One Small Sacrifice

by Hilary Davidson

  She left me a note. She left me her ring. If she hadn’t done that, I would’ve been worried out of my mind.

  Belatedly, he thought, Maybe I should’ve been worried out of my mind all along.

  There was only one thing he could think of to do, and it felt like such a long shot it verged on the ridiculous. Besides the names of the drugs on the prescriptions, there was one other detail he remembered: Emily had an address listed on the prescription pad, one he’d never heard of before. Hemlock Avenue. That was the only part his brain had snagged on. Hemlock, the poison of choice for ancient philosophers condemned to death. Of all the names that could’ve been on that page, it had to be one that made him think of suicide.

  The actual street number was a blur, as was the name of the town. It hadn’t been in New York, but in New Jersey. He went to his laptop, figuring it wouldn’t be hard to figure out. How many Hemlock Avenues could one small state have?

  Quite a few, it turned out.

  Alex blinked at the screen. In one page of search results, there were Hemlock Streets in Newton, Sea Girt, Andover Township, Farmingdale, Laurel Springs, and Egg Harbor. Clicking through, he found others: Paterson, Cranford, Fair Lawn, Garwood, Roselle Park . . .

  He was on a fool’s errand, he realized. The pixels on the screen blurred and swam before his eyes for a moment. You’re not going to cruise every Hemlock Avenue in New Jersey, he told himself. There was a possibility that Emily had faked an address, but he didn’t see that as likely; she was cautious, and she thought things through. If she was using a New Jersey address, it stood to reason that there was some kind of medical center to stake it to. He added that to his search and struck out.

  Physical rehab? No.

  Walk-in clinic? Another strikeout.

  It wasn’t until he tried nursing home that he got a hit. There was such a place on Hemlock Avenue in Garwood, a small town southwest of Newark. He mapped the location; it would only take forty-five minutes to make the drive. Calling the place would be a waste of time; no one was going to cough up answers on the phone. He needed to talk to the staff face to face. It was the only way to find out the truth.

  On his way out of the apartment, he knocked on Mrs. DiGregorio’s door.

  “Good morning, dear,” she greeted him. “Any news?”

  “Not yet, but I think I have a lead,” Alex said. “I know I’m imposing, but is there any way you could babysit this little monster today?”

  Sid barked in protest at being labeled a monster.

  “I was just thinking of frying up some bacon,” Mrs. DiGregorio answered. “Come on in, Sid.”

  The dog trotted in and turned to give Alex a long, accusing look over his shoulder, followed by a happy yip.

  “Thank you,” Alex said.

  “Good luck.”

  Reserving a vehicle through a car-sharing service took no time at all. Fifteen minutes after he dropped Sid off, Alex was stuck in traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel. He took deep breaths as he inched along, aiming to keep his claustrophobia at bay. Focus on Emily, he ordered his brain. His own mind often wouldn’t obey him, but today it did. Assuming he wasn’t about to make a gigantic ass of himself—which seemed like a huge leap—he wondered how Emily would have connected with a nursing home. There had been several clinics in and around New York where she’d helped out; it wasn’t impossible that a doctor she knew had pulled up stakes and moved. But the connection still felt tenuous.

  It was a relief when he finally got to the turnpike. Traffic moved fast, and the rest of the trip flew by. Garwood was a tiny place, with a main drag defined by train tracks—North Street on one side of the rails, South Street on the other—and not much else beyond that besides residential streets stacked with homes that tended to be big boned and beautiful. This was what people meant when they talked about a bedroom community, Alex figured: close enough to the city for work, but far removed from the hustle at the end of the day. It had never occurred to him to live in such a place, but he found himself wondering if the bucolic calm would smooth out the rough edges of his nerves.

  The Green Meadows Nursing and Rehabilitation Center wasn’t anywhere near a meadow, but it was a stone’s throw from Unami Park. Close enough for advertising purposes, Alex figured. He parked the car in the half-empty lot beside the two-story brick building. There was so much ivy covering its front and side that it seemed likely nature was in the process of repossessing the structure.

  Alex had been working on his cover story on the turnpike. It wouldn’t be hard to pretend that he had a parent in need of assisted care. It would allow him to talk to the home’s staff, and he’d be able to casually drop Emily’s name into conversation as the person who’d referred him. But when he walked through the front door, he realized immediately that his ruse would be useless. Sitting at the reception desk with a phone in her hand and a bored expression was Diana.

  CHAPTER 37

  SHERYN

  “The lieutenant wants to see you, Detective.” That was how the desk sergeant greeted Sheryn on Wednesday morning. His face looked hangdog serious, like something unpleasant had transpired. And it had, Sheryn reasoned, as she walked to her lieutenant’s office. Her visit to Will Sipher’s house was boomeranging on her. Sheryn liked her lieutenant, even though he was stiff and formal and sometimes acted like he thought he was her white grandpa. He had a paternalistic air that could grate on her, but overall, the man was fair minded. She braced herself as she knocked on his door. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

  “Come in, Sheryn.” He was a tall man with a white handlebar mustache that made him look like he’d served in the British Army at the turn of the last century. “I’m just about to go into a meeting, so let me get straight to the point. We’ve received a complaint about you.”

  Her shoulders slumped; she was expecting this. Will Sipher was a creep, but she’d jumped his fence. That was trespassing, no way around it. “I can explain. Rafael and I decided to—”

  “Rafael Mendoza? What does your partner have to do with this?” The lieutenant stared at her, puzzlement making his mustache twitch.

  “Isn’t there a complaint against him too?” Now she was the one who was puzzled.

  “No. He made no mention of your partner,” the lieutenant said.

  “Really?” Sheryn wasn’t looking to pull Rafael into the quicksand with her, but something was off. Why would Sipher only complain about her?

  “Listen, I would duck my head into Interview One and smooth things over if I were you. Your partner is in there now.” He looked at his watch. “I know you can handle this. Sorry, but I must head out.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” Sheryn was baffled. There was no way Will Sipher was pissed off at her but not Rafael—he’d seen both their badges. Intrigued, she headed down the hallway. When she arrived at Interview One, she rapped on the door and immediately opened it.

  That was when she got her first shock of the day.

  There was Kevin Stanton sitting at the table. He looked pretty much as he had the day before, only the bruise on his jaw where Alex had slugged him was purpler. He had two new accessories: one was a neck brace, as if he’d been in an automobile accident; the other was an attractive woman with tanned white skin and artfully arranged blonde hair. She was standing, as if to show off her well-cut suit, which was the color of a fire engine.

  “Hey,” Rafael said. He was wearing a dark-charcoal suit today, sitting back in his chair with an elegant ease. The exaggerated eye roll he made in Sheryn’s direction spoke volumes.

  “Mr. Stanton?” Sheryn stepped inside the room. “What are you doing here?”

  “Good morning, Detective,” he said. “This is my lawyer, Miss Wiethop.”

  The blonde nodded at her. “Judy Wiethop,” she clarified.

  “Why are you wearing a neck brace?” Sheryn asked Stanton.

  “I was so unwell yesterday after Alex Traynor attacked me that I had to seek medical attention,” he answered. “My doctor informed me that my illness was g
ravely impacted by that maniac’s attack on me.”

  “You mentioned yesterday that you’d had some medical problems,” Sheryn said. “But nothing about a specific illness.”

  “I have pancreatic cancer.”

  “I am truly sorry to hear that,” Sheryn said. “But I don’t see what that has to do with the neck brace.”

  “I am in extremely frail health,” he answered, raising his voice in a way that belied his words. “Traynor punched me in the face and snapped my head around. My neck has suffered an injury because of him. I want Traynor arrested for assault.”

  “You punched him in the head first,” Sheryn said. “That’s on video. If we arrest Alex Traynor, we have to arrest you too.”

  “I also want you punished for failing to do your duty.”

  Sheryn raised herself to her full height. “You want to come for me? Good luck with that. The detectives at the Seventh know you’ve been harassing neighbors you have a beef with. Maybe you didn’t realize they’d trace the dead animals you left on their doorsteps back to you, but you were wrong.”

  “There’s no need to make wild accusations, Detective,” the lawyer announced. “I’m sure that Mr. Stanton will be satisfied when you arrest Mr. Traynor.”

  “That’s why you’re here? Because you think you can bully me into making an arrest?” Sheryn was incredulous. “Okay, let’s do this. On your feet, Mr. Stanton.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you are under arrest for assaulting Alex Traynor.” Sheryn pulled out her handcuffs. “Hands behind your back.”

  Kevin Stanton turned to his lawyer. “She can’t do this, can she?”

  “Oh, she definitely can,” Rafael informed him.

  “This is all getting out of control,” the lawyer interjected. “There’s no need to arrest Mr. Stanton. He came here as a concerned citizen and as the victim of a crime.”

  “I take it you haven’t seen the video,” Sheryn said. “Because it clearly shows Mr. Stanton as the aggressor.”

  “But Mr. Traynor attacked a seriously ill man,” Wiethop said. “That must be factored in.”

  “People don’t get to throw free punches because they’re sick,” Rafael said. “The law applies just the same. This can go one of two ways. Either both men get arrested, or they can walk away from this and not end up at the Tombs.”

  “We’re just here to have a conversation,” the lawyer said, straightening her suit jacket. “That’s all.” She stared at her client, trying to catch his eye.

  Stanton ignored her. “Traynor broke into my business and attacked me.”

  “He walked in the front door like any customer would,” Sheryn answered.

  “Whose side are you on, Detective?” Stanton’s voice was a low growl.

  “I can’t arrest him when there hasn’t been a crime. That’s not how any of this works.”

  “Magda, my receptionist, will testify that she heard that bastard threaten my life. Will that help you make an arrest?”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, Mr. Stanton. Because I do not want to arrest you for witness tampering. Maybe Ms. Wiethop can explain that law to you,” Sheryn said.

  “He murdered my daughter.” There were tears in Stanton’s eyes. “Why is he still on the street? Why isn’t he behind bars?”

  “Mr. Stanton, we’ve been over this territory before. This was a complicated case. The medical examiner—”

  “Damn the medical examiner and the rest of them. They don’t know what they’re talking about. I could tell you all about Alex Traynor, how he cast aside my Cori for that doctor. The one who lied for him, who gave him an alibi. How convenient.”

  Sheryn studied him closely. “When you gave your statement, you told us that your daughter was planning to marry Mr. Traynor.”

  “She was. It’s just . . . all her plans went out the window because of that woman.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Cori didn’t tell me everything, of course. I’ve had to figure a lot of it out for myself. But I finally realized why he killed Cori that night. He wanted to get rid of her. She was in the way of his new relationship.”

  “You have proof of this?”

  “Just look at what happened!” He was clearly exasperated. “And look at what’s going on now!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That doctor-fiancée of his has gone missing. You told me so yourself. Do you think that’s an accident?” He shook his head. “He’s gotten smarter—I’ll give him that. It was clever of him to come to my office and blame me. But that only makes him guiltier in my eyes.”

  Sheryn studied him closely, well aware that grief was as corrosive to the body and soul as any poison. Kevin Stanton didn’t look well; there was something frantic about the man, as if a gun were being pointed at his head. He’d always been anxious, but that had been ratcheted up so far she could smell it. When you stare into the void, the void stares back into you. And Kevin Stanton had been staring into a bleak abyss for a very long time.

  “Mr. Stanton, you have to trust us to do our jobs. I know justice isn’t swift. But it is tenacious and unrelenting. I have not given up. I am working on this. I promise you that I will get to the truth.”

  “Just how long am I supposed to wait? My cancer is advancing. I don’t have a long time to wait.”

  “I wish I could answer that,” Sheryn said. “Did you write the letters Alex Traynor accused you of writing?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Stanton, where were you on Friday night?” Sheryn asked.

  “What did you just ask me?”

  “You’re not actually asking my gravely ill client for an alibi, are you?” the lawyer added.

  “I am indeed. I want to know your alibi for the whole weekend, starting with Friday night.”

  Stanton blinked at her. He didn’t seem angry so much as astonished. “I was with Magda all weekend.”

  “Magda who?”

  “Zimmermann. My receptionist. From the clinic downtown.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

  “That’s nice,” Sheryn said, but inwardly, she was queasy. Not five minutes ago, Stanton had told her the receptionist would say Alex Traynor had threatened his life. Now he was using her for his alibi for the entire weekend. None of this felt right.

  “I should go. I have appointments. Four-legged patients are waiting for me downtown.” Stanton rose from his chair. That was the first time Sheryn noticed he was using a cane. He was milking his infirmity for all it was worth, even if he still looked like he could punch through a brick wall. “I shouldn’t have complained about you, Detective. Obviously, I’ll withdraw that. I apologize.”

  After Stanton and his lawyer departed, Rafael turned to face his partner, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “What just happened in here? I should’ve brought popcorn.”

  “That man is at the end of his rope,” Sheryn said. “Desperation is leading him into bad places. He’s got a vindictive side.”

  “You think we should kick this rock over? You really do have a thing for worms—you know that?”

  Sheryn thought about what her husband had told her the night before. Treat your gut with suspicion. Her instincts told her Kevin Stanton was a grieving father grasping at straws; he had her sympathy. But she’d just heard the man in a frothing rage, calling Emily Teare a liar. “Let’s be quiet about checking Mr. Stanton out. Can you start on that, please?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “There’s someone I need to talk to,” Sheryn said. “I might be gone for a while.”

  CHAPTER 38

  ALEX

  Diana looked different than she had on the weekend. Her hair was still an unnatural shade of platinum, but it was rolled into an elegant chignon. She wore a long-sleeved pink cotton shirt blooming with roses. There was a small silver cross hanging from a thin chain around her neck. She was seated, so Alex couldn’t make out the rest of the ensemble, but she looked ready to teac
h Sunday school.

  Alex didn’t hesitate. He strode up to the desk. “Nice to see you again, Diana.”

  She flinched when she looked at him. There were no colored contacts in her eyes today. Her irises were a soft, velvety brown, and they looked scared.

  “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong person,” she answered in a quiet voice.

  “No, I don’t. You broke into my apartment on Sunday.”

  “Lower your voice!” she hissed. There was an elderly woman in a yellow housedress slowly making her way toward the desk. Diana gave her a big smile. “How are you today, Mrs. Werner?”

  “Fine, thank you, Susie,” the woman answered. “I thought the chair yoga class was this afternoon, but Linda says it’s tomorrow morning.”

  “Tai chi is this afternoon at three. Tomorrow at ten is chair yoga.”

  “Well, my brain is certainly going,” Mrs. Werner answered. “Linda will be thrilled she was right again.”

  As the older woman headed away, Alex raised his eyebrows. “Susie?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she murmured. “I hate that name.”

  “Fine. You can be Diana as long as you want. But you’re going to answer my questions.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking for all the world like a sullen child. “How on earth did you find me?”

  Alex smiled. “Like I’m giving that up. Is there a place we can go to talk?”

  “I have to stay at the desk,” Diana said. “But it’s going to be quiet for a while, because lunch is starting. No one in here misses lunch. But . . .” She looked around furtively. “If my mother comes along, you’re just a guy in my support group.”