Trust No One

by Velvet Vaughn

  A pause. "So there were just the three girls?"

  "Yes." The chief and governor exchanged a look. Alex's gut twisted tighter.

  "I've heard there may have been a witness."

  Millson must have called the chief and notified him already. "My partner, Detective Millson, is speaking with someone who might have witnessed two suspicious men enter the hotel."

  The chief's eyes widened in surprise. "I hadn't heard about that. You get a description?"

  "Millson's bringing him to a sketch artist."

  The chief nodded. "Good. But what about a witness to the actual murders?"

  Alex jerked his head back, his surprise real. The only person who knew about that so-called witness was the killer cop. "I can honestly say that I know of no visual witness," Alex stated firmly. According to Dorian, Jane didn't witness anything. "Where did you hear that, sir?"

  "Here." He held a piece of paper aloft, already encased in plastic. What the hell was that?

  "May I?" Saunders nodded and handed the note over. Alex red the typed print: "There was a witness", and then turned it over. Nothing on the back. "How do you know it's about this case?"

  "It was tacked on this file," the Chief said, holding a manila folder aloft.

  Alex shook his head and passed the note back. "I haven't heard of one or talked to anyone who even mentioned the possibility. When did you get the note?"

  "It was on my desk when the governor arrived. I'll run it to the lab to check for prints."

  "What about security cameras?" the governor asked. "Wouldn't they have caught the gunmen…or any possible witness on tape?"

  "They were down at the time of the murders. According to security, they had a breach about fifteen minutes before the estimated time of the shootings that lasted well over two hours."

  "Convenient," Saunders muttered. "Do you have any leads yet?"

  Alex shook his head. "I was about to make some calls, check a few things out."

  The chief stood. "Keep me posted."

  "Yes, sir."

  Alex nodded to the two men and headed back to his desk, a shiver of unease skittering down his back. Someone here knew something, and that person was probably responsible for the murders.

  There was only one thing he could do—trust no one.

  Chapter Eight

  Ron Daulton pulled up to the charred, still-smoking remains of the Women's Health Clinic and parked next to the fire inspector's truck. He reached for his suit coat and slid it on as he stepped out of the car. He introduced himself to the inspector. "Any idea what caused the fire?"

  "Right now, it looks like a cigarette lit a stack of papers that were doused with rubbing alcohol."

  "Accident?"

  "Someone went to some trouble trying to make it look that way but no, it was arson."

  "One dead?"

  "Two," the inspector said. He consulted his notes. "Dr. Marge Feldman and Cora Nelson, her RN."

  "The practice was Dr. Feldman's?"

  "Yes, but she was in the process of bringing in a partner, Dr. Jones." He looked up from his notes and scanned the parking lot. "That's her over there."

  Daulton spotted the woman standing by a car, speaking on a cell phone. He pulled out a card and handed it to the inspector. "Call me when you have all the details on the fire. Do you know when the autopsies will be?"

  "Sometime today…we need to know if the fire caused the deaths or something else."

  "I'll give the coroner a call. Thanks." He headed over to the woman who was pacing and gesturing animatedly as she spoke on her cell. He waited for her to spot him and when she did, he flashed his badge. Her eyes widened for a moment and then she said something on the phone and hung up, stuffing the phone in her purse.

  "Dr. Jones? I'm Special Agent Ron Daulton of the FBI." They shook hands. "I'd like to ask you a few questions if you have time."

  "Of course," she said. She leaned back against her car. "So it must've been arson if the FBI is investigating."

  He didn't answer. "You were in the process of becoming partners with Dr. Feldman?" She nodded. He looked over the charred remains of the clinic. "What about patient files? Were they all destroyed in the fire?"

  "Hard copies, but we keep digital backups off site."

  "Can you pull the records of a patient for me?"

  "Sure. But our patient records are confidential."

  "I can get a warrant."

  She studied him for a moment. "I just lost one of my best friends and my business. I don't feel like playing games. Just tell me what you are looking for and if I can help you, I will."

  He admired her direct approach. "What I tell you is confidential."

  "Of course."

  "Pamela Hofstra was a patient of Dr. Feldman's." He hated saying was a patient but since Dr. Feldman was dead, it worked.

  She nodded slowly. "Yes."

  "Can you check her records to see if she had any kind of tests done recently, say sex of the child?"

  One eyebrow raised but she said nothing. Reaching into her car, she pulled out an iPad. "I can do it from here. I do know that Mrs. Hofstra had an appointment the week before she disappeared." He waited while she punched in information and pulled up the file. "No, no tests done. She didn't want to know the sex before birth."

  "No other kind of tests were performed?"

  She scrolled through the file. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

  "What if someone wanted a paternity test? Would that get noted in the file?"

  "Absolutely, but prenatal paternity tests are not common."

  "There's nothing in the file…no notation, anything?"

  She shook her head.

  He pulled out a photocopy of the results that had been sent to the senator. "Is this from your clinic?"

  She took the paper from his hand. "It's definitely our style. But if the test had been taken here, it would be noted in the file."

  "What if the person requested anonymity?"

  She handed the paper back to him. "No such thing, really. We would've sent the test to be tested as Patient and then their case number, but it would still be listed in the file."

  "Can you think of any reason why this would have been sent to Senator Hofstra?"

  "No."

  "Anything else out of the ordinary you remember?"

  She shook her head slowly. "No…" Her eyes widened. "Wait a minute, I do remember something, actually. It was a couple of weeks ago and I was just getting out of my car. I heard loud voices so I headed over to find out what was going on. It was Mrs. Hofstra arguing with another patient. They both looked angry enough to do harm. I called over and that surprised them. It seemed to snap them out of their disagreement. They acknowledged me with smiles and waves and then they went their separate ways. I'd completely forgotten about it."

  "Who was the patient Mrs. Hofstra was arguing with?"

  "Vivian Mathison."

  #

  Vivi kicked off her heels and felt like throwing her hands in the air, making a V for victory. Aaron now thought that Pamela had cheated on him! That letter had perfect timing. She'd been there to support him in his time of need. He was coming to rely on her again. It was just a matter of time before she slipped back into the role of fiancée.

  The doorbell rang and she sighed. She considered not answering but it could be Aaron or one of his underlings. She slid her four-inch heels back on, adding much needed height to her short stature. They also made her legs look spectacular.

  She peered through the peephole, disgruntled to see the face of the FBI agent. She wasn't even sure what his name was. She fluffed her hair, smoothed her hands down her dress and opened the door with a flourish. "Agent…Devlin?"

  "Daulton," he corrected.

  "My sincerest apologies," she murmured in her best southern accent, never mind that she'd been born and raised in Chicago. Women of the south were strong, tough, steel magnolias. That's how she fancied herself. A steel magnolia. A survivor. "I meet so many people."

&
nbsp; "I'm sure you do," he responded.

  Wait…was that a dig? She frowned…well her lips turned down as much as the Botox would allow. She didn’t have time to ponder the remark as he started talking.

  "Ms. Mathison, I need to ask you a few questions."

  "Oh, of course. Anything to help Aaron," she tacked on, reinforcing her close ties to the senator. "Please have a seat." She waved towards her elegant sitting room. "Can I get you a drink? Bourbon? Scotch?"

  "No, thanks, I'm on the job." He moved to a wingback chair and took a seat. She scowled. It was the best seat in the room…more like a throne, really. She'd planned on sitting there to lord her status over the government flunky. She tottered over to the sofa and slinked down.

  "What did you need to ask me?"

  He pulled out a notebook and browsed it. "You were a patient at the Women's Health Clinic, correct? And of Dr. Feldman specifically?"

  She fluttered a hand to her breast. "It's a tragedy. She was such a nice person, the nurse, too." Vivi sniffed and reached for a tissue from a box on a side table. She dabbed at her eyes. "Horrible, just horrible."

  "I understand you had an appointment two weeks ago."

  Vivi scrunched up her nose. "I'd have to check my appointment book for the exact date, but that sounds correct."

  "Do you recall seeing Mrs. Hofstra there?"

  "Pamela? No, I don't believe I did."

  He scribbled notes in his book and she frowned again. She made a mental note to call her plastic surgeon for another shot of Botox to combat all of the frowns.

  He looked up and his green eyes pierced her. She had the overwhelming urge to run. Instead, she fussed with a cushion and waited for him to continue. She didn't have to wait long.

  "I spoke with an eyewitness who saw you and Mrs. Hofstra having words in the parking lot. The witness said the argument was heated. You don't remember that?"

  Crap. She forgot about the fight. She pursed her lips in thought. "Wait, I do remember seeing her there that day." She laughed breezily. "It completely slipped my mind." She waved an airy hand. "It's no secret that Pamela and I didn't get along. She stole my fiancé after all. But I didn't wish for her to disappear."

  "What was the fight about?"

  "Oh, I don't even recall." Lie. Pamela was ordering her to stay away from Aaron. Bitch was just jealous of their close friendship.

  "You had a public argument with your worst enemy and you don't recall what it was about?"

  "Oh, I never said she was my worst enemy," she argued. "True, we weren't best friends, but we didn’t hate each other. I mean, I can't speak for Pamela, but I certainly didn't hate her." Another lie. She abhorred the woman's manipulative man-stealing guts.

  "So you're going on record as saying you don't remember what you were fighting about?"

  "I am." Vivi snorted in her head. Not like Pamela could reveal anything seeing as how she was missing and all.

  The agent flipped over his notebook and stood. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Mathison. I may have more questions so I'll be in touch."

  She hurried to the door to shoo him out. "Why, you just call any old time, Agent Devlin."

  "Daulton."

  "Oops, right, Agent Daulton." She aimed her most charming smile at him but he didn't return it. The smile slowly slipped from her face and a chill raked over her body. With a nod, he turned around and disappeared.

  Vivi shoved the door closed with both hands and fell back against it, her breath sawing in and out as if she'd just run a marathon. She shook her head. That look meant nothing. He couldn't know anything.

  She hurried to the kitchen for a shot of vodka.

  #

  Ron padded down the steps of the stately mansion and dialed Cory. His partner answered on the first ring. "I was just getting ready to call you. I found something interesting when I was digging into Cora Nelson's background."

  "What did you find?"

  "It seems Ms. Nelson came into some money recently."

  "How much?"

  "Thirty thousand dollars."

  Ron whistled. "That's a hefty chunk of change. Any idea where it came from?"

  "I tried to dig but ran into a brick wall."

  "Send it to CyberCrimes…it might take a few days, but they should be able to track it down."

  "Doing it now. Did you speak with Ms. Mathison?"

  "I just left her house." Ron punched the button to unlock his car. "We have the preliminary background check on her. Dig deeper. This woman is definitely hiding something."

  #

  "I'm going to call the number for Rick Fleming," Dorian announced once he returned to the room. Kendall had been so happy to see him, she almost missed what he said. Her reaction worried her. Now was not the time to develop a crush on her protector.

  "Wait—let me." She held out her hand for the phone. "I don't know why, but his name's familiar. Maybe he'll talk to me since Stefani was my friend." Dorian punched in the number and handed her his phone. She tried to keep her gaze from him, but her eyes kept drifting to him like a lodestone to water. He looked so ruggedly handsome and capable. She needed his strength to get her through this mess. "It just keeps ringing," she said dejectedly. "Not even a voice mail option."

  "I’ve got an address. Let’s take a ride and find out what Mr. Fleming knows."

  Forty minutes later they pulled up to a small bungalow in a tidy neighborhood. The houses were small but well-kept. It was a working-class area where all the yards were mowed, the kids played ball in the streets and families barbequed on weekends.

  "That one," Kendall said, reading the address tacked in black metal numbers on the front porch. Dorian edged to the curb in front of the brown brick house. A dog barked from across the street as they stepped out of the truck and a child's innocent laughter floated in the air.

  "I really hope Mr. Fleming can shed some light on what Stefani was going through," she said, rounding the car to meet Dorian on the sidewalk.

  "Me, too," he concurred. "Let me do the talking. If it looks like he won't open up, then you give it a shot."

  They navigated the two stone steps to the small porch and maneuvered around a red tricycle and a partially-deflated basketball. Dorian pushed the doorbell. They waited a few minutes and he tried again, adding a knock this time. The door on the garage attached to the side of the house creaked and started to lift. Dorian and Kendall looked at each other and then at the dark blue mini-van backing out.

  Dorian jumped off the porch, Kendall following, and he waved at the woman behind the wheel. She jerked and slammed on the brakes. He moved closer and when the woman just sat staring at them, he made a rolling motion with his hand. The woman looked reluctant but finally lowered the window. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. "What do you want?"

  "Mrs. Fleming?" he guessed.

  She nodded hesitantly.

  "My name is Dorian Demarchis, I’m an agent with COBRA Securities." He flashed his license. "This is Kendall Buckley."

  "The crime scene people just left," she informed him, her voice muffled by the tissue she used to blot her nose. "I don't want to talk to anyone, and I'm leaving." The window zipped skyward.

  "Wait."

  The woman huffed and slammed the car in park. She buzzed the window down again. "Look, say whatever it is you have to say and then leave me alone."

  "Can you tell me about the crime scene? We just arrived."

  She sniffed and pulled another tissue from her purse on the passenger seat. "Someone broke into the house last night, trashed everything."

  "Is your husband home? We were hoping to talk to him."

  The woman's hands covered her face and she burst into tears.

  Dorian’s horrified gaze found Kendall's. His expression said, "Help".

  "He's dead," Mrs. Fleming wailed. "My husband is dead."

  Chapter Nine

  Kendall inhaled a shocked breath and met Dorian’s knowing look. This was not a coincidence.

  "May I ask how he died?" Dor
ian asked gently.

  Mrs. Fleming composed herself, wiping her nose with a Kleenex. "Somebody ran him off the road yesterday and didn’t even stop," she said on a tortured sob. "At least that's what I think happened."

  Kendall couldn't stand it any longer—she stepped closer and patted the woman on the shoulder, offering comfort.

  "This was before the break-in?" Dorian questioned.

  The woman nodded, tears swimming in her eyes. "I got a call that Rick had been in an accident and they were taking him to Mercy. I packed up the kids and drove to the hospital." She swallowed heavily. "He was dead on arrival."

  "So someone broke into your house while you were gone. Did they take anything?"

  "The computer, files from Rick's home office."

  "They didn't take money, jewelry, electronics?"

  She shook her head and wiped her nose. "They tore the house up but left the rest of the valuables."

  "You said they took your husband's files," Dorian said. "What was his job?"

  "Rick was a police detective."

  Puzzle pieces snapped together in Kendall's head and things started to fall into place. Now she knew where she heard Rick’s name before…Stefani used to date him. He'd been a nice guy, she remembered. Stefani must have turned to him when she needed help.

  "Mrs. Fleming, I know this is hard for you, but can we talk to you about your husband? We wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important."

  Mrs. Fleming looked wistfully at the rear view mirror and then sighed. "I need to get to my mother's house to check on the kids and make funeral arrangements."

  "We won't take up much of your time," Dorian promised.

  She still looked undecided. Finally she acquiesced. "Fine, but just a few minutes." She turned the car off and stepped out of the vehicle. "Let's go inside."

  They followed the woman up the porch steps and waited while she unlocked the door. The house looked like a tornado swept through: cushions overturned, toys strewn everywhere, pictures hanging crooked on the walls and drawers left open, contents spilling out to the floor. Kendall suspected the robbers only accounted for half the mess, the Fleming children the rest.