Tear Me Apart

by J. T. Ellison

  The kid fumbles a card into Zack’s hand. “You’re going with them?”

  But Zack is already down the stairs and hopping in the back of the ambulance. The female paramedic starts to push him out, “Sir, the dog—” but he snaps, “Close the door,” and she obeys immediately. The sudden quiet is unnerving. “Just get to work on her,” he says, dialing his phone.

  Parks answers on the first ring, and Zack doesn’t hesitate. “We have a problem.”

  “Where the hell are you? I need—”

  “Listen to me. I’m in an ambulance with Juliet. She’s been poisoned. And I think Lauren did it.”

  “What?”

  “Juliet called me, frantic, about thirty minutes ago. She said Lauren’s DNA was found at the crime scene in Nashville.”

  “What—”

  “I don’t know where she got the information, or what the hell happened before I got there. She told me Lauren was coming up the driveway, and she would handle it, but I didn’t like the idea of her confronting Lauren alone, so I headed right up the mountain. She didn’t answer her phone again. When I arrived, Lauren wasn’t there. She drove up a minute later with groceries in the car, and we found Juliet down in the dining room.

  “She tossed out the idea that Juliet was trying to commit suicide, but I don’t buy it for a second. Someone needs to find a time stamp on that grocery receipt because I have a terrible feeling Lauren hurt Juliet. I think she’s been covering her tracks ever since I came into the picture.”

  “Let me make sure I’m hearing you right. Lauren Wright knew your wife?”

  “I don’t know if she knew her. But I’m pretty damn sure she killed her.”

  76

  VAIL HEALTH HOSPITAL

  The emergency room doors have been kept clear of the media, but they are still swarming over the parking lot near the hospital’s main entrance. The ambulance screeches to a stop, the paramedic pushes him out of the way, and Juliet disappears inside before Zack is fully upright. Kat is glued to his leg, her lead trailing behind her. One of the reporters sees them—the dog is as distinctive as he is—and starts to shout. The scrum begins moving toward him, but Zack gathers Kat’s lead and hurries into the hospital.

  At the emergency desk, he gets the attention of a young nurse. “I’m with Juliet Ryder. They just brought her in by ambulance.”

  “Oh, the overdose? They took her back, they’re working on her. You her husband?”

  “Um... Yes, yes I am.”

  She narrows her eyes at him but nods. “Okay, come with me.”

  She leads him through the doors to a small triage cubicle, then shoves a stack of papers on a clipboard at him, thoughtfully providing a pen from her blue scrub pocket. “Fill these out. I’ll let them know you’re here.”

  “Can you check on her, please? I’m... I need...”

  “I’ll find out. You fill these out now. And get that dog out of here.” She gives another curt nod and disappears down the hall.

  He stares helplessly after her, then glances at the forms in his lap. There is nothing more for him to do.

  He obviously can’t fill out the forms, so he calls Parks again.

  “Where do we stand?”

  “You’re right about the DNA. Juliet’s second in command, Dr. Ford, just confirmed it to Woody. Apparently, he told Juliet, and she asked him to wait for an hour. Which he did. I get the sense he’s in hot water. And Juliet’s been suspended. Did you know?”

  “No. Why?”

  “They didn’t tell, and I didn’t ask.”

  “Damn it, what was she thinking? What about Lauren? I left her under the supervision of a very young reporter who’s clearly getting the scoop of his career right about now.”

  “I don’t know. Vail police have been called to take Lauren in. We’re coming up from Denver, should be there quick, they’re using a chopper. What the hell happened to Juliet?”

  Zack relays the scene, fighting to keep his composure. “It sure looks like Lauren wasn’t there, arrived moments after I did, and she was a total wreck, crying and freaking out, but I’m telling you, something is wrong about that woman. I’ve felt it since I met her. Like there’s a cold core inside of her, and all her actions are fake.”

  “You think she tried to kill her sister?”

  “I think the odds of Juliet Ryder calling me to tell me Lauren’s DNA was at my house, then committing suicide, are next to nil. So yeah. I think Lauren thought Juliet ran the tests and hadn’t told anyone, and she could shut her up.”

  “That’s a serious charge.”

  “The woman may have killed my wife! Who knows what she’s capable of?”

  “I hear you. Don’t go anywhere near her, do you understand? Let the police handle this. Just stay where you are, don’t talk to anyone. You’re a monk on a fucking mountaintop until I get there, you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  He hangs up the phone and starts to pace. Damn it, he doesn’t want to wait here quietly. He wants to find Lauren and make her tell him the truth, by force, if necessary. He wants to rush down the hall and see if Juliet is going to live. He wants to hurry upstairs and hug his daughter.

  Jasper isn’t on his radar. But when he comes down the hall, walking quickly, his hiking boots squeaking on the linoleum floors, Zack has to stop himself from punching the man in the jaw.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jasper demands. “Where is Lauren? Isn’t she with you?”

  “I have no idea where she is. I’m waiting to hear if Juliet is going to live or not.”

  “Lauren said she overdosed.”

  “Did Lauren also tell you—” he cuts himself off. Monk. Mountain. He tries again. “What did she say happened? I heard her call you when I was giving Juliet CPR.”

  “She was that bad?”

  Zack sags back against the wall. “I’ll be surprised if she makes it.”

  “Christ.” Jasper runs his hand across his face. “Mindy will be devastated. She thinks Juliet walks on water. Lauren said she found her on the floor in the dining room. That she may have taken something and overdosed.”

  “Do you honestly think Juliet would commit suicide? Come on, Jasper.”

  His brows furrow. “What else could have happened? What are you saying?”

  But Zack is saved by the nurse, who gestures for him to come with her. He doesn’t look back, marches away with Kat by his side.

  “I told you to get rid of that dog.”

  “She’s a service animal.” He pulls out the badge.

  “Oh. Well, they aren’t going to let her into the room. I guess I’ll just hold on to her. Your wife is very sick. They did a blood gas trying to figure out what she took and found ethylene glycol in her system. They’re giving her the treatment now and will be putting her on dialysis, too. That stuff is bad on the kidneys. She’s intubated, she can’t talk, her lungs are torched. I won’t lie to you. She’s in rough shape, sir.”

  “Ethylene glycol? Isn’t that antifreeze?”

  “A component of it, yes. My husband’s a veterinarian, he sees it all the time in his practice. Not as common for people to drink it, but it happens.”

  Zack tries to wrap his head around this. How can a person accidentally drink antifreeze? A kid, maybe, he can see that. But an adult? Either they did it on purpose...or someone slipped it to them.

  “The fomepizole, that’s the treatment, it’s super expensive. They are going to need to get some forms signed before they start, in case your insurance doesn’t cover it. But there’s no time to waste.”

  “Good God, give her the medicine already. Don’t wait another second. If it will save her, do it.”

  “You’ll have to sign—”

  “It will be covered,” he says. “She has excellent benefits, she’s a CBI agent.”

  “No kidding? Wow. D
o you have any idea why she’d try to hurt herself? They’re going to want to do a psych consult...”

  “She didn’t hurt herself. Someone did this to her. I’m sure of it.”

  77

  THE WRIGHTS’ HOUSE

  Lauren stands in her dining room, watching the ambulance shriek away. The mess the paramedics have made is incredible. The floor is littered with plastic wrappings, discarded needle caps, tubing. They should come with a disclaimer—yes, we’ll save your life, but only if you clean up the mess.

  “Watch out. Is that puke? Ugh, grody.”

  She has nearly forgotten the kid—who looks familiar—standing bug-eyed in her living room.

  “Who are you, exactly?”

  “Bode Greer. Ski Magazine. My man Zack promised an interview. What do you say we sit down, and you can tell me what the heck just happened? That was your sister, right?”

  “I remember you. You interviewed Mindy.”

  “I did. Best single-issue sales we’ve had in years. I was hoping for a follow-up, now that we know who she really is.”

  Who she really is. The words are a knife to Lauren’s already fragile heart.

  “You want to know who she really is? I’ll tell you. She’s my daughter. And this situation is a private family matter. I don’t know how or why you’ve insinuated yourself in at this particular moment, or what sort of bargain you and that Armstrong man made, but you’re not welcome here. I have no comment for you, and there will be no interviews with my daughter. And I swear to you, if you write about this, I’ll sue you and your magazine. Now, get out. You can see yourself to the door.”

  There is honey on the table. “Tsk,” she murmurs. “Messy, messy, Juliet.”

  She picks up the teacup from where it’s fallen on the floor.

  “Hey, isn’t this, like, a crime scene or something? Don’t the cops need to see everything the way it is?”

  She eyes him coldly. “I told you to leave, and I meant it. Get out, or I’ll call the police and have you forcibly removed.”

  Bode puts up his hands and reverses his ball cap. “Fine, fine. I’m out.”

  She locks the door behind him. There is little time; she has to get everything cleaned up and get to Mindy.

  Stupid Juliet. Just had to go sticking her nose in. Lauren could have handled all of this if her dumb little sister hadn’t decided to solve the crime of the century.

  She hums one of Mindy’s favorite songs, something from a band called Imagine Dragons, as she thoroughly washes the cups and teapot, pours the honey down the drain, follows it with hot, hot water. It wouldn’t do to have anyone else get ill, then she might be blamed, and she can’t let that happen.

  She washes the teapot and sets the kettle to boil. She leaves the groceries melting in their bags on the counter where Zack and the reporter left them; it seems appropriate that she would forget about them in the chaos.

  She makes a fresh pot of tea, pulls a new cup and saucer from the cabinet and sets them on the table. She tries to think what color lipstick Juliet had on, but can’t remember. It must have been something very subtle—probably that Burt’s Bees Pomegranate lip balm she carts around everywhere. Mindy uses it, too.

  Down the hall in Mindy’s—my daughter’s—room, she finds a tube on the night table. Back in the dining room, she pours some tea into the cup, carefully picks it up and kisses the edge, then runs her finger across the nude smear. Perfect. She throws the cup and its contents to the floor, making sure it lands where Juliet fell.

  She takes in the scene. Yes, this works. All is as it was.

  The letters...she moves quickly to her bedroom and slides the dresser away from the wall. Sure enough, the manila envelope of secrets is gone.

  Mindy, Mindy, Mindy. You are so naughty. She should feel panic, but she is past that. Now, it’s all about self-preservation.

  She takes a quick look through her daughter’s room, doesn’t find them. The bathroom—ah, yes. Here they are. Under the sink, wedged against the wall. She takes the package and heads back to the living room.

  One last thing...from under the kitchen sink, she takes the bottle of straight ethylene glycol that she borrowed from the garage. Jasper loves to save a dime here and there, and orders gallons of it online to make his own antifreeze, hating how much the brand names charge. She wipes it clean of her fingerprints, and sets it back in its proper place, making sure to coat it lightly in dust she swipes from the corner of the garage. A spider scuttles out of her way, frightened by the intrusion.

  She watches its retreat. Normally she would rout it out immediately; she can’t stand the idea it may drop onto her shoulders as she passes through to her car unawares, but a reprieve is given. She feels a strange kinship with the small creature, hiding fearfully in its dirty corner. It will do anything it can to survive. It is at the mercy of its environment, of the people it comes in contact with. Any moment could be its last.

  Just like her.

  * * *

  Bode Greer waits until the car pulls out of the driveway, debating. What kind of woman takes fifteen minutes to follow her dying sister to the hospital? What has she been doing in there? The Lauren Wright he remembers is not this woman. The interview had been fun. They’d been in the lodge at the top of Copper Mountain. Mindy had finished her last practice runs before the big events started, the interviews were standard at this point. He’d felt lucky to get one with her; everyone wanted to talk to the young phenom.

  During the interview, Mindy’s mother had been charming, self-deprecating, offering to buy hot chocolate for him and Mindy as they spoke. She’d hovered a bit, yes, but in a pleasantly protective way. Mindy hadn’t seemed to mind at all. It was clear they were very close.

  The woman he met upstairs is cold, calculating, awful. She makes his gonads shrivel. There is something very, very wrong with her. With all of this.

  He’s torn. Go back to the house, try to get in and see what she’s just done, or follow her.

  In the end, he thinks about what Zack Armstrong might want. Bode has a good feeling about the man. He seems like a straight shooter.

  He puts the car in gear and follows her down the hill.

  78

  CBI LAB

  DENVER, COLORADO

  Parks packs up his bag for the chopper ride to Vail, shoving everything in without rhyme or reason. Starr is standing by the windows, looking out to the helipad, talking on her phone. He beckons to her, and she raises a finger. He taps his watch, and she nods.

  The case is coming together. Lauren Wright’s DNA at the crime scene is explainable by only a few scenarios. Parks, with the long-honed instincts of a veteran homicide detective, feels certain the link between the two women has something to do with Vivian Armstrong’s incarceration at University Hospital.

  The subpoena for Armstrong’s records came in two hours ago, and Starr has been on the phone since the document was served, combing through the files from afar. The 1990s have already been scanned and archived, so it’s not taking as long as it could to find the information they need.

  Starr hangs up and rushes over. “Let’s go. I’ll brief you guys on the way.”

  They clamber into the chopper, put on their headsets, and are airborne moments later. Starr’s voice comes over the headset, tinny against the whapping rotors.

  “I’m going to cut to the chase. We know Vivian Armstrong—née Vivian Sato—did inpatient treatment for a depressive disorder at University Hospital. She was in and out from 1993–1998. She attempted suicide several times, both before her treatment and while she was there. When they let her out, she went to a halfway house and found a job in a restaurant. Soon after, she met Zack Armstrong and the rest of her story we know.

  “Here’s the new info: She roomed with another teenager named Liesel Thompson. Thompson came in after a suicide attempt. I got another subpoena and pulled her
juvie records, which show she was charged with manslaughter and sentenced to no less than one year at Middle Tennessee Mental Health Institute.”

  Parks taps Woody on the knee. “That’s our criminal psychiatric facility.”

  “Copy,” Woody said. “Who did she kill?”

  “A man named Bennett Thompson, thirty-six, worked at Nashville International as a baggage handler.”

  “Her dad? She killed her dad?”

  “Her stepdad. He married Liesel’s mother in 1990. Here’s the thing. The judge noted there were extenuating circumstances, which is why the charge was manslaughter, and she was sent to a hospital instead of jail. The case was never adjudicated. She was sixteen at the time.”

  “What extenuating circumstances?”

  “In November of 1993, while an inpatient at University Hospital, three months after she was admitted, Liesel Thompson suffered a miscarriage. She was five months pregnant. The baby was Bennett Thompson’s.”

  “Her stepdad got her pregnant, so she killed him?” Woody asks.

  “Yes, he got her pregnant. But that’s not why she killed him. She had a little sister.”

  Parks is seeing the whole picture now. “He was abusing the sister, too?”

  Starr nods. “It doesn’t say that explicitly in the records, but it’s a safe bet.”

  “I take it Lauren Ryder Wright’s real name is Liesel Thompson?” Woody says.

  “Yep. It was legally changed back in 1994, here in Colorado. Juliet was only six when they moved. Ryder is the mom’s maiden name, she dropped Thompson, too. Once Liesel—Lauren—got out of the hospital, the mom sold everything and moved them west. They all got a fresh start. Lauren went to a pricey boarding school for her senior year, Juliet was enrolled in the local elementary school, and everyone proceeded on with their lives as if nothing happened.”