Web of Secrets

by Susan Sleeman

  “Are you thinking Van Gogh is still targeting foster girls?” Becca asked.

  “Nothing we’ve found says he isn’t.”

  “Taylor searched databases today for the credit card investigations. She came up with the names of a few girls who have been reported missing from foster care. She gave the information to me, but I haven’t had a chance to look at it. Maybe there’s a link between those girls and the ones in the clearing.”

  “You tell Taylor about Van Gogh?”

  His lack of faith in her discretion stung, but she wasn’t going to let him know it. “No. Like I said, it was for the credit card ring.”

  “Right,” Connor said. “Sam’s coordinating the search for the girls. Could you forward that information to him?”

  She nodded as a horrific thought flashed through her mind. “What if number nine isn’t the end, Connor? What if Van Gogh has simply moved to another area to bury others?”

  “It’s not a stretch, I suppose. Especially with the first girl being found clear across town sixteen years ago.” Connor blew out a long breath. “You know what? Let’s not think about that. Not until we have a reason to go there. We already have five unidentified girls with no leads to speak of. Not to mention two others from the past. That’s enough to turn my hair gray.” He shook his head grimly. “I can’t even begin to think about the possibility of others.”

  He was right. There was no use in speculating. They’d work the cold, hard facts. Make a plan and stick to it. Setting goals and careful planning had always worked for Becca, except in her quest to find Molly. And it would work now, moving them forward and keeping her focus on the situation, not on how it made her feel.

  “Okay,” she said with resolve. “About the anthropologist, this Dr. Williams you mentioned. If you think she needs help, the Bureau has plenty of qualified individuals. I can arrange to have on site by morning.”

  He shook his head. “If we reach out to the feds, someone is bound to talk. This case will hit the media, and we’ll have that circus to deal with, too.” He paused then added quickly, “No offense. It’s just that the fewer people who know, the better.”

  She wasn’t offended. But she was concerned about getting the best people on the job. Oregon State Police was a skilled and professional agency, but was it up to FBI standards? “Is Dr. Williams qualified for something like this?”

  “She may not be a fed, but she’s one of the top forensic anthropologists, and she’s been called in to consult on cases worldwide. So, qualified?” He scoffed. “Yeah, she’s up to the fed’s standards.”

  “Wait, no. I didn’t mean it like that. We can’t be fighting about fed, local, or state at this point. We just need to get the best person on the job.”

  “We’ll go with her for now, and I’ll ask her if she needs or wants help tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got this all worked out.”

  “I do know what I’m doing, you know. Even if I’m not a fed.” He grinned.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know, but I can’t miss a chance to try to put a smile on your face when we’re dealing with something so dismal.”

  She tried to smile, but just couldn’t manage it. Not with Van Gogh still out there killing and Elise inside waiting.

  “This is taking too long. I’m gonna check with Sandy.” Becca started to rise.

  Connor shot out a hand to stop her. “Sandy’s very capable. She’ll tell us the minute you’re cleared.”

  Connor was probably right, but Elise needed Becca. She eyed Sandy again, who was talking with another patient. Becca would wait until she finished with that person and then ask.

  “So what else did you find?” she asked Connor.

  He frowned. “That’s all for now. We ran out of daylight, but the cadaver dog will start searching the entire trail and nearby areas tomorrow. Maybe expand their search through the park.”

  “There’s no way you can cover that much ground, is there? The park is seven miles long.”

  “We can check out the two other difficult trails that have easy parking access and would be less used, like this one. Plus, we’ll go over the two adjacent trails. And as I mentioned, we’ll get going on the GPR.”

  “Our agency could probably help with that.”

  “Good. Vance will be all over not having to foot that bill. You can suggest it at our first status meeting tomorrow.” He shifted in his chair.

  “Meeting? What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Vance has decided he’d like your help on the case after all. He called Sulyard. They’re meeting first thing in the morning to discuss the terms of your service.”

  “Just like that.” She crossed her arms. “You throw me off the scene, and then you want my help and assume I’ll just go along with it?”

  “Won’t you?” He grinned, and it made her madder.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “But it would have been nice to have been asked.”

  “Then after Vance makes the arrangements, I’ll make sure he asks you.” Connor’s grin widened.

  She wanted to wipe the smile off his face, but she knew his jokes meant nothing. He was just Connor being Connor. A laid-back guy who seemed to know how to balance his job with life and not get bogged down in the ugliness. She could learn a thing or two from him. Shoot, probably more than two things.

  “I’ll look forward to his call then,” she said.

  “You should clear your schedule for the day. I’m not sure of the meeting time, but as I said, I’ll be heading back to the scene to talk to Dr. Williams. You might want to come along for that.”

  “Thank you. I would.” Her mind immediately went to possible ways to keep the identity theft investigation on track and work the Van Gogh case at the same time. She’d ask Sulyard to get someone else to fill in for her on the credit card case, but after she fought so hard to keep it going, she had no intention of completely withdrawing. Taylor would earn her keep, that was for sure.

  “Okay, Connor,” Sandy called out, drawing their attention.

  They rose together and crossed the room.

  Sandy gestured at a door. “The nursing staff will escort you.”

  When the door opened, Becca forgot all about her attire. About Connor. About the antiseptic smell of the hospital. Instead, she wrapped her mind around what she was about to see. Elise, the person who had singlehandedly turned Becca’s life around, waiting for her in a sterile room. A girl she cared for, no longer alive.

  “Right in here.” The nurse opened the door to a small conference room.

  A man wearing a clerical collar who Becca assumed to be the hospital chaplain sat next to Elise. She was dressed in a professional suit, not something she wore unless she had to go to court for one of her kids. It was rumpled, and her eyes were red and puffy. Becca expected her husband Buck to be here, but he was probably home with the other kids.

  Elise shot to her feet and hurried over to Becca. “Thank goodness, you’re here. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s you.”

  “What happened?” Becca asked.

  “Frankie’s appendix ruptured, and they gave her an antibiotic. Cefoxitin.”

  Becca shot a glance at Connor. His relieved expression matched her inner feelings that floated away when a tortured sob slipped from Elise. There was no relief when Elise was suffering so much.

  She twisted her hands together. “Why didn’t I know someone had stolen her identity? Why? I was supposed to protect her. Now she’s gone.” She started sobbing, and Becca put aside her questions about the stolen identity comment and drew her former foster mother into a hug.

  Becca, who’d had so little human touch as a child, often felt awkward hugging others, but not Elise.

  “Shh.” Becca rubbed Elise’s back until her sobbing slo
wed, and Becca led her to a chair.

  Connor moved closer and leaned against the wall.

  Becca sat next to Elise. “This is Detective Connor Warren with PPB.”

  Elise looked up at him. “Did the hospital call you?”

  “Connor was with me when I left to come here.”

  Elise arched a curious brow for a moment then shook her head. “The hospital is probably dragging their feet until they can get their attorney to weigh in, since they had a part in this.”

  Becca’s curiosity was piqued. “Tell me what happened, Elise.”

  “It’s terrible. So terrible and senseless.” She sniffled and grabbed a tissue. “Buck and I were in court for a hearing today. Frankie got violently sick at basketball practice after school and passed out from the pain. The substitute coach couldn’t get hold of us, so she called 911. The hospital continued to try to contact us, but you know you can’t have a phone turned on in court. We got the message as soon as we got out of court and we called. By that time, Frankie’s appendix had burst. They gave her the Cefoxitin and took her to surgery.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Frankie’s allergic to several antibiotics and Cefoxitin is one of them.”

  “She wears an alert bracelet, though, right?” Becca asked.

  “Yes, but she takes it off for practice, and the sub didn’t know about Frankie’s allergy.”

  “What about emergency cards? Didn’t the school have one for Frankie?”

  “The sub couldn’t find them by the time the ambulance arrived. She rode along with Frankie and called the school, but it was after hours and no one was working in the office.”

  “What I want to know,” Connor said, “is if the hospital didn’t know about her allergies, why on earth did they give her any antibiotics?”

  “Standard procedure is to look at past records when no one can update the medical information. They claim she was seen here two weeks ago when she completed a patient information form. Her record indicated there were no known allergies.” Elise shook her head hard. “She’s never been treated here.”

  “Never?” Becca asked. “Then how does she have a record?”

  “That’s what I asked and demanded to see the paperwork. And it was there. Right in her file. It said Frankie was treated for bronchitis and it also showed no known allergies.” Elise slumped lower, and Becca took her hands for support. “The hospital believes someone used Frankie’s social security number and insurance information to impersonate Frankie and get free medical care. That person had no known allergies, so Cefoxitin wasn’t added to Frankie’s record.”

  Connor scowled. “That’s taking identity theft to a whole new level.”

  “Theft of medical records and insurance information is on the rise,” Becca said. “Nina recently worked a similar case where a woman’s information was stolen from her doctor’s office. Thankfully, she didn’t die, but her entire identity has been compromised.”

  Elise reversed their hands and clutched Becca’s with a death grip. “That’s why I called you. I want this person found and prosecuted for murder. They will do that, right?”

  “It depends,” Connor answered for Becca. “If this information was obtained through computer hacking, the hacker is complicit in Frankie’s death. If the person who used Frankie’s ID wasn’t the hacker, identity theft in Oregon is still a felony. A death as a result of committing a felony is considered murder, accidental or not, but it will be up to the DA to determine the actual charges once he sees the circumstances.”

  Elise nodded and stared at Becca. “I figured that the local cops would take on the case because of all the jurisdiction stuff you tell me about. But I’m worried about the safety of my other kids.” Tears started flowing again, and she grabbed another tissue. “If the thieves got Frankie’s information from our house somehow, then all the kids might have a problem, and it’s all my fault.”

  “Don’t start blaming yourself,” Becca said. “There’s a good likelihood that the security breach occurred at one of Frankie’s doctor’s offices or even at DHS where records for foster kids are held.”

  “You really think so?” Elise asked, a bit of hope in her tone.

  “Absolutely. The healthcare industry and government are still reliant on aging computer systems that can be easily hacked. And believe it or not, medical records are worth more on the black market than stolen credit cards. That’s why this type of theft is on the upswing.”

  “Why are these records worth more?” Connor asked.

  “Credit cards get cancelled quickly. Health insurance companies aren’t as quick to react or may never even know the records were stolen. A criminal can bilk an insurance company for a long time before the problem is caught.”

  “You know all about this. That’s why I need you.” Elise grabbed Becca’s hand. “You’ve got to look into this for me, Becca. You just have to. Please.”

  Becca looked at Connor. “Since we’re in your jurisdiction, I assume you’ll be opening a case file.”

  He nodded. “I’ll get it started, but with my caseload, it will likely be reassigned.”

  Becca turned back to Elise. “Can you excuse us a minute?”

  “Sure.” Elise grabbed a fresh tissue. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Becca gestured for Connor to join her in the hallway. She looked up at him. Exhaustion hung in his eyes—not necessarily physical exhaustion, but the fatigue that came with working such mentally and emotionally draining cases.

  “I know you’re swamped. Just working Van Gogh would tax any detective. And you have other cases, too.”

  “But you want me to take this one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Back at your place, it sounded more like you wanted me to stay far away from this.”

  “I did, but it was strictly for personal reasons. You know . . . this whole attraction thing. But Elise and her kids trump all of that.” She rested a hand on his arm. “I wouldn’t ask, but she’s very important to me. I’ll get my team working the ID theft if you could take the hospital investigation.”

  “I’ll have to hand off tasks to others, but I can oversee the case if Vance allows it.”

  She squeezed his arm. “You’re a good man, Connor Warren. I won’t ever forget your help.”

  He grinned. “So you owe me, then?”

  “Yeah, I owe you big-time.”

  His grin widened. “You know I’ll collect, right?”

  She laughed and shook her head.

  “No, I mean it.” He stepped closer to her, his scent filling the air. Her heart started beating harder.

  Step away, now.

  She should move, but she was mesmerized by the shade of blue in his eyes. By the unfettered interest she saw in them.

  He raised a hand and softly brushed a thumb over her cheek. “I’ll collect, Becca. But be aware, it may not have anything to do with the job.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’LL WALK YOU TO your door,” Connor said in the parking lot of Becca’s apartment.

  “Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”

  “I get that, but I was hoping to talk you into a cup of coffee and a bit more information about Van Gogh.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he could almost see the thoughts racing through her head. “I’ll give you thirty minutes. Then I’m kicking you out.”

  He wanted to argue, but he’d take what he was offered and try to renegotiate later.

  She slipped her key in the lock, took a single step inside, then backed out and hastily pulled the door with her, as if she had something to hide.

  “You know,” she said. “I’m more tired than I thought. Can we do the Van Gogh thing in the morning?”

  “You said you wanted to accompany me to talk to Dr. Williams in the morning.”

 
“I know, but . . .” She shrugged, but didn’t look at him.

  “You’re not a very good liar, Becca.” With a quick palm to the door, he shoved it out of her hand, revealing a living room filled with boxes and a murder board.

  “Whoa,” he said as he studied the space.

  Poster boards with notes scribbled in various colors of marker were posted next to pictures and other documents. A laptop sat on a table next to open folders spilling out papers. File boxes stood in three rows, four high near the far wall.

  “Van Gogh,” he said. “This is all Van Gogh?”

  She crossed her arms. “You didn’t think I’d quit thinking about the case just because your lieutenant sent me packing, did you?”

  He stepped past her, his focus going from item to item. “You keep this stuff out all the time?”

  She stared at him. “I may be interested in Van Gogh, but I’m not some crazy obsessed person.”

  “No, wait. I don’t think that. Honestly. You’re normal. I think, I mean I don’t know you that well, but . . .”

  She eyed him for a moment, then laughed. “You should see the look on your face. Mr. I-have-a-response-for-everything is at a loss for words.” Her smile widened. “Priceless.”

  He probably should feel embarrassed for wondering if she was a nut case, but instead, he grinned. “Hey, even if you do have a screw loose, I’d like to hear your take on the investigation.”

  “Then have a seat, and I’ll make the coffee.” She closed the door and motioned to a leather club chair.

  “I’d rather look around.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “It’ll all make more sense if I explain it to you.”

  “Ok-a-a-y,” he said.

  “If you’re not going to sit, then come help make the coffee.”

  “That I can do.” He followed her to the kitchen, but he’d rather be digging through her information. Her reaction just now had been over the top. It seemed like she was hiding something from him. Or maybe he was being overly suspicious, and she was just trying to protect years’ worth of case files.