“Then you might be interested in this.” Maria took the photograph she’d stolen from the Keepers’ lodge and slid it across the desk to Rep. Lankin. At that moment another text came through from Beth:
We’re at the Phoenix State Mental Health Treatment facility. Come when you can.
Rep. Lankin picked up the photograph Maria handed him and put on his reading glasses. He peered closely at the images, studying both the front and back of it. At last he asked, “I assume this is Rod’s Dakota?”
“Yes.”
“And who is the woman in the photograph with her?”
“No idea. That picture was taken on the day Dakota was supposedly killed in the Superstitions six years ago.”
Rep. Lankin looked up and stared at Maria. “Where did you get this photograph?”
Maria purposely stalled her answer, letting him mull it over in his mind.
“The lodge?” he asked when she didn’t answer.
She broke the silence she’d created. “Yes, the lodge. Now, when I said I think Rod’s friends are hiding things, this is what I’m referring to. Derrick must know about this photograph. He’s so close to the organization. Why, in six years, did he never come forward with this information?”
Rep. Lankin shook his head.
“And, looking at it from my point of view, can you see how I find it suspicious that both your son and Rod’s wife died in the Superstitions. Doesn’t that seem odd?”
At that, Rep. Lankin bristled. “A lot of people die in those mountains. My son’s death had nothing to do with this case.”
“Perhaps,” Maria conceded, “but it would have been much more forthcoming of you to let someone know about it. From my perspective it looked like you were hiding something.”
Rep. Lankin lowered his defensive stance. “I can understand that. But truly, I was only thinking of my wife. Ex-wife now. She’s … well, she’s never been quite the same since our son’s death.”
“I understand.” Maria waited a minute before bringing up the next issue. “I also don’t trust Melissa. She might be Dakota’s companion in the photo. I think she’s hiding something as well.”
“I can’t imagine—” began the representative, his face turning pink. He leaned back in his swivel chair and inspected the ceiling, taking deep breaths. “I don’t know of anything suspicious with Melissa, but obviously I don’t know everything. I will, however, tell you that the woman in that photo could be number of people.”
“True. But my gut tells me we’ve all been gathered together for a reason. Someone wanted Rod here now, with his old friends. In my criminal justice classes I learned a few things about people. They kill for rather limited reasons—drugs, love, revenge, money—that sort of stuff. From what I understand, Rod was wealthy. Would any of Rod’s friends have killed Dakota to somehow get at his money?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Rep. Lankin exhaled slowly. “I truly don’t know. But I’m willing to do what it takes to find out. How about I get everyone together at my house tonight. No excuses.”
“What will we do there?” Maria glanced back down at her phone. No new texts.
“An intervention.”
Maria thought he was kidding. “An intervention? Oh, come on.”
The representative’s face remained serious “Yes, an intervention.”
Inwardly, Maria groaned. “Listen, I’m not looking for the next Dr. Phil episode; I want answers. I want to know which of Rod’s friends are doing this to him.”
Rep. Lankin held up his hand. “Hear me out. I’m going to have Brian bring every piece of paper Rod ever signed with his trust and will. He’s Rod’s probate lawyer. I’ll tell Derrick to bring everything the Keepers have on Dakota’s disappearance. I’ll tell Tom and Melissa to bring everything they have from when Rod was investigated six years ago. Tom is Melissa’s—”
“—private investigator. I know,” Maria finished the representative’s sentence for him.
“If you believe one of them did it, then let’s either prove you wrong or prove you right.”
The fact he’d left himself out of the potential suspects wasn’t lost on Maria.
“Guilty or not, let’s see what they bring to the table tonight.” With hardly a pause he continued, “These people may be your best resources. If we find glaring errors or holes in their stories, then we know someone is hiding something.”
Maria didn’t know what to think of Rep. Lankin’s plan, but at least it was something, and it meant she didn’t t have to track down all of them herself, which she’d planned on doing. “Okay. I’m game. What time?”
“Seven. Maria, from here on out I have an open door policy with you. We’re going to figure this out together.”
Maria stood up. The man had been much easier to work with than she’d expected. Maybe that meant something, like he was trying to throw her off his scent. “Thank you, Rep. Lank—”
“Call me Ted.”
“Well, thank you, Ted.” As she strode toward the door, she turned around one more time. Her interrogation skills put away. Her own façade fading for the moment. “Ted?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about your son, Chris. I really am.”
In a wispy voice, one that spoke of lost memories and should-haves, Rep. Lankin responded. “Thank you. I can tell we’ve both suffered loss.”
Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, Maria nodded and left, glancing down one last time at her cell phone. She needed to see Rod right away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jacob Walz’s partner was pinned to the ground by an arrow through his chest—a clear sign that the atrocity had been committed a very short time ago. Walz instantly swung his horse around and galloped away as fast as he could. But poor old Weiser was not yet dead. He regained consciousness and somehow managed [to get] out of the mountains. He was picked up by the Pimas who took him to a ranch. The rancher’s wife did her best to treat his badly infected wound, but it was too late. Weiser died within a few days. Jacob Walz now became a total loner.
—“Mysteries & Miracles of Arizona” by Jack Kutz. Rhombus Publishing Company, 1992, page 27.
IT TOOK MARIA SEVERAL hours to get clearance to enter the high security mental health facility where Rod had been taken. In the end, she pulled some strings with an old friend at the CIA to get approval. No wonder Beth had lied and told them she was Grant’s significant other.
As she was escorted through the hospital, the sterile, undecorated walls of the facility dredged up every awful memory from Tehran she’d tried so hard to forget.
The human brain was really a brilliantly annoying piece of machinery. At least twice a week Maria forgot where she put her keys, but she could remember entire conversations—word for word—that happened to her in Tehran. She could even recall what it had smelled like and the temperature in the room.
When she was in places like the hospital—which appeared to belong in an apocalyptic zombie movie—her memory worked all too well.
The halls echoed. Not with voices—there was no one speaking—but with the sound of shoe heels connecting with the hard, tiled floor. The noise bounced off of every surface. Somber faces passed her. Did all the employees hate their jobs, or was she projecting her own feelings onto everyone else?
If she were truly being honest with herself, Maria had to admit the psychiatric hospital was better than she’d envisioned it. There were no large cracks running in the wall with trails of ants walking into their depths. There were no creaking rocking chairs on dilapidated porches. No old ladies with Afghans over their laps mumbling to themselves and drooling.
What Maria really hated about the place was the feeling she couldn’t shake that she belonged within its walls.
“Here you are, Chief Branson.” The uniformed orderly who had been her escort pointed to a door at the end of a particularly quiet hallway. “This is the patient’s room, for now at least.”
“Thanks.” Fear numbed her hand. Maria wondered if she’
d have the strength to turn the metal door knob. Seeing people who were not in their right mind was frightening to her because she knew what it felt like to dread one’s own thoughts. The desire for someone to simply turn off reality and never turn it back on.
Maria reached for the knob. Her palm found purchase. Turning, she began a deep breathing and mental stabilization exercise. Counting backward was easy enough to do and was sometimes effective. She would start with a high number. Who knew how long she’d be there.
One thousand. Nine hundred and ninety-nine. Nine hundred and ninety-eight.
Quite the opposite from the hallway, inside the room everyone was bustling and talking. Maria walked in and caught her breath.
Nine hundred and eighty-four. Nine hundred and eighty-three.
Lying in the hospital bed, Rod had the appearance of one of Maria’s sickly ghost hallucinations. Face sunken and pale. No, not pale, translucent. The blue veins bulged in his neck. Lips, once a healthy pinkish color, were now gray. A handful of wires and tubes attached to his body. An IV protruded out of his arm. Wires were attached to into his chest. A catheter collected his urine. A finger clamp monitored his heart rate, which was displayed on a screen behind his bed.
Nine hundred and sixty-seven. Or was it sixty-six? Counting backward wasn’t working.
Her heart began to beat more desperately.
Despite Rod’s condition, he was still considered a murder suspect. A guard was placed in the corner of the room. If Rod got better, he still faced months and months of trial and mental torture. Maybe it would be better for him to slip away? To not have to face the tragic details of Dakota’s death?
Stop thinking things like that!
A doctor and nurse were by Rod’s bed. The doctor monitored one of the machines that recorded Rod’s bodily functions, while the nurse checked the wires and monitor.
How much weight had he lost? Ten pounds? Fifteen? Was that even possible in the five days since he was arrested?
The nurse glanced up to see Maria. He checked the visitor’s pass around her neck and motioned toward the opposite side of the room, letting her know she could sit down over there.
Melissa, Tom, Beth, and Grant sat silently. All staring at her. She waved weakly.
Tom was the first to drop his eyes. His face was still covered with scabbing from the large number of ant bites he’d received. However, for the most part he looked well recovered from his ordeal in the Superstitions. Grant flipped his gaze back to his brother. Beth stood, arms wide, ready to give a welcome hug. Melissa was as rigid as a statue, her eyes fixed on Maria.
Maria received a quick embrace from Beth, who mouthed the words into her ear, “I haven’t let Rod out of my sight. They’ve got him in a deep sedation—almost like an induced coma.”
“Thanks.” Maria gave her friend an extra squeeze. She took a long look at Rod again, and shuddered. If Rod looked like that after five days, what had she looked like after being in Tehran for almost a year? She had no idea because she hadn’t let herself look in the mirror for a solid month after she’d been rescued from imprisonment. She’d been too scared of her own reflection. Some cultures believe you can see your soul in a mirror. Maria had feared if she’d looked, she would have known her soul was gone.
But no longer. Kanab, and especially Rod, had changed that. She’d found herself. And he had helped. He’d brought joy back to her life and made her feel whole again.
His arms were protective. Safe. Comforting. His smile inviting. His kisses exhilarating.
He wasn’t perfect. Hardly. But he’d been her sort of perfect—with his prominent Roman nose, car obsession, and clever way of making her laugh.
They had played like teenagers—hiking in the hills when they should have been at work, sneaking into hotel swimming pools at night, and snapping each other with twisted kitchen towels while doing the dishes after dinners. There had also been the more dignified fancy dinners, upscale plays, and handholding during long walks.
All of it had replaced a part of her that was missing. And now Rod, the one who had helped piece her back together, was a broken mess.
Life’s ironies were not funny. Not in the slightest.
***
Melissa, Tom, and Maria had congregated in the hall outside Rod’s room. They’d been kicked out by the doctor, who felt their whispers were too much of a disturbance. On the door to Rod’s room hung a patient chart attached to a clipboard. The word “schizophrenia” appeared on the paper several times.
Maria attempted a moment of small talk. Turning to Tom she said, “You’re looking better. Recovery been okay?”
Tom, who’d been visibly embarrassed since the minute he’d seen Maria, grimaced. “Yeah, doing better. I pretty much slept the last two days. The antihistamines they gave me knocked me out cold.”
“I’m so glad.” And she truly was. Seeing Tom swollen and blistered after his reaction to the ant bites was horrific. No one should die that way.
Switching her focus to Melissa, Maria struggled not to grab her by the neck and shake her until she confessed to having killed Dakota with her own hands. But that would be rash and stupid. One picture stolen from a safe inside the Keepers’ lodge did not prove much. All the same, Maria was certain Melissa knew more than she let on.
“Can you tell me what’s going on with Rod?” Maria asked, not letting her gaze flicker to Rod’s patient chart. She knew what it said there, but she wanted Melissa’s take on the situation.
“They say the stress of the last few days must have triggered a massive psychosis. They’ve been questioning Grant, his brother.” Melissa was all business with a hint of compassion. She played her lawyer roll well.
“Why question Grant?” Maria noticed Tom shift uncomfortably.
“To see if there’s a history of schizophrenia in his family. He can’t think of anyone, but doctors say it can still manifest itself at this age without warning.”
“That’s ridiculous,” snorted Maria. “Rod’s not crazy. He’s sick. I think someone is making him sick. Maybe infecting or poisoning him. Didn’t they take his temperature? He was warm and all sweaty when I visited him in the jail.”
With every exchange between the two women, Tom distanced himself a little further.
“Doctors did say they detected a low-grade fever, but it wasn’t severe enough to cause the kind of neurosis he is experiencing. His delusions and hallucinations are completely detached from reality. He’s become dangerous to himself and others. They say his fever is irrelevant.”
Maria frowned. She couldn’t help herself. She’d had enough personal run-ins with “experts” to know they didn’t always know everything. Especially about Rod. They assumed he was one of those people you expected at any moment to turn volatile. Not true. The truth was, she was that sort of person. Not Rod. He was a rock.
“If you guys don’t mind, I think I’ll go grab something to drink,” said Tom, who continued to inch away. Apparently his desire to flirt with Maria had been muted by his near-death experience.
Good riddance. “Okay,” said Maria. “I have a few more questions for Melissa.”
As Tom scurried away, Maria concentrated on displaying her I’m-not-suspicious-of-you-one-little-bit face to Melissa.
“Why are you looking at me so funny?” asked Melissa.
Dang. Apparently that look needed a little more practice.
“You can’t blame me that Rod picked a crappy time to go looney tunes.” Melissa gave an exasperated grunt. “I don’t mean to sound callous, it’s just that every case I take reflects my professional abilities, whether or not it was a friend in desperate need. I don’t like losing.”
“And that’s what you think is going to happen? Rod will be convicted of Dakota’s death?” Stay calm, Maria told herself.
“N-n-no. Not necessarily.” Melissa folded her arms, in defensive mode. “But there is some pretty solid evidence pointing to him. I mean, Dakota’s journal is a testimony against Rod from the grave. And he’s bee
n out of his mind for forty-eight hours. I don’t stand much of a chance at this point.”
“But that writing in the journal hasn’t been proven to be Dakota’s yet. You need to—”
“Yes it has been,” Melissa interrupted. She held up her phone. I got the message this morning. Handwriting experts confirmed it’s a match with the writing on all legal documents they found in Dakota’s name. She wrote those things about Rod, Maria. I know it’s hard to hear, but it’s true.”
With no attempt to hide her contempt, Maria shot back. “Then someone made Dakota write those lies. Someone else who was with her in the Superstitions that day. Did you ever go hiking with her, Melissa? What were you doing on October 22, 2010? What’s your alibi?”
The way Melissa recoiled, Maria might as well have punched her in the gut.
“What are you talking about? Are you going insane too? Where on earth do you get off claiming I could have had something to do with Dakota’s death? I got involved with this case as a favor to an old friend. Someone I’ve known a lot longer than you, by the way.”
A lanky male orderly walked by, head turned the other direction, trying to give the women their privacy.
“If you’ve known him so long,” said Maria through terse lips, “then you should know he’s not a killer.”
Maria’s words hung in the air as neither woman said a word. The door to Rod’s room opened and the doctor poked his head out. “Ma’am, you mentioned you wanted to speak with me?”
Maria scrunched her toes and tried to shove all her anger downward to them. “Yes, I did. Thanks.”
“Well, I’m about to leave. What did you want to ask me?”
“Excuse me,” said Melissa as she abruptly turned. “I have another appointment I need to get to.” With that she strode down the hall to the exit sign.
Maria turned to the doctor. “I wanted to ask you—”
“Come in the room please. All conversations must be kept confidential because of the, uh, subject matter.”
“Gotcha.” Maria walked back into the room and saw that Grant and Beth hadn’t moved from the corner of the room. “So,” began Maria, “I wondered what other diagnoses have been explored here. I know someone mentioned schizophrenia, but I keep thinking Rod is more physically sick than mentally sick. Could his mind be reacting to the condition of his body?”
Skeletons Among Us: Legends of Treasure Book 2 Page 16