“I need to know where Lilly is.”
She shook her head in response and leaned back in the chair, the flow of pain like heat waves rippling across her vision.
“Dana,” he chided in singsong.
“I don’t know where she is.” Her tongue was like a wooden block in her mouth.
“Interesting.” Drake pulled himself up onto his knees, obviously attempting to draw her line of sight back to him. She refused to look.
“Dr. Reeves has been making quite a pain of herself lately. It seems she’s been to nearly every hospital here and in Nevada, looking into my old medical records. Thankfully, my mother has spies, and after Lilly visited one such place, my mother was alerted by a staff member. Unfortunately for me, it was too late to discern what information she gathered, if any. But at that point, Lilly sealed her fate.”
“Why would you care about what she’s doing if you’re innocent?” Dana pulled her head up and met his gaze, seeing the cold stare as it drank from the well of evil within him. She regretted every moment she’d doubted Lilly’s explanation of events. After Lilly’s disappearance, Dana had made feeble attempts to try to locate her, but nothing that would rise to what a true friend should have done.
“Well, that’s a curious question, isn’t it? I’m sure you’re realizing now that possibly I’m not all that innocent.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, but even if I had one iota of information pertaining to Lilly’s whereabouts, I would never give it to you.”
“Even if it would save her life? What about your life?”
Dana remembered the first time they’d met. Lilly had been entertaining a patient in the PICU, a young girl with a sick heart. There’d been a quiet tenderness in her interaction with the child. A vulnerability Dana felt was rare. A confidence that was strong and sure. The memory brought comfort. Dana shook her head to keep her darkening peripheral vision at bay.
“Do you recognize this weapon?” He raised it like a ceremonial chalice. “I do from searching Lilly’s place. It’s never good to have a victim surprise you with a firearm. Were you worried that she might use it to commit suicide? You were such a good friend to her, to try to protect her like that.”
“How did you get in here?”
“The spare set of keys you gave Lilly.” He reached into his back pocket and removed the ring, jiggling it from his fingertips. “She was nice enough to label them and everything. You should be more careful who you leave these with.”
“She never told me they were missing.”
Drake clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’m sure there were too many other things on her mind for her to worry about such trivial matters.” He walked toward her on his knees. “You see, Lilly’s prints are all over this weapon. I’m going to shoot you with it and conspicuously place this set of keys she labeled right here.” He tapped her end table. “I’m also going to leave this weapon behind and maybe a little note of confession. If I can’t find Lilly, I’ll get the police to hunt her for your murder. You won’t be around to tell your version of events.”
There is a moment of choice in each person’s life to either stand firm or wither under the pressure. Dana’s mind focused little on Drake’s threat. She’d known his intent as soon as she became aware of his presence. What consumed her thoughts was her life as she led it and whether or not it had been enough.
Did I love my family enough?
Did I take care of my patients well enough?
Did I serve a friend in crisis to the point where she could see you, Lord, and not me trying to help her?
Dana was confident about two of the three answers. The last thought in her mind was a prayer of hope that the answer to the third question was also yes.
Chapter 38
February 16
THE CORONER MIGHT say differently, but the timeline suggested that it was about forty-eight hours before the body of Dr. Dana Morrell was discovered. Nathan surmised she was murdered when she arrived home from her shift on Wednesday. He paced around the living room as Brett discussed aspects of the crime scene with the first responding officer. So far, they hadn’t found any evidence of forced entry. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, a set of soiled scrubs in a large tote bag rested against the door, her briefcase on a hand-painted hope chest a few steps away. Next to this was a small table where her keys sat on a saucer-sized china dish.
Dana had a scheduled day off on Thursday. A friend, Amber, had come forward saying they were scheduled to have lunch that day and Dana had missed the appointment. Amber stated she’d run by Dana’s home to check on her. When no one came to the door, she assumed it was a work-related emergency, as had often happened before, and didn’t think twice about it, claiming she’d expected a call from her in the next couple of days.
Friday, when Dana didn’t come in for morning rounds, missed her first surgery, and failed to respond to her pages, the operating-room staff had called the police. As the first responding officer looked through the back windows, he could see the body through the thinly veiled glass, and thus came the call to Brett and Nathan.
Dana’s body was on a chair and had two obvious wounds, one to the back of her right thigh and one to the right temple. Deceptively, most of the blood on the chair came from the leg wound. Her head was intact, but at the small entrance wound on her temple, some bruising, and misshapen features on her face left clues to the utter destruction within her skull. Nathan leaned in and shone his flashlight at the entrance wound. Some unburned gunpowder was embedded into the skin immediately around the wound site, which suggested a shooting at close range. A set of keys sat next to her, feminine writing annotated with Dana’s name on a tag, likely a set she’d left behind for a neighbor. Thus far, they were canvassing her block to see if anyone would lay claim to the key being in their possession.
The initial point of attack seemed to be near the front door. Three small pools of blood had formed a few feet from the threshold. Then the droplets ran in a sporadic line into the living room, where they terminated at the chair. Several wide smears of blood stained the top of the carpet fibers as if someone had wiped a hand clean. The weapon was placed beside the keys, and a typewritten note was there, as well. All it said was “I’m sorry. Lilly.”
Nathan called the crime-scene technician over and had her take a couple photos of the gun in place. Then, with gloved hands, Nathan picked up the weapon, careful to touch surfaces that would not be large or smooth enough to capture fingerprints. It was a smaller caliber, semiautomatic, which might explain the lack of an exit wound. Later, in a better environment, Nathan would drop the magazine out and record the type of ammunition in the gun. He expected some kind of hollow-pointed, expanding round, which would prevent the bullet from maintaining enough energy to break through the bony skull a second time. No one at the scene had found any high-velocity blood spatter or any sign of the round that killed Dana. Oddly, Nathan hoped the round was still in her head so they could have it as evidence.
Upon further examination of the weapon, Nathan noted it wasn’t well maintained. Dust and fibers were stuck in every nook, and it lacked the distinctive smell of cleaning solvents that his own service piece carried. That told Nathan the shooter was probably not a gun enthusiast. Carefully turning the gun, he pointed it in his own direction; staying well away from the trigger, he asked the tech to shine a light down the barrel. The nose and the barrel’s interior surfaces had blood, skin, hair, and other fibers crusted in place. Coupled with what Nathan had seen at the wound site, he knew this was an up-close-and-personal killing.
This was an execution.
“Snap a couple of shots of this blowback; then we’ll bag it as is. Make sure the coroner bags the victim’s hands. I don’t want anything getting lost inside the body bag.”
As the crime-scene technician continued to work, Brett approached Nathan, flipping his phone closed. A uniformed officer entered the home and zeroed in on Nathan as well.
“I’ve got some information from one of the neighbors,” the officer said.
“What’s that?”
“A Mrs. …” He paused and flipped through his notes, wetting his index finger at each turn of the page. “Davies. That’s it. Anyway, she lives a couple houses down. She’s a young mom with several kids in tow. She says when Dana moved in a couple of years ago, she offered to hold onto a set of keys for her. Dana had told her at the time she had a friend at work who already had a set.”
“Did the neighbor happen to say who that friend was?” Nathan asked.
“The name wasn’t volunteered when I spoke to her, and honestly, I didn’t ask.”
“Nathan, you know this is Lilly,” Brett said.
“I don’t know anything until I discover it during the course of the investigation, Brett.”
The officer excused himself. The tension between Nathan and Brett was becoming difficult to hide. Brett was settled on the thought that Drew Stipman was the real threat and that when they found him, the case was over. Nathan continued to pursue Drake, mostly on his own time and as quietly as possible to prevent being thrown off the case entirely by the chief.
“I’ve contacted the ATF and started a trace on the weapon. The serial number on the gun doesn’t come up through NCIC or CCIC as being stolen.” Brett folded his arms across his chest. “However, this is the same make and model of a weapon that Lilly is known to have owned. We learned that from Kadin. That they had taken a gun away from her, fearing that she was suicidal. I’m sure we’ll find her prints all over it.”
Nathan turned and faced Brett squarely. “I know what this scene seems like. I’m not going to jump to the obvious conclusion, because everything seems a little too perfect to me.”
“Don’t be looking for zebras here.”
“Let’s assume it is Lilly. Let’s start at the top. Where is she?”
“I don’t know, Nathan. No one seems to know. She’s off the grid, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been here.” Brett pointed to the floor.
“What we do know is that she’s had contact with one person. Kadin Daughtry. She sent him a postcard in the last couple weeks from Nevada. All it said was ‘Make sure the paperwork is ready.’”
“As I said, that could all be a sham.”
“So let me sum this up. You believe Lilly committed this crime because these are likely the keys she was in possession of for Dana, and Lilly’s weapon is on the premises because Dana had taken it from her to save her life. Tell me your theory of what Lilly’s motive is. Why would Lilly want to kill this woman, her closest friend by all accounts?”
“We know Lilly’s not right in the head. It’s been said by more than one person that after her attack she unraveled. She accused an innocent man of rape. He had to file a restraining order against her—”
Nathan cut him off.
“Why Dana? Those would all be fine points if it were Drake Maguire in that chair, but it’s not. It’s her friend, her closest confidant.”
“I don’t know, Nathan. We can’t always identify the motives of crazy people.”
“Then explain a few aspects of the crime scene to me. We know the initial point of attack was right here at the front door.” Nathan paced quickly in that direction and pointed with his pen to the hardwood floor. “There’s a large pool of blood here, then just droplets forming a path until the chair. How do you think that happened?”
“She was shot in the leg, probably to disable her. It’s likely she wouldn’t have been able to walk. Someone carried her over here.”
“How far along do you think Lilly is in her pregnancy?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t know.”
“She’s probably close to six months.”
“Whatever. Your point?”
“Well, how do you imagine a woman that pregnant carried Dana to the chair?”
“Maybe she had help.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
“And then the most important question is why she would want Dana dead and obviously point the police in her own direction? She leaves a weapon behind that she knows is registered in her name and a set of keys right next to the victim presumably with her handwriting. I’m not going to even entertain that insipid typewritten note. This could all be planted evidence.”
“Then what is your alternative theory, Nathan?”
“Based on all we know thus far, I think we should consider that this was Drake’s doing. It would be foolish to rule anything out this early.”
“And what would be his motive?”
“Honestly, I think he’s trying to draw Lilly out. We know that his pregnant victims haven’t fared very well.”
“Drake’s been cleared by DNA.”
Nathan ignored the comment. “I think Drake is looking for Lilly—and why would she not try to attend her best friend’s funeral? Once he draws her out, she suffers some unfortunate incident and all his loose ends are tied up. We know Lilly believes he is guilty and wants the baby tested for paternity. She’s going to push for it after the delivery.”
“Nathan, in light of the DNA results, no judge will grant her request.”
“I agree it’s going to be difficult in light of the current evidence. I think we need to wait until the postmortem is completed on this body. Maybe there will be DNA. The killer might have left something behind or the victim might have taken it from him. Or her. Whether it’s Drake, Lilly, or the bogeyman, we’re going to have to collect more evidence. Whatever we decide on, the evidence had better support our theory.”
Brett’s shoulders slumped. The fighting between them added to Nathan’s stress, but could Brett be opening up to other theories? “Regardless of that, Nathan, we’re going to need to find Lilly. Are you sure you don’t know where she is?”
“I don’t. The transponder I planted indicates her car is in the same place, and I’ve been checking it frequently to make sure the batteries don’t run out. The only people who might know her whereabouts are Savannah and Kadin. I guess that’s our next stop.”
“Let’s make sure we’re at the funeral. Maybe the killer will come to pay his respects.”
Chapter 39
March 2
IT HAD TAKEN one week for the coroner to find Dr. Morrell’s parents, who’d been on some exotic African safari, and additional days for them to travel back and arrange for their daughter’s funeral.
Nathan stood next to Brett, surveying the mourners as they made their way to the graveside. They had approached two obviously pregnant women, suspecting one might be Lilly in disguise. Brett asked point-blank how far along they were. One of the women, not Lilly, was near delivery. The other woman was not pregnant. Brett handed her a card for the public relations officer when she requested one to file a complaint.
After rubbing the ice crystals from the end of his nose with his gloved hand, Nathan grabbed Brett’s elbow and pulled him back into the distance, the snow crunching under their feet as they walked. The day was bright; fresh snow sparkled under the gleaming sun. Nathan pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and huddled into his coat.
It wasn’t unusual to have these spring snowstorms in Colorado. In fact, some of the most devastating storms occurred in February and March. Nathan looked up the hill where the dirt dug for Dana’s grave spotted the snow. Her polished gold casket posed at the edge of the six-foot hole as the preacher spoke words of comfort to her family and friends.
Lilly had been smart not to show up.
Nathan checked the time. He needed to keep an appointment that had taken him weeks to set up. He didn’t want to miss it.
And he didn’t want Brett to know about it.
The service lasted another twenty minutes. Once Nathan saw people break up into small groups, he made quick work of leaving Brett, without giving an explanation, and made his way to his vehicle before he got caught in the flood of the departing.
It was a short drive to the genetics clinic. Since Kadin was re
luctant to speak with him, Nathan had spent the last month cold-calling doctors who specialized in chromosomal defects and DNA testing.
Dr. Kent Lockwood had agreed to meet with him.
The man was average height with brown hair and darker brown eyes, but his presence exuded calm, which Nathan thought was important when parents were told their unborn child might have a devastating genetic defect.
They sat in his office, which was more coffee chic than modern doctor decor. Several overstuffed chairs were arranged around a circular, gray, marbled table. Nathan was served tea, and Lockwood offered him his choice of three flavored coffee creamers: amaretto, hazelnut, or Italian sweet cream.
“Seriously?” Nathan asked.
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” He poured a good amount of amaretto cream into Nathan’s steaming cup before settling back into his chair. “Coffee was always too bitter for me, and I have to say I like all the new varieties of tea they’ve come out with. My wife got me hooked, and now I find myself perusing the grocery store aisles, searching for new tea and creamers. You can’t beat the peppermint mocha at Christmas.”
Nathan sipped the light brown liquid and nodded his approval. “Not bad. It beats what they brew at the station, but I would never live it down if I made a cup of this in front of my coworkers.”
“Well, above all keep yourself safe.” Lockwood balanced his cup on the arm of his chair. “So you mentioned on the phone you had some questions about DNA testing. How can I help?”
“I have a case that I have some questions on. First of all, have you ever heard the term chimera?”
“Of course, but how does this relate to your case?”
“To be honest, this is a shot in the dark for me. I’ll need you to keep our conversation confidential. Can you agree to that?”
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