“Wanted to be certain she didn’t purge the drug,” Lake offered. “And she did not mix the oral and injectable the night she died. ME only found Inderal in her bloodstream, not her stomach.”
“But why have all those syringes if it was a one-shot attempt?”
“You said Sinclair’s sister didn’t shed any light on her situation. Neither did her literary agent, Susan Beck, who was the last person to have seen her?” Lake said.
“No. Beck flew in two days prior to Sinclair’s death to have lunch with her. They strategized about the development of her next book and the agent returned to her home in New York. I checked all of her records to substantiate her story. Beck mentioned that she’s never been in Sinclair’s home and admitted that Sinclair came across as a bit of a loner. The woman was not familiar with Sinclair’s medical history.”
“What did Clemens say about the scenario?” asked the lieutenant.
“She insisted that her sister would never intentionally overdose and she was floored by the syringes.” Caldwell shook his head. “Lady was genuinely shaken up. Thinks her sister’s anxiety disorder was getting worse which made her more forgetful.”
“Maybe it’s denial. She can’t accept suicide because that would mean somehow she ignored the warning signs,” Lake offered.
Caldwell shook his head. The crime scene revealed a busy woman who was in the middle of writing the next book in her bestselling children’s series. She had just started the promotion of the current book. “I’ll keep pouring through Sinclair’s internet history, email, and phone records trying to find any evidence of her getting her ‘affairs in order’ so to speak.”
Caldwell stretched his cramped legs and arched his back in the chair. He couldn’t decide if it was the case making him tired or the five miles he ran that morning. “Lieutenant, you know they’re related?”
Lake took a sip of his protein drink and winced before putting it back down. “Marx and Sinclair?”
“Yeah. I pulled out the Marx file. His research work with Dr. Hitomi was on PTSD. Inderal is one of their trial medications.”
Caldwell looked up at the timeline they had drawn on the board. Lake had organized photos of the victims on either side.
“That’s why I want a full victimology report on Moore, Miller, Sinclair, and Marx.
Finally. “We’re looking at this as a homicide then?” Caldwell asked.
“No Simms, we’re sitting under these nasty vents in here just waiting for our hair to set.” Caldwell smirked.
Lake walked over to the board. “Tiny’s reviewing the Marx evidence to see if there are some similarities. Forensics submitted some hairs retrieved from Sinclair’s clothing to the GBI lab. Until those come back, we aren’t closing the Sinclair case. We’re keeping her place sealed. I can’t ignore the chain of events here.”
Caldwell got up to stand next to his boss. He stared at Lily Moore. Homicide continued to work in conjunction with the missing persons division, but Lily Moore’s trail was running cold. “Perhaps she wasn’t the paranoid basket case we thought she was.”
Lake’s whole body stiffened. “We found nothing in Marx’s car. No evidence of foul play. No fingerprints present other than Marx’s.”
A rap at the door interrupted the tension that was building between the two of them.
Ernie Gates entered, his jaw working overtime on a piece of nicotine gum.
“How’s that for timing?” asked Lake raising one eyebrow to Caldwell.
“S’up Gates?” Caldwell asked.
“How’s it going, Simms?” Gates chuckled at the officer and gave him a slap on the upper arm. Caldwell felt the jolt, but winced inside.
Gates took a seat while the two detectives wrote a few more notes on the board on the wall next to Lake’s desk. When they turned to sit down, Gates was rocking back in the chair while picking at his cuticles.
“Whatcha got?” Lake asked, leaning back against his desk. Simms went to sit across from Gates. The office was small. With the three men together, it was darn right uncomfortable.
“Lucy is frantic. Ricky is distracted, which isn’t that unusual for him. He’s a male bloodhound, they’re more inclined to be ADD,” he said.
It’s like he’s talking about his nine-year-old twins. Caldwell refrained from teasing him; the man took his hounds seriously. Plus, even though Caldwell had two inches on him, Gates had more bulk. The fifty-year-old was six foot and fit. Gates had retired from the Decatur Police Department ten years ago and started his work with scent hounds. Now his partners were two bloodhounds, Ricky and Lucy. Having found his true calling, he contracted with the APD on a regular basis.
“They got a hot scent around the Ansley Park area on one particular street, but they keep doing a loop. We’ve gone door-to-door in this area. A Larry Jones, her co-worker, lives on that street. He was her manager so she dropped things off at his house all the time so it’s possible that Lucy is picking up an old scent,” Gates speculated. He rubbed his gray flat top.
“I interviewed both residents, Jones and Harding,” volunteered Caldwell. “They were at a charity event at the High Museum of Art the night of Ms. Moore’s abduction. They arrived home around one in the morning and went to sleep. Got up around 6:00 a.m. for work. Nothing unusual according to them or their neighbors other than some injured dog at their door in the middle of the night.”
“Jones didn’t report any suspicious behavior by Moore that day or in the days leading up to it?” Lake asked.
“No, he just said she hadn’t been feeling well. Mr. Jones was extremely upset and worried. According to co-workers they were close.”
“What kind of dog?” interrupted Gates.
Caldwell turned to him confused, “Pardon me?”
“I was just curious what kind of dog they found.”
“One of those fluffy, little, um...designer kinds,” struggled Caldwell.
“Huh,” grunted Gates, his arms crossed. “How was it hurt?”
Lake looked over at Caldwell.
“Face and head. Around its one eye.” Caldwell gestured with his hands.
“Did they take it to a vet?” Gates asked.
“I really don’t know.”
“Well, they should have,” he admonished.
“You’re right,” Caldwell admitted. “I’ll mention it when I check back with them.”
An appeased Gates focused his attention back on Lake. “By the way, we found some new evidence—a men’s hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants almost two miles northwest on Seventeenth Street. Dogs tracked Ms. Moore’s scent on it. Tiny mentioned he was able to pull some hair strands off the sweatshirt. He bagged it and turned it into the lab.
Lake sat up in his chair. “Thanks, Gates. Maybe we’ve caught a break on the Moore case.”
Gates didn’t respond.
“What is it?” Lake asked.
“I know Tiny sent some of the evidence from the Moore/Miller scene to that special lab in Oregon. He thinks some exotic animal is involved.” Simms knew Gates was referring to the National Fish and Wildlife Forensics Laboratory.
Lake nodded.
Gates studied his cuticles. Caldwell heard him swallow. “I just. Well, you know, I am acquainted with the Miller family. That boy...I was his football coach in middle school. I know his mama.” Gates lips were a tight line. His face showed disgust. “Someone hurt that boy. I know the Moore girl is hurt too. God help me, I hope she’s okay, but I don’t like the implications going around that he...he was dishonorable in some way to her.”
Simms talked himself down. He had seen things. Things that indicated Lily Moore’s head had slammed against the car window, hard. Maybe it was some bizarre animal attack, but why was Moore outside Miller’s car in a deserted parking lot? Gates’s face showed how troubled he was. “I hear you. We’re looking at every detail. Considering all pieces of this puzzle.”
Lieutenant Lake nodded.
“Good.” He got up. “I’ll keep tracking. Something weird’s go
ing on. I’ve never seen the hounds so confused.”
“Thanks. Keep me posted.” Lake patted him on the back as he left.
Caldwell knew his face reflected his inner turmoil.
“Spit it out,” Lake said when he turned to him.
“You know who arrested Phillip Miller for drunk driving?”
“I know. Officer Arthur Moore.”
Caldwell grimaced. “And gave him the ticket for reckless driving—a separate incident, I might add.”
“Keep working the connection here, Simms. I want to know all their habits, their hobbies, quirks. Let’s connect the dots so we have something concrete,” he said, stabbing the board with his index finger.
“Yes, Sir.”
“We have new evidence. Tonight, Lily Moore’s mother is supposed to ping you when she gets back in town. I want you to go out there, get a sense of things. Then go back to everyone in Moore’s circle. See if there are any holes.”
“Think I’ll start with her brother,” Caldwell said.
“Okay,” Lake said.
Caldwell waited.
“What?”
“Lieutenant, what’s the scoop with Seth Moore?” Caldwell only had been with the APD for a year and a half, having moved from Ohio.
Lake shrugged.
“I saw his record,” Caldwell said.
Lake crossed his arms, and exhaled for at least twenty seconds. “I worked with his father briefly.” He pressed his lips together until the color blanched from them. “Seth seems to have jumped the tracks after his father died. He was arrested for indecent exposure his first year at the university.”
“Frat party gone wrong?” Caldwell asked.
“It’s stickier than that. He woke up in the Emory University lab with Professor Hitomi.”
“What were they doing in the Emory lab?” Caldwell asked.
“Shit Simms, playing mad scientist. How the hell should I know?”
“So did they meet each other through Marx?”
“No, Seth was her student.”
Caldwell shook his head talking to himself. “A sex scandal with his teacher.”
Lake’s face paled.
“What?” Caldwell asked.
“Dr. Hitomi called 9-1-1. That’s how he got the charge.”
“Sexual assault?” Caldwell felt nauseous.
“We’ll never know,” said the lieutenant. “Once the officers arrived, she denied that anything happened and refused to press charges.”
“Part of the staff had already seen Seth. The indecent exposure charge was necessary.”
“So her brother’s a sexual deviant,” Caldwell said, watching for Lake’s reaction.
“For fuck’s sake, Simms, he was just a dumb ass kid. Responding officers said he couldn’t remember a thing. He took a leave from school after that and never went back.”
“Some kind of substance abuse?” persisted Caldwell.
“I don’t know,” admitted Lake as he ran his fingers over his stubborn alfalfa. “No piss test done.”
Caldwell dropped it. He could see the lieutenant was getting edgy. He’d look at the file later.
Lake and Caldwell spent several minutes outlining their next steps. Caldwell tried to focus, but in his head, he was already grilling Seth Moore and Dr. Kyoko Hitomi.
Chapter 9
Maggie Moore
At 10 p.m., Caldwell pulled into the driveway of a red brick colonial in Alpharetta, twenty-five miles north of Atlanta. Ms. Maggie Moore opened the door. At forty-nine, she was a striking woman with chin-length jet black hair. Her green eyes were hard to ignore; they were Lily’s eyes.
“Ms. Moore?”
“You must be Detective Simms. Come in, please.”
Simms followed her into the whitewashed home. They settled at the dark farm table in the kitchen. He could tell she’d been crying by her red, puffy eyes.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“We are continuing to search. Our concern is that Lily’s disappearance may be connected to the deaths of her boyfriend and her neighbor.”
“I don’t understand.”
Caldwell took a breath. “We have reopened Peter Marx’s case to rule out any foul play. Her neighbor, Mona Sinclair died from an overdose of the medication Mr. Marx was researching.”
“But I thought they were both considered accidental overdoses?”
“That may still be the case, but several details are causing us to look further.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems like you should be focusing on finding my Lily.” Her voice cracked.
“I assure you that Sergeant Samuels in Missing Persons is working day and night. I believe you spoke with him on the phone.”
She nodded. Caldwell could see her struggling to maintain her composure as she swallowed repeatedly.
Caldwell reached out and touched her hand on the table. “Our Search and Rescue officer is relentless. He and his hounds will work overtime trying to find her.”
She managed a weak smile.
Caldwell withdrew his hand. “I need your help. I could really use your input on some of the people involved.”
She answered questions about Seth, Lily, and Peter. Her face remained expressionless almost as if she had shut down.
They took a break after they discussed Lily. Maggie Moore made tea in the kitchen and brought two cups to the table. The tea service was plain white, no nonsense. Caldwell accepted his, not wanting to be rude. It smelled strong. Not made with a teabag.
When he came to the topic of Arthur Moore, he noticed her face waver. There was some deep-seated pain there. More than death. It was something else. He didn’t tarry there, but continued on to Lily’s neighbor. Were you acquainted with Ms. Mona Sinclair?”
“No, she really was an acquaintance of Arthur’s.”
“How did they know one another?”
“Through his father, Charles Moore. Charles and Mona worked in the Peace Corps together in Sumatra.”
“Interesting.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Definitely. Arthur didn’t know anything about her until after his father’s funeral.”
“Really?”
“She saw the obituary in the paper and came to pay her respects. After that, I know Arthur met with her for coffee. She told him stories and had old pictures of his father.” She looked down at the table. “Odd, isn’t it? His father never mentioned her, but Arthur seemed fascinated by her and her tales. I suppose it helped him get to know his father a bit better.”
A noise from the front hall caught Caldwell’s attention. A tall man with striking blue eyes hung back in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Emanuel Aronson.” They shook hands. He went to stand behind Maggie Moore, placing his hands on her shoulders and massaging. “Just checking on my girl. We’ve had a long day of travel.”
“Perfect timing, Mr. Aaronson. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”
“Not at all. Whatever will help.” He kissed Ms. Moore on the cheek. “Why don’t you go lie down?”
She looked to Caldwell first.
“I’ve asked all the questions I need to for now. Please, I know it’s late.”
“Excuse me then.”
Emanuel Aaronson had tanned skin and the relaxed air of a retired person. Caldwell immediately sensed his disapproval of both the Moore children. “Seth is a handful. I’ve helped Maggie realize that he’s an adult. She’s not responsible for his poor decisions. It’s time for him to take care of himself.”
When he came to Lily, Aaronson wrinkled his nose as he mentioned how much she was like Arthur Moore.
After he finished up with Aaronson, Caldwell drove home considering the dynamic. Emanuel Aaronson had family money. He didn’t seem to want any complications in his life. In fact, it was clear to Caldwell, that Ms. Moore checked out of the kids’ lives a long time ago, perhaps after Arthur Moore’s murder. She was concerned, but not in tune with either kid. He had studied the photographs on the living room shelves. There
was one tiny picture of the Moore family together. Arthur Moore stood proudly next to his wife with their two kids. Lily looked to be twelve, Seth eight. The rest of the pictures were of Mrs. Moore and Aaronson in various travel destinations.
A melancholy settled over him. He rubbed his face trying to distance himself from their family’s grief.
Chapter 10
From the Lost Notes of Peter Marx
July 7, 2010
Today was the fifth week of working with Dr. H on her real research project. If I hadn’t witnessed the phenomenon of shapeshifting for myself, I know I would never believe its existence, or rather, their existence—Subject T and Subject C. I can’t deny what I saw today. Although, I must admit, it has me questioning if I’m of sound mind.
The lab results from the Inderal trials are promising, but I’m concerned about side effects.
That’s not all that concerns me. When I dropped by her private lab unexpected, I saw someone leaving, another subject. When I casually questioned her about the male’s condition, she told me to mind my own business. Eventually, she lightened up and said he was taking part in another study of hers. It made me wonder if he was a shapeshifter.
Chapter 11
Transformations
Naked on the laundry room floor, Lily listened intently to the whoosh of water in the pipes overhead. As soon as Frank finished with his shower, she needed to be a dog. Last night she had relegated herself to this room, far from the boys, in case she had difficulty shifting back from human form. Just as she had anticipated, she had fallen asleep a Shih Tzu, but awakened a human.
Before falling asleep, she had dredged her mind for the minimal yoga knowledge she possessed. Practicing the deep breathing, visualization, and relaxation was effective in transforming her back to human form as long as she had at least thirty minutes. Changing into a dog was easy. Apparently, abject terror was a natural state for her at this point. Relaxing back into human form was another matter.
The silence of the pipes, prompted her to close her eyes and focus on terrorizing herself. Still groggy, she took longer than usual. With no time to spare, she found herself in canine form just as she heard Frank calling for her. Lily focused on the doorknob of the closed door. She had locked herself in. Lassie would never have done this.
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