by CJ Lyons
“How long have you and your husband been married?” Leah started out. She’d discovered that often simple questions helped people open up, making painful topics less difficult to broach, and she wanted Tassi to relax.
“A few years.” Tassi sniffed. She leaned forward to take a tissue and dabbed her eyes. “This time.” She turned abruptly in her seat, glancing at the door. “I can’t bear thinking of him. Down there, all alone, what they’re doing to him—”
“How did you meet?” Leah guided her back to more pleasant memories.
“I literally fell into his arms.” A ghost of a smile crossed Tassi’s face. “I was hiking on Mount Falcon and the ground was soft from rain and it gave way and I slid down a hill. And there he was, catching me before I could hurt myself. My Prince Charming.”
“This was in Colorado?”
Tassi nodded, her expression growing guarded. Leah gathered her words carefully, knowing she was entering a minefield. “Sergeant Jericho said Spencer led a colorful life—that he even faked his death in Denver?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Tassi shook her head, her blonde curls sweeping Leah’s words away. “We were already divorced when that happened. I don’t know anything about all that.”
“So you were married twice? I can’t imagine—how did he find you again?”
“When I left him the first time—it was my fault, I was too young, naive.” She shrugged. “Restless. Instead of alimony, he gave me a lump sum and I used it to travel the world. It was such an adventure, but I missed Spencer, more than I’d ever dreamed. Then, one day I’m on a beach in Portugal and a man’s shadow falls over me, blocking the sun. It was Spence. Somehow fate had thrown us together again. So, when he begged me to marry him—again—how could I say no?” Her voice turned dreamy, as if reciting a fairy tale. But Leah caught a hint of over-rehearsal, as if the story had been practiced and prepared for an occasion like this.
“Did he have any history of depression? Or mood swings? Up one moment, dark and gloomy the next?”
Tassi sat up straight. “It’s like you know him. Yes, that was Spence, through and through. It’s part of the reason why I left him the first time. I couldn’t handle his moods.” She twisted the tissue between her fingers. “They say—the police think he did this—” She met Leah’s gaze, a yearning for understanding in her eyes. “Was it my fault? Did I miss the signs? I mean, I’m his wife, I should have known he was going to, to do that, hurt himself.” Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. “It is, isn’t it? It’s all my fault.”
For the first time the widow’s grief felt authentic. Leah patted her arm, felt her trembling. It was hard to fake that kind of emotion. “Your husband, he never mentioned any problems?”
“No, no. I thought—” Another sob. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. He shouldn’t be gone. He should be right here with me.” She raised her face. “What am I going to do now? I’m all alone. What am I going to do without him?”
There was a knock on the door and Luka entered. He gave Leah a quick nod to let her know he wanted to take over. Leah felt a bit relieved—it was as if her conversation with Tassi wasn’t between two people searching for answers but rather an audience and a performer. And yet, she had seen glimpses of genuine emotion. Of course, the best actors used their real emotions to enhance their performances. She sat back and let Luka ask his questions.
“Tassi,” he said in a gentle voice as he took a seat opposite her, taking his time to arrange his crutches against the arm of the couch. “I just heard from the medical examiner, and I’m afraid we’re going to need your help more than ever.”
Tassi frowned at him. “My help? Why? What happened?”
“You know, we all want to find the truth about what happened to Spencer. So, there are a few things. First, we’ve discovered that all of Spencer’s financial accounts have been drained—everything for his business and the foundation.”
“But the rest, that’s all right, isn’t it? It should be—I mean the funds that are in my name, not Spence’s.”
“Yes. Your accounts seem to be fine.”
“Oh good.” She sank back in her seat. Leah glanced at Luka. The widow had just been told her husband’s entire business had been wiped out and she didn’t seem at all concerned. As if she had expected it.
“We’re working on tracing the missing money,” he continued. “But it appears some of it was transferred to offshore accounts that we might never—”
“Wait. What do you mean, some of it? How much? Isn’t it all—” She caught herself, covered by sniffling into her tissue. “I mean, why would anyone take only some of Spence’s money? If they were going to rob him, why not take it all?”
“We’re not sure. His computers were all wiped clean, but our techs found data left on the memory card inside his scanner. That’s how we were able to follow the money, at least in part. It appears that Spencer purchased six million dollars’ worth of gold that is untraceable.”
She blinked at that. “Spencer did? I don’t understand.”
“I’m afraid that’s not all.” Luka took a breath. “The medical examiner says that Spencer showed no signs of cancer.”
“No. No. That’s impossible…” She trailed off, her gaze searching the room as if seeking answers.
“Not only that, but Spencer shows no signs of ever having cancer. Not now or in the past.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and Leah realized something big was coming—something he wanted to see Tassi’s reaction to. “He lied to you, didn’t he?”
She shook her head. “Spencer wouldn’t, he didn’t—” Then she nodded. “But he did, didn’t he? He lied to me. But then, why? Why would he kill himself?”
“We don’t believe that he did. Spencer was unconscious but still breathing when someone put him in the SUV and turned the engine on.”
“Unconscious? Was he drugged?” She shook her head vehemently. “No. Spencer would never take drugs.”
“No drugs. He sustained a head injury. That’s what killed him, not the carbon monoxide.”
Tassi gasped. She gripped Leah’s hand, her entire body going rigid. “Someone killed Spencer? And stole six million dollars?” She shook her head, her mouth gaping, the expression so unflattering that Leah was convinced this was an honest emotion. More than confused or shocked, Tassi was utterly flummoxed. “Who?” she demanded. “Who killed him? And where’s my money?”
Luka waited, gesturing for Leah to take over. “Did Spencer have any enemies?” she asked in a gentle tone.
“Sure, people didn’t like him. It’s one of the reasons why he left Colorado and changed his name after he moved here.” Somehow she made it sound as if fleecing people out of their life savings wasn’t a reason to want anyone dead. “But no one who would kill him—not like that.”
“What do you mean, like that?” Leah coaxed.
Tassi’s lips pressed together and she remained silent.
Luka gave her another minute but when she said nothing, he told her, “Tassi, we know about the Zapata family. We know Spencer stole their money back in Denver and was on the run from them. What can you tell us about that?”
“I—nothing. I don’t know anything. Please, I just want to bury my husband in peace.” Her words emerged in a plaintive wail. She stood, smoothing the skirt of her dress.
Luka grabbed his crutches and stood as well. That was when Leah realized he didn’t have any proof of Tassi’s involvement other than her own vague insinuations, and certainly not enough to arrest her. At least not yet.
As Tassi walked toward the door, Luka said, “Of course you’re free to go, and please, feel free to not answer, but I’m curious about one thing.”
Uncertainty crossed her face as she decided whether to push past him, but curiosity got the better of her. “What?”
“Why were you so surprised to see Spencer’s body at your house yesterday?”
She stuttered to a stop. “Yesterday?”
“When we first saw you
at your house, you said Spencer was at the river, he was supposed to be in the river.” Luka shifted one crutch to casually block her path. “You were expecting us to have called you because we’d found his suicide note. Like in Colorado. A note but no body. You thought he was still alive, waiting for you with the money, didn’t you, Tassi? You believed he really was dying of cancer, but Spencer wasn’t the type to kill himself, was he? You thought you’d run away, to some tropical paradise where you could spend the rest of what little time he had together. And then, when he was gone, all the money he’d squirreled away, hidden in those offshore accounts, it would all be yours. So, where’s the money?”
Her gaze turned steely, her eyes narrowed to slits. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. My husband has been murdered and I need to go make arrangements for his body, if you don’t mind.”
Luka waited a beat, searching her expression, then moved aside. She stalked past him without another word or glance in his direction. He turned to Leah, leaning heavily on his crutches. “So, that went well. Got more out of her than either of the others. Hansen was useless and Dean stonewalled Ray.”
“Were you telling the truth about the missing money and all that gold? Or was that to get a reaction out of her?” Leah asked.
“No, it was the truth. Sanchez really was able to recover data from a scanner at Standish’s office—guess whoever wiped the computers didn’t think to also erase its memory. And Krichek sent me the financials from the fund. It was wiped out on Friday. By Standish himself.”
“You’re thinking he was planning to fake his death and run away, but someone found out, wanted the money and killed him?”
“If so, then they didn’t do a very good job of getting what they wanted. He was on the phone around the time he died from a single blow to the back of his head. No other injuries. No signs of torture. He was dead before he could tell anyone anything about where the money was.”
“For what it’s worth, Tassi seemed genuinely surprised to learn he was murdered.”
“Or at least surprised that the money was gone. She seemed especially upset about the missing six million in gold.”
“Who are your suspects?” Leah asked.
“Tassi’s alibi checked out—we confirmed the time she left the Greenbriar and there’s no way she could have gotten back here in time. Larry Hansen knows more than he’s letting on. Plus, he found the body and doesn’t have an alibi. It’s possible he and Tassi were working together. Maybe he learned about Spencer’s scam and tried to cash in? Not sure. Foster Dean has an alibi—he was on a plane from Denver at the time. But he might still be good for the break-in at the office. He’d have had enough time to get there after his flight landed, could have copied the information, wiped the hard drives so no one else could access the data, and have been the one I surprised.”
“Then why return?”
“To insinuate himself in the investigation, stay one step ahead of us. Especially once he knew Spencer was dead; he realized that if the computer files couldn’t lead him to the money, then maybe we could.”
“You know, that scenario also works with Spencer erasing the computer files himself, covering his tracks,” Leah pointed out. “Dean could have arrived and realized they were erased, a dead end—leaving you as his next best source of information, so he involved himself with the investigation.”
“He’s not interested in me, though.” He pivoted on his crutches to glance out the door. “It’s Tassi. She said he was following her.”
“Luka. Shouldn’t you warn her? You said he might be working for a drug cartel.”
“She’s not stupid, she already knows she’s a target. And don’t worry, I have Ray and Krichek following her and Hansen. That’s why I wanted to stall her here, long enough for them to get in position.” He frowned at his leg. “Wish I could go with them. I’d love to nail Dean, the smug SOB.” He turned back to her. “Anyway, thanks. I know this wasn’t the kind of interview you usually do for us and I appreciate you letting us tie up your facilities.”
Leah was clearly out of her depth when it came to the twisted motivations of career criminals. But there was one woman in distress she might still be able to help. “You can pay me back by helping me find Beth and her baby. Didn’t you say we could review the security videos?”
“I did.” But he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned heavily on his crutches. “I know you said you were certain Beth wouldn’t hurt her baby, but when security reviewed the video, they didn’t see anyone leave with a baby. So, just in case, I have hospital security searching.”
“Searching? Of course we’re all searching—” Then it hit her. What he meant, what he really meant they were looking for. “No. Luka, no. I don’t believe it. You didn’t see her, the way she clung to her baby, like she would do anything to protect him. C’mon. Let’s go see the video from this morning; I’m sure there’s another explanation for why they didn’t see her and the baby leave. There has to be.”
Thirty-One
Luka and Leah headed down to the medical center’s security office. There they met Ramsey, the former Pittsburgh police detective who was head of Good Sam’s security.
“Any news?” Luka asked.
“No sign of the baby,” Ramsey answered. Beside him, Luka felt Leah’s posture relax with relief. “And we’ve searched the entire floor. But I’m glad you’re here. Once you sent that photo of the patient who absconded, I was able to track her, but only for a short while. Come, see for yourself.”
“I’d also like to see the visitor log for this morning,” Luka told him as he and Leah followed Ramsey into a darkened room. Even though Leah had found Beth alone at the fair, he had a hard time believing a woman who’d given birth the day before could make it out of the hospital with her newborn without anyone noticing. Unless she had help.
“After what happened in the spring, when Dr. Wright was attacked,” Ramsey said, nodding to Leah, “we implemented new visitor procedures. Everyone has to show a photo ID and sign in to get a pass.”
“Good,” Luka said absently as he scanned the log. He wished the hospital took security as seriously as they did patient privacy. How was it they could computerize medical records but still used an outdated video system? A familiar set of names snagged his attention. Tassi, her neighbor Larry Hansen, then several minutes later, Foster Dean, all with the destination of the coroner’s offices. Then he spotted another familiar name. “Reverend Harper was here this morning? But it doesn’t list his destination.”
“The reverend? He wouldn’t need to sign in, he has his own ID. He’s part of the pastoral service, visits anyone who has a need, patient or family. Sometimes even staff after a rough case. That log just indicates when he used his keycard to enter.”
“So he pretty much has the run of the place?” Luka asked.
“He’s a minister,” Ramsey said as if it explained everything.
“Your log shows when people arrive but not when they leave.”
“They’re meant to sign out but no one ever does.”
Leah leaned past him to examine the log herself. “He signed in at six-forty this morning, right before shift change. That’s an odd time, don’t you think?”
“Why?” Luka asked, glad he’d brought her with him. Her intimate knowledge of how the hospital worked was proving invaluable.
“No visitors are allowed during shift changes because the nurses are tied up giving report, so the wards are short-staffed.”
He nodded. “A lot like patrol officers and our watch changes.”
“Exactly. And the reverend would know that, yet he arrived right before the day shift arrived on duty.” She shrugged. “It’s possible someone called him in that early, perhaps a dying patient and their family, but it seems odd to me.”
Luka couldn’t help but think how odd Matthew Harper’s actions had been yesterday, at the Standish crime scene. He wondered if Harper had noticed anything strange about her father. He hated to get her personally involved, torn b
etween her duties and her family, but if she had any insights—
“Here,” Ramsey said from his position at the keyboard. “This is what I wanted you to see.”
Leah had explained that the Labor and Delivery wing was divided into the labor area with mothers giving birth—including two operating rooms for C-sections—and the postpartum unit where the nursery was situated, along with the rooms for mothers who had given birth. Apparently staff went back and forth between them, but patients were sequestered in one at first, then moved to the other side.
“We don’t have a separate camera inside Labor and Delivery,” Ramsey continued. “Patient privacy issues. All we have is this one outside the main L and D wing.” He pressed a button and the footage filled one of the computer screens.
The camera outside the locked labor ward also showed the elevator lobby, so it was a busy area filled with hospital staff, families, volunteers, visitors, along with patients. Ramsey fast-forwarded, stopping whenever anyone exited L and D. So far there were half a dozen women leaving, all wearing scrubs, most with their hair in surgical caps, some with surgical masks hiding most of their face as well. No civilians except for two discharged couples, the mothers holding their babies and wheeled out by nurses, both with fathers, hands filled with flowers and balloons and car seats, trailing behind. Luka had to smile at the expression of shock and awe that filled the men’s faces.
Then Luka saw a familiar face. “Wait. Stop there.” It was Matthew Harper leaving L and D. Luka checked the timestamp—twenty minutes after the reverend had entered the hospital and right during the change of shift when there were fewer nurses on the ward. Matthew carried a bag similar to the large diaper bags the discharged patients had with them.
“Go back twenty minutes, then forward another twenty after he leaves,” Luka ordered, searching the faces of the women who had exited around the same time Matthew had. They all appeared to be staff members: scrubs, nursing shoes, ID badges.
