Fated (22 page)

“I’m gonna do Mama’s hair. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Sure, there’s no rush.”

Hart wandered to the end of the corridor. The lady with the trolley was gone. When he reached the window, Hart looked down over the park. It looked well-maintained, with freshly painted white benches, a shallow pond that had a pair of swans drifting along lazily, and curving paths paved for wheelchair access. It seemed like a nice place, but none of its artificial beauty hid the fact that this was the final stop. No more places to go in this world. Sadness splintered in his chest. He was glad at least Dad had been spared this.

“Ready if you are,” Freddie said behind him, and he jumped a little. She didn’t meet his eye as she gestured to the back of her neck. “No mark.” He nodded and they moved toward the elevators, but instead of pressing the button, Freddie kept going and led him to the staircase. “So what do you think?” she asked, her voice echoing against the empty steps.

“I think,” he said carefully, “that she believes what she’s saying.”

“But you don’t think it’s true.”

“Freddie.” He gently placed his palm against the wall, blocking her descent. “It’s not possible. The Predator is a myth.”

“Your dad didn’t seem to think so.”

“My dad was a philosopher. He could’ve had a million reasons why he looked into it. Maybe he was just interested in knowing where the myth came from. That doesn’t mean he believed in it, but I don’t deny that this is something worth investigating. Someone was interested in the research, enough so that they might’ve stolen his laptop. Which could mean that our perp believed in the myth.”

“You’re right. And then there’s yesterday’s burglary.”

“More research,” he agreed.

“Let’s go,” Freddie said. “Maybe the owners of that house are back.”

As soon as they stepped through the door into the lobby, a woman in an impeccable suit came hurrying toward them.

“Freddie, might we have a word?” She frowned lightly at Hart and then said, “Are you here in an official capacity?”

“No, just visiting Mama. This is my partner, Lieutenant Hart.”

“Brenda Johnson.” Hart shook the hand held out to him, but her attention had already shifted back to Freddie. “I was going to call you today, so I’m glad to see you here. We had another break-in last night. Your mother’s file was one of the only things stolen.”

Well, that explained the muscle at the door. “What else was taken?” Hart asked.

“Only patient files. Four in total, two of people who have passed this year.”

“Did you file a report?”

“The police are aware.” Brenda eyed him warily and then turned back to Freddie. “I wanted to talk to you too, get your advice.”

Freddie gave Hart a nod, and he stepped away to call in the theft while watching the two women talk. He saw Freddie nod at something Brenda said, duck her head, and Brenda gently stroked Freddie’s upper arm. “The police are aware” wasn’t exactly the same as filing a report. He stiffened, eyes snapping up to Brenda
Johnson
. Mid-to-late forties, no wedding ring on her finger, and the police were aware. This was the captain’s ex-wife, and they’d had thefts like this before.

He walked over. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But you’ve dealt with break-ins before.”

“How did you know that?”

“Captain Johnson is my boss.”

Brenda blinked and wrung her hands in front of her lap. Her dark brown eyes flickered between him and Freddie. “Yes, we’ve had files stolen before. At first I thought one of the caregivers was being lax about putting them in the right place, but then I noticed there was a certain consistency in the files going missing, and I put in safety measures.”

“What kind?” Freddie asked.

“I hired security.” The guy at the door. “And I installed a better lock on the file cabinet.” Not exactly mind-blowing improvements.

“What were the consistencies?” Hart asked.

“They were always files of residents who had recently passed.”

Something was ticking over in his mind. He could feel he was close to the answer but still missing some vital, final piece of the puzzle. “How many files are we talking about?”

“Not that many, I suppose, which is why it took me a while to figure it out. Maybe six over the past year.” In the distance a phone began to ring. “Excuse me a moment.”

“Wait,” Hart said, holding her back, thinking fast. “These people whose files were taken… was anything suspicious about their deaths?”

Tersely, Mrs. Johnson said, “These are very old and sometimes very sick people, Lieutenant. I’m not saying it’s not possible, but we’ve never had a death here that raised enough suspicion to warrant an autopsy. Now excuse me, I really need to get that.”

Hart let her go. If any of these people had been victims of foul play, it would’ve been extremely stupid to draw attention to it.

“Six files over the past year and then four overnight? One of them is your mother’s, who was miraculously healed.”

“This isn’t a coincidence.”

“No. But he’s upping his game.”

Freddie chewed her lip. “Which means he’s feeling the heat.”

And that, Hart thought, wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “Should we stick around?” he asked Freddie when Brenda didn’t return from her office.

“No, let’s do what we planned. Two break-ins in one evening, your dad, my mama… it’s all part of the same thing, I’m sure of it.”

They walked out toward the Camry. The muscle they’d encountered outside was nowhere to be seen.

“And Toby,” Hart said when he started the engine.

“What?”

“I think Toby’s got something to do with this.” Before Freddie could interrupt, he hurried on. “I know you’ve been friends your whole lives, but you said yourself he’s been acting strangely. And he didn’t tell you about the stab wound.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s our suspect.”

“No,” Hart agreed. “But he does know something. When I mentioned the Predator to him, he went pale.”

Freddie sank into silence as they drove to the scene of yesterday’s botched burglary. Not until he slotted into Main Street traffic did she speak again. “Did you find any of this research the letter-sending guy was looking for?”

Hart shook his head. “And I’ve pretty much worked through the entire house now. Unless it’s hidden in the attic or under the floorboards, it’s not there.”

“I can come help you search the attic tonight, if you want.”

Killing the engine, he gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Freddie. That’d be great.”

The crime scene looked much more welcoming in broad daylight. The Mountain loomed less, it’s shadow for now cast elsewhere. When Freddie knocked on the door, a wary man opened it.

“Yes?”

“Sir, Chief Inspector Lesley and—” Before she could continue, the man’s eyes fell on Hart.

“You’re Jonathan’s boy.”

“I—Yes.” Hart held out his hand, and the man shook it. “Lieutenant Hart, sir. We’re here about the break-in.”

“Of course. Please come in. I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already told the officer who came by this morning, but I’ll help you in any way I can.” He gestured them inside. The dog who’d been drugged the night before came waddling over to sniff Hart’s hand. Poor thing probably didn’t need drugging to be quiet. Hopefully he’d at least gotten a nice steak out of it.

“How are you doing, sir?” Freddie asked as they followed him in the direction of the living room. It was strange to be here again after prowling around the place with their guns drawn.

The man stopped before they entered the living room and lowered his voice. “We’re pretty shaken up. Helen won’t even go upstairs. Our daughter Danielle just had a baby—that’s where we were when the house was broken into. She’s up there now packing some things for my wife. Helen will stay with Dani for a few days and help with the baby.”

“I understand, sir,” Hart said.

The man’s eyes lit on Hart again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, did I?” They stepped into the living room, and he gestured them toward the couch. “This is my wife, Helen.” A woman stood by the fireplace, hugging herself. She was tall and thin, with a severe, chin-length red-dyed bob making her features appear sharp and harsh. “This is the police, sweetheart. They’ve got some more questions.”

Helen nodded. “I’ll make some coffee.”

“My name is Marcus Gutmann.” The name rang a bell. Had his father mentioned him? Or maybe he had seen it somewhere…. Hart didn’t get a chance to think on it. “I’m a professor at the university. Jonathan was a colleague. I’m… I’m very sorry for your loss, Lieutenant. Jonathan was a good man.”

“Oh.” Helen stood by Hart’s elbow. “Are you Jonathan’s son? My condolences, Mr. Hart.” She held out her hand, and he took it. It felt fragile and a little damp in his palm. She quickly let go. “Jonathan came to dinner here once a month, did you know? He was very proud of you. We’ll be at the service on Sunday, obviously.”

Hart’s throat seized closed, and he barely managed to utter the appropriate thank you. As if catching on, Freddie turned to Marcus. “Have you figured out if anything’s gone missing, or what these guys were after?”

Something beeped in the kitchen, and Helen excused herself while everyone took a seat.

“No, nothing was touched except for those papers in my office. Beats me what they planned to do with them—it’s nothing but term papers and research.”

“What do you teach?” Hart sat forward, elbows on his knees. When Helen silently appeared in front of him again, he accepted her offered cup of coffee.

“Germanic languages and literature, and I run an occasional seminar in folklore and mythology.”

Hart resisted the urge to glance at Freddie. “Any chance you’re teaching one of those at the moment?”

“A course just finished, actually. Your father and I talked about it only last week.” Marcus ducked his head as if he truly felt the loss. Hart supposed Gutmann had more right to grieve than he did. Helen went to sit beside her husband and clasped his hand tightly. Suddenly Hart felt bad for thinking of her as severe.

“Is there any chance we would be able to look through the papers they planned on taking?”

“The officer who came here this morning took all of it; she made me sign a paper slip.” He reached into his wallet, but Freddie held up a hand.

“No, that’s perfect, we’ll find it at the station.” She stood, and Hart frowned at her. He’d barely touched his coffee, and it was delicious. “I’m sure you’ve been troubled enough for the day. I’m sorry this had to happen to both of you.” She turned toward Helen, and her voice softened. “If I can give you a bit of advice, ma’am, running only gives this occurrence power. Stay with your daughter and her baby for a bit by all means, but not too long. The more you give in to the fear, the more you let these men win.”

“Yes,” Helen said, her cheeks flushing a little, but she bent her head, and her hair hid them. “It’s what Marcus said, and I do believe you’re right. Thank you.”

Freddie jerked her head toward the door. Bemused, Hart gulped a last mouthful of coffee, said his good-byes, and followed her.

“What?” he demanded as soon as they stood on the doorstep.

“Does your dad still have an office at the university?”

“Well, yes, I assume so. He—Shit.” Hart slapped a hand over his eyes. “Yes. Let’s go there right now, but I need to talk to the captain first.” They got in the car, and Hart’s phone rang just as he pulled it out of his pocket. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant, are you on the road with Chief Inspector Lesley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Superintendent Miller and I have been going through Gutmann’s research, but no luck so far. I want you two to go to the university and—”

“We were on our way there, sir. I wanted to go through my father’s office.”

“Excellent. Keep me posted.”

“Uh, sir. I…. We also stopped by the retirement home.”

A silence fell, and Hart could feel Freddie’s eyes burning holes in the side of his head. “I see,” the captain said eventually. “Any leads?”

“I’m not sure.” He glanced at Freddie, and she nodded her head sharply, once. “Files have been disappearing over the past year, but this time they took off with more files than usual.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I talk to my… the manager.”

“Yes, sir.” Hart hung up, and they took off.

He couldn’t believe he’d overlooked such an important aspect of his father’s life. What a fool he’d been to think he could come here, neatly wrap everything up in one week, and then leave Brightly and everything this place meant to him behind. From the day he arrived here he’d wanted to go home again, and this longing for his quiet routine in Riverside had blinded him to so much. And hadn’t Toby been a welcome distraction? Hart pushed the thought away.

He drove to the university maybe a little faster than he should have.

When they pulled into a visitor’s spot by the main building, Freddie said, “I was afraid granddad-style was the limit of your driving capabilities, Hart. I’m impressed.”

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled. He grabbed the laptop cord just in case, then followed Freddie up the steps to the entrance, taking them two at a time. A receptionist sat behind a beautiful mahogany desk, and Hart strode right up to her. “Is the president in?”

“Yes, but if you don’t have an app—”

“Can you call him and let him know Jonathan Hart’s son is here?”

“Ah.” Sympathy marred the woman’s features. He focused on the corkboard and its ads at the far wall. He didn’t want to hear whatever platitude she was about to offer. “Yes, of course. Just a moment.” She picked up her phone and pressed one button. “President Wu, I have Lieutenant Hart here for you, sir.” She paused, her eyes flicking to Freddie. “Official, it seems. Yes, sir.” She hung up the phone and smiled. “You can go right up. First floor, end of the corridor. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Hart said, and turned toward the stairs.

“Wu?” Freddie asked, catching up with him.

“Yes. Kind man. Competent. Made president of the university four years ago. First Chinese president in the state, I think.”

“Impressive,” Freddie mused as they walked down the red and gold corridor.