Kitabı oku: «Death's Door», sayfa 6

CHAPTER SEVEN

PAUL GAZED at Madison for a moment with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He knew she wanted to get rid of him, to make the whole business with Wyatt Holbrook disappear. Not on his watch. “I’ll drive you out to your place. You can give me the sales receipt. Burgess expects me to bring it to him.”

She hesitated, then finally responded. “Can’t I do it tomorrow? It takes forever to get to Fisher Island and back. I’ve been out of the office for days. I’m swamped.”

“The sooner Burgess tracks down the person who sold your friend Aspen, the sooner he can pursue a valuable suspect or eliminate that person. Don’t you want Erin’s killer found?”

“Of course I do. It’s just that I doubt someone would sell her a dog, then kill her.”

“You never know.” Privately he agreed and Burgess must have, as well. Aw, hell. Maybe not. Lincoln Burgess was a piss-poor excuse for a detective—not exactly the best choice for a complicated investigation. Around the department, they referred to Burgess as “the missing link.” Over the years, it had been shortened to Link. Dumb schmucks thought it was a nickname for Lincoln.

“Well…I guess I—”

Paul stood. “Come on. You can bring the dog with you. I’m in an SUV today.”

“What dog?”

Her wide-eyed, innocent stare didn’t fool him. “The golden retriever under your desk.”

It was a moment before she replied, “You can’t see him from there.”

“No, but I see a few gold hairs on the carpet. Considering this is your first day back at the office, the dog has to be here.” He gestured around at the small cube. “The only place he could be is under your desk.”

She rewarded him with the suggestion of a smile that alluringly tipped the corners of her mouth upward. With her wild mane of hair and no makeup, she could have passed for a woman who’d just gotten out of bed. The thought alone sent a rush of heat through his body.

He cataloged every inch of her face while keeping his expression neutral as if he were thinking about the dog. Yeah, right. Something about this woman made his mind wander to sex every time he was around her.

He resisted the urge to allow his eyes to detour lower to where the V-neck of her T-shirt revealed the shadowy cleft between her breasts. His pulse thrummed just thinking about the way she’d looked when he’d walked into her office and had taken the opportunity to give her the slow once-over. True, he hadn’t seen below the waist—she’d been sitting—but he liked what he could see.

“You’re right. Aspen is under the desk.” She rose from her seat in one fluid motion that he found undeniably provocative even though he knew she didn’t intend it to be. “I didn’t let on I had him because I didn’t want Detective Burgess to take him.”

As they walked out to his Jeep with the golden retriever at Madison’s side, Paul thought about the dog. When he’d heard her screaming and raced into Erin Wycoff’s home, he’d charged through the kitchen, barely noticing the envelope on the counter beside the pizza box. Minutes later the envelope and the dog had been gone.

He’d followed Madison from the office and knew she hadn’t had the dog with her, but he hadn’t realized it wasn’t her dog. The way she’d pitched a fit at the scene about the dog needing eye treatment, he’d assumed the dog was hers.

Never assume. When he’d studied criminology at the University of Florida, his favorite professor, Dr. Wells, often tried to trick them into false assumptions that led to erroneous conclusions in the test cases he taught.

All right, all right. He should have known better, but his mind had been busy processing the horror of the scene and trying to decide what type of killer had been responsible for the brutal attack. Hell, he’d been itching to get back into action. He hated being on leave. That was why he’d gone into the station this morning. He was hoping to find that his leave had been terminated. No such luck.

He held the back door of his car open for Aspen. The dog hesitated.

Madison patted the floor in front of him. “Go on, boy. Hop in.” The dog leaped up into the car.

They got in and Paul drove out of the parking lot. This close, he caught a whiff of the same scent he had the other time he’d been this near her. Flowery but fresh, not heavy the way some women wore too much fragrance.

He waited until they were down the road before asking, “What did the vet say about Aspen’s eye problem?”

“He needs drops twice a day. He’ll be fine.”

“How did you know to take him to the vet?”

“His eyes were tearing a lot more than normal. At least that’s what I thought. I just threw that show-dog stuff at them because I had to get away. I couldn’t stand thinking about my friend with all those people walking around her naked body, taking pictures, measuring things, collecting particles of hair and fiber and…I don’t know what.”

Paul nodded, letting her think he believed her, but there was a missed beat in the conversation. Something about the dog. What?

“You got him help pretty fast,” he remarked, to see if she would reveal something incriminating.

“I took him to Robert Matthews. He was Erin’s boyfriend but they broke up last year. I knew he’d get me in right away and he did. I saw his associate.”

“That’s good.” Something in her explanation still sounded off but he wasn’t sure what. Evidently the dog meant a lot to her. He had the feeling it was more than the last link to her murdered friend.

“Did Erin leave her boyfriend or was it the other way around?”

She kept staring straight ahead. He couldn’t help noticing she had a turned-up nose that gave her profile a cute upward tilt. “I think it was mutual,” she finally said.

“She was your best friend. Right? Don’t girls discuss stuff like this?” He knew damn well they did. He was pretty sure now that Madison was hiding something. From the first, he’d been positive she hadn’t killed Erin Wycoff, but now he wondered if she knew more about the murder than she was admitting.

He reminded himself that he wasn’t working on this case. The department could have requested to have him removed from disability leave now that his doctor had approved his return to the force, but they hadn’t. He was working for his father and needed to complete this job.

“Women do talk,” she told him in a low voice charged with emotion. “But at the time Erin and Rob called it quits, my husband had just left me. I had all I could deal with.”

“Wouldn’t that have brought you closer to your friend?”

“It did. Erin listened to me whine big-time, but she didn’t talk much about herself. It was several weeks before I came out of my fog of self-pity and noticed Rob wasn’t around. Erin didn’t want to discuss it.”

“I see,” he said, although he didn’t. He didn’t have any sisters, and his mother had left them and moved to California when he was seven. His experience with women amounted to sex and not much more.

“You see, Erin was a secretive person. Always.” She’d turned to face him as she explained. “Our mothers met when they were pregnant. I’ve always…known Erin…forever. We were like sisters, but even as a child she kept things to herself. I didn’t find it unusual that Erin didn’t want to talk about Rob.”

The earnest note in her voice told him this was the truth, as she saw it. One thing he’d learned as a detective was the truth often depended on your perspective. “She never mentioned the property she left you.”

“Erin believed her parents left her a worthless chunk of property. She never told me it had become valuable or that anyone was interested in buying it.”

“She must have mentioned the chimp place—”

“Save the Chimps in Fort Pierce. No, she didn’t, but Erin volunteered at a shelter for homeless animals. She probably found out about it there and discussed it with them.”

They pulled into the ferry line for Fisher Island. Aspen had hopped up onto the backseat, and Paul rolled down the rear window so the dog could stick his head out and sniff the breeze while the ferry made the short crossing to the island.

The guard recognized Madison and waved them onto the ferry used exclusively by Fisher Island residents. Personally, Paul thought the whole private-island bit was a pain in the ass. It was a hassle to get on and off the place. While guards helped protect residents’ privacy, it wasn’t a guarantee they were safe. He’d easily gotten onto the island. He could have had a fake police ID and been admitted.

It was almost noon and there were only a few other cars on the small ferry. Neither of them said anything on the short trip. They drove up to the Italian villa where Madison was staying. Madison jumped out and opened the door for Aspen. It seemed to take the dog a split second longer than necessary to jump down.

Paul got out of the car, asking, “Did the vet say Aspen has some sort of a vision problem, not just an eye infection?”

Madison’s eyes became sharper, more focused. “No, but his infection wasn’t treated early enough. He has some vision loss, but he’s okay now. Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog nuzzled Madison’s hand. Again, Paul thought there was more to the connection between them than Madison wanted to reveal.

Inside the house, Madison went right to what he assumed was the bedroom she was using. Waiting in the entry with Aspen, he stroked the dog’s smooth head and looked into his eyes. “Trouble seeing, huh?”

The dog poked at his hand with his nose. His eyes appeared a little cloudy, as if he had the beginnings of cataracts. He knew dogs could develop cataracts like humans, but Aspen seemed too young.

“Here it is,” said Madison, returning to the entry.

Paul took it from her and pulled the certificate out of the envelope. He scanned the document. It immediately raised a red flag. “Someone sold a purebred dog for twenty-five dollars?”

“I guess. Erin told me a woman couldn’t keep her dog. I assumed she just wanted to find it a good home, then I discovered this bill of sale.”

“What did Erin say exactly?”

Madison silently regarded him for a moment, seeming to weigh her words. “I’m not sure. We were in a club. The music was really loud. She just mentioned the dog. I didn’t ask a lot of questions because of the noise.”

“You didn’t discuss it later when you came back to her house and had pizza?”

“No. She knew I wanted a dog. I’ve always wanted one but Mom was allergic to them, then I married a man who didn’t want animals of any kind.” She shrugged as if her ex-husband didn’t matter, but Paul sensed this was still an open wound. Words were pouring out of her too rapidly, which made him think again that she was concealing something.

“We started to talk about the houses I had seen with the Realtor. I forgot all about the dog until I was on the way home. I figured I’d call Erin about it the next day. My first priority was to find a house where I could keep a pet.” She waved a hand at the elegant living room beyond the foyer. “The owners will return soon and I need my own place.”

It sounded true, but something about the dog situation continued to bother him. He scanned the certificate again. It looked legit but you never knew these days. A lot could be duplicated using a scanner and a computer. Counterfeiters had been so successful at replicating United States currency that the Treasury Department had created new bills just to make it more difficult.

“This says Aspen was born Rudolph Vontreben of Sunnyvale. I guess Sunnyvale is the breeder.” He looked at Madison.

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”

There it was again, the disturbing note in her voice. What was going on? “Don’t you want to find your friend’s killer?”

“Of course I do!” she cried, then took a deep breath. “I just don’t think the woman—”

“What makes you think it was a woman?” He wanted her to repeat what she’d told him earlier. Something wasn’t right here.

“I told you. At the club Erin mentioned a woman who couldn’t keep her dog. I assume Aspen was that dog.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“Well, no. I…ah—”

“It’s possible this—” he glanced at the paper again “—L. Morgan used the dog as a ploy and followed her home.”

“It’s possible,” she conceded in a voice pitched low.

“I’ll take this to Burgess and let him run down the dog’s owner.” He reminded himself this wasn’t his case. His agenda was entirely different.

“What about meeting Wyatt Holbrook?” he asked, and immediately saw the change of subject caught her off guard.

“Not until I talk to my mother,” she shot back.

“A life hangs in the balance,” he reminded her. He was betting a woman who had a soft heart for a dog was someone who would respond to an emotional plea. “He’s a lot like Erin, from what you’ve told me,” Paul said, making this up as he went. “He helps others even when the benefits to him aren’t observable. We could go over there tonight. He only lives in Palm Beach. You could see for yourself.”

“I’m busy tonight. I have to help Rob Matthews sort through Erin’s things.”

The faint note of irritation in her voice mushroomed into anger so powerful that it must have been festering since the first time he’d told her about her real father. “This man isn’t interested in me. He’s just—”

“True, Wyatt Holbrook wants to live, but he’s a generous philanthropist. He’s given millions to worthy causes.”

“You already told me about him.”

He could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. Then something from her bio hit him. “Wyatt’s setting up a special foundation to fund promising advances in science and medicine. There just isn’t enough money for scientists and it’s not likely to get better. The government has too many other priorities.”

Madison silently considered what he said. He knew she’d majored in mathematics and had earned a full scholarship to MIT. She was bound to understand how important such a foundation would become.

“Call me tomorrow. I’ll see what I can arrange. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks.” As Paul left, he was half-tempted to give her a hug, but he didn’t press his luck. Okay, pard. Get your mind back where it belongs. He found Madison disturbingly attractive, but this was business. Nothing more.

CHAPTER EIGHT

How long before maggots appear on a dead body?

“DO YOU WANT any of these pictures?” Madison asked Rob.

He crossed the small bedroom where they’d been sorting through Erin’s things since late afternoon. Madison had kept a few pieces of her friend’s jewelry and was packing the rest of Erin’s clothes to drop off at Goodwill. She’d come to the lower drawer where she’d discovered a shoe box of photographs. The ones on the top were of Rob with Erin.

Rob looked across the room and looked over Madison’s shoulder. “Yeah, save ’em for me.” He almost choked on the words. An emotional second passed before he spoke again. “Those are from our trip to New Orleans. You know, before Katrina, when New Orleans was still the old New Orleans.”

“I’ll put them in your box.” Madison looked up from the floor where she was sitting and tried for a smile. They’d both brought boxes to save things to remember Erin. So far, there was nothing in his.

“Great. I’ll go get it.” He headed to the living room, where he’d left the empty box.

Madison sifted through the photos haphazardly thrown into the shoe box. Again, the scent of something like Lysol, only stronger, made her stomach roil. Rob had arranged for a special service to clean Erin’s home. None of the bloodstains remained, but the astringent odor was a constant reminder of Erin’s brutal death.

Flies.

The image blipped across her brain. In her mind’s eye she could see the flies on Erin’s body where they’d lay eggs. Maggots would soon follow. It took twenty-four to forty-eight hours for maggots to appear on a corpse. The autopsy and embalming fluids would delay them. But for how long? For once the answer wasn’t in the trove of trivia that occupied her brain. She forced her mind back to the task at hand.

There were several pictures of Erin and Madison taken over the years. Not very many, she mused, considering all they’d done together. There were almost no pictures of Erin’s parents.

Madison thought of her family. Her mother had taken hundreds of photographs. She’d lovingly compiled them into artistic scrapbooks long before scrapbooking became a fad. Madison missed her mother now in a way that she hadn’t before Erin’s death. Madison hadn’t been able to accept her mother’s relationship with Scott Whitcomb. Not only was the guy too young for her, but she’d begun seeing him within months of Zach Connelly’s death. It seemed like a betrayal to Madison.

It wasn’t until Aiden had walked out on her and the true meaning of loneliness set in that Madison realized her mother’s remarriage must have been an attempt to restore the happy life she’d lost. By then, the damage to Madison’s relationship with her mother had been done. Jessica Connelly—now Jessica Whitcomb—had left in Scott’s sailboat. Madison had turned, as she always had, to Erin.

Now she was truly alone for the first time in her life. She decided to keep the box of photos and sort through them later. Who else would want them?

“Hey,” Rob said from the doorway. “Why don’t we take a break and grab a bite to eat?”

“Good idea.” She stood up and glanced over to the foot of the bed, where Aspen was stretched out, head on his paws, watching her. “Is there someplace where we could eat outside with Aspen?”

“What about Casa Carreta? That’s not far and they have a patio.”

“Great. Come on, Aspen.”

The dog eagerly leaped to his feet. She waited at the bedroom door for him to lumber after her. She’d discovered he couldn’t see too far ahead and was more comfortable if he followed her. For an instant, she thought of Paul Tanner. She was certain he suspected something about Aspen.

“The police took the bill of sale that Erin had for Aspen,” Madison told Rob as they walked out to the van he’d brought from his animal clinic so they could load Erin’s things. “I hope it doesn’t show Dicon Labs owns Aspen. I won’t let him be hauled back there to be tortured.”

Rob opened the sliding door to the back for Aspen. Madison patted the floor and the dog hopped in.

Rob slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a slight squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the EADL created a certificate that couldn’t be traced if it were challenged. I’ve paid careful attention to the news. The lab hasn’t mentioned any lost dogs. Like I told you, I doubt they want any negative publicity.”

Rob had a slow, deliberate way of speaking that emphasized important words. Madison found him to be very reassuring, exactly what she needed at this point.

She shifted out from under his arm and opened the passenger door. “I hope you’re right. We haven’t discovered anything to indicate Erin was still part of the group.”

She climbed in and waited for Rob to come to his side. They hadn’t found anything, but the police had confiscated Erin’s computer and all of the records that she’d kept in the small desk in the corner of the bedroom.

Rob settled himself behind the wheel and started the van. “Trust me. Erin was too careful to leave any trail. There’s a firewall between people to protect their identities. Everyone in the group became hyperconscious of security when the FBI began to crack down on what they called domestic terrorism several years ago. A couple of animal rights activists on the West Coast were jailed.”

They parked in the lot outside Casa Carreta. During the years Madison had been growing up, Cubans and their culture had spread beyond Little Havana, the area of Miami where the first immigrants from Cuba had settled. Cuban food and coffee and music could be found throughout southern Florida.

It was nearly nine o’clock—early for the SoBe crowd, but late for dinner in this neighborhood. They had no trouble finding a table on the small patio. She directed Aspen to a spot at her feet, under the table so he wouldn’t be in the way. The smell of fried plantains reminded Madison that she hadn’t eaten since she’d grabbed a few crackers from the platter of goodies in the lunchroom, where Jade had set out the food from the reception.

“Erin used to have the palomilla,” Rob told her, but he needn’t have bothered. Madison knew her friend always ordered the thinly sliced beef laden with grilled onions and spices. Usually it was served with French fries but Erin always substituted fried yucca.

“That’s a bit heavy for tonight,” she said, her appetite suddenly gone. How many times had she shared a plate of palomilla with Erin? Never again.

“Why don’t we share it?” Rob suggested with a smile.

She almost said no but stopped. Why not? She would have if Erin were sitting beside her. Rob ordered palomilla and café cubano to drink.

“Is something bothering you?” Rob asked after the waiter deposited the coffee in cups hardly bigger than thimbles. “Besides Erin’s loss, I mean.”

As usual, the café cubano was so strong that it hit her stomach like a grenade and sent an explosion of caffeine through her system. She realized she hadn’t spoken for several minutes. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but her mind had been on Paul Tanner and her promise to consider meeting Wyatt Holbrook.

“Sorry,” she said, and gazed into Rob’s dark brown eyes. He was such a nice guy and he’d loved Erin so much. He had to be suffering even more than she was. She’d been thinking about discussing her problem with him. Now was the time. Maybe it would distract them both from their grief.

“Something strange happened to me and I don’t know how to handle it.” She paused, not sure where to begin.

“Run it by me. I’ll help if I can.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“Okay. A private investigator came to see me.” She pulled her hand from his and took a sip of her coffee. The story tumbled out in as succinct a version as she could manage.

“Wyatt Holbrook is your father?”

Rob was clearly impressed—not that she could blame him. Wyatt Holbrook was a big name in Miami, a city with no lack of stellar personalities. But just hearing Rob say that man could be her father made her feel uncomfortably disloyal to her real father.

“That’s what Paul Tanner claims.” The words were underscored with a hiss of anger. “Like I told you, the clinic closed in a hail of lawsuits for falsifying records and who knows what else.”

Rob let the waiter deliver the palomilla and two plates to share the platter. With it came a side order of pan cubano. The bread had been flattened on a grill and was oozing butter. When the waiter left, Rob asked, “Okay, so they tried to capitalize on some megasperm, but what reason would this private investigator have for manufacturing records to show you were Wyatt Holbrook’s child? I could see this as a scam if you were worth megabucks.” He shrugged and picked up his fork. “But you’re not. Wyatt Holbrook is the one with the money.”

Madison took a bite of the savory beef and chewed thoughtfully. This was what had been bothering her, niggling at the back of her mind since she’d read the transcript. “I don’t know. There must be some—”

“Look.” He reached across the table again and stroked her hand. “I know you loved your father. This doesn’t change anything. He raised you and loved you and made you who you are. Still, he might not be your biological father.”

She jerked her hand away from his once more and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming it wasn’t true. “It’s not true,” she managed to say in an even tone. “When Dad was dying, we discussed everything. He would have told me.”

Rob offered her a sympathetic smile. “Not if he thought it would change the way you thought about him.”

Madison didn’t believe this—not for one second. “My father died of pancreatic cancer. He was in tremendous pain and they put him on large doses of painkillers. I doubt he could have resisted telling me the truth. He knew I’d love him regardless. The last words I whispered to him were I am who I am because you loved me.”

Rob took another forkful of food and ate it before saying, “Is there any chance he didn’t know?”

She remembered the transcript. Her mother seemed to have gone to the clinic initially without her father’s knowledge. From the way the nurse had sounded in the transcript, Madison had assumed her father’s consent would have been required. If—and it was still a really big if in her mind—her mother had gone through with the procedure.

“I think the clinic required both parents to sign the consent form.”

“Not true of single mothers, of course.”

“Of course,” she muttered, and put down her fork. Why was she even considering the possibility? She knew she was her father’s daughter.

“A paternity test would prove—”

“I know.” She ground out the words. “I know.” The stricken look on his face upset her. “Sorry I snapped. This investigator keeps pressing me. I truly believe there’s some hidden agenda here.”

“It’s okay.” He reached over and stroked her hand with his fingertips. “There is an agenda. This Holbrook guy is filthy rich. How much do you want to bet that he’s paying the investigator a bundle of dough to locate his donor-conceived child? So she can be tested to see if she could save his life.”

“I don’t know why, but I feel there’s another reason.”

“Madison, I realize you don’t want to accept this, and I’m not saying it’s true, but I can’t imagine why a man like Wyatt Holbrook would waste his time unless he believed you were his daughter.”

She had to admit that she agreed. “You’re right. I’m sure that man thinks I’m one of his children.”

“One?”

“Doesn’t the fact he donated sperm once suggest he did it several times since he needed the money? I’ve read up on it. A single donation of sperm can be divided and used more than once.”

Rob rocked back in his chair and thought about it for a second. “Holbrook may have donated several times. Who knows? When I was in veterinary school, there were guys who donated regularly to make money.”

“Didn’t they care about what happened to their children?”

“I guess not. I never knew any of them well enough to get into it with them.”

Each word cracked like a hatchet blow inside her head. Were men really so cavalier? A memory punched through from the night Aiden left her. “You’ll be all right,” he’d said over his shoulder. “You always are.” His words were proof positive men did have a cavalier attitude.

“What I’m concerned about here isn’t motivation,” Rob said quietly as the waiter removed the dishes. “I’m worried that you might actually be this man’s child—”

“I’m not. I know I’m not.”

He raised his hand. “Hear me out. I’m worried about what would happen should you prove to be his child and an eligible donor.”

Madison fought the urge to protest and kept listening. He was her friend—her only friend now—and he was just trying to help.

“This isn’t a simple operation. I know a lot about these things from being in veterinary school. Kidneys are fairly routine transplants. They’re having a lot of success even with donors who aren’t ideally compatible. But a liver transplant is different.”

“We all have two kidneys but just one liver.” She could have rattled off the statistics about the percentage of the population born with just one kidney but she didn’t.

“Exactly. So a liver transplant involves major surgery where they take a lobe of the donor’s liver and transplant it into the recipient. It involves a substantial risk to the donor.”

“I understand. I looked it up on the Internet.”

“It’s possible for anyone to donate but you’d need an almost perfect match. There aren’t enough people registered as donors to come up with that kind of a match very often. So the best bet is a blood relative.

“That’s why this man is tracking down children conceived from his sperm donations.” Once again, Rob reached across the table. He took her hand in both of his. “You could die from this surgery, or at the very least be out of commission for weeks.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice a shade shy of a whisper. For a suspended moment, like holding her breath underwater, her words hung there. She hadn’t allowed her mind to take her down this trail until now. Rob’s words forced her to consider the possibility this man could be her father. Then she dismissed the crazy idea.

Still, she couldn’t help wondering what Wyatt Holbrook was like.