The Next Widow: A gripping crime thriller with unputdownable suspense (Jericho and Wright Thrillers Book 1)

by CJ Lyons

  “We’re not sure,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. Treating her like a victim—or a suspect? The thought rekindled her anger, but she’d exhausted all her adrenaline, had no strength left for outrage. “The preliminary tox screen showed possible hallucinogens. But nothing common. Dr. Tierney is sending for special tests, thinks they might have been designer drugs.”

  “You think my husband was doing some kind of designer drug?” PCP could account for the level of violence—but Ian had not done that to himself. “You’re crazy. He’d never. Never would he take anything that would cloud his mind. Ian’s mind, it’s special, like a Bach composition; works on several levels at once, absorbing what he sees and hears and translates it into beautiful, glorious ideas and solutions to problems people haven’t even imagined.” It was what had made her fall in love with Ian. “Poetry. That’s Ian’s mind. He’d never use drugs—never.”

  Jericho watched her with a clinical expression. Leah couldn’t help but wonder if that was also how she appeared to her patients? Aloof, observing without feeling?

  “Have you thought of anyone who might have targeted your husband or your family?” he asked.

  “No. I already told you—” She stopped. Thought about the crazed look on the man who’d assaulted her in the ER earlier. “Ask my boss for the crank files. People who make up crazy accusations about their care in the ER. I don’t remember anyone specific directing them at me, but a lot of times they don’t even remember who they saw when they were here. It’s easy to latch onto any name, a face.”

  “And right now yours is definitely out there.” He hesitated. “You’d mentioned money was an issue.”

  “Not an issue. We’re just needing to watch carefully, stick to our budget.”

  “What was the ten thousand dollars for?”

  Leah stared at him, certain she’d misheard. “Ten thousand dollars? What ten thousand dollars?”

  “The ten grand your husband withdrew from your checking account last week. In cash.”

  She fought to keep the surprise from her face. Ten thousand dollars cash? That was their emergency fund. What the hell had Ian needed ten thousand dollars for? Why hadn’t he told her? And cash—carrying that much money around with him, maybe somebody saw, followed him back to the house. Maybe that was what started all this. It would explain why nothing obvious had been taken from the house.

  “Mrs. Wright?” Jericho persisted.

  “Sorry. I don’t know anything about that.” She sounded guilty as hell—saw it reflected in his expression, the way it closed down.

  “Okay.” He seemed disappointed. “Do you know anyone named Katrina Balanchuk? Or maybe Trina?”

  “No. Sorry.” She shook her head, the strange syllables of the woman’s name echoing in her mind.

  “You’re certain? No Trina in your or Ian’s lives?” He held his phone up to her. “Recognize this woman?”

  It was a photo of a blond in her twenties, eyes wide as the camera flashed, obviously taken for a driver’s license or other ID photo. “No. Who is she?”

  “We’re not sure. Maybe nobody.”

  Jericho shifted his weight, the first time she’d seen him uncomfortable about a topic. He was evading the truth. She wasn’t entirely certain that she wanted to know the truth—what had Ian been involved in?

  She kept her voice steady, calm, inviting him to trust her with the truth. “Is this about Ian’s work? Is Trina one of Ian’s students?”

  “No.” He paused, the weight of the silence bearing down on her as her mind leapt to a myriad of suspicions—none that she wanted to acknowledge as being even remotely possible. “She and your husband began meeting several months ago. Two to three times a week from the dates.”

  Stunned, she turned to the wall, anywhere to avoid seeing his face, hearing his words and what they implied. “You think… Ian… No. No. You’re wrong.” Her words felt weak, defenseless against his accusations. Could Ian have betrayed her? Never.

  He cleared his throat. “We found some drawings. Made by your husband. She was nude.”

  His words hit like a gut punch, staggering her. Drawings? She and Ian had met at an art class—but he hadn’t done anything more than doodle since they were married. At least not that she’d seen. Or that he’d shown her. Her mouth went dry at the thought of Ian meeting another woman the same way he’d entered Leah’s life. No. Impossible… But people didn’t change, history repeated itself, and Lord knew she wasn’t the perfect wife.

  Had he fallen in love with someone else?

  “I need to leave,” she choked out, fighting the bile burning her throat.

  For a moment Jericho looked like he was going to stop her, ask her more questions that she had no answers to. But he relented, standing aside so that the doorway was clear. “Do you know where you’re going? After Emily is discharged?”

  “No. I guess a hotel. Ian’s parents are flying in from Seattle, so wherever they’ve booked a room.” She hated to leave the protection of Good Sam. She felt safe here. Out there, in the world that let Ian die, where her husband might not be the man she’d loved and trusted more than anyone else in her life, that world felt anything but safe.

  “I could arrange for an officer to accompany you. Protect you from the press.”

  “Protect me? You don’t actually mean from the press, do you? Are you saying we’re in danger? Why would the killer target us when he made sure that Emily didn’t see anything?” She didn’t like the way his frown spoke louder than any words might. He was worried. “Is it because of that guy in the ER earlier? I told you, that has nothing to do with me. He was confused, upset, that’s all.”

  Or maybe it was because of this Katrina woman? Or the missing money? But asking those questions made Ian’s betrayal seem too possible, too real.

  “Just tell me before you leave the hospital. I’ve already asked security to place a man on Emily’s ward.”

  “So now we’re prisoners?” she flared. But they both knew it wasn’t the idea of being sequestered here at Good Sam that had her upset. It was the thought that this wasn’t some random home invasion. That Ian had been targeted. That she and her daughter might still be in danger.

  Ian, what did you do? The words screamed through her brain.

  Leah straightened her posture, using all her energy to stay in control. She couldn’t lose it, not in front of Jericho. Couldn’t let him see her vulnerable. “Thank you.” The words almost strangled her. Not with lack of gratitude but with fear as the enormity of the situation overwhelmed her. “You’ll let me know—”

  “Of course. We’ll need to discuss this further, take a formal statement. After you get your daughter settled.”

  She had the feeling he meant something very different. Like maybe after he finished dissecting Leah and Ian’s lives. Dug up more of their secrets. God, if he found Ruby—she hated to even think of the tales her mother would spin, basking in the limelight of a police investigation.

  “In the meantime,” he finished, “call me if you need anything.”

  As he left, Leah couldn’t help but wonder if Jericho still saw her as a victim… or as a suspect.

  Nineteen

  After leaving Leah, Luka’s first move was to call Harper to let her know that their motorcycle rider had just moved from potential witness to possible armed and dangerous suspect. She sounded frustrated by her lack of progress and promised to update him as soon as she found either the bike or rider.

  He decided to meet Tanya and grab a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria before he left for Cochrane’s interview. Lord only knew when he’d get a chance to eat again. Tanya—his stomach roiled with anger at the thought of seeing her again after all these years. Nine years since she’d dared show her face to him. Not even coming to their parents’ funerals. He debated stopping by the hospital’s ATM to grab some cash as an incentive for her to leave and never return, but it would only go straight into her arm, so what was the use?

  As he waited in line
to check out, a turkey and avocado wrap and a milk in hand, he realized a large part of his anger and frustration had nothing to do with Tanya. Usually Luka loved the whirlwind rush when an investigation heated up and he found himself juggling multiple leads, each a thread weaving through the background noise to form a tapestry revealing the truth. More than multi-tasking, it was as if his mind switched focus so quickly from one idea to the next that he could almost glimpse the whole. Not quite knowing the answers to every question, but enough that he’d feel optimistic that he and his team could actually control the chaos, find the answers they needed. But Ian Wright’s murder was not giving him that satisfying rush. Instead, Luka felt overwhelmed. Everything about Leah was confusing him. She’d honestly seemed stunned when Luka asked her about the money and Katrina Balanchuk. Yet, she didn’t demand to see any proof, instead had turned the tables, interrogating Luka with an unnerving calm.

  He remembered how he’d felt after Cherise’s death. The more he bottled his emotions in, the more they escaped, lava surging through cracks. Leah seemed even more self-contained. Was her breakdown in the interview room a symptom of the same grief-stricken pain he’d suffered—or was she simply a very good actress who’d chosen then and there to display emotion because she knew Luka was watching?

  Luka paid for his food. He’d already spotted Tanya when he’d arrived, sitting at a table in the farthest corner of the cafeteria. Although the cafeteria was warm, she wore a wool coat that hung off her shoulders, was several sizes too large. She’d lost weight, her hair was cropped short—an abrupt change from the long, long tresses she’d been so proud of when she was young.

  “What, nothing for your long-lost little sister?” Tanya greeted him as he approached. A half-empty cup of tea and a pile of empty sugar packets sat before her. “Kept me waiting long enough.”

  Luka took the seat opposite, the chair’s metal feet squeaking against the linoleum. He removed the lid from his milk, unwrapped his food, took a bite and washed it down before answering. “I’m here. What do you want, Tanya?”

  “Hi, Tanya. How ya doing, Tanya? What’s been going on in your life, past nine years?” Her voice was singsong, taunting him.

  “I don’t need to ask, I already know the answers,” he retorted. Was she high now? No. Her face was gaunt with need and although her eyelids sagged, her pupils were normal in size.

  “Right. Mr. Detective, all-seeing, all-knowing. You know nothing.”

  Luka’s phone buzzed. Ray asking on an ETA for the Cochrane interview. As Luka typed he replied to Tanya, “Cut to the chase. What’s it going to take to get rid of you this time? Pops doesn’t have any money, but you already know that, don’t you?” Long-buried rage boiled over. “I don’t have a house to mortgage for you like Mom and Dad. And you’re never getting the farm—”

  “Not my fault Mom and Dad lost the house—”

  “What do you think happens when your junkie daughter eats up all your savings and you can’t make your mortgage payments?”

  “You still blame me, don’t you? You think I’m the reason they’re dead.”

  Luka couldn’t push words past the fury tightening his throat. Of course he blamed her. Who else was there to blame except Tanya? Their deaths had crushed Luka. Not Tanya. After they’d died, she’d left rehab and vanished.

  “Must be nice never to feel guilt or remorse or face the consequences of your actions. Take a look in the mirror sometime, Tanya. Then ask yourself why they’re dead. Maybe you’ll finally hear the truth. I doubt it, though. Doubt you hear anything except your own damn lies.”

  “Talk about lies—where were you the day they died? They said you were coming, so excited you were actually for the first time coming to see your little sister, finally give me a chance at forgiveness. But no. You put work over your own family. Like always.”

  His grip tightened on his sandwich, squashing the avocado until it ran out the end. He threw it down, his appetite vanished. “What do you want?”

  “Told you, I need help.” She glanced past him as if the hospital visitors and staff were more interesting than their awkward family reunion. “I talked to Pops. He said he’d—”

  “I told you. He’s got nothing left for you.” So typical, trying to take advantage of an old man. A decade’s worth of ire churned through him. “None of us do. There’s nothing left, Tanya. Nothing for you here.”

  “Maybe it’s not for me,” she retorted. “Ever think of that, big brother? Ever think of anyone but yourself?”

  “Let me guess. One of your friends got arrested and suddenly you think your big brother cop can bail them out.” He remembered too damned many times, her dragging her friends to their parents’ house. “If you think I’m helping any of your addict friends, you’ve lost your mind.”

  She held her cup with both hands but still it shook, clattering against the tabletop. “This was a mistake. Asking you for help.” She scoffed. “Should’ve known better. You’ve got no heart at all, never have.”

  As if Luka was the bad guy here. His phone buzzed again, reminding him that he didn’t have time for Tanya’s BS. He scraped back his chair, standing so fast it almost toppled over. “You’re right, Tanya. There’s nothing left for me to give—Pops either. You’ve already taken everything. Go away. Leave us in peace.”

  “Don’t worry, big brother.” Her tone was filled with venom, yet he could swear she blinked back tears. “You’ll never see me again. You’ve got my word on that.”

  Luka shook his head. She was as hopeless as ever. He stalked away without looking back, a sharp prickling behind his eyes.

  He left the cafeteria and headed to the ER’s admin office where he asked the secretary to get him a copy of the crank file Leah had mentioned. After Cochrane’s assault in the ER earlier, he was curious to see how many other patient families might hold Leah responsible for their loved ones’ deaths.

  “You’ve seen Leah, then?” the departmental secretary asked Luka while she waited for her boss to call her back with permission to release the information. “Is she doing okay?”

  Luka noticed the way she used Leah’s first name—the other ER staff members, even the clerks and nursing assistants had as well. Was Leah someone uncomfortable with her position of authority? Or someone trying hard to fit in with everyone else?

  “She’s as well as can be expected,” he replied.

  The secretary’s phone rang—it was her boss, telling her she had to go through the legal department. She hung up and then spoke to someone there before returning her attention to Luka. “It will be a few minutes. They need to print them out so they can redact any patient information.”

  “No problem. I really appreciate your help—it’s so important, especially this early in the case.”

  Her eyes widened. “Of course. Anything I can do. We’re putting together a gift basket—a few basic necessities for Leah and Emily. And one of the charge nurses is setting up a meal calendar.”

  “I love how you guys come together—like a family.” He couldn’t help but think of Tanya. To her, family was an ATM, something you hit up over and over whenever you needed it, but never paid anything back. Hell, never even tried to give anything back. He hoped she was as good as her word about leaving for good this time, but knew she wasn’t. He needed to find a way to protect Pops for when she did inevitably return.

  “Exactly,” the clerk said, making Luka blink and return his focus to her. And his case. This was no time to let Tanya distract him. “That’s what we are—family. Just like you police officers and the firemen and paramedics. We know what it’s like on the front lines, you know?”

  He leaned his hip against her desk. “Don’t suppose you could do me a quick favor? One more, I mean? I need to verify if someone was ever a patient of Leah’s—and if he was, then I can go to a judge and get a court order for his records, but…”

  “Why spend all that time to get the court order unless you know he actually was ever here in the first place?” she supplied e
agerly.

  “Exactly.”

  She edged a glance past him out the open door leading to the hallway. No one was there—in fact, no one had passed the entire time Luka had been standing there. It seemed that ER doctors rarely used their offices. He glanced at the name plate in front of her desk.

  “I’d really appreciate it, Sara.”

  She turned to her computer, holding her body to block Luka’s view. “What’s the name?”

  “Cochrane. Jefferson Cochrane.” Luka gave her Cochrane’s vital statistics.

  “He’s been seen in the ER, several times, but never by Dr. Wright. Oh, last time he was here was this morning.” She blanked the computer screen and turned back to him. “Does that help?”

  “It does. You just saved me hours of time.” His phone buzzed. Harper. “Sorry, I need to take this.”

  “Checked in with the CSU guys,” Harper started. “They found finger and palm prints not belonging to the victim, but all that came up were seams and patterns consistent with leather driving gloves. And that stuff the ME sent over, the scrapings from under the victim’s nails?”

  “Black leather.”

  “Bingo. So I left them to keep working—they promise they’ll call if they find anything at all,” she rushed to add, sounding a bit like a kid caught playing hooky, “while I kept working the motorcycle angle.”

  “Anything on the traffic cams?”

  “Nothing so far,” Harper said. “So, I tried a different approach—”

  Luka waited, hoping she hadn’t been distracted—that seemed like Harper’s flaw, going after the bright and shiny instead of digging deeper. That and an overwhelming need to impress. Which meant she hadn’t called him simply to give him bad news.

  “I figured out what kind of bike it was,” she continued, rewarding his faith in her. “Turns out it’s kinda rare, at least compared to Hondas or Kawasakis or Harleys. A 2012 Polaris Victory Hammer 8-Ball. I’m running local owners.”