He unlocked the door and opened it slowly. It was dark. He turned on the light and scanned the room. He realized he had still been expecting it to be a mess. He was still expecting threats and a body or frame. But the room appeared just as he had left it. A little messy, but nothing seemed to have been touched.
Still, Zachary was nervous as he checked each of the other rooms. Including the bathtub. No body. No planted cocaine. No lipsticked threats on the mirror. No dead rat or horse’s head in the bed. His heart thudded. He knew he was letting his imagination get the better of him. It was just a note. There were no threats, no profanity; no letters clipped out of a magazine to form the words.
He went back to lock and bolt the apartment door before searching the fridge for something to eat.
Chapter Eight
Zachary slept restlessly. He woke up several times during the night, listening to the noises of his apartment and the surrounding apartments, worried there was someone there.
But even if the person who had left the note were someone who would consider harming him, they would at least have to wait until the next day to see whether he had dropped the case; whichever case it was. He was irritated that they hadn’t said which case he was supposed to drop. Did they think that he only had one case at a time? At least the previous threats had been made in person, so he knew which case they were talking about. It was incredibly annoying to be warned off without knowing what he was being warned off of.
Of course, there had been no threat. Only an instruction. That in itself left him feeling unsettled. Drop the investigation—or what? A threat to his life? To his welfare? Perhaps to the case itself? Or maybe nothing would happen. Maybe the most that the note writer could bring himself to do was to leave the note, and that would be it.
The next morning, Zachary downed two cups of coffee before leaving the apartment. Not something that he would usually do before going on surveillance. He would end up having to make a rest stop by midmorning. He didn’t know how long he was going to have to wait before he got his opportunity. Maybe it would be quick.
The familiar yellow VW was parked outside the coffee shop, where he expected it to be, but he didn’t dare get out and approach it yet. She would spend only a few minutes inside, depending on how long the line-up was. Then she’d be back out with her to-go mug, heading to work or wherever else she had to go. He found a parking space down the block and watched for her.
It was ten minutes before he saw her blond head bob out of the door, and disappear as she got into the car. He shifted into drive and waited for her to pull out. He envisioned her taking a small sip of her hot coffee and then settling it into the cup holder. Maybe changing the station on the radio before she headed out. Buckling her seatbelt. Turning the key in the ignition. Finally, she was pulling out into traffic.
Zachary let a couple of cars pass him before pulling out, putting a cushion between them so she wouldn’t spot him.
She didn’t go to work, but made an unexpected turn on Main. Zachary followed, lagging behind as much as possible. He didn’t know where she was going until she pulled up to the big, square, brick building. The doctor’s office.
It was perfect. She would be gone for a long time. There would be no danger of her walking back out and catching him in the act. Even after she went in, he waited another ten minutes to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything in the car.
As he worked, he thought about Kenzie. She had said that she had a medical appointment. That was why she had taken the day off and met with him for lunch. Was she sick? Of course, it could just be an annual physical. Or an eye check-up or dental visit. It could be a hundred innocuous little things.
After looking around the parking lot for surveillance cameras or anyone watching, Zachary felt under the bumper of the car, looking for a good place.
He hated the thought that Kenzie could be sick. She looked well enough. Pretty and in the peak of health. But then, so had Bridget. Neither of them would have guessed that there was anything wrong. She’d had no symptoms. No weight loss or pallor. She hadn’t been tired or nauseated. It was disconcerting to find that someone could be so sick without even realizing it.
There was a smooth, clean ledge under the bumper. Perfect for Zachary’s purposes. He used a rag to wipe it down blindly, making sure that there was no layer of dirt and debris that would prevent a good mount.
Kenzie had said that the doctor’s appointment was nothing. He was going to have to believe her on that count. There was no way to tell what was going on in her life unless he put her under surveillance too.
Zachary pulled out the small black box. He switched it on and made sure that the green LED lit. Then, resting it on his fingertips, he put his hand under the bumper again and bent his fingers to attached the tracking unit to the ledge. It clinked softly. He nudged it with his fingers, seeing if it would slide or shift. It stayed solidly in place.
He stood up and wiped his hands on the rag. He looked around again to make sure that no one had shown up who might be watching him, wondering what the hell he was up to. There was a mother with a child walking from her car into the building, but she didn’t look in his direction. He wondered vaguely if she were sick. Surely there were other kinds of doctors in the professional building as well. A gynecologist or pediatrician. He hoped that neither she nor the child was seriously ill. He hoped that she simply had a routine appointment or checkup.
He went back to his car and sat down before checking the tracking app on his phone to make sure that the GPS tracker was transmitting properly. Now he would have a reliable log of every place she went.
Having taken care of the various surveillance and routine background work that had been languishing on his list, Zachary returned to the medical examiner’s report. He had just about decided he was ready to close the case and give Molly his final report. He would confirm that it had, in fact, been an accident and there was no indication of any outside involvement. He hoped that, as Kenzie had suggested, Molly and the family would feel better knowing that there had been no holes in the police investigation and that everything had been properly handled and could be put to bed. Then they could lay Declan to rest. Figuratively speaking, since his remains were still dangling and swaying restlessly in Isabella’s numerous necklaces and injected into her skin.
Kenzie had said everything in the blood tests had been within normal parameters, but as Zachary read every line of fine print, he could feel his brows coming down. How could anyone who had read the blood test results have come to that conclusion?
Without looking up from the report, Zachary felt for his phone. It went sliding across the table away from his fingers, and he looked up to corral it and to call Kenzie Kirsch.
There was no answer. The call went to voicemail. Zachary ground his teeth. She was probably just helping someone to fill out a form. Or maybe she was in a conference with the medical examiner. Or she had another doctor’s appointment.
Thinking about doctor’s appointments, he switched quickly to the GPS tracker app and found the latest tracker broadcasting its coordinates. A street map and satellite picture were layered over the latitude and longitude grid, and a quick squint at the street showed that she was back home. Zachary wondered briefly if everything was okay, or if she had gone home to cry or compose herself.
As Zachary was looking at the map, a call rang through to his phone, making him jump at the sudden vibration and the call information flashing up on the screen. He answered the call. “Kenzie, hi.”
“Sorry, I was on another call. What’s up?”
“Just looking at the blood test results on Declan Bond’s report.”
“Yes?”
“You said that everything was within normal parameters.”
“That’s right. No red flags.”
“Then why do I see numbers beside alcohol and amphetamines? Surely there’s no ‘normal range’ for alcohol and amphetamines in a child?”
Kenzie laughed. “If you look at the further test
ing done after that, you’ll see that the amphetamine is actually pseudoephedrine.”
“And what is pseudoephedrine?”
“It is a decongestant. You probably have it in your medicine cabinet.”
“I do?”
“It’s in most popular brands of cough medicine.”
“Oh… he was given cough medicine?”
“Yes.”
Zachary thought about this. “They put alcohol in children’s cough medicines?”
“Some of them. They used to contain cocaine! Or they might have given him a smaller dose of an adult cough medicine. People don’t want to run out to the drugstore in the middle of the night, so they adjust an adult dose for a child. Not recommended.”
“But it wasn’t the middle of the night. It was the afternoon. Can you tell how much he was given?”
“I don’t think they would have worked back to an exact dosage. No need to do that. Probably just checked to make sure it was within normal parameters. There are lookup tables for that sort of thing.”
Cough medicine.
Zachary thought back to the interviews with Spencer and Isabella. Neither one had mentioned Declan being sick. When Zachary had run them through the events of that final day, neither of them had mentioned Declan having a cold or a cough.
“What are you thinking?” Kenzie asked.
“I’m thinking that people give their children cough medicine to make them sleep.”
“If they have a cold, yes. It’s hard for a child to sleep while they’re coughing their heads off or can’t breathe properly. It’s important for them to be able to get enough rest to get over the virus.”
Zachary shook his head, even though she had no way of seeing it. “Not just when they have colds. Some parents do it every night. Or any time they want to go out on the town. Give the kids a dose of cough medicine, and they sleep right through. No danger of them waking up and making trouble while the parents are out.”
“People don’t do that!” Kenzie sounded shocked.
“More people than you think.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You don’t have kids, though, do you?” Kenzie asked.
“No. Why?”
“I’m just wondering how you know that. Has it come up in one of your cases before?”
“No, but I was a kid once.”
“And your parents gave you cough medicine to make you sleep?”
He had to smile at the outrage in her voice. “I lost my parents when I was young,” he reminded her. “I was that kid who was always getting up at odd hours and getting into trouble. Or staying up all night unable to get to sleep. If I wasn’t on sleep meds, more than one home gave me cough medicine.”
“That’s unconscionable! You don’t give children cough medicine to make them sleep. That’s completely wrong.”
“What would a doctor have prescribed?”
There was a hesitation on the line. “Well, probably an antihistamine or Ambien.”
“Have they been studied for use as sleep agents in children?”
“No,” she admitted. “It’s off-label, but that doesn’t make it right to give kids cough medicine to make them sleep.”
Zachary shrugged. “I’m not recommending it, just saying it happens. What if that’s what happened to Declan?”
“He was drugged?” Kenzie asked, suddenly getting it. “He was drugged and then drowned?”
“That would take care of the bruises, wouldn’t it? No need to hold him down.”
“His body would still fight back, struggle, even unconscious.”
“But it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t be trying to push himself up and escape, he’d just be flailing, right?”
“I… don’t know.”
“And all the person drowning him would have to do was make sure his mouth and nose stayed below the surface of the water.”
Kenzie swore, not answering.
“How much cough medicine would it take to knock a kid out? Would it be outside the ‘normal parameters’ table?”
“I don’t know. I imagine it would be different for different children. Depending on age, body weight, metabolism, and the way they reacted to the ingredients. Some kids get hyper. Some fall asleep. Some don’t show any particular reaction.”
Zachary realized he wasn’t going to be able to close the case.
Not yet.
Despite Spencer’s previous request, Zachary didn’t call to set up another interview. He timed his visit for when Isabella would hopefully be home from work, and he’d be able to talk to both of them. Separately, not together.
It was Spencer who answered the door again. He looked Zachary over with distaste.
“Mr. Goldman. Again?”
“I have some important questions to ask you and your wife. I found something the medical examiner’s report.”
Spencer blinked, his complexion turning ashen. “What do you mean, you found something? The medical examiner determined it was accidental drowning.”
“It may be nothing. On the other hand, it might show modus operandi.”
“Modus operandi?” Spencer repeated. “What are you, a British detective novel? This isn’t murder; this is an accident.”
“We’ll see,” Zachary said flatly. “I’d like to talk to Isabella first. Is she in her studio?”
“Of course.” Spencer didn’t move out of the doorway, blocking Zachary’s way.
“I’d like to go talk to her, please.”
Spencer stood there for a few more seconds, considering his options. He eventually decided there was no point in slamming the door in Zachary’s face, and stepped back to let him in.
“Thank you.”
Of course, if Spencer had shut him out, he could have just called Isabella to get her to let him in. Or Molly. She probably had a key too.
He hadn’t asked who had keys to the house or if the doors were left unlocked during the day. How many people would have had access to Declan while he was inside the house? Not that it mattered, when there was no key needed to access him while he was out playing in the yard.
If that was really what he had been doing before he disappeared. Zachary was no longer sure that was even what had happened.
What if Declan had been rendered unconscious by a dose of cough medicine, his breathing and heartbeat so depressed that they couldn’t be detected? What if they took him out to the pond and left him floating face down, thinking that he was already dead?
Spencer stood there for a moment, then walked away briskly, back to his office, not offering to walk Zachary to Isabella’s studio. That was not a problem; he knew the way on his own.
He stood in the doorway watching Isabella for a few minutes unobserved. She was painting, engrossed in her work. There was no blue on her canvas. Her palette was resting on a high table instead of in her hand, and her free hand ran up and down the necklaces, touching and fiddling with the pendants. She released the necklaces and brushed her fingers over the tattoo on her right forearm.
“Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.”
Even with no one in the room with her, she was still repeating it. Spencer had suggested she could suppress the tic with an effort of will, but that it would return once she let go. And he was right.
Was it grief or was it guilt? He knew the stats. Most child homicide victims were murdered by their parents. Had her mental decline started before Declan’s death, and his drowning ‘accident’ was only another symptom of how sick she had become? Or had he gotten in her way too often, disrupting the life that she had tried to build for herself, and she had simply had too much? Motherhood wasn’t for everyone, Zachary had learned that lesson the hard way. More than once.
Or maybe it had just been a tragic accident that they—or she—had clumsily tried to cover up after the fact.
Zachary tapped on the door before he entered, alerting her to his presence. “Isabella?”
Isabella looked in his directi
on with a vague expression. It was a moment before she focused on him and realized who he was.
“Oh… Mr. Goldman. I didn’t know we were expecting you.”
“I have some new questions for you.”
She shook her head, looking back at her painting again. She stroked her tattoo, and then her left hand dropped to the necklaces again as she continued to paint. “I’ve already answered all of your questions. I don’t know what else you could possibly have to ask.”
Zachary moved farther into the room. He made space on a chair and sat so that he wouldn’t be looking down at her or be perceived as being confrontational. Nice and low-key. See if he could get the information out of her without her becoming defensive.
“Tell me again about the day that Declan disappeared.”
“I’ve already told you everything. I’ve told the police. I’ve told you. It’s still the same. Nothing has changed.”
“There is nothing that stands out about his behavior that day before he disappeared?”
“No, nothing at all. It was just a normal day. He was playing outside; I was watching him through the window while I was painting. And then… he was just gone. He wasn’t there anymore.”
“How as Declan feeling that day?”
“Feeling?”
“Was he well? Happy?”
“Yes, just like normal.”
“He wasn’t sick?”
“No.”
“He didn’t have a cold?”
“No.”
“Was he a pretty active child? Did he get into things a lot?”
Isabella looked away from the painting to Zachary. “No… he was a normal boy, perfectly normal. He got into things sometimes, but kids do. That’s just the way they are.”
“He wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD? Anything like that?”
“No!” Her mouth formed a thin, straight line. There were a couple of angry lines like exclamation marks between her eyebrows. “He wasn’t diagnosed with anything. He was perfectly normal. Perfectly healthy.”
She Wore Mourning Page 9
