“Fuck my father.” The girl’s voice trembled. “I mishandled my time with Pratima, and for that, I’ll always be sorry. But I didn’t stalk her or Jesus Ruth or Angela.”
Caitlin let Lakshmi’s words hang in the air. “But you did drug her.”
Again, Lakshmi’s mouth dropped open. “What? Who did I drug?”
Caitlin pointed a finger at the girl’s chest. “The night Angela went out with Kieran and Dave. You told me you got high.”
“Yes, we got high. I told you that.”
“On Molly,” Caitlin said. “You woke up with aches and pains, felt horrible, drank coconut water to feel better. Those are the next-day side effects of Molly, or Ecstasy. You got high on Molly.”
“Yes,” Lakshmi repeated. “I told you that.”
“No, you just said you got high. Everyone, myself included, assumed you meant high on weed. Angela Chapman was rolling when she left your apartment.”
Lakshmi looked lost. “Okay, so?”
“No one knows where you were between your last text with Angela on Friday night and ten AM Saturday morning.”
“Because I was asleep, Caitlin.”
“Maybe, but you could have been right here, waiting in the woods to talk, just like you waited outside Pratima Siddal’s house seven years ago.”
Lakshmi’s shoulders hunched forward. “I wasn’t.”
Caitlin pushed. “You could have met Angela on this very trail. She could have died in your hands. You could be the one who disposed of her body.”
Lakshmi bounced back. “Why would I go to the police the next day? And how would I have disposed of a body?”
“Are you saying you’re not smarter than Kieran and Dave?”
Lakshmi palmed her forehead. “Is this really happening?”
“The police didn’t check your apartment for five days. You could have done everything you’ve said Kieran and Dave did. Either way, you’re the one who slipped Angela the Molly.”
“I didn’t slip Angela the Molly. She knew we were doing it.” Lakshmi tried to grab Caitlin’s wrist, but Caitlin brushed her away.
“David Amireau says otherwise.”
“And you believe him?”
Caitlin poked Lakshmi in the chest with her finger and yelled, “You lied to me.”
Lakshmi took a step back. “Caitlin—”
“Every day I’ve been here,” she continued, her finger punctuating every sentence in the air, “you’ve done nothing but use me, lie to me—the whole time. People ask me why I work alone? Because you can’t trust anyone but yourself.”
Lakshmi reached for her again. “Caitlin—”
“No.” Caitlin pushed her away. “This is done. Don’t talk to me, Lakshmi. Don’t call me ever again, or Amireau won’t be the only one with a restraining order.”
She turned and walked back toward the parking lot.
Lakshmi trailed behind, pleading through tears. “I never did anything to hurt Angela, Caitlin. We’d done Molly a bunch of times. She loved it.”
Caitlin unlocked her car, didn’t look back. “Keep telling yourself that.”
CHAPTER
58
AT NINE AM the next morning, Caitlin walked into Scott Canton’s office, still shaking the effects from a bottle of wine and a trio of Benadryl the night before. “Professor, I need Buddha’s wisdom.”
A young man in the kind of vest only a grad student could pull off choked on his coffee.
“I’m sorry,” Caitlin said. “I’m looking for Scott Canton.”
The man’s face forecast a thunderstorm. “You haven’t heard?”
* * *
She considered a space near the ER, remembered Jerry Greenwood’s dead wife, and drove to the main lot instead, passing three narrow-looking spots close to the entrance. As scatterbrained as she felt, she’d rather walk two extra rows than scrape the car of a doctor who was trying to save Scott Canton’s life.
A nurse showed her into the ICU. “Mister Canton’s daughter-in-law is here.”
A female voice answered. “Daughter-in-law?”
Caitlin recognized the woman in the Denny’s uniform next to Scott’s bed. “Sorry I’m late, Charlese.”
Charlese took the hint. “Oh, his daughter-in-law. Hi, darling.”
The nurse left them alone, and Charlese gave her the latest. Scott had suffered a stroke between love-making strokes, possibly due to the little blue pills made popular by those commercials on the Golf Channel. The doctors had induced sleep but expected him to wake in the next hour. Overall prognosis, alive and expected to recover, possibly some damage to his center of speech. Caitlin said she’d stay while Charlese found a cafeteria breakfast. She took the chair next to the bed, faced Scott, and forced a smile.
“Two trips to hospitals in three weeks.”
She saw no movement from his eyelids, no wiggle from his nose, despite the oxygen tube in each nostril. A piece of tape kept an IV stuck into the man’s wrist.
“Once for a girl I can’t trust anymore—and now you, Professor.”
She took a breath, shook her head, and tried not to cry again, unable to even pinpoint the primary cause.
He’s expected to recover. You’re crying for yourself.
She groaned the thought away and leaned in to whisper, “I’ve heard this happens to people in therapy, Scott. Just like going to chiropractors, I got hooked. Now I can’t imagine doing this without you.”
She stood, pulled a curtain from the wall to the end of his bed, sat back down, and recapped her last two days out loud. After five minutes of listing every detail she could remember, she still didn’t have the missing piece.
“I have absolutely no proof that Lakshmi drugged her girlfriend. I’m going on the last-minute claim of a kid looking at twenty years in prison, a kid who may very well have killed both Paige Lauffer and Angela Chapman.”
She noticed a shake in her pointer finger. Her heart rate clicked along like a roller coaster on a steady climb toward its apex, with inevitable drops, twists, and turns on the other side.
“Can’t talk to Greenwood ’cause I blew up on the BPD and the FBI. Can’t talk to Mary—may have botched that too. And why couldn’t I keep it together with the chief? I’ve dealt with tougher gatekeepers than Renton. Is this what I am now? Some sad woman who loses her edge and talks to herself?”
Her pointer finger shook harder. She grabbed her knuckle with her other hand, pressed both down against her leg. She heard rustling but didn’t look up. The roller coaster, ready to fall.
“I’m scared and I hate it.”
She heard a sound, something like a whisper, something like her name. She took a deep breath, leaned forward, exhaled. Not only was she headed for another panic attack, this time she ran the risk of having to pay a hospital bill if they found her on the floor.
The whisper repeated, louder this time. “Caitlin.”
She closed her eyes, shook her head. “Not gonna happen.”
The voice came back. “Caitlin.”
She looked up, saw Scott Canton’s open eyes, one finger in the air.
A smile broke across her face. “Scott, you’re awake!”
His finger motioned to come closer. “Caitlin.”
His voice sounded hoarse. Caitlin saw a squeeze bottle of water next to the bed, squirted some into his mouth.
“You had a stroke. Do you need anything?”
“Molly,” he said, the word barely air over teeth.
Caitlin looked for the nurse call button. “Who’s Molly?”
Scott shook his head, motioned again.
She leaned in. “I’m here. What about Molly?”
He continued, each word a labored effort. “Were—”
She nodded. “Were?”
“—did see—” He stopped, shook his head like the words were wrong.
Caitlin found the call button on the side of the bed, hit the control.
“—get—”
“I’ll get the nurse, Scott. People are on th
eir way.”
He shook his head again, frustrated.
“You don’t want the people?”
She felt his fingers ring around her wrist, looked up to his eyes. He took another breath, gave the whole thing a run. “Were did see get the Molly?”
Caitlin sounded out the words. “Were did see—” She laughed at her own stupidity. Not only had Scott heard her entire recap, he’d found the missing piece. “Where did Lakshmi get the Molly?”
The room filled with qualified medical professionals, all with questions of their own. Caitlin gave them room to work. She’d gotten what she came for.
CHAPTER
59
CAITLIN FOUND A blue bike with a faded Pizza Monster sticker locked to the theater building’s bike rack. She checked the time. 2:58 PM. According to the schedule posted online, Chad Branford’s class ended at three.
Her phone chimed with another text from Lakshmi.
The first had arrived at 10:02 AM: Pls call me when u get a chance.
The second, 12:37: I would gladly take a lie detector test.
The latest: I can’t believe u would trust the BPD over me.
The girl had a point.
“Caitlin?”
She turned around, saw Chad Branford, bike helmet in hand. “Professor Branford, I was hoping to run into you.”
He flashed a smile. “Please, call me Chad. Are you here with Lakshmi?”
“All by myself,” she said. “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“Are you kidding? I spent some time in LA, so Fallen Angels was right up my alley. I’d read your book way before we met. Is it out of line to assume you’re helping look for Angela?”
“Why would you assume that?”
He put his helmet on and tapped the plastic with his finger. “Lakshmi and you together? Had to be retracing Angela’s last day. How can I help?”
“I’m trying to get another angle on Chapman’s personality, and I know she thought of you as a friend. If you have some time—”
“I’d love to,” he said, unlocking his bike, “but I’ve got to run home, then drop by work. Can I call you tonight, or maybe even tomorrow?”
Caitlin couldn’t wait another day. She helped him back his bike out of the rack. “This won’t take long. What if I give you a lift?”
His smile returned. “Great idea.”
“Tell me about your time in LA,” she said, leading him toward the parking lot. She wanted him distracted until they were on the road. Branford gladly covered his part-time work in a Hollywood pizza place, his makeup gigs on independent horror films, and the two touring acting gigs that shaped his decision to attend grad school—a children’s theater tour of the southwest and a national tour of Oklahoma.
Once they’d wedged his bike into the rental’s hatchback and pulled out, Caitlin started with a few entry-level Chapman questions: What was Angela like in class? Did she ever seem sad or afraid of anyone? Had she spoken about a boyfriend?
Each of Branford’s answers sounded authentic but hummed with nervous energy. He stopped to give a direction. “Turn south here—when the light changes, obviously.”
Caitlin looked over, saw him staring at her, amused.
“You’re building up to it, aren’t you, Caitlin?”
She checked the traffic signal, still red. “Building up to what?”
He shook his head. “We met two weeks ago, but you’ve come to find me now, which means you must have discovered something you need an answer to, something only I can give.”
The light changed and Caitlin turned the corner. “Maybe.”
He wagged his finger. “Then you hunted me.”
“Hunted you?”
“Sure, cornered me outside my class, offered me a ride, killed time with small talk, then played with me in your lair until I couldn’t escape.”
Caitlin pulled over to the side of the road. “Whoa, Chad, I hope you don’t feel like my hybrid is a lair. If you’d like to get out—”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? This is great. I love being hunted.”
“Never thought of myself as a hunter before,” Caitlin said, pulling back into traffic. “No offense to you, but you might be the smartest actor I’ve ever met.”
He drummed his hands on his thighs. “Let’s get your question out of the way.”
“Fair enough.” Caitlin went back into work mode. “I know that you, Lakshmi, and Angela used to get high together. The night Angela disappeared, she and Lakshmi both took MDMA.”
“And you want to know if they got the pills from me?”
She nodded.
He sat back in his seat, his smile fading into resignation. “I’m glad someone finally asked. The cops never did. Not that I felt bad about it. I mean, it looked like that Michelson kid killed Angela, and obviously Lakshmi knew, and no one came after me. I was afraid if I brought it up out of the blue, it wouldn’t help the cops, but I’d get fired for some sort of teacher–student violation.”
“Understandable,” Caitlin said patiently.
Branford pointed at the coming intersection. “Turn right up here.”
She took the turn, glanced his way. “Want to tell me about the pills?”
He spoke with a slight tremble. “First off, I’m not a dealer. I keep a little pot around for stress, but I inherited the Molly from a guy in a French clown troupe who couldn’t take his stash on a plane. The second I found out Angela went missing, I doused the rest of the pills with a hose.” He held up a finger. “But I didn’t sell the pills. The girls helped me so much when I started the Monster that I gave them Molly whenever they asked. I am not a drug dealer.”
“No judgment,” Caitlin said. “I wouldn’t have made it through the last three weeks without a friend’s weed stash.”
Branford smiled. “I knew I liked you, Caitlin Bergman.”
She laughed, then got back to the point. “Who asked for the Molly the night Angela went missing?”
“Lakshmi.”
Caitlin’s stomach turned. Another omission from the girl’s version of events. “Did she call or drop by your classroom?”
“She dropped by a few days before, said she and Angela wanted to party that Friday.”
Damn it. Lakshmi hadn’t just procured the pills, she’d planned the whole night. As in premeditation.
“And when did she come by and get the Molly?”
Branford looked confused. “She didn’t. Angela grabbed the pills that Friday at the end of class.”
Caitlin slowed for a stop sign. “Wait, Angela grabbed the pills?”
“It didn’t make sense for Lakshmi to make an extra trip.”
Caitlin leaned back against her headrest. If Chapman knew about the pills, then Lakshmi was telling the truth.
Someone in a car behind them tapped the horn.
And I accused her of drugging the woman she loved … after I accused her of stalking the teacher who’d seduced her as an underage high-school girl … and brought up the whole load of homophobic roommate bullshit.
The horn honked again, longer.
Branford cleared his throat. “I think it’s your turn.”
“Right, great.” Caitlin drove through the intersection, both guilty and relieved. She’d have to beg Lakshmi’s forgiveness for shaming her, but at least now she knew the truth. “Wait, where are we?”
“Near Bloomington South High.” Branford pointed past the intersection. “You want to keep going straight. It’s only another mile.”
Caitlin glanced back at a street sign. “Is this Tapp Road?”
“Yeah, Winslow turns into Tapp at Walnut. I don’t know why.”
Caitlin tightened her grip on the wheel.
“Are you okay?”
She realized Branford was watching her and fixed her eyes on the road. “Just got kind of queasy.”
The structure loomed in her peripheral vision. Set far back from the road on the passenger side, the long, three-story, sheet-metal shed still stood. She forced herself to
remember Lake Lemon, the chill of the water, the light of the sun above.
Branford’s voice brought her back. “Take the next left.”
She turned south onto a dirt road and checked her rearview mirror. She’d passed her past by half a mile.
Branford pointed to a solitary duplex on an acre of grass surrounded by cornfields. “That’s me.”
“Why the hell does a charismatic, business-owning young man like yourself live way out in the sticks? I know there’s no money in teaching, but I’ve never heard of pizza failing in a college town.”
Branford laughed. “It might not look like much right now—”
“It looks like corn.”
“—well, there’s land under all that corn. In five years, this will all be housing subdivisions—and I’m sitting on twenty-two acres.”
“Definitely the smartest actor I’ve ever met,” Caitlin said, pulling onto his asphalt driveway. She parked between the house and its detached garage.
Branford didn’t reach for his door handle. “I know I never said ‘off the record’ or anything, but I’d love to stay out of the whole mess.”
“No reason to bring it up. I’m working this all on my own,” Caitlin said, conscious of the many smoldering bridges she’d left in town.
“Well, riding with you saved me an hour. How can I repay you?”
“No need.” Caitlin pressed the trunk button and got out.
Branford met her at the tailgate to retrieve his bike. “I insist. Any chance you like pizza?”
Caitlin shut the trunk. “Some might say too much.”
“I’ve got a stack of free pizza coupons in the kitchen. Can you wait like two minutes? I’ll hook you up.” He pulled his house keys out of his backpack. “That is, unless you have some hot date you need to run to?”
Caitlin’s only plan was to head back to Mary’s guesthouse. A free meal wouldn’t hurt anything. “Lakshmi says your pizza is pretty good.”
“Liar. Lakshmi says my pizza’s the best. Don’t go anywhere.”
Caitlin watched him jog the bike to the house’s kitchen door and slip inside.
Where would she even go? At this point, it might be easier to drive her rental car cross-country than turn around and face Greenwood, Mary, or Lakshmi.
Come and Get Me Page 23