#
Driving back to Del Sol, Max thought about what Pedro said. It was the first solid piece of information she had. Everything else—even Kerry Osaka’s claim that Jennifer abused her first husband—was hearsay. Whatever Pedro had against her was actual evidence of wrongdoing. Just because it was sealed up in some legal agreement didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
Even if Max couldn’t get access to it, at least her sense of Jennifer as a predator was becoming clear. She wanted—needed—to be in control. She disliked old people—or maybe just sick people. She might dislike people in general. She felt no remorse.
Now Max had to prove it. She left a message for Iris knowing that she was pushing the bounds of their friendship to expect results after only a few hours. Then she called Marco. He, too, didn’t answer. She hung up without leaving a message. She called a lawyer friend of hers in New York to ask how difficult it would be to get a FOIA for a sealed plea agreement. He laughed at her. “Impossible to next to impossible.”
“Let’s go on the assumption that it’s next to impossible and try it. Use your law firm as the requester, not my name—I’m undercover. I’ll send you the file numbers.”
“You know it’s Saturday.”
“File first thing Monday morning.”
“It could still take weeks—months—and they will most likely reject it.”
“But I’ve still done my due diligence. Thanks.” She hung up before he argued. She was paying him for his time, why did he care if the whole thing was an exercise in futility? Besides, it wasn’t just the information she wanted—she needed the investigative trail for her book. Because right now, this case was turning out to be far more detailed and juicier than she original thought once she added in the history of abuse and cover-ups from Suncrest. The Wicked Nurse of Miami. Ha—her editor would laugh at her. Or The Real Nurse Ratched. Ugh, even Max didn’t like that. Killer Nurse? Hmm...that definitely had more of a hook.
By the time Max returned to Del Sol, it was already mid-afternoon. Lois and Beau were at Lois’s house when she walked in and they both looked upset.
“Flo is sick,” Lois said. “And Rachel hasn’t regained consciousness. The doctors are running a whole bunch of tests. They thought pneumonia at first, but the specialist doesn’t think so. It doesn’t look good.”
“What happened with Flo?”
“We had lunch. She wasn’t eating much, and said she’d had an upset stomach all morning. She left early. I tracked down Beau and we went to check on her, but Nurse Markson wouldn’t let us in. Said Flo had a nasty case of the flu and she was giving her extra fluids.”
“She also said,” Beau added, “that she likely got it from Rachel, that she shouldn’t have gone to her house yesterday.”
“It’s Jennifer, isn’t it?” Lois asked. “You wouldn’t say anything last night, but it has to be her. You’ve been asking a lot of questions, and I saw something on the desk yesterday about Jennifer and Nadine going to college together. I wasn’t snooping—I needed to get stamps from the drawer.”
Max couldn’t get angry with the two of them, and she was worried about Flo.
“Yes, I think Jennifer is responsible for whatever is happening here. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to let it slip. Not just what you might say, but how you treat her if you see her.”
“I can act quite well, Maxine,” Lois said indignantly. “Everyone believes you’re my granddaughter, don’t they?”
“Yes, but—”
“She’s trying to protect us,” Beau interrupted.
“This is Flo! We have to warn her.”
“Let me talk to her, okay? I have some questions, and I want her to stop drinking that enhanced water. I took a sample from Flo’s apartment yesterday, but didn’t tell her why.”
“The water? You think it’s poisoned?”
“I don’t know, but it’s the only thing that I could see that might be tampered with. Unless Jennifer is bringing meals to those who are sick. No victim has overlapped, until now. Which makes me think Jennifer is worried about something Flo did or said to Rachel. Or something Rachel said to her.”
“Or Flo drank Rachel’s water,” Lois said.
Max hadn’t thought of that, but it was certainly possible.
Which brought up another potential problem. If Jennifer was poisoning these people through the water, she was a step removed. While Max might be able to prove that they were being poisoned, how could she prove who was poisoning them?
She had to get someone to slip up. And the only way would be to get Jennifer to incriminate herself.
But how?
#
Max had an excuse ready for anyone who tried to stop her from visiting Flo that evening, but no one did. Flo answered the door in her robe and slippers. Her television was blaring as soon as she opened it—the soundproofing must be great in the building because Max had barely heard it with the door closed. The bells and applause from some game show Max vaguely recognized echoed in the small apartment.
“Can we turn that down?” Max asked Flo.
She waved toward the large screen television. “Help yourself.”
Max turned down the television and Flo shut the door and shuffled over to her recliner. Her apartment was much smaller than Lois’s place, but well laid out. The living room opened into the dining area and kitchen, making the entire place seem bigger than it was. She had a balcony and a short, wide hall likely led to the bedroom and bath.
Max sat on the couch and put the bag she was carrying on the coffee table. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now. I think it was a twenty-four-hour bug or something.”
“You saw Rachel before she collapsed. Did you eat or drink anything at her place?”
Flo shook her head. “Just a water bottle.”
“One of Del Sol’s bottles?”
“Yes, why?” Flo narrowed her eyes. “Is that why I’m sick?”
“I don’t know, but don’t drink any more of the Del Sol bottles.” Max gestured toward the bag. “There’s a dozen water bottles in there. Flavored water—I know it’s not the same, but drink them rather than the Del Sol water until we figure out exactly how you got sick.”
“It could be a virus.”
“Do you believe that?”
Flo shrugged, then shook her head. “I’ll do what you say.”
“Thank you.” Max was relieved—she hadn’t realized how worried and guilty she felt that she might have put Flo and the others in danger just by asking questions.
“What did you learn?”
“Enough that Jennifer Markson is at the top of my list.”
“I never liked her.”
Max almost smiled. In the short time she’d known Flo, the woman had a criticism about nearly everyone.
“If she comes by, call me or Lois. Don’t let on that I’m investigating her. And steer clear of Nadine too, okay?
“You can count on me, Maxine. I told you I don’t trust anyone with small eyes.”
Max left. The halls were quiet. It was well after dinner, and most of the residents were home. Max took the stairs to the main floor. Earlier in the week while Lois gave her a tour of Del Sol, Max had surveyed the security cameras. Virtually all were on the entrances, elevators and medical suite. But the administrative offices were clear.
On occasion, Max crossed the line. One of the benefits of being an investigative reporter was that she could bend the law—and break it when necessary. She wasn’t a cop like Marco, who had so many rules his hands were often tied in knots. Her record was mostly clean, and she could usually talk her way out of any sticky situation. The only thing that made her a tiny bit nervous was that she was in Miami—and as Marco said, she didn’t have a lot of friends in Miami PD. She’s been in jail before and didn’t care to repeat the experience.
If she were a killer, she wouldn’t keep anything incriminating in her home or office. Those would be the first two places law enforcement would search. But
if Pedro was right, Jennifer had been getting away with her crimes for years. The one time someone did confront her, she turned the tables and had the files sealed.
The locks for the offices were electronic; a key card would be needed to open the doors. If she had more time, she could lift a card key from a staff member—but she wanted to do this tonight, when there were fewer people around.
The dining hall was closed for service, but the cleaning crew was in the kitchen. Max had to wing it. She walked in and said brightly, “Hi, I’m Maxine, Lois Kershaw’s granddaughter?”
“You need something?” a woman asked in a heavy accent.
“My grandmother can’t find her reading glasses. She thinks she left them at her dinner table. Is there a lost and found?”
“Yes.” The woman motioned for Max to follow her to a small office off the kitchen. She wore her identification and key card around her neck and used to card to open the office.
The office off the kitchen was cluttered but clean. The woman pointed to several bins on a metal shelf. “Lost things.”
The bins were all full. Did these people forget they lost something? Max almost laughed at the thought.
“You look, we clean.”
She left her, not suspicious that Max might have another reason for being in the office.
She hadn’t been certain how to grab a key card—she was hoping the lost and found was in the administrator’s office, but that would have been too easy. She also wasn’t expecting the staff to leave her alone.
Max rummaged through the bins. She pulled out a small eyeglass case. She glanced out the door. The staff had split up: two had left, and two were heading into the dining area with mops.
She went to the desk. It was locked, but this lock was easy to pick. She rummaged through all the drawers. Mostly inventory, supply lists, timesheets … and yes, a card key and ID. Could be from a fired staff member or new staff or someone on vacation, it didn’t matter.
Max pocketed it.
She left the office, holding the eyeglasses. “Found them!” she called to the cleaning crew. The woman waved to her and Max left.
The main desk was manned by a night clerk. Over the week Max had been here, she’d noticed the clerk spent most of his time in the office behind the main desk watching television and playing computer solitaire. At night, there was only one entrance and exit into the facility, other than emergency service access. There was private security, but they had their own small building next to the gate, and they patrolled in a golf cart.
Max walked down the hall and waved good-bye to the night clerk when he looked up. He nodded, then turned back to his television show.
A couple residents were in the common room watching the news, and a pair of old men were playing cards. It was well after eleven, and most of the seniors retired early, but a few were night owls. The common room was open twenty-four hours.
Max crossed the room, nodded to the residents who looked at her, and exited via the staff door. This took her down a back hall to the administrative wing without having to pass the night clerk.
She swiped the pass key. Bingo! She didn’t hesitate and searched quickly to find Jennifer’s office.
The nurse appeared to have the best office in the facility—but maybe that was because it was adjacent to the medical offices.
Max didn’t dare turn on any lights—one wall was all windows looking out toward the back of the building and the man-made lake. There was some light coming in through outside security lamps, but she would have to risk the penlight attached to her keyring if she was going to read anything.
The office was spacious with a couch, bookshelves, filing cabinet, and a completely clear desk. If Jennifer had anything incriminating, it would be in her desk.
At first Max didn’t find anything, but the bottom right file drawer in the desk was locked. Max used her lock pick to pop it open.
Inside were files—not medical files which she might legitimately keep for residents, but financial files. Max scanned them. They made no sense to her—there were numbers, possibly social security numbers—no, they weren’t. They were only eight digits and included a letter. Next to the numbers were columns for dollar amounts, but they didn’t seem to reference anything. Max took pictures with her phone of the summary sheets, then a couple snapshots of the attached pages. Harper might be able to figure out what everything meant.
She flipped through the other files. There were banking statements for Del Sol—why would a nurse have the Del Sol banking statements?—as well as banking records from an off-shore bank under the name Jennifer Gardner. Those accounts had regular, monthly deposits between three and five thousand dollars. The balance exceeded two hundred thousand dollars. Max took a couple pictures of the account information. She was embezzling money—that much was clear—but how?
The next file was a bank statement for Jennifer Wesley, and it was a savings account that totaled $500,000. It appeared that all the interest was diverted into another account every quarter, but the account was opened the month her divorce was final from Christopher O’Neal.
She was about to close the drawer when she noticed a thin, sealed envelope on the far right. Max carefully broke the seal and looked inside. There were two passports. One with Jennifer’s photo under the name Jennifer Gardner and the other with Nadine’s photo under the name Nadine Gardner.
This was getting more interesting by the minute. She snapped pictures, then put the passports back. She resealed the envelope as best she could, and put it exactly where she’d found it. She closed the drawer, made sure it locked, and left Jennifer’s office.
Once she was safely back at Lois’s house, Max sent the pictures of the financial statements to Harper then looked at the documents herself. She didn’t know how Jennifer was embezzling money, but based on the fact she had Nadine Delacruz’s fake passport, they were in on it together. They had to be.
Which meant that the money was most likely being embezzled whenever a new resident moved in. That had to be the motive. They skimmed in every transaction. Max sent Harper another note saying her embezzler could be working with a real estate agent. Maybe that would give her another way to look at the information.
Max stared at the pictures of Jennifer and Nadine’s fake passports.
No one had a fake passport unless they were criminals.
“What are you up to, little Miss Jennifer Whatever?”
Max would find out.
Chapter Ten
Max was an early riser, thanks to her insomnia, so when her phone rang at six a.m., she already was up and on her second cup of coffee.
“Iris, you have something,” Max said.
“Good morning to you too.”
“You wouldn’t be calling me at six in the morning if you didn’t have something big.”
“Rachel Brock died last night.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been at the hospital since I identified the poison. Arsenic.”
“Arsenic?” Max repeated.
“Why the tone? Expected something sexier? Like sarin?”
“It’s just … common. I mean, how did no one figure it out?”
“I have a guess, but you know I hate guessing.”
“Give it to me anyway.”
“First, you were right—the arsenic was in the enhanced water. Of the six samples you brought me, only the two bottles from Rachel Brock’s house were poisoned. Based on the amount in her water, my guess is that she was poisoned slowly over time. The arsenic would make her dehydrated, and she would end up drinking more water, which would make her more dehydrated—you get the picture. Three to six weeks and she’d be dead.”
“Why are you at the hospital?”
“They wouldn’t tell me shit over the phone, so I came down with my credentials and spoke to her doctor. Brock was already in a coma and on life support pending the arrival of her family. She has a non-resuscitate order, so the hospital was only keeping her alive until her fam
ily could say good-bye. The doctor isn’t her regular doctor—he’s out of the country on vacation—and he was suspicious about some of the symptoms, but hadn’t gotten lab results yet. Arsenic is extremely easy to test for, but the symptoms mimic other causes—like the flu. She was over eighty. Most doctors would look at the symptoms and say yeah, flu, it happens all the time. It was the yellowed eyes that gave me a hint, so I ran with it.”
“I love you.”
“Only when I get you the goods.”
“We need an autopsy.”
“I know, the doc knows too, and he said he’ll order it. He’s hot, I might have to say good-bye to what’s-his-name.”
“What’s-his-name can cook.”
“Eh, it was so-so.”
“Can you write up a report? Stick to the doc?”
“I know what the feds need. Are you bringing Marco in now?”
“Yes.” Maybe. “The thing is, there’s no proof that Jennifer Markson poisoned Rachel Brock or anyone else. At this point, we only know that she was poisoned. Doesn’t water sometimes have trace arsenic?”
“Sometimes—but Del Sol uses treated water. I sent one of my interns out to get samples yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You hired me to do my job. I did it.”
“I need something to nail this bitch.”
“So you really think this Markson person did it?”
“You sound surprised.”
“With you, I’m never surprised.”
“I need something, Iris. Is arsenic easy to come by? How would she do it?”
“I’ve already started tests to narrow down the exact chemical analysis, but based on my preliminary report, Rachel Brock was killed with liquid white arsenic.”
Max had never heard of it. “Commercial? Industrial?”
“Both. I’ll be able identify the exact manufacturer, but I don’t know if that will help. And proving she bought it? Would a killer keep receipts? Use her credit card? Doubt it.”
“What if I find a sample on site?” Max was running through all the places Jennifer would keep poison. She hadn’t found it in her office, which meant that the only place would be her house or the medical offices.
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