return.”
“What about your illness?”
“My illness?” Mrs. Patterson blinked with surprise. “I’m not ill!”
I reached for the email printout, unfolded it and showed it to her. “Did you send this to your daughter?”
Mrs. Patterson took the sheet and slipped on a pair of glasses from her pocket, skimming over it before handing it back. “I didn’t send this.”
“Could you look again? It’s from your email address to your daughter.”
“I don’t need to. I can tell you now I’m not sick. I had a full medical only last month and I’m in excellent health. Where did you get this?”
“From your daughter’s trash in her email program. Do you see here?” I said, pointing to the sentence I wanted her to pay attention to. “It says not to mention it to you and to trash the message. Don’t you think that strange?”
“Of course I do. If I were sick, I wouldn’t hide it and I wouldn’t insist no one talk to me about it.”
“Does anyone else have access to your email?” I asked. “Do you ever use a public computer? Maybe at the library? Or an internet cafe?”
“No, we have a computer at home. My husband and I share it.”
“Just you and your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Has your husband ever used your email?”
“Of course he does. We share this email address and we both contact Debby on it. Is that all? I really must go.”
“Yes, thank you for your time.”
“Before you go, do you know anything about Fiona’s case? Is there any news?”
“No, I’m sorry, there isn’t.”
Mrs. Patterson closed the door and I turned away, returning to my car. In the driver’s seat, I sat patiently for a moment, collecting my thoughts. One thing I had to do was tell Garrett about the email. I called him, and just as I was about to hang up, he answered.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I found something out…” I started.
“Yeah? Me too. We got a body.”
“Debby’s?”
“Looks that way. Not quite where Marley thought she buried her but close enough. Wearing the same clothes, or what was left of them. The ME is preparing to transport the corpse.”
“Any idea of what killed her?”
“A little too early to say but the ME says there’s no obvious sign of cause of death. No gunshot wound or head trauma so Marley’s story is holding up so far. Looks like we won’t be charging her with murder.”
“That’s great!” I stopped, wincing. “Obviously, it isn’t. It’s sad. It’s horri—”
“Listen, I gotta go,” Garrett cut in. “I’m on my way to inform the family.”
“Are you absolutely certain it’s her?”
“We don’t have a formal ID yet and there’s no delicate way to say this, but we’ll be looking at the dental records, and not asking the family for identification. I expect they’ll come back with a positive match to Debby. We did find something on her, a necklace that her parents might be able to identify. I want to notify them as soon as possible. They shouldn’t have to wait for word to get out that we have Marley in custody.”
“I just spoke to her mom. She didn’t know anything about any illness,” I told him.
“Hardly matters now,” said Garrett. “I’ll make sure you get credit for all your work on this, okay? Bye.”
“Wait! What…?” I started but Garrett had hung up on me again. I drove back to the agency, stationing myself in front of the whiteboard, Debby’s case file once again next to me. I looked through it at least a dozen times, focusing on her alibi.
Marley, as Debby, had ordered some food and was seen by the serving staff. She walked to the park and called her dad. They spoke briefly and then she enjoyed a long phone call on her burner cell to her boyfriend abroad.
But who did Fiona speak to in that time?
I picked up my phone and called Lucas. “Can you get me Fiona Queller’s phone records?” I asked him.
“Does a duck quack?” replied Lucas. “Sure I can.”
“Right now?”
“Sounds serious.”
“I have a feeling.”
“Whoa!” Lucas teased.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Give me the number?”
I reeled it off and Lucas assured me he would bring the phone records as soon as he had them. Ten minutes of hard staring at the whiteboard later and he entered the room, a thin sheaf of paper in hand. “Here’s the last month of calls,” he told me.
I took the sheet, searching the most recent and comparing them to a data sheet I already had. Fiona called her husband and her kids on their cell phones. The last number was one I didn’t recognize. I reached for the phone on the boardroom table and dialed it.
“Patterson and Bryce Fertility Clinic,” said the voice that answered. I dropped the phone into the cradle, almost breathless. Fiona had called Rod Patterson an hour before she died.
The answer flashed into my brain. I suddenly knew how Debby’s return indirectly caused Fiona’s death. It was horribly clear now who had killed her.
Chapter Nineteen
“Pick up. Pick up!” I yelled into the phone and, for the third time, my call clicked through to voicemail. “Garrett, call me back! It’s Rod Patterson,” I said simply before hanging up. Hastily tapping a few keys on my laptop keyboard, I forwarded the email luring Debby home, the one that I retrieved from Debby’s trash can. I sent it to Garrett’s email address, adding a short message. I told him that Fiona was killed to protect Debby, to protect his daughter who was coming home, whoever he thought she was.
“What’s going on?” asked Lucas, watching me.
I grabbed him by the shoulders, my body full of a panicked excitement that I felt sure shone on my face. I could only hope in my excitement, I didn’t have crazy eyes but I wouldn’t place any wagers on it. “I just figured it out!” I told him.
“The meaning of the universe?” he replied nonchalantly.
“No! The case!”
“You’re either a little behind or stuck in some weird time loop. You already solved the case of the impostor.”
“No, not that one. The other one. The one no one asked me to solve.”
“Is it buy-one get-one free week at the agency?”
“I have to go,” I said, ignoring his snappy retort. “Garrett is about to walk straight into a trap.”
“That sounds bad.”
“Very bad. I’m going to get my gun.”
Lucas grimaced. “Oh, boy!”
I barely had a chance to formulate my plan as I raced from the building, taking the stairs
two at a time, hearing Lucas calling after me. In just a few short moments, it all became clear in my mind. Debby had already confided that she wanted a new life, to leave all her Debby lies behind, and do it in a way that wouldn’t devastate her parents. The only obstacle she encountered on her return was Fiona, the one person who knew Marley wasn’t Debby, which was exactly why he killed her. The murder might not have been committed by Debby but it was still on her behalf. I knew Debby couldn’t have committed the murder because she had a rock-solid alibi. She wasn’t anywhere near Fiona at the time of her death.
But Fiona did call someone, someone she thought she could trust: her friend, Rod Patterson. I could imagine how that conversation went. She phoned him with some evidence, something irrefutable that could prove Debby couldn’t possibly be Debby, or maybe even a gut feeling that just wouldn’t go away. Perhaps it was like what Garrett felt and could not shake off, that something was wrong. Dr. Patterson probably told her he was on his way over to speak to her, and find out why she was so adamant his daughter wasn’t whom she said she was. Maybe he even told her not to tell anyone else until he got there.
When he arrived, Fiona probably showed him her evidence or explained what she knew. She could have told him how sorry she was to ruin the wonderful homecoming of their only daughter, or maybe implored him to go to the police to protect himself and his wife from whatever scam she suspected Marley was trying to pull.
In the car, I buckled up before tearing out of the lot, aiming for home. I couldn’t stop thinking about what the conversation might have been. Fiona probably theorized that fake Debby was up to no good. She was undoubtedly afraid for her dear friends. Why not? It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. Few people took over another person’s life simply for altruistic reasons. Marley might try to insist that she was doing that, but it didn’t excuse her for concealing a dead body to do it.
What Fiona never accounted for was Mr. Patterson’s unfailing desire to protect his family. I wanted to believe that he didn’t swallow Fiona’s theory — and thought she was wrong — but a small part of me wondered if he already knew the Debby who came home wasn’t his real daughter. Then I could only imagine what he got out of playing along.
It made sense to me that Dr. Patterson had written the email that enticed Debby to come home. He told her not to mention the fake illness to his wife since it wasn’t true. Perhaps he expected the real Debby to return. It was too awful for me to contemplate the idea that he might’ve known all along that his daughter was dead. That meant he’d known about it for ten years without telling another soul, not even his wife. Only someone complicit in her death would have known that, I decided; however, there was nothing in Marley’s testimony to suggest Rod was there when his daughter died.
Did he realize at some point over the last ten years that Debby was actually dead? Or that someone was posing as her? That would provide another reason for him to lure Debby home; if only to put an end to the farce.
“So, why wait?” I wondered out loud. “Why welcome Debby home and say nothing? Why pretend to be a father to someone you know isn’t your daughter?”
Hard as I tried, I couldn’t wrap my head around accepting an impostor as a family member. It was hard enough when an actor replaced another in the same character on TV, but in real life? There had to be something to gain. I just wished I knew what it could possibly be.
I screeched to a halt outside my home and ran inside. “Solomon?” Are you home?” I called into the silence. No answer.
Since moving there, I kept my gun stored in his gun safe, hidden behind a false panel that looked like any of the other kitchen cabinets. I pressed the door and it popped open, then slid to the side. I punched the numbers into the keypad and the lock clicked. My gun was safely inside, neatly stowed in its case along with my holster. I opened it, loaded the bullets and pushed the safe door and false cabinet closed before holstering my gun and making sure my jacket obscured it.
One thing I’d learned since becoming a PI was to always be very careful about walking into an unknown situation unarmed. Unfortunately, it happened to me more than once. Now, I refused to face a killer with no weapons but my manicured nails, a fabulous sense of style, and the pocketknife my wise mother gave to me some time ago.
All I had to do now was find Dr. Patterson. If he were in his office, surrounded by employees and maybe even a few patients, I assumed there was less chance of him becoming dangerous. Certainly not with so many witnesses around. A glance at the clock told me he was still in surgery, although it was close to ending. If I hurried, I could catch him before he locked up for the day. Calling ahead wasn’t an option. I didn’t want to spook him into hiding.
I dived back into my car and tore up the tarmac, recklessly close to breaking traffic rules as I raced towards his office. One thing puzzled me. I had often seen the surgery hours displayed at the office. For Dr. Patterson to have killed Fiona, he must have left his office during his open hours. How could he manage that without being seen? If he didn’t confess outright, I predicted he would argue that he’d been in the office the whole time. Especially since he’d already told both Garrett and me that. There would be no reason for him to deviate from his original statement. If he tried to argue that in court, I wondered if one or more of his employees would back him up.
The surgery had a small parking lot of its own. I pulled into one of the spaces and hopped out. Inside the building, I took the elevator up and stepped out into the lobby. The receptionist behind the desk wore a pristine, white wrap tunic that I was sure had never seen a day of surgical service. “Is Dr. Patterson here?” I asked.
“Do you have an appointment?” She tapped her keyboard and looked at the screen hidden from my view behind the chest-height partition.
“No, I need to ask him a question regarding a case,” I told her, showing her my license and hoping she didn’t inquire too closely.
“I’m sorry. Dr. Patterson has left for the day.”
“You sure about that?” I asked, and she ducked her head down. The moment she did, I jogged around the desk and aimed for his office at the far end of the corridor.
“Hey! You can’t go back there!” called out the startled receptionist. “Come back!” I quickened my pace as I heard her running after me. Grabbing the handle of Dr. Patterson’s office door, I turned and pushed it open. The lights were off but daylight seeped through the broad windows. His computer was switched off, the screen blank, and his chair was pushed under the desk.
“He really isn’t here,” I said, surprised and a little disappointed that I didn’t catch him.
“I told you he left fifteen minutes ago. Come out of here right now or I’ll call security!”
I stepped out of the room, allowing the receptionist to pull the door shut, and blinked at the exit door in front of me. “Where does this lead to?” I asked.
“The stairwell.”
“Does Dr. Patterson make a habit of leaving early?”
“No, hardly ever.”
“Can you tell me if he left early any other evening this week?”
“No, he hasn’t. I would have known.”
“Would you have seen Dr. Patterson if he left via this stairwell?”
“No, but he wouldn’t do that. He uses the elevator like everyone else. It’s six stories down!”
“Did he say where he was going when he left today?”
“Home, I guess. He got a phone call that sounded urgent and he said he was leaving early. Before you ask, no, I’m not telling you where that is!”
“Very responsible. Thanks for your time,” I told her, hurrying to the elevator. Like she said, it was six stories down, and I didn’t need to prove my theory that Dr. Patterson must have snuck out early via the stairwell and returned just as easily without anyone knowing. I didn’t have to walk the six stories down to know that. It was enough to know that he could.
I stepped into the open elevator and gave the receptionist a cheery wave as I hit the first floor butto
n. I was pretty sure she would be on the phone to Dr. Patterson as soon as the doors closed but I couldn’t help that. So I hoped with all my heart he was driving and couldn’t pick up the phone. I wanted to get to him before he had time to seriously wonder why I was still investigating a case that was supposed to be closed. I definitely wanted to be there before Garrett turned up to tell the Pattersons that Debby was not only dead but also on her way to the morgue.
My heart pounded at the thought of Garrett being on his own with Dr. Patterson. If Dr. Patterson could murder a close family friend to protect Debby’s secret, I was sure he would have no problem dispatching my brother.
The very thought of it tore me up inside.
Garrett had always played a huge part in my life. Already a teen by the time I was born, he was so much more than just a brother. We never had the sibling rivalry so common in children that are close in age. We never fought over toys or activities, and we never shared friends growing up. He was away at college by the time I started kindergarten and joined the police academy while I was still in elementary school. He’s always been a loving, guiding force in my life and there was no way anyone could snuff him out.
I had to get to the Pattersons’ house first.
I struggled to drive at a reasonable speed, my palms sweating, my heart pounding, as I navigated the streets I’d always known. In my head, I played out various scenarios. Would I arrive early and subdue Dr. Patterson before calling the police for backup? Or would I arrive too late and find my brother on the floor, with a lethal gunshot wound all too similar to Fiona’s?
Reaching for my phone, I triggered voice activation and instructed it to call Garrett. “Calling Maddox,” said the phone.
“No!” I yelled.
“Are you okay?” said a voice through the speakers.
“Sorry, misdialed,” I yelled.
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain. I have to go!”
“Explain. Do not hang up!” Maddox yelled back.
Ready, Aim, Under Fire (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 10) Page 22
