by Lane Stone
Did I say where in his body it was implanted? No, because I didn’t know. “His shoulder?”
“He asked me to. He thought it would help in case he was kidnapped. I was so afraid that was what killed him. That it had bacteria on it.”
“What did the police say about that?”
“Dr. Asher, or Dr. Charles, or whatever his name is, didn’t seem to think that was possible, but Detective Kent said the chip had been sent to the state lab for analysis and it was too early to tell.”
It was Victoria’s turn to ask her a question. “Why were you outside when we came to your house Sunday night?”
“I had a lot to think about. I wanted to think, not be told what I thought.” The reference to her husband was clear. “Sure enough, Al was trying to follow me out when you three showed up.”
Victoria wasn’t letting her off that easy. “Where is the receiver the chip communicated with?”
Paige rolled her eyes, like she was getting bored with us. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What would be the use of inserting a piece of hardware in case you’re kidnapped if the hardware can’t transmit any data––like your location?”
It dawned on Paige that she had intellectually brought a knife to a gunfight. “It was at our house, and when the chip was found in Dad’s body, I wanted to get rid of the receiver.”
Then she got up. “I’m okay now. I’ll get back to work.”
I wasn’t done. “Who did implant the chip, if you didn’t?”
“I don’t know.”
I pressed on. “Where did he get it? You don’t exactly find those at Home Depot.”
“The person who put it in, got it for him. I swear I don’t know who it was. I would tell you, or I’d tell Detective Kent, if I did.” It was too soon after eating to hear the way her voice softened over the detective’s name.
Tara handed her a business card. “Please call me if you need to talk.”
“You have a detective agency?!” Oh, Tara, wrong card. “I thought you were here because Paul wanted to know what the house was like. Why are you here?”
I stood up and ran my hand through my hair. “Our friend was kidnapped and the police aren’t taking it seriously.”
Victoria came and stood next to me. “There’s this police detective who is sick and needs our help, but doesn’t want to admit it.”
Paige smiled.
Tara stood on Vic’s other side. “I love Paul. And we’re family, girl.”
***
We had loads to talk about on the way back to Victoria’s. I drove out of the horseshoe driveway and looked in the rear view mirror. “That is a beautiful house.”
Tara looked out the side window. “That house is her freedom.”
I pulled out onto Abbotts Bridge, headed for Peachtree Industrial Boulevard. “After what he did with that gun, I don’t think we can rule out suicide.”
“State your case,” Victoria said.
“How about this for a theory on what went down, the fool could have been reconfiguring something else and poisoned himself. May he rest in peace.” I gave instructions to my phone’s voice dialer. “Call Detective Kent’s mobile.” And it did.
“Yes, Leigh? What’s happened now? Did the thieves come back for the P’s?”
Of course, this totally confused Tara and Victoria. We’d been so busy I hadn’t had time to tell them about the R theft. “Ha-ha-ha.” Then I told him about the gun and where I hid it and gave him the address.
“I’m feeling better, so I’ll go over there.” He hesitated and I thought he had disconnected. “Leigh?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the health tip.”
“Thanks for not outing us at the funeral home on Sunday night.” I hung up because I didn’t want to discuss the reason behind our secrecy with him.
Vic looked up from checking Tiara Investigations emails and voice mail. “Why did Paige lie about worrying bacteria on the chip caused her father’s death, if she didn’t implant it? And why was she trying to get rid of the receiver, after the crime lab determined it was atropine that killed him?”
“She certainly knew more than she was saying about whoever made those threatening phone calls to her dad,” I said.
Tara readjusted her seat belt like she couldn’t get comfortable. She was getting panicky. “We know Al has a motive, and after what he did to my car, I wouldn’t put murder past him.”
I stopped at a red light and took the opportunity to reapply clear lip gloss. “I would love to know who referred Thomas to us, if it wasn’t Bea. Tara, I was thinking about what you said about it looking like a scene that was set, as if someone wanted us to find the body. Or was that us, being full of ourselves?”
Victoria’s phone, still in her hand, rang. She looked at the screen then tossed it back into her Prada handbag. “It’s Frank.”
“When will he be Shorty again?” I could almost feel sorry for him.
“We’re doing better but still up and down.” She was sitting in the backseat typing up a storm.
My phone rang. It was the same number Jack had called from while we were at Cracker Barrel. I answered it and illegally held the phone to my ear. He was still on the plane.
“I found out what’s behind the request for me to testify in an open hearing. Some hawks on the committee are opposed to the Afghans approving and leading night raids. They want to put me out there publicly disagreeing with the new policy. I won’t do that.”
I squeezed the phone and wanted so badly to touch him. The Army was Jack and Jack was the Army. Leaving that existence was hard enough on him, but to have this cloud over his retirement made me angry and sick. “I understand.”
“Are you still my baby?”
I laughed. “Are you getting as mushy as Paul?”
“Maybe.” He was gone and I gave Vic and Tara a quick update. “Whatcha got there, Vic?” I asked.
The hardware Victoria had attached to Thomas Chestnut’s computer was now connected to her laptop. “I downloaded his email inbox and the folders he’s saved old emails in, along with his voice mail messages.” Victoria never looked up; she just kept typing and reading.
Tara hit the arm rest with her palm. “That means you can find those threatening messages. Hot damn.”
“We’ll have to listen to all of them. Here’s the oldest saved message.” Victoria turned up the volume.
We heard a woman say, “Buford Dam. Intermittent denial of service. First step.”
“Janice Marshall!” I wanted to blow the horn so bad, but we don’t go in for that kind of behavior in Atlanta. “That’s what was on the napkin!”
“Sweet baby lettuce!” Victoria clapped her hands. “Wait, can you hear that? Someone is talking in the background? It’s a man and he’s telling her what to say. I’ll rewind.”
I pulled into a Chick-Fil-A parking lot. “Let’s get tea and then try to hear it without the engine noise.” I went in and left them hard at work.
When I got back, Tara was wearing University of Georgia ear muffs. “What in the hell?”
They were upside down with the strap running under her chin so as not to disarrange her hair.
“I’m using my hearing amplifiers. They work better like this. Want yours?” I remembered her ordering three sets on the shopping channel last year.
“I’m good, but thanks.”
“Play it again, Sam,” she yelled to the backseat.
Vic replayed the message. “I’m using my voice recognition software. If that voice is on the computer anywhere else, it’ll show me the match. So far, nothing.”
“Does this connect Janice Marshall to the murder?” I, for one, was going to stick to more traditional crime solving methods. “She and Thomas Chestnut probably knew each other from CDC, but this shows more than a work relationship.”
Tara pulled one ear muff back. “Speaking of relationships, I wonder if there was anything going on between her and Al, our other suspect? They were
talking close at the funeral home after the viewing. I noticed significant eye contact on her part.”
“Vic, if you heated up Al’s digits would you be able to see if his voice is a match?” I hadn’t started the engine because we hadn’t decided what our next move should be.
“Sure, if his voice is on their home answering machine, that is.”
Tara had her phone book out. “Here’s their number.” It was hot pink and had a tiara on the cover. Not many people know about our agency, but sometimes we can’t help planting little clues like this because we are so darn proud of how we’ve built it up.
Victoria dialed it and did her computer magic. “It was Paige’s voice on the answering machine. I recorded it in case we need it later.”
“The police have got to find Janice Marshall.” I rubbed my forehead. “Vic, will you hand me my iPad? It’s in that Kate Spade beach bag which I pretend is a handbag. Now that we know Janice Marshall is her real name, I want to Google her.”
Tara’s cell rang. She looked at the screen and dropped it back in her handbag. “It’s Asher again. He’ll leave a message.”
“Take the call. He may have found Janice Marshall.”
“Too late, but I’ll call him back.” She had a brief conversation and hung up. “He hasn’t been able to find her.”
“There’s a Janice Marshall in Boston, but not one in Atlanta.” I closed the case and handed it back to Vic. “Want to go for a run when we get back to Vic’s? My workout bag is in the back.”
They agreed and off we headed, north on Peachtree Industrial Boulevard, to Victoria’s.
***
We walked five minutes to warm up, then we jogged thirty, and we would finish up with a ten minute cool down walk. One thing about running an eleven minute mile, I can usually talk over cases while I’m doing it. “I pulled together a folder of the notes and photos we have on the Bennett case.”
“Didn’t we give all that to the wife months ago?” The day was sunny so Victoria moved her prescription sunglasses off the top of her head to her face.
“I wanted to refresh my memory.”
“Aaaand?” Tara could tell I was holding back. She was wearing a pair of Vic’s running shoes with two pairs of socks and Vic’s cropped pants were full length on her.
“I wanted to be sure of our conclusion. He swears he wasn’t unfaithful to his wife.”
Victoria stopped running. “We’ve never questioned ourselves before. We have the goods on him. He knows his chances in the Congressional election will be hurt by a divorce.”
I stopped too. “Airing dirty laundry will hurt more. A quiet little amicable divorce will be over with and forgotten before the primary. I just don’t know why he’s taking it to the mat if it’s not for love.”
Tara pulled up next to us. “I like that he’s fighting for his marriage.”
“The way Jack fought for ours.” And he had but there’s no time to go into that now. “We’re HEA now.” I started running again and they followed.
Victoria caught up with me. “That reminds me, I got another text from your mother. I know FWIW is for what it’s worth, but she added w.a. on the end. Any ideas?”
“We’re available.” I looked around for Tara. “Is there anything else we need to know going in to this?”
Tara reached out and touched my back. “All we can do is go to court and answer the questions truthfully. And he’d better do the same thing. Judge Braxton is a hanging judge and he’s in the other political party. Judge races are non-partisan, but we know his political affiliation.”
We were back in Victoria’s driveway. “What should I tell your mother?” she asked.
“TYVM, but no thanks. That felt good. I’m glad we took time for that run.”
Tara took off Vic’s shoes. “Is there really any difference in us and women runners half our age? Other than the fact that they probably don’t have corn pads fall out of their socks?”
Before Vic could close the car door, her phone rang. “It’s Frank. Again.”
“Vic, please.” She stopped and looked at Tara.
“Oh, alright.” What he told her made her gulp then hand the phone to me.
“Leigh, we have your mother here. We believe she’s had a stroke.”
“I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER 17
Continuation of statement by Leigh Reed. We found Aunt Thelma and Aunt Gussie in one of the smaller waiting rooms. Aunt Thelma is the one who complains about menopause symptoms to make herself sound younger than she is. They sat with their handbags by their sides on a scotch plaid sofa. The flooring was what was technically indoor/outdoor carpeting and only marginally safe for their feet. Their eyes ran over my sweat pants and jacket, on loan from Victoria. Aunt Opal and Aunt Mary were at their homes trying to get some rest so they could work the overnight shift. Each team had someone with a valid driver’s license.
“We went to the Pumpkin Patch in Marietta for our autumn porch decorating.” Aunt Thelma would use the term autumn rather than fall. What she was describing was the first phase of a seasonal activity. If the five sisters’ porch decorating got any more competitive, they’d need a licensing body.
Aunt Gussie took the account from there. “When we got back in the car she said she was having the worse headache of her life. Victoria?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Your husband, Dr. Gale, said this was known as a thunder clap headache. Now, your last name isn’t Gale is it? I believe it’s Blair.”
“That’s right.” They let their opinion on women not changing their names when they got married go unsaid, in words or side glances to each other, out of respect for me. “How did you know that was my husband?”
“Well, we’ve been here for forty-five minutes.” These women could be of valuable service to the CIA.
Aunt Gussie led me over to a chair. I thought she was going to encourage me to sit down, but she took the chair. They’d been standing for awhile. As she sat, she leaned in and whispered, “I Googled her to be sure.” I gave her delicate hand a gentle squeeze. There were age spots from gardening and blue veins from age. I loved my aunts for being there.
Shorty stuck his head in the doorway of the crowded waiting room. Each time he did that Victoria looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time.
“Any news, Dr. Tall Drink?” Aunt Gussie asked the question, but he was looking at Vic.
“About the same. Oh, good, Leigh, you’re here.” He balanced on the edge of a free chair and I took the hint to do the same, both of us at angles so we were almost facing each other. He wore green scrubs with a matching surgical cap and his surgical mask dangled around his neck. Some time back, I had noticed younger doctors wearing scrubs and older docs wearing lab coats with sleeves harboring heaven knows how much bacteria.
“How is she?”
“I ordered an emergency CT Scan. Those results come back usually within the hour, so….” He checked his sports watch. “They should be in any minute now. And I’ve called in a consulting neurologist. ”
“Can I go back and talk to her?”
“Yes, but I need to warn you that her mental status is altered.”
“How is she physically?”
“She’s unable to move. Yes, two of you can go in.” Visiting hours’ policy allowed two visitors in for ten minutes at a time. The sign also said no overnight visitors but they’d see about that.
I motioned for Victoria to accompany me.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take one of her sisters with you?”
“Until Tara gets back, you’ll be staying with me. I can’t leave you alone with an aunt. You’d crack.”
“You’re right about that.”
When we returned, Tara was back and she handed me an iced tea from Starbucks as she reached into her black leather Versace shoulder bag for her ringing phone. She coolly slid her finger over the red spot on the screen and the phone was silenced. Running her hand through her hair covered her enough to
mouth to us, “Asher.”
“I was just asking Tara if she’d ever killed anyone with her bare hands and she denies it.” Aunt Thelma sucked in her cheeks and looked at Tara as if to say, that’s what you’d expect someone who had killed with her bare hands to say and your secret is safe with me. “Have either of you?”
“Nooo!” I said.
“Not yet,” Vic answered. Her phone rang and she headed for the nearest exit to take the call.
Shorty was back and motioned for me to walk down the hall with him. “I have the results of the CT Scan. And I can tell you from what I just observed, that her condition has worsened. As you know she was taking a blood thinner for atrial fibrillation, or A Fib. That’s an irregular heart rhythm. When you have a leak, or rupture, in an artery you want your clotting to kick in, but because of the blood thinner when she had her stroke she bled faster. It made the bleed worse, in terms of volume and extent. She has bled into the substance of her brain.”
“So she shouldn’t have been on the blood thinner?”
“That was the correct protocol. I’m not her cardiologist, but I’ve gone over her records and I would have prescribed the same––almost any doctor would have.”
“Will you operate?”
“No, it’s an intercerebral bleed. The bleed extends into the sub strand of the brain. We cannot get to the medium to small arteries there.”
The pain I saw in Shorty’s face, shoulders, and hands on my behalf cut me to the quick. My judgment of him had been so harsh through the years. All of it was based on the kind of husband he was to Victoria. He was different from Jack, a different kind of man, a different kind of husband. Tara had rooted for him and for their marriage. What did I know?
“To re-confirm all of this, I’ve requested an MRI. That gives us more precise information than a CT Scan. Various atoms give off slightly different signals, showing different types of tissue. We can see soft tissue detail with an MRI….” He trailed off. “We’re taking measures to reduce her blood pressure, especially in the cerebral circulation, to limit the bleed, if possible. Leigh, I don’t want this to give you false hope.” Then he stood, all six foot, seven inches. “I’ll check on her now, and see if the neurologist has anything to add. I’ll come back when the results of the MRI are in.”