She was Dying Anyway

by P. D. Workman

  “Hold on.” Lashman held up a hand. “Who is Stanley? What are you talking about?”

  “Stanley Green. I got home at midnight, and he was loitering around the parking lot in the dark. I called the police, got them to move him on. There will be a record of it.”

  “Stanley Green.”

  “He was Robin Salter’s fiancé ten years ago. Then they broke up. I talked to him about Robin and her family for some background. But then he showed up at my place…”

  “Was he a suspect?”

  “I… not really. He hasn’t been around. He didn’t visit Robin in the hospital, as far as I know, so he couldn’t have given her anything.”

  “But then he was hanging around your apartment after that? Last night?”

  Zachary nodded.

  “And what did that have to do with Bridget?”

  “Nothing. It just… wormed its way into my brain. I didn’t know why he was there, and I started to worry about if he would go after Bridget, because she was the one who hired me.” Zachary shook his head. “He didn’t know Bridget. It was just… paranoia.”

  “You don’t think he has anything to do with Bridget’s disappearance.”

  “No. He didn’t know anything about her.”

  “Unless he talked to someone else.”

  Zachary thought about that. Would Stanley have called the Salters after his interview with Zachary? To warn them about the investigation or to ask them why he was involved in it?

  “I guess… but the coroner found cause of death, so there wasn’t anything else for me to look into. I wouldn’t have been investigating Stanley or anyone else any further.”

  Sitting in a jail cell shouldn’t have been a problem for Zachary. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. He’d been in the detention cells at Bonnie Brown, he’d been picked up by the police or put into custody while they tried to figure out what to do with him as a teenager. As a private investigator, he wasn’t the type to break the law for a case. Not usually. But occasionally, he got run in anyway because of a cop who didn’t like his involvement in an investigation or had some other beef with him.

  But having been detained before didn’t help him. Bridget was out there somewhere and he was being kept from the investigation. He should have been out there looking for her. Asking about her. Listening to the word on the street. Instead, he was stuck in a cell for just one reason: the fact that he had once been married to her. Everything else was just a nail in the coffin. His real crime was having been married to her.

  Zachary paced back and forth across the small cell, which ended up being more like spinning in a circle because he couldn’t take more than a couple of steps one way or the other.

  “What the matter with you?” one of the other inmates demanded. As if Zachary needed to justify himself to a man whose yellow track suit made him look like a dirty banana. If wearing a getup like that wasn’t a crime, it should have been. “This your first time in a cell?”

  “No, it’s not my first time. I’m just trying to think.”

  “What did you take? You’re seriously amped up, dude.”

  “Nothing. I haven’t taken anything.”

  “Yeah, right,” the banana shared a laugh with the rest of the jailbirds. “You’re that juiced but you didn’t take a thing.”

  “Shut up and let me think.”

  The banana tried a few more lines, but when nothing was getting a rise out of Zachary or a laugh out of the rest of the inmates, he gave up and left him alone.

  Who would want to hurt Bridget? Who would want to make her stop talking about Robin Salter? One of the medical staff? Surely they knew by now that the coroner had discovered Robin’s iron overdose and there was no point in trying to keep Bridget quiet. Was it Stanley Green? He’d had nothing to do with Robin’s death, there was no reason for him to go after Bridget. Lashman would have someone bring him in, but Zachary was confident it wouldn’t amount to anything.

  Maybe it was nothing to do with the investigation. Even though it was the first thing that came to Zachary’s mind, there was no evidence that Bridget’s disappearance had anything to do with the Salter investigation. Nothing at all.

  Had a predator been watching her, observing her habits and figuring out the best time to strike?

  Or was it an acquaintance or a business associate she had crossed and who wanted to get back at her? Bridget had a sharp tongue and Zachary was sure he wasn’t the only one she had ever used it on. She wasn’t afraid to voice her opinions. Especially after facing down cancer. Life is too short to waste on being tactful and polite. If people were going to be hurt by a few misplaced words, then they were going to go through life being wounded. Bridget didn’t have time to be sensitive and politically correct. As numerous as the people who loved her were, she had her share of enemies or injured parties as well.

  Gordon would know better than Zachary who Bridget might have had a falling out with lately. Hopefully, Gordon was telling them everything he could. Or maybe it was a business associate of Gordon’s…

  “Zachary.”

  He was so focused on his own thoughts, it took a few moments before he was able to take in Mario Bowman, standing in the corridor outside Zachary’s cell, holding a folder and looking at him.

  “Bowman? What are you doing here?”

  “Zachary,” Bowman stepped closer. His voice was low and confidential. “I had to bring these to you. I thought they might be important.”

  Zachary looked down at the file. Why would Bowman have any paperwork that would be important to him? His concern was with Bridget. That was where he had to stay focused. Zachary made a motion to wave him away.

  “I heard about Bridget,” Bowman said. His eyes were wide.

  Zachary stared at Bowman hard, trying to determine whether he knew anything more than Zachary. Was he sorry because they had found Bridget? Was she hurt? Dead? He couldn’t bear it if she were dead.

  “Whoa, there.” Bowman reached through the bars and held Zachary steady. “It’s okay, brother.”

  “Have you heard something?”

  “No. No one knows anything. They’re looking for her. They’re putting bulletins out on the TV, internet, everything. Drake has money. He’ll spare no expense. They’ll find her, Zachary.”

  Zachary nodded. He grasped the bars of the door to keep himself from shaking.

  “I thought you needed these,” Bowman said, proffering the file folder. “I thought they must be important.”

  Zachary automatically took the file folder, though he had no interest in anything except figuring out where Bridget was. He opened it and looked at the printed reports inside. Incident reports. He vaguely remembered asking Bowman for them, though all of the reasons had been driven from his mind. His hand was shaking too badly to make out the words. He sat down on the bunk and put them in his lap to hold them steady. He stared at the reports, trying to make the words stop swimming so that he could read them.

  A domestic violence incident report between Robin Salter and Stanley Green. Zachary looked down the page to the description of the incident and only got a couple of lines in when he looked up at Bowman in disbelief.

  “Stanley Green was the victim?”

  Bowman nodded. “It happens more often than you might think. Sure, the majority of domestic violence reports are male on female, but there are still plenty that are women beating on men.”

  “Robin was the perpetrator.”

  “Yeah. Some of these women can be hellcats, you know.” He opened his mouth to make a wisecrack, but then apparently thought better about what he was going to say and closed his mouth. “There are more in there.”

  Zachary flipped through the stapled reports, noting the parties on each. Robin Salter and Stanley Green. Robin Salter and Gloria Salter. Robin Salter and Vera Salter and Gloria Salter.

  Zachary sat there on the bunk, his vision going white. Everything around him dissolved.

  Robin Salter wasn’t the victim of domestic violence. She was
the abuser. The things Stanley had told Zachary came into sharp focus. There were things happening in that family… it was very unhealthy. People… are not always what they seem. Relationships that look healthy from the outside… sometimes they aren’t. Zachary had thought that Stanley meant Grandpa Clarence was abusive. But he hadn’t. He’d meant Robin.

  She knew how to persuade other people around her to do things the ‘right’ way

  She got more extreme. More… angry.

  How had Zachary missed what Stanley was really trying to tell him? Zachary had taken one look at the big, broad man and assumed he was the abuser. It never occurred to him that the small, sick woman whose death Zachary was investigating had once terrorized him.

  Zachary’s head whirled. He pressed his fist to his forehead, trying to keep it all in logical order.

  Where had Robin been when Clarence had died? Clarence and Rhys were at home, and Vera and Gloria were out, but where was Robin? Her name had been left out of the story completely. Had she been at Stanley’s house? Out partying? Were the two of them out to dinner or running errands?

  Someone had gone into the house and shot Clarence as he sat at the kitchen table. There hadn’t been a fight. A burglary gone wrong, the police had suggested. But what would it take to make it look like a burglary? Move the electronics into a pile. Leave a few drawers open. A broken window would help to set the scene, but wasn’t necessary. A high percentage of burglars simply entered through unlocked doors.

  “Bowman.”

  The jail cell reformed around him. Bowman was still standing there, wide-eyed at Zachary’s reaction to the reports.

  “Yeah, I’m here, Zachary.”

  “I need Lashman. I need him right now.”

  “I don’t think he’s here. He’s running the investigation into Bridget’s disappearance…”

  “I know. But this changes everything. I was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. Nothing is what it looked like. I need to tell him what’s going on. Right now.”

  Bowman seemed to finally be getting the urgency of the situation. “This is something to do with Bridget?” he asked, pointing at the file folder.

  “Yes. We need to get to her before it’s too late.” Zachary clutched the file. “If it’s not too late already.”

  “Okay. I’ll get ahold of him. I know who to call.”

  If anyone would know who to call, it was Bowman. He was the only person in the world who understood all of the politics and inner workings and motivations of the police department. It didn’t matter if Lashman had said he wasn’t to be disturbed, Bowman would find a way to get to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  W

  hen Lashman got there and gave Zachary the stink-eye before unlocking the door to the cell, he wasn’t prepared for the earful he was about to get.

  “It wasn’t Stanley,” Zachary said urgently. “It wasn’t Stanley and it wasn’t a medical mistake. It was retribution. She had to make Robin suffer. She couldn’t just let her die of natural causes. That wouldn’t have served justice.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Zachary waved the file folder at him. “I thought Stanley was abusive of Robin, but the domestic violence incident reports show that she was the aggressor, not him.”

  Lashman’s eyes followed the folder. “Quit waving it in my face and let me see it,” he growled, opening the cell door and taking the file folder from Zachary. “Slow down and start at the beginning.”

  Zachary let him have the folder. He blathered away to Lashman as they walked down the hallway, and it wasn’t until they reached the end of the corridor that he realized the detective hadn’t heard a word he had said. Zachary closed his mouth and waited. Lashman skimmed through the incident reports and then looked at Zachary, nodding.

  “Okay, Robin Salter was the abuser, not the abused. Why does that matter?” Lashman led the way to an interview room. He motioned for Zachary to take a seat, but Zachary couldn’t sit down, not with everything bubbling up inside him.

  “She was physically violent. It wasn’t just verbal abuse, there was physical violence.” Zachary tried to find the place in one of the incident reports. “She broke bones. She used weapons. If she didn’t like the way you were doing something, she would show you the light. She wasn’t a nice person.”

  “And you think that means what? I don’t follow what it has to do with Bridget’s disappearance.”

  “Her father was murdered.”

  Lashman blinked at him. “Mr. Goldman… those pills that you had with you earlier today…?”

  “What?” Zachary didn’t understand the segue.

  “You missed taking something, didn’t you?”

  “No. I don’t want to take anything. I need to stay clear.”

  “You’re not making sense. I know you think you are, but you’re not. I think you’re… getting yourself confused.”

  “No.” Zachary scowled. “You need to listen to the rest. This is bigger than anything we ever thought.”

  “Okay… tell me the rest. But realize that while you are explaining, you’re keeping me from finding Bridget.”

  Zachary blew out his breath in exasperation. “You’re not going to find her without me. I’m the only one who has put it together.”

  “Go.” Lashman made an impatient motion. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Robin’s father was murdered. Clarence. At the time, the police thought it was a burglar, but it wasn’t. Robin wanted everything done her way, and if it wasn’t, she got mad. She got violent. I don’t know what her father did that day, but she killed him. It wasn’t a burglar. It was Robin.”

  “What’s your evidence?”

  “Her family knew. Maybe they were the ones who made up the burglary story in the first place. They covered for Robin. But they didn’t know how it was going to affect the family. How it was going to keep affecting their lives for the next decade.”

  Lashman shook his head, but he was following Zachary so far.

  “Gloria’s son, Rhys, was home that night. He must have seen or known what happened. He had a nervous breakdown. He was just a little kid. They probably told him he dreamed it. They thought he would just forget it and that everyone could just go on as they had before.”

  Lashman swore. Zachary knew exactly how he felt.

  “Yeah. They all stayed together. Rhys had to keep living in the same house as his grandfather’s murderer. By now, maybe he’s completely forgotten what happened, but the feelings aren’t gone. He’s still mute. He hasn’t been able to deal with the fear and betrayal.”

  Zachary started to pace. He knew Lashman wanted him to sit down and take some kind of tranquilizer to settle him down, but it was suddenly all clear, and he couldn’t waste one extra second explaining it.

  “They were all still living together. Gloria started standing up for herself and her son and got her life together. But it was too late for Rhys, he was already damaged. Vera was starting to get forgetful. Maybe to the point where she couldn’t remember what had really happened anymore.”

  “You don’t know that, though. You’re only speculating.”

  “I know. I can see it. I need my phone. Can someone get me my phone?”

  “It’s in evidence.”

  “I need it. I’ll show you. You’ll see.”

  Lashman shook his head in irritation, but he popped out the door to flag down another officer and explain what he needed. He returned to his conversation with Zachary.

  “And how does this explain everything? It seems to me that you’re just muddying the waters further. This doesn’t bring us any kind of clarity.”

  “Robin was diagnosed with cancer. Whatever Gloria had been dreaming of doing to make things right, it was too late. She couldn’t turn Robin in and expose her to the world. Robin would be dead before she could get to trial. There wouldn’t be any justice. Robin would never have to pay the piper. Gloria had to think of something el
se to do instead.”

  “And you think she poisoned Robin,” Lashman sighed, connecting it up at last.

  “I know she did!” Zachary insisted.

  The officer eventually returned with Zachary’s phone. Zachary powered it on.

  “Look. Look at this.” Zachary went through his photographs. He found the ones he had taken of the Salters’ medicine cabinet. “I took this picture before we knew what it was that had killed Robin. I was looking for insulin—which I now know would actually have been in the fridge. There were other prescriptions, so I took a picture of them… just in case. I thought maybe one of them had tried to stop Robin’s suffering. A mercy killing. Euthanasia. Maybe even assisted suicide, without a physician’s involvement. But it wasn’t. Her death was meant to be painful. The hospital had to keep increasing her painkillers because of the damage the poison was doing to her system.”

  Lashman looked at the small screen. “I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be looking for…”

  Zachary zoomed the image in. A pink and blue bottle from the hospital pharmacy. The silhouette of a woman on the front. ‘Fe’ in big block letters

  “Iron.”

  Seconds ticked by while Lashman processed this.

  “I’m sure a lot of women have iron supplements.”

  “It’s clear liquid,” Zachary pointed out. “Not pills. It could be injected directly into Robin’s IV. No one would be the wiser.”

  “That’s not proof.”

  “You need to get someone over to the house. Find out whose fingerprints are on the bottle. See if there are any syringes around. Find out if either Vera or Gloria was anemic. Find out if there was enough iron in that bottle to kill Robin, when added to the amount the hospital was giving her.”

  Lashman picked up his own phone and talked quietly to some assistant at a desk somewhere about getting a warrant for the Salter house to search for evidence that Vera or Gloria had given Robin a fatal dose of iron. He hung up.

  “Now then; what does that have to do with Bridget?”