Walleye Junction

by Karin Salvalaggio

  “I wish we’d found this hard drive sooner,” said Macy. “Where was it hidden?”

  “In Caleb Winfrey’s basement.” Emma glanced over at Lou. “My father has been looking after the property since Caleb went into a nursing home. A light was left on in the basement, otherwise I’d have never thought to look for it down there.”

  “Did you also find your father’s journal?” asked Macy.

  Emma laid her hand on the folder containing the pages she’d torn from the journal. “It was with the hard drive,” she said. “I’m only giving you the pages that relate to Dr. Whitaker. I’ve destroyed the rest.”

  “I’m not sure that was wise,” said Macy. “You may have missed something.”

  “I read it from cover to cover. Everything that has to do with Whitaker is in this folder.”

  Macy pulled on a pair of latex gloves and started going through the pages.

  Lou cleared his throat. “Emma, even though Kyle Miller has implicated Dr. Whitaker, it may be a while before he’s arrested.”

  Emma said, “I think I may have uncovered something that might speed up the process.” She turned to face Macy. “I told you about my friend in high school, Lucy Winfrey?”

  “I read her file,” said Macy. “She died of an overdose. As I recall there was an unidentified fingerprint found on the syringe.”

  Emma lowered her voice. “My father was convinced Whitaker was supplying Lucy with drugs in exchange for sex.”

  Lou sat up. “Can that be proven?”

  “I’m not sure. There was a whole section on Lucy in the journal. I think her death is what made my father so interested in Dr. Whitaker in the first place. He spoke to Whitaker’s second wife, Dot, and she confirmed that Lucy and Dr. Whitaker were having an affair. It started when Lucy was working as Dot’s assistant. It’s why Lucy was fired. I’m pretty sure it’s why she died.”

  Emma found the journal page that had a photograph of Lucy attached to it.

  “This was taken on the steps of Dr. Whitaker’s home on Memorial Day weekend not long before Lucy died. Dot was out of town with the kids. He’d continued seeing Lucy for months after Dot caught them together.”

  “It’s not enough to implicate him in her death,” said Macy, looking over the notes from the journal. “Based on what I’m seeing here, the most we can get him on is supplying her with narcotics.”

  Lou pushed his chair away from the conference table. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

  Emma flinched at the sound of the slamming door. “I’ve upset him. He’s known Dr. Whitaker for a long time.”

  “You should give Lou more credit,” said Macy. “He’s the one who’s been cleaning up Dr. Whitaker’s mess all these years. A lot of the drugs Whitaker prescribed ended up on the streets. The results have been devastating for communities like Walleye Junction—broken homes, child neglect, traffic fatalities, suicides, domestic violence … I could go on.”

  For a few seconds neither of them said a word. Emma pressed her hands flat on the table. Kyle Miller was going to haunt her thoughts for a long time. She’d never forgive herself for getting it so wrong. He’d killed her father. It was inconceivable that she hadn’t seen him for the monster he was.

  “I can’t believe I let Kyle fool me,” said Emma.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I interviewed Kyle. He has a higher than average IQ, is well-mannered, reasonably attractive, and very articulate. He is also a very convincing liar who’d managed to get four people to provide him with a false alibi. I’m not surprised he managed to fool you as well.”

  “I honestly thought he was socially awkward but otherwise harmless.” Emma hesitated. “I want to know what happened the night my father died.”

  Macy rolled a pen back and forth between her fingertips.

  “It’s early days, so we’re still piecing together various versions of events.”

  “You must have an idea though.”

  “I know certain things. The rest is conjecture. The plan to kidnap your father appears to have been ill conceived from the outset. Kyle presents himself as someone with special ops training, when he’s really just a computer technician with delusions of grandeur. At this point we can’t prove that Dr. Whitaker requested his assistance, but we believe that’s what happened. Your father had to be silenced. Kyle would kidnap him. They’d only release him if they were sure he wouldn’t go public with the story about Dr. Whitaker’s clinic.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” said Emma. “My father wouldn’t have been intimidated that easily.”

  “Emma, it wasn’t just your father who was threatened. They made it clear to him that if he didn’t cooperate, they’d go after you and your mother.”

  Emma didn’t know how to respond. She closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them the room was brighter, the chatter in the outside offices a little louder. Macy tilted her head.

  “This is upsetting you,” said Macy. “Are you sure you want me to go on?”

  Emma said a quiet yes.

  “Kyle recruited his aunt and uncle to help him. He’d duped them into thinking they were sending your father a warning because of the program he did on the militias. It was agreed that their debts would be paid off as compensation. We’re not entirely sure why, but Carla grew suspicious and started digging around your father’s laptop. When she realized what Dr. Whitaker had been doing all these years, she let your father go.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I’d like to think she had a change of heart. This is a woman who lost everything because of drugs. She knew firsthand how much damage Whitaker was doing. You have to give her credit. Letting your father go took a lot of guts. She even downloaded what she could onto a memory stick for safekeeping. Unfortunately it was corrupted and most of the files were lost.” Macy picked up the external hard drive Emma found. “That’s why this is so important. It’s a game changer.”

  “Is Kyle cooperating?”

  “He’s confessed to killing your father as well as Carla and Lloyd Spencer, but we still don’t have any physical evidence that proves Whitaker is guilty.” Macy sat back in her chair. “Whitaker played Kyle perfectly. He appealed to his ego and his aspirations.… Kyle would have done just about anything to move up in the world. So far Whitaker has managed to make it look like Kyle acted independently.”

  “We have him on tape threatening my father,” said Emma.

  “We’ll hand over everything we have to the state’s attorney. I certainly think it’s enough to make a case, but it may take time to get an arrest warrant. Dr. Whitaker has powerful connections in Montana.”

  There was a sharp knock at the door, and Lou stepped into the room holding a file aloft. He slapped it down on the table in front of Macy and opened it.

  “This is Lucy’s case file,” he said, jabbing his finger at the relevant information. “I ran that fingerprint we found on the syringe through the system again. There’s a match.”

  “Dr. Whitaker?” asked Macy.

  Lou started pacing the room. “He volunteered his DNA and fingerprints so we could eliminate him as a suspect in Philip’s kidnapping. After all these years, he’s finally in the system.”

  “Lou,” said Macy. “This is good news. We can arrest him on suspicion of murder.”

  Emma pictured the syringe balancing precariously on the edge of Lucy’s bathtub. She’d almost thrown it out along with the lipstick-smeared paper towels.

  “I don’t understand why Dr. Whitaker killed her,” said Emma.

  “She may have become a liability,” said Lou. “His practice brings in millions in revenue, and she was spiraling out of control. There was a lot at stake.”

  “I was supposed to be there with her,” said Emma, her eyes shifting to Lucy’s photo. “She invited me over that evening, but I lied and said I had other plans.”

  Lou put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “This was never your fault. You need to stop blaming yourself.”

  Macy gathered up
Lucy’s file, the pages from Philip Long’s journal, and the external hard drive. “Lou, what do you say we head up to the hospital and have another word with Dr. Whitaker?”

  “I just need to make a couple of phone calls first,” said Lou.

  “Come find me when you’re finished,” said Macy.

  Macy shook Emma’s hand. “Thank you for bringing this in. I promise that we’ll do everything we can to secure a conviction.”

  “Will you be coming to the funeral service tomorrow?” Emma asked.

  “I’ll do my best. I need to get back to Helena. I haven’t seen my son in a while.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Emma. “I had no idea you had children.”

  “Just the one. My mother has been looking after him, but it’s time I took over. I think she wants her life back.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “When are you heading home?” asked Macy.

  “Within the next few days. I just need to make sure my mother is okay. She is very fond of Dr. Whitaker. It will be a real blow when she finds out he was responsible.”

  * * *

  Emma tried calling Dot Whitaker before stopping by her house, but there was no cell phone reception. In the end Emma decided to show up unannounced. She parked her car next to the fountain and walked across the gravel drive. The shadows were long and a chill had settled in for the evening. Emma rang the doorbell and waited. Receiving no answer, she went around back, where the conservatory doors had been open onto the garden the day they’d had lunch. Everything was closed up and the house was dark.

  Emma slowly became aware that classical music was playing somewhere nearby. She followed the sound through the garden, down some stone steps, and onto the path that led to Dot’s studio. The studio door was open wide. Emma stood on the threshold. The lights were on and music played out of a small radio that sat on a workbench. Splattered paint coated the wooden floors, works in progress sat on easels, and canvases leaned against the walls. She knocked several times.

  “Dot, are you here? It’s Emma Long,” she said.

  There was no answer. Thinking Dot must be out in the garden, Emma turned to leave. She was almost out the door when one of Dot’s paintings caught her eye. The style was so similar to the ones she’d seen up at the house on her previous visit, she first thought it was another painting of the girl in the red dress.

  Emma studied the painting with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. Dot had captured details that Emma’s memory had missed. Lucy appeared to not only float in the bathwater but in the canvas as well. Her eyes were open, her lips slightly parted. Her black hair drifted around her pale face like storm clouds. The syringe that delivered the fatal dose was balanced on the edge of the bathtub and the needle marks on her arms were painfully vivid. Emma’s eyes rested on the mirror. She’d not expected to see her own blurred reflection painted on the glass. She flinched. Red lipstick lines of text looped across her features.

  Emma, Sometimes the heart breaks and the broken do not live on. You should have come when I called. Always yours, Lucy

  The music stopped and Emma turned around. Dot stood next to the workbench with a bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. She walked over to the utility sink and filled a jam jar with water.

  “I told you I’d developed a morbid fascination with the macabre. What do you think?” said Dot. “Did I get the details right?”

  “I don’t understand how you could have done this without a photo,” said Emma.

  Dot turned and smiled. She held the bouquet up like an offering. There was a little jump in her voice.

  “I don’t always work from photos, but in this case I wanted to get it absolutely right.”

  “Dot,” asked Emma. “I need to know where you got the photo.”

  “Would you believe I bribed a police officer? The only addition I made was your image in the mirror.” Dot pointed to a small settee. “Come and sit. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Emma studied the painting. “They’re going to charge Peter with Lucy’s murder.” Emma pressed her fingertip into the canvas. The paint was tacky to the touch. “They found his prints on that syringe.”

  Dot placed the jar of wildflowers on a small table and sat down in an armchair opposite the settee.

  “It seems a little late for justice,” said Dot. “Come and sit with me, Emma. There’s no reason for you to stare at that painting. You were there.”

  Emma remained standing.

  “You couldn’t have gotten the photo from the police,” said Emma.

  “Oh, but I did,” said Dot. “I just didn’t copy it exactly. You could say I put things back to the way they were supposed to be. I believe in painting the truth now.”

  “I erased the note Lucy left on the mirror, so it wouldn’t have been in any of the photos the police had. The only way you could have known about the note was if you were there on the night Lucy died,” said Emma. “Tell me what happened.”

  “There’s really not much to say. Lucy was already unconscious when I arrived. I could have either called an ambulance or helped her finish what she’d already started. I chose to be helpful.”

  “You murdered her?”

  “I wasn’t the one feeding Lucy drugs in exchange for sex, and I certainly didn’t pay her to sell drugs to high school students. Peter is the one who did all those things, not me.” Dot folded her hands in her lap. “As far as I’m concerned, he is the one who murdered her. My conscience is clear.”

  “Lucy could have gone to rehab. There’s always hope.”

  “Lucy wasn’t responsive. Her breathing was impaired, and her pupils were fixed. I’m a nurse, Emma. I’ve seen what happens to people who’ve suffered brain damage after overdosing on painkillers. Even if she’d survived she would have had no quality of life. I wasn’t fond of the girl, but I wouldn’t wish that future on anyone.”

  “Why were you there in the first place?” asked Emma. “Did she call you for help?”

  Dot shook her head. “I’d gone over to Lucy’s house because I was desperate. I’d had no luck reasoning with Peter, so I was hoping she’d listen. They were both out of control.”

  “Dr. Whitaker was using drugs as well?”

  “Oh, it was worse than that,” said Dot. “He’s clean now, but back then he was a full-blown addict. His affair with Lucy was embarrassing enough, but his behavior was putting patients at risk. He’d gotten so sloppy. I was finding his used syringes and empty prescription bottles everywhere.”

  “Did you use one of his syringes to inject Lucy?”

  “The syringe was from Lucy’s room. She must have shared it with him at some point. The fact that his print was on it was sheer luck.”

  “I doubt he’ll see it that way.”

  “At this point I don’t really care what that man thinks. Your father was one of my dearest friends. Peter may yet manage to get away with what he’s done to Philip, but he won’t get away with what he did to Lucy.”

  Emma sat down on the settee and put her head in her hands.

  “Emma,” said Dot. “If you go to the police with your concerns, you’ll have to admit to destroying evidence. The crime scene will be considered compromised. Peter and I get off on a technicality, and nobody will pay for what happened to Lucy except you.” Dot adjusted the flowers so they stood up straighter in the jar. “My ex-husband deserves to go to jail for this and so many other things. Think of how many lives may have been lost because of what he was getting up to in that clinic.”

  “You worked there. You must have known what was going on.”

  Dot sharpened her tone. “Are you sure you want to go down that road, Emma? Your mother worked at that clinic longer than anyone else.”

  “Are you suggesting—”

  Dot held up a hand. “I’m suggesting in the gentlest possible way that you let things take their course.” She plucked a cornflower from the bouquet and held it up to the light. “There’s a lot of beauty in letting go.”

  “An
d what about the truth?”

  A shrug. “Beauty is truth, truth beauty.”

  Emma rose from the settee. “I’m not sure Keats had this sort of situation in mind.”

  “You never know,” said Dot, a smile playing on her lips. “People say he was addicted to opiates. He may have understood better than most.”

  Emma stood in front of the painting. “Will you ever show this in public?”

  “I’m not planning on it, but who knows what the future holds. Maybe someday my grandchildren will stage a retrospective of my work.”

  “I read my father’s journal. He was very interested in you.”

  “I’m an interesting person.”

  “How much do you care about your reputation?”

  “Not as much as I once did.”

  “Do you want people to know that you were having an affair with my father?”

  Dot remained silent.

  “I want you to destroy this painting,” said Emma.

  “I will.”

  Emma picked up a bottle of white spirit and handed it to Dot.

  “I want you to do it now,” said Emma.

  21

  Macy handed Gina an industrial-sized bag of potato chips, a box of doughnuts, and a bumper pack of Snickers bars.

  Gina laughed. “I was hoping for a cash bonus, but this will do nicely.”

  “I thought I should restock your reserves. You’ve been a big help this past week. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Gina. “We both know you would have muddled through. Ryan and I are going for a drink to celebrate our last night in Walleye. Feel like joining us? I asked Lou, but he already has plans.”

  Macy sat down at the desk she’d been using for the past week. She’d already cleared out everything that was hers. All that was left were a few paper clips, a couple of pens, and an open box of chocolate chip cookies that must have migrated from Gina’s desk.