Cover Shot (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 5) (20 page)

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8.

Revelations

By the time Aaron walked into Thompson’s I had three texts from DonnaJo wanting to know why I wasn’t covering today’s action—the last one letting me know that Charlie and two radio reporters were.

She had three defendants charged with running the biggest meth lab the PD had ever busted, and was itching to make a political statement with the trial. It would lead the metro front—three people had died in the fire someone set when the cops raided the warehouse, and her defendants had all been picked up at the scene.

I wouldn’t miss much by talking to Aaron first, though, and Maynard was definitely my top priority.

I’m coming
, I tapped back as Aaron took a seat across from me.
Emergency
.

Bing.
Avoiding me won’t help you. You’ve already been served.

Not for today, I wasn’t. And I know your “evils of drugs” speech by heart. The jury’s going to love it. Hope I make it in time to catch the end.
I added a smiley and put the phone in my bag, focusing on Aaron.

“That gag order still in effect?” I asked.

“I’ve grown weary of giving a shit.” He sipped his latte and sighed, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop in front of him. “Look, you know as well as I do there’s something pretty messed up going on here. Not talking about it isn’t helping us. I think you might know something that would. I’d rather trust you to know what to print and what will fry my ass before someone gets away with a murder or two. So let’s talk.”

“On the record or off?”

“Like I said—I trust you.”

I pulled in a hitching breath. That sounded good on the surface, but a comment like that is an anvil worth of pressure for any scrupulous reporter. Run too much, and you’ve burned a good source. Run too little, and you lose the exclusive. Ugh.

I just nodded. Above all else, I didn’t want him to leave.

“How’s it going?”

“Frustrating.” He glanced around and leaned forward. “I know you’ve been poking around, and I know you know Maynard was a superbrain.”

“I know a fair bit about him. But I still don’t know for sure how he died.”

“Strangled. The marks were faint enough to be questionable, but Miller’s friend finally found a microscopic crack on the hyoid.” I jotted that down.

So the killer wasn’t too strong, or wasn’t an amateur.

Kyle’s face, in Maynard’s undamaged doorway, floated through my thoughts.

“The door wasn’t forced. So it was someone he knew,” I mused, making notes. What if our old society climber was stronger than she looked? Was it physically possible for her to strangle a grown man? I hadn’t paid attention to her hands.

“Or someone with a key,” Aaron said.

I’d bet Elizabeth Eason had one. Somewhere in my gut I knew I just wanted it to be her because Bob disliked her so much. That old woman might be a lot of things, but strong enough to throttle someone in a way that would bother Aaron probably wasn’t one of them.

Who else?

“The building management? Someone he worked with? A mistress no one knew about? A jealous husband no one knew about?” I tossed out possibilities as fast as they occurred to me.

“Yes.” Aaron threw up his hands. “Now do you see why I’m losing my mind?”

I sat back in my chair. “You’re a week in and you have no leads?”

“Not a single good one.”

“Someone’s got a talent for covering their tracks.”

“No shit. And someone important is determined to give the impression they want us to find out who.”

“Explain.”

“They sent in your friend at the ATF, which is not at all normal. But he can’t find anything that makes any sense, either. Everyone as far up the food chain as I can see is really hot on us not sharing—we’re restricted such that a lot of our normal channels of getting help are blocked.”

“Someone wants it to look like you’re getting loads of help, when in fact they’re tying your hands.”

“That’s the feeling I’m getting.” He sipped his coffee. “And it’s pissing me off.”

I held his gaze for a long minute. “I trust you, Aaron. Eight years, and you’ve never screwed me out of a story. This one is a big deal to me for a lot of reasons, but if I tell you what I’m working on and it ends up on TV or the internet, I swear on my favorite heels…”

He held up one hand. “I get it. I’m kind of in the same boat, remember? I’m trusting you too.”

“Have y’all found much on what Maynard was working on?”

“Not really. We tried searching the office, but there wasn’t much there even before it was burglarized. They’re still dusting for prints, but most everything has been flung into a giant shitpile I don’t have the time or the medical training to sort through.”

I nodded. “The secretary didn’t happen to tell you if he had a tablet?”

Aaron’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure we asked specifically, but that’s a hell of a good question.”

“I’m thinking it wasn’t at the apartment, because if the killer was after it, wouldn’t they have taken it the night of the murder? And then why break into the office? I know I’m assuming a lot, but it’s what we have to go on.”

Aaron nodded absently, his baby blues fixed on something behind my left shoulder.

“What the hell was this guy into?”

All or nothing.

“Some folks think he was into discovering a cure for cancer.”

His jaw fell onto the table. “Come again?”

“It sounds crazy, but it’d certainly be worth killing for, wouldn’t it?”

He just nodded. When he found his voice, he croaked, “Where did you get that?”

“It’s why Ellinger wanted me in the hospital. Why he was sending me those messages. Why he wanted Maynard. He didn’t want a consultation. He thought Maynard could cure his wife.”

“Nearly everything I have points to this guy, Nichelle.”

“I’m telling you, Aaron, he didn’t do it. You’re better than I am at reading people. Go sit with that guy for five minutes and then come back and tell me you think he’s a killer. He deserves about forty Oscars if he was acting when I told him Maynard was dead. He’d pinned all his hopes for the love of his life’s survival on the guy. Taking hostages to get his way, absolutely. That’s pure desperation. But he didn’t kill the doc. I can’t see how it’s possible that he killed that woman, either.”

“I’m waiting for ballistics, but the rounds were from the same kind of rifle. You think someone else shot her with the same model rifle your guy—who was sending you messages online that bothered you enough to call me, let’s not forget—was toting in the hospital right around the same time she was murdered? Whatever you’re on, don’t get caught with it. I’m low on bail money and have no favors to call in.”

All cards on the table.

“She worked at Evaris.”

“I know this. Marketing.”

“Did you also know she stumbled across an in-house email that had her scared shitless?”

He shot me a Look. The kind that said he was pissed about just now hearing this. I returned it, just as annoyed with his secrecy. He held the stern face for a moment before he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I did not. What kind of email?”

“The friend I spoke with didn’t really know. Thought Stephanie was paranoid. Didn’t ask.”

“Damn.” His lips disappeared into a worried line, and he steepled his fingers together.

He wasn’t saying something.

I waited, watching theories flit across his face faster than I could count them.

“Aaron.” I clapped my hands in front of his nose. “You there?”

“Thinking.”

“I have someone trying to find a backed-up copy. If you have her laptop in evidence, it’s worth trying there, too.”

“I’ll see what they took from her apartment when I get back to the office.”

“Speaking of evidence…” I let the sentence trail off, raising my eyebrows expectantly.

His lifted too. “Yes?”

“The rifle?”

“The—oh, shit, I forgot about that.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I called down, but I never got an answer. I’ll follow up on it today.”

“There’s no way that woman is dead by mistake. And Tom has no motive.”

“A drug company. A dead oncologist who thought he’d found medicine’s holy grail. And a sales rep who might have known something someone didn’t want her to know. Who is also dead.” Aaron ticked off points on his fingers.

I nodded.

“It sounds crazy.” His flat stare told me he wasn’t so sure.

“Don’t the really good ones always sound crazy?”

“Where’s all that boredom we were bitching about last week?”

“If you find it, tell it we won’t complain ever again.” I swallowed the last of my coffee. “My week has had enough excitement to last me forever.”

“DonnaJo cornered you, huh?”

“You knew that was coming?”

“She’d have my ass if I warned you. But it’s not like you shouldn’t have expected it. Sorry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let me take a pass through the evidence room. I’ll call you later.” He sighed. “I’m so damned tired of talking to people I could cry.”

I tipped my head to one side. “Someone who had a key to Maynard’s place. How’d Elizabeth Eason strike you?”

“Meh. She’s a bitch, but she’s not a murderer.”

Noted.

Goetze. Would he have a key? Aaron’s goose chase radius was far wider than mine. I’d keep digging. I could always hand the well-to-do doc over in a few days if I needed to.

“Thanks for coming to talk to me.” I stood.

Aaron pushed the door open. “Damn, Nichelle.”

Yep.

I waved as I climbed into my car, then aimed it toward Goetze’s office. There had to be a way to get the guy alone. He was my reigning biggest question mark, and I wanted an answer.

29.

Greed is the new black

The posh decor in Goetze’s front office had nothing on the doctor’s private suite. Which I found by slipping through a back door in the hallway, staying hidden, and making a couple of educated guesses. The second largest crystal chandelier I’d ever seen hung from the center of the pressed tile ceiling, over a handsome oak coffee table and a set of silk chairs. The Persian rug under them was bigger than my living room.

A massive cherry desk filled the corner opposite the door, bookshelves lining the two walls behind it. I chose the sapphire silk armchair facing the door, crossing my legs and pulling a notebook and pen from my bag.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Goetze entered the room with his head bent over a small laptop, closing the door behind him before he looked up. He almost dropped the computer when he saw me.

“How did you get in here?” he asked when he’d recovered his composure.

“Doors. None of them were locked.”

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“To talk,” I said. “I have some questions I’d like for you to answer.”

“You can schedule an appointment with the receptionist.” He stepped toward the door and moved to open it.

“I don’t need medical care. I need information,” I said. “About David Maynard and what he’s been working on.”

He flinched, but recovered nicely, his hand frozen to the doorknob. “What makes you think I know anything about that? I haven’t worked with David in years.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.” I kept my tone light, holding his gaze across the wide room.

“You break into my office and now you’re calling me a liar?” His voice rose in pitch and volume. “I’m not sure what you’re playing at, lady, but I think it’s time for you to go.” The knob made a quarter turn.

“I wouldn’t do that if you don’t want your lunches at Frank’s Diner all over tomorrow’s front page.” The same light tone, but I added a slight edge to the words. Goetze’s eyes popped so wide I could see white all around the hazel.

“How do you know about that?”

“I pay close attention. And I’m guessing you’d rather not have the whole city know about it—probably especially not my friends at the PD. So have a seat, and let’s chat.”

He stepped away from the door, but stopped well short of a chair.

“You’re a reporter?” I nodded. “Why do you care who I have lunch with?”

“I care about Dr. Maynard. I care even more about his research. I’m curious about how your choice of company fits into this.”

Another step forward. “It doesn’t.”

I sat up straight, clicking the pen out. “I think I’m going to need some elaboration there.”

“I have no idea what David was up to. Or how he died.”

“Yet you know he’s dead. And you’re passing envelopes back and forth with a bigwig from Evaris over greasy food.”

“Of course I know he’s dead. He was my mentor for years. What I don’t understand is why his death is a secret.” He dropped into a chair. “And you have no proof of anything.”

“I don’t?” I pulled my BlackBerry out and called up one of the photos I’d taken at the diner. “Surely someone on the university’s board will recognize your companion. Crenshaw, right?” The more agitated he appeared, the cooler I kept my tone. “Help me understand.”

He grabbed for the phone and I pulled it back. “I’m not a moron. They’re backed up.” Only because of Chad’s haranguing, which I was suddenly grateful for.

He stared at the far wall for a minute, then swung a fist down into the arm of his chair. “Look, kickbacks from the drug companies are part of the business.” He slouched back in the seat, rumpling his expensive camel pinstriped suit. “I prescribe their stuff instead of someone else’s, and they make a fortune. So they pay me to prescribe their meds.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What if a competing drug would have a better result for your patient?” I had to fight to keep calm there.

“They’re not that much different.” A defensive edge crept into his voice. “I can’t say for sure what will work best on who, anyway. Evaris’s technology is just as good as everyone else’s.”

Sure. That’s why they had to cheat and use bribes to get their stuff prescribed. I jotted a few notes. In balance, admitting to being a douche and taking kickbacks was better than copping to murder, so I wasn’t entirely sure I bought his story. But I didn’t get the feeling he was lying, either. I looked up from my notes and arched an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not up on my medical/legal technicalities, but I’ll take your desire to hide what you’re doing as a sign you shouldn’t be doing it. Is that all you’re selling them? Access to your patients?”

“What else would I possibly be doing?”

“Selling them Maynard’s research.”

He snorted. “They don’t want it. Maynard was on a quest for a cure. No one in this business is interested in that.”

I closed my eyes and pulled a breath in for a ten count. When I didn’t actually slam my fist through his smirk, I counted it a win.

“Is that why he went off the grid?”

“I’m not sure I’d phrase it that way. He made enough money to go do what he wanted.”

“But none of the pharma companies he worked with wanted to sponsor the studies.”

“He didn’t want them to. David was a brilliant doctor, but lady, he was a little crazy. A massive heap of do-gooder. He wanted to find a cure—so he could give it away. He used to proselytize about how something that could benefit all of mankind belonged to the people. Like he thought he was Jonas fucking Salk. He complained all the time about how medicine had become a business.”

I scribbled notes, considering the words as I wrote. Who would have been interested in Maynard’s research?

“Insurance companies?” I asked.

“What about them?”

“It would save them a ton of money if someone found a cure. Would they have wanted to know what he was working on?”

“Only so they could stop him,” he chuckled. “You think drug companies are bad? They got nothing on insurers. A free cure for one of the most expensive, catastrophic illnesses a person can get? Do you know how far their premium structure would plummet? And with the law requiring insurance now, the government would lean on them to practically give policies away to young, healthy people. Their bottom line would get eaten right up.”

I didn’t miss a word, my thoughts speeding past his assertion. “There really was nobody who wanted to help him?”

“I can name twenty people who wanted to stop him.”

I looked up. “Yourself included?”

He rolled his eyes and ran one hand through his sandy hair. “Look—”

“I know. I don’t get it.”

“This is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“Don’t most people become doctors because they want to help people?”

He stood, pacing the office. “I did.” A muttered refrain of something I couldn’t make out followed. I couldn’t tell if the tirade was directed at himself, me, Maynard, or Jesus. But he was selling his point hard.

He stopped and turned to me. “I spent years studying for this career. Several of them under one of the most brilliant oncologists of our time. I wanted to help people. But yeah—I wish Maynard had felt differently about things. We could have revolutionized treatment if he wasn’t so stubborn.”

Stubborn? That’s what we’re calling wanting to save people’s lives now? Nice. “I’m not sure you’re using the right word,” I said. “Humanitarian, maybe?”

“Come off it. What’s wrong with making a few bucks along the way if you’re going to save the world?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure a person like yourself is going to understand the answer to that if I bother to offer it, Dr. Goetze.”

Journalism in any age where money is a concern 101: people who hunger for it seldom understand what it means to want anything else. Or how to be happy.

I made a few more notes and stood.

“I’m sure you’d like to keep these photos off our front page.”

He nodded. “Something tells me I don’t have much say in that.”

“One last time.” I stepped closer to him. “What was Maynard working on?”

“I don’t know.” He spread his hands. “Why wouldn’t I tell you if I did?”

I studied his face and nodded. “But you know someone who does. Let me suggest that you find out. By six o’clock tomorrow evening. I’ll see you then.”

I didn’t wait for him to answer. My temper levee had held so far, but it was failing fast. I strode for the door and slammed out before memories of my mom, connected to a million tubes and wires and writhing in a bed, let the dammed-up anger flow at Goetze.

I sped toward the courthouse, the clock on the dash telling me DonnaJo was probably good and annoyed with me. She’d get over it, though—her case was a slam dunk. She just liked seeing her more memorable speeches quoted in the newspaper.

I stopped at a light, my pulse finally slowing from the furious hammering that sent me running from Goetze’s office.

What did I know?

That Goetze was a greedy bastard.

That someone, somewhere, had to know something about Maynard’s research.

That the murders were connected. Aaron might not be convinced, but after talking to Goetze, I sure was.

Could I print any of it?

I needed proof. Letting everyone know what trail I was on before I found the end wasn’t smart.

Would Goetze actually nose around—or pretend to nose around—Maynard’s research? Maybe. But my chances were even up that he’d just vanish. Hoping a sense of responsibility for his patients would prevent that had evaporated during our short conversation. That dude was in medicine for the money and the God complex. Not the good of his fellow man.

My BlackBerry started buzzing as the light turned green, and I glanced at the screen as I put my foot on the gas. My lips tipped up in a smile.

“Hi there!” I said brightly, putting the phone to my ear.

“Nichelle, dear, it’s been too long.” The warmth in the voice on the other end was genuine, and so close to my mom’s it made my grin widen.

“I talked to you last Saturday, Grandmother.”

“I do love the sound of that word. And that’s a long time, when you have as much catching up to do as we have.”

“I suppose it is. I’ve been a little wrapped up in work.”

“Of course, of course.” She got quiet. “Your mother called.”

“So I heard. We’re kicking around coming to California when I have enough of a break from dead people.”

“She didn’t tell me that!” Her voice edged up slightly, and I frowned. There was something there, but it wasn’t excitement.

“Everything okay?”

Nervous laughter. “Of course it is. It’s perfect. I’m just thinking. You don’t want to come here—we’re in the middle of this dreadful drought, and there’s nothing to do but go to the beach.”

“I love the beach.”

“Everything here is so blasé. I require something a bit…more…for meeting my only granddaughter. Not the same old sunshine and waves I see every day.” She took a breath. “I know! We should have a girls’ vacation, the three of us.” Words tripped out of her. “My treat, of course. Where would you like to go? New York? Paris? A spa? A cruise?”

I smiled, unable to believe I’d let resentment keep me from knowing her sooner. She was light and bubbly and enthusiastic—an older version of my mom.

“A vacation sounds amazing,” I said softly. “But not necessary. I just want to meet you.”

I’d ask her to share what she remembered about my father when I could hear it face to face. I wanted to know her better, I wanted her to trust me, and I also wanted to be able to watch her expressions when she spoke of him.

I’d never been terribly curious, but the possibility of unknown people walking around with similar DNA had chipped away at my resolve in the past few months. I still wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I needed to.

What I didn’t want was for my mom to hear me ask. It had been hard enough for her to tell me the things she did.

“When can we go?” she asked.

“Work is crazy for me right now, but it will calm down soon. I hope.”

“I had a feeling you were trying to find out more than the paper lets on about the man who was murdered last week,” she said. “You take care of yourself, young lady.”

I laughed. So much like mom. “Yes, ma’am.”

I turned onto Ninth and had a thought. “How about right after Thanksgiving? The anniversary of Mom’s remission is that week. We’ll celebrate all at once.”

“Remission?”

Um. “Breast cancer. This will mark seven years.”

“Lila had breast cancer?” Strangled such that I barely heard it. Damn.

“I had no idea you didn’t know. But she’s fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie. And I know you didn’t mean to upset me. But she’s my only daughter. How could she shut me so far out of her life that she didn’t tell me she was that sick? That’s the kind of thing you call your mother about.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t think it was the time to point out that they had shut my mom out, not the other way around, but the urge to jump to her defense was so strong, I felt a sudden need to hang up.

“Thank you.” The words were stiff. “And late November should be perfect. Where?”

“I’ll ask Mom.” I said. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

Thirteen kinds of awkward silence. I didn’t mean to upset her. And I shouldn’t get in the middle of a conversation she needed to have with my mom, no matter whose side I could see or what I thought.

I stopped at a sign a block from the courthouse and clicked my tongue. “I’m sorry, Grandmother, but I have to go. I have a trial to cover, and I’m already late.”

“Of course, dear. We’ll talk soon.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I clicked off the call and parked the car, opening a text to my mom.

“Grandmother is upset because she didn’t know you had cancer…until I told her just now. Sorry. She might call you.”

I hit send and noticed the missed call icon in the corner of the screen, clicking on the number. Nope. Still didn’t ring a bell. I touched the call back button and waited. A man’s voice, rough and breathless, was behind the “hello?” but my bells still weren’t ringing.

“This is Nichelle Clarke,” I said. “Did someone try to call me from this number?”

“If you want to know what happened to Maynard, meet me in the rear parking lot at Cary Court at five thirty.”

Click.

“Hello?” I repeated it a dozen times, then pulled the phone away from my head and stared at it.

Jiminy Choos, what was I jumping into this time?

The voice still running through my head on a loop, I started toward the courthouse, spotting Kyle walking out a side door with Jonathan Corry, the local Commonwealth’s Attorney and DonnaJo’s boss. I raised an arm to wave, but they were so deep in conversation, they didn’t notice.

It wasn’t until I’d squeezed into the last seat in the last row for the meth trial that it occurred to me to be nervous about what Kyle wanted with Corry.

Surely it didn’t have anything to do with Joey.