It was unsigned.
Sam held up the phone and said, “I’m done here. You need to talk to Adrienne anymore?”
“Uh, no. Would you ask her to take care of Emily for me?”
He closed up his phone and said, “She already did. After she turns you in to Dumb Friends, she’s going to start making those calls to MedExcel.”
“Good, Sam. You did a remarkable job in putting this together. You going to tell Brenda and John?”
“You kidding? Why?”
“You’re right, they don’t need to know.”
He recognized my distraction. “So what’s troubling you?”
I held the papers up off my lap. “What is it with Dead Ed? Suicide or homicide?”
“Heads or tails?”
“They really don’t know?”
“Here’s the problem with the suicide theory: Do you know what percentage of suicides use two shots to kill themselves? It’s like one in googoolplux.”
“Googoolplux?”
“It’s Simon’s word for bigger than infinity. And then there’s the little problem of where the hell did the gun go afterwards? I don’t think he drove it over to Merritt’s house in his RV.”
“But the note is good, Sam. It isn’t a garden-variety forgery. No adolescent could write it.”
“No, it’s not. So, if it’s a forgery, it’s a good forgery. One written by somebody with some knowledge, you know. It’s like a note that someone like you, maybe a psychologist type, might write.”
Sam was leaving tracks in the sand. “You’re thinking John Trent?”
“You could do it, right?”
I shrugged. I could do it. So could Sam.
“He could write it, too, then.”
This wasn’t making sense. “Why wouldn’t Robilio have fought back? The gun was so close to him.” I ruffled through the papers with the autopsy impressions on them. The coroner apparently reported no signs of struggle, no defensive wounds.
“Speculation? I’d guess he was paralyzed by the fact that there was a gun two inches from his chest. By the time the second shot was fired he was already too gorked to notice the damn gun was pointing at his face.”
“Let’s go back to motive, Sam. What good does it do Trent? So Robilio’s dead? That isn’t going to help Chaney. May even hurt her.”
“I’m not arguing for a rational state of mind. Rage and retribution are good motives. That’s sufficient at this stage of my thinking.”
“Is that how you’re putting this together? You think Trent went nuts, killed Robilio, and staged everything else?”
He turned suddenly and I tensed. His voice had the chilled hiss of compressed air. “You know something that should make me think otherwise?”
I considered what he was asking. “You won’t misinterpret my answer, Sam?”
“I’ll certainly try not to.”
“No, I don’t know anything that should make you think otherwise. But,” I paused for emphasis, “I have to wonder whether you think he’s ruthless enough to set his stepdaughter up to take the fall.”
“Should I be thinking that he’s that ruthless?”
I reminded myself to be careful. “Cold enough to trade his stepdaughter for his daughter? I think Trent would donate both his lungs to save Chaney. But-gut feeling now, okay?-I don’t think Trent would sacrifice Merritt to save her.”
“So how did the bloody clothes get under her bed? How did the gun end up in her bathroom?”
“Maybe she put them there, Sam.”
“Merritt?”
I shrugged.
“Or…Brenda?” he said.
Did he know something about Brenda? I certainly didn’t, so I didn’t respond to his question. Merritt’s revelations about her visit to Dr. Robilio’s house were hovering close by. I didn’t want to break that trust. “Where did they find the fingernail, Sam? Merritt’s broken nail?”
From the look on his face, I harbored little hope he was going to answer, so I was surprised when he said, “I’ll give you one. A freebie. Master bathroom. Second floor. Below the window.”
“Upstairs?”
“Upstairs.”
“What was she doing upstairs?”
“Funny question. It’s as though you already know what she was doing in the rest of the house.”
Upstairs in the ICU the girls were asleep together in the same bed. Trent was pacing outside in the corridor.
He said, “They went downstairs to talk. Sherry and Brenda. I’m really glad she came.”
I asked, “How are things?”
“Same. Right now, stable feels like a gift.”
Sam said, “You look like you could use a little break, John. Why don’t you take one? I’ll stay close to the girls until the wives get back.”
“Thanks, Sam, I think I will. I could use a little time. I’ll be in the building but I have my pager on. The nurse has the number.”
Sam checked in with the nurse at the ICU and I followed Trent as he shuffled away toward the elevators.
“John, can I have a minute?”
“Sure.”
“You, um, remember anything-I don’t know-additional about your visit to Dr. Robilio’s house that may help me understand things better?”
“Help you how?” His voice was edgy. I’d woken him up a little.
I felt as though I had to choose my reply as carefully as if I were adding a king of hearts to a five-story house of cards. “I’m still trying to understand what she heard, what she saw, you know, something that might have motivated her to go over there that day.”
“She knew how angry I was.”
“Yes?”
“That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
I thought he hesitated, but I couldn’t be sure. “If I think of anything else, I’ll tell you. It’s been a long day, Alan. I’m going to rest a little.”
I wanted to press him, ask him if he was involved in the custody eval for Robilio’s sister-in-law. I couldn’t.
I woke Merritt to take her back upstairs for the night. It took two seconds to rouse her, much longer to calm the adrenaline surge she had upon awakening. She kissed her Uncle Sam on the cheek before mounting a meek protest about returning to the psychiatric unit to sleep.
When we arrived upstairs all the other kids were down for the night. The unit was quiet, surreal. Sometimes I’m surprised that adolescents actually require slumber like other homo sapiens.
A nurse checked Merritt onto the unit, made sure she had eaten.
When they were done with their routine I said to Merritt, “We need to talk some more, come with me.”
She protested, her voice wary. She said, “I’m tired.”
I said, “Too bad, we’re all tired,” and led her to the familiar consultation room.
I sat down and made certain there was an unmistakable edge in my voice as I said, “You’re not being honest with me, Merritt.” I wanted her to find my manner disconcerting.
She sat on the edge of her chair and chewed at her upper lip before she said, “I haven’t lied to you.” The tenor of her words was explanatory, not defensive.
“Well, simply not lying to me is no longer good enough.”
She yawned. “How about tomorrow?”
“No, now. I actually think I’m prepared to sit here all night.”
She huffed, “Screw you, then, you can sit here by yourself.” She stood, reaching for the doorknob. “I’m done talking to you.”
“If that’s the case, you won’t be going back downstairs tomorrow, Merritt.”
She hissed, “You wouldn’t do that.”
I wouldn’t do that, she was right, but she couldn’t be sure. Nor could she know that I had another trump card that I was keeping pressed against my chest. I didn’t respond.
Again, she said, “You wouldn’t?” while she stared at my impassive face. Finally she nodded. “You would, wouldn’t you? You would keep me from seeing her. God, I can’t believe I trusted you.”
“With any luck, your sister won’t be in the ICU tomorrow, Merritt.”