He slashed a black horizontal line across the middle of the paper, dividing the two locales and the respective players.
Immediately it simplified things.
Now he could run any number of scenarios to explain the Hampton Junction half of things. Chaz Braden could have killed Kelly because he’d found out she was leaving him, and Nell he tried to blow up because he feared she really did have information that would finally convict him. Simple, straightforward – he liked it. But he still had no idea why Victor Feldt had been killed or by whom. Nor would anyone, it seemed, until they tracked down the woman with the file. And he couldn’t even begin to guess how the lab’s secret tied in with Kelly’s murder. As for the infanticide story, he continued to find that beyond belief.
Again, he wondered about Lucy’s role in all this.
Sent to sidetrack Mark?
By whom?
Chaz? But would he incriminate his own father?
No, that didn’t make sense.
And Charles wouldn’t set himself up.
Samantha maybe?
Well, whoever it might have been, weaving a story of murder from old birth records was preposterous.
Except for one detail.
He circled Cam Roper’s name.
The man had been the first to take an interest in the statistics that Mark and this Lucy woman now found so incriminating. Yet he died before he saw fit to do anything about it. Or had his death conveniently stopped him from taking action? He’d have to ask Mark how his father died. In the meantime, he lightly penciled in Victim? beside Cam Roper’s name.
It was probably another absurd idea. Otherwise, Mark would certainly have seen the possibility and said something.
Or would he?
Earl thought a moment, recalling how Mark had avoided all mention of how his father died. A person could spend a lifetime trying to bury that kind of pain, especially after losing his mom just two years before. Well-ingrained defenses might have kept him from looking too closely.
“Shit!” he said, abruptly folding the Hampton Junction part of the paper out of sight, admitting he wasn’t anywhere close to getting a handle on the happenings there.
A faint noise of squeaking wheels filtered through his closed door from somewhere out in the hallway. He stiffened as it drew nearer.
A medication cart? Shouldn’t be at this time of night.
It kept coming, the high-pitched sound like fingernails on a blackboard.
Then it stopped.
The sound of a wet mop slapping onto the linoleum floor echoed along the corridor.
Just the cleaner pushing his pail, he thought. But the tightness in his muscles wouldn’t go away. He sat listening, hearing nothing else at first, then a soft swishing right outside the entrance of his room and an occasional tap as the handle struck the wall. He held his breath, expecting to see the door push open and someone come lunging in at him.
The tapping passed down the corridor and out of earshot.
He went back to his diagram, this time focusing only on the NYCH half of things. He first considered the three suspects again. Beside their names he printed the word GHOST.
If it was either Chaz Braden or Charles, he couldn’t see how either one of them could get close enough to him and pull it off themselves. But again the idea of accomplices grated.
A solitary physician working for Samantha? That would be the only way she could pull it off.
There was also another scenario, yet he was reluctant to consider it because it opened up so many unknowns. But to be complete in assessing all the options, as he was always telling Mark, he had no choice. The disparities in “risk tolerance” that he’d noted between what had happened in NYCH and the more blatant violence of Hampton Junction, demanded he look at it.
What if there were two separate processes going on, each with its own players, those players each having his or her own motives, but both people connected to Kelly and her murder?
Or had he missed someone in lining up the suspects?
Mark sat at the kitchen table, halfheartedly spooning down a bowl of chicken and barley soup as Earl’s words ate at him. Of course the man didn’t know Lucy, so naturally would be suspicious of the way she’d shown up in the middle of everything. Yet as coroner, Mark himself should have been more questioning and checked out her credentials a bit better before taking her so much into his confidence.
As for leaving everything to Dan in the morning, that also would be the smart thing to do. Mark had even spoken briefly with him from the pay phone, but only about Nell and her prognosis. The prospect of slipping out to the home for unwed mothers, grabbing some soil samples from under Braden’s nose, and possibly hitting a home run against the man before anyone else got hurt still seemed awfully tempting. But now he wondered if it wasn’t too tempting. For starters, why would Braden have talked so openly of smotherings if he had something to hide? It didn’t add up.
“You go get the shovels, flashlights, whatever. I’ll make the soup,” Lucy had said when they’d arrived home. Twenty minutes later he’d loaded the Jeep, changed into warm clothing, and dug out some caving headlamps so they could work with their hands free. As she quickly emptied her bowl and helped herself to seconds, he even started to second-guess her willingness to go out there. Shit! I have to stop thinking this way. But once released, his doubts roamed free.
“Why so moody?” she asked.
He filled his spoon and took a small sip. “Like you, I’m drained.” He hoped he sounded casual enough. “And I’m beginning to think we must have been crazy to consider doing this tonight. Tomorrow I’ll call Dan, he’ll provide the men, and we’ll do the search properly.”
She stopped midway through taking another mouthful. “Are you serious? Somebody will spot us, call Braden, then watch the injunctions fly. Believe me, I’ve been in court against the kind of legal might Charles can wield. They’re masters at delays and stalling. The warrant you arranged for tonight will be shredded. Mark, we could be in and out, get the samples, and maybe it’s case closed.”
“That’s what bothers me, Lucy. Everything points us in that direction. Well, I don’t feel like going where I’m pointed anymore. I mean, we almost got killed tonight. Victor’s dead. Nell’s hanging by a thread. It’s time to pause and reflect, wouldn’t you say?”
Her expression turned stony.
He immediately regretted the outburst. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take your head off.”
She surprised him by removing the spoon from his hand and entwining her fingers in his. “Come with me,” she said, and led him to the front room, where she sat him down beside him on the couch.
“What’s up-”
She silenced him with a pair of fingers to his lips. “Remember I said you could do worse than talk to me about how the past can bite you in the butt. Well, now’s as good a time as any.”
“Lucy, what are you-”
Her fingers pressed against his lips again. “Tell me what seeing Nell brought back.”
“What’s the point-”
“I’m as horrified at what happened to Victor and Nell as you are. It’s horrific. Tragic. Shocking. But what you’re feeling goes beyond that.”
“Now wait a minute-”
“The point is you’re obsessed with discovering the secret of Kelly’s murder.”
“No-”
“I’ve watched you, Mark. Even when you’re not working the case you get a faraway stare in your eyes, and I can tell you’re thinking about it. Believe me, I know the look. I’ve seen it in men on a battlefield who get trapped in what they’ve seen and can’t escape reliving the violence even when everything’s over. Except you were a kid-”