Nick and I were both too restless to settle down for the evening. We had a couple of hours before bedtime, so we decided to walk up to the main house and see what Amah and Jack were doing. We found them sitting on the veranda overlooking their backyard vegetable garden. They were sorting what they’d picked into separate baskets.
“Hi, kids, what’s going on?” Jack waved to us with a zucchini in one hand and a cigar in the other. “We saw Harry’s car leave. Thought he’d stop in and say hello, but he kept on going.”
“And we were going to offer him some veggies. His loss,” Amah said. “You should take some of this back to your place. I’ll get a bag.” She hopped up and hurried inside, probably hoping to foist some zucchini on us before we could get away.
Amah returned and started filling a bag with an assortment of garden produce, while Jack nodded, satisfied with her choices.
“Grab a couple of chairs and tell us the latest,” he said. “How’s the Portuguese patient doing? Any luck with finding the sister?”
“I wish I had better news,” I said. “The brother was improving, but now he’s losing ground. And there’s still no trace of the sister.”
Amah exhaled a breath. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Your parents had such high hopes for that family.”
“We all did. Still do,” Nick said. “That’s probably why Harry didn’t stop to chat. He’s doing some cyber-investigating, hoping to turn up clues as to the girl’s whereabouts.”
“I thought she was supposed to be on a yacht somewhere,” Jack said.
“That’s our best guess,” Nick said. “Trouble is, no one can verify that.”
“Unless we can access her secret email,” I said. “That might give us more to go on. Harry thinks he’s found a way to do that.”
“He’s something else with the cyber stuff,” Jack said. “Has been since he was little.” He turned to Amah. “What was he, about ten years old when he taught me how to use email?”
“Amah grinned. “That sounds right. Now he’s teaching you how to use PowerPoint for your seminars on turkey hunting.”
“Damn technology.” Jack flicked the ash from his cigar. “Wasn’t anything wrong with doing slide shows with a projector and screen back in the day. No one can get away with that these days. PowerPoint’s the only way to go.”
“Back to the Ferreras,” Amah said. “We’ve been in touch with your mom and dad, Aimee, so we’re fairly well caught up with everything that happened while you were in the Azores. Didn’t the missing girl have a friend who told you about the secret email account?”
“She did.” I said. “As far as we know, the friend, Catia, was the only person who knew about it.”
“But she didn’t know details?” Amah said.
“No. If she had, I’m sure the police in the Azores would have followed up on that lead right away.”
“Yes, of course.” Amah stared thoughtfully out toward the garden. “Did you ask the friend for her email address or phone number? Or leave yours with her?”
“No, it didn’t occur to me, because Catia swore she’d told us everything she knew. The police in the Azores would have her contact information. And Catia called Mom to tell us about Francisco, so Mom probably has her cellphone number.”
Jack tamped out his cigar and cocked his head toward Amah. “You’re thinking, aren’t you Rosa?” He smiled at Nick and me. “Yep. She’s thinking. Look out.”
“Oh, stop it, Jack.” She swatted at his arm. “I was just wondering. If the girl, Liliana, knows she’s in trouble, she’s going to reach out to anyone she can. Who knows how she’ll communicate? Or with whom?”
“She had a cellphone, but we already know it hasn’t been used since she disappeared,” Nick said. “She hasn’t emailed her family, either. There’s been no way to tell her that her brother’s injured and her parents are in the States—right here in Timbergate.”
“So if she could, she might try calling or emailing her parents, her brother, or her friend in the Azores,” Amah said.
I cut in. “Exactly, but as far as anyone knows, she hasn’t. Her brother had no phone when he was brought in to the hospital. The parents said he never used email. The TPD police have the Ferreras’ laptop, so they’ll keep checking that.”
Amah pointed skyward. “First evening star. Make a wish.” She smiled. “Never mind, I already know what we’re all wishing for.”
I reached over and touched Amah’s arm. “I know where you were going with your questions about Catia’s email and phone. You’re thinking that if Liliana is still okay, still feeling safe, and has no idea Paulo’s hurt and that her parents are here, then she’s assuming everything is status quo back in the Azores. She can stay on whatever course she’s chosen to take.”
“Yes, that sums up the best-case scenario,” Amah said. “But even if it’s the correct one, wouldn’t she be feeling at least a little guilty about running away?”
“I would,” I said, “but I’m not an impetuous fifteen-year-old.”
“No, but try thinking like one,” Nick said. “Follow Rosa’s logic, Aimee. What would Liliana do if she’s feeling guilty or having doubts?”
“She’s probably try to communicate secretly with Catia, if only to find out how much trouble she’d be in if she returned home.”
“I agree,” Amah said. “From what I gather, girls that age now communicate every moment of their lives to their best friends. Liliana’s conscience must surely be troubling her. Don’t you think she’d unload on the girl who promised to keep her secrets?”
“Of course, but only if Catia can be contacted.” I glanced at Nick. “Her grandmother shut her down completely. No phone, no email.”
“I have another thought,” Nick said. “The police in the Azores must have access to Catia’s email and phone, even if she’s not allowed to use them. They’d want to intercept any messages or texts Liliana tried to send Catia.”
“There you go, Amah. If Liliana tries to contact Catia, the Horta police will intercept the message.” I was developing a headache from all the ping-ponging back and forth.
“Of course, we can’t overlook another possibility,” Nick said. “What if Catia has a second email account?”
The question caught me off-guard. “Oh my God, Nick. You’re right. Liliana set up a secret email account at a cyber café. Catia might have done the same thing, and if she did, her grandmother and the police wouldn’t have a clue.” Then a depressing thought hit me. “Great. If she did that, we now have two secret accounts to uncover.”
“But why wouldn’t the friend alert the police if she heard from Liliana?” Amah asked. “Surely she’d want to help.”
“Depends on what Liliana’s situation is,” Nick said. “Assuming she’s safe and whole, still looking forward to meeting her boyfriend, Francisco, she’d probably ask Catia to keep quiet.”
“Wait,” I said. My head was pounding. “Let’s stop for a minute. I’m getting dizzy. The ifs are flying around this veranda like a swarm of gnats. If Catia has a secret account, and if, somehow, Liliana knows about it, and if they’ve been in touch, then Catia would have told Liliana that Paulo is in critical condition in a hospital in California and that their parents are also here, holding vigil and praying for his recovery.” I stopped for breath. “So if all that is true, and if Liliana is safe, why hasn’t she contacted her parents?”
“Because she no longer has her phone,” Jack jumped in. “That’s the most obvious answer. Her captors got it away from her somehow. Probably tricked her into thinking she lost it.”
“He’s right,” Nick said. “That is the most obvious answer, and it puts us a back at square one. Liliana vanished from the Azores; her brother set out to find her. Raise your hand if you think his being shot in Timbergate was a random coincidence.”
Jack raised his hand. “Nope, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I just wanted to speak again.”
“Please do,” Nick said. “Aimee and I have gone over this so many times, we could really use another point of view.”
“Okay,” Jack leaned in. “Being a hunter, of course I’m familiar with firearms, so I keep coming back to the gunshot part of this story. What I’m wondering is, who was hunting down the brother? Sounds like we already know the why of it. He was on to some pretty strong clues as to what happened to his sister.” Jack looked at me. “Sorry, honey, but that little gal is not safe. Take my word for it. She may not know it yet, but sure as heck, she’s in deep, deep trouble.”
“You’re saying we should start with why the patient was shot,” Nick said. “But he’s in a coma.”
“ ’Course.” Jack nodded. “We know that. But all those homeless people in that camp who saw the incident aren’t in comas.”
“I’m sure they’ve already been questioned,” I said. “Our TPD would have done that immediately.”
“All of ’em?” Jack said. “Don’t bet your bottom dollar they got to all of ’em.”
“I don’t know, Jack.” I massaged my throbbing temples. “The police had a CI working the camp that night. He’s the one who called it in. With his account of the incident, they should have gleaned everything they could from all the witnesses.”
“Then how about this? Either of you know this guy? This CI?” Jack asked.
I didn’t want to answer that. I looked to Nick. Should we tell Jack the CI was Tango Bueller, the ex-con who had attacked me with intent to rape five years ago?
“We know of him,” Nick said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just a thought. It might be interesting to look at the crime scene. Especially if the CI could accompany you and point out the particulars of what happened. Maybe he missed something. Had to be a reason that injured boy was shot where he was.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed in a way that guaranteed he was going to do exactly what Jack suggested. And that he would try to discourage me from going along. He wouldn’t want me anywhere near Tango Bueller. Too bad. I’d already made up my mind. I’d perused more than one of the books on crime scene investigation in the TMC library’s forensic collection. That didn’t make me any kind of expert, but it did make me inquisitive.
Nick and I thanked my grandparents for letting us use them as a sounding board, and for the load of garden produce they insisted we take back to our apartment over the barn. On the short walk down the lane, I waited to hear how Nick would voice his objection to my going along to the homeless camp. I didn’t have to wait long.
“I know what you’re thinking, and my answer is hell, no,” he said.
“Not your decision.” I said.
“No, but Tango is still on parole. “What do you bet he’s not supposed to be anywhere near you?”
“It would be easy to find out.” We reached the stairs to the deck. I went up first. “I’ll check with Detective Kass. See if he can clear it with Tango’s parole officer.”
Nick came up behind me. “Okay. If you’re determined to do that, why don’t we invite Kass along? He seems like a reasonable guy.”
I called Kass from the library on Wednesday morning to explain what Nick and I wanted to do. He hesitated at first, but when I reminded him that TPD’s crime victim was still in a coma in the Timbergate Medical Center ICU, he softened up.
“I’m not saying we can’t do this,” Kass said, “but I wonder what you and your boyfriend think you can do that my men haven’t already done?”
“Probably nothing.” I pushed on. “It’s just that we have such a close connection with the victim’s parents. We promised them we’d go to the location where their son was wounded. Even if it’s a futile gesture, it will make them feel like someone cares.”
I kept my fingers crossed during that little speech. It was such a good white lie, I decided to make it true. Kass agreed to call me back if he could arrange something with Tango’s parole officer. I texted Nick to say we were halfway there.
Lola Rampley arrived a few minutes later for her volunteer shift, looking as if she’d youthened five or ten years. She wore her short hair in soft curls, framing her face like a gentle white cloud. Her subtle makeup tinted her cheeks slightly pink and her lips a shade darker. Her dowager’s hump was pronounced, but it didn’t seem to affect her attitude or her mobility. I marveled at her energy and hoped I’d fare as well when I reached my eighties.
“What’s on our schedule today, Miss Machado?” Lola enjoyed every aspect of library work, but I knew her favorite was filling requests for articles from our journals and databases. She would either email them as attachments or print them and have them delivered by courier.
“I’ve set aside the journal requests,” I said. “They’re on your desk.” Her beaming smile gave my day a lift.
I left Lola to her chore and turned my attention to the matter that needed it most: Dr. Godfrey Carver’s shortage of CME credits. What was left for me to do? The visit to his office the day before had been fruitless. The mess his former office manager left behind was almost enough to convince me that he had done the work. If so, he’d used incredibly poor judgment in trusting that woman to send his documents to me instead of submitting them himself. It made matters worse that Dorothy, the ex-employee, either couldn’t or wouldn’t help.
I thought again about Kiri trying to create order from the chaos she’d inherited. I almost felt sorry for her until I once again recalled seeing her on the dock down in the Bay Area. The image of her being handed that overnight bag kept popping into my mind, along with Nick saying, We don’t know what’s in that bag.
Although I’d decided not to question Sanjay about his cousin, I did find it odd that in all the months he had been TMC’s assistant administrator, I’d never heard him mention her. I had no idea she existed until she suddenly appeared in Timbergate as a new hire in Carver’s office. No, I wouldn’t involve Sanjay. He’d only wonder why I was asking, and I had no good answer.
Instead, I placed a call to Kiri to ask if she had made progress in her search.
“She’s not in.” Not this again. The same shabby telephone etiquette from the same hopeless temp I’d spoken to at Carver’s office the day before.
“Could you please take a message? I’d like to hear from her when she gets in. As soon as possible.” I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“No guarantees, but go ahead and give me your number.”
I gave her my number and my cell number, and then asked when I might expect to hear from Kiri. The temp had no idea, an answer that I found particularly difficult. I gave up on making any further headway with the woman, deciding it would be more productive to go directly to Carver and warn him that his office staff was making it impossible for me to help him.
Before I did that, I would get Cleo’s go-ahead. She was just as involved in the fuss over Carver’s medical staff status as I was. I called to tell her I was on my way. Leaving the library in Lola’s capable hands, I trekked across the complex to Cleo’s office in the main tower. Before I brought up Carver’s situation, I asked if Cleo had heard any news about Paulo Ferrera.
“Unfortunately, I have.” She nodded toward her phone. “I just heard from Quinn, who’s keeping close tabs on the case. He says the young man is still losing ground, and Dr. Prine hasn’t been able to pinpoint the problem. He suspects it has something to do with the treatment regimen Carver was using. Quinn quoted Prine as saying he wished he’d come home from Florida sooner.”
“Sounds like Prine is suggesting that Carver did the patient more harm than good.”
Cleo’s eyes widened. She glanced at her office door, then said softly, “Shhh, that’s not the kind of talk we’d want overheard.”
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just so frustrating. How long will it take Prine to regain the ground Carver lost?”
Cleo dropped her half-moons on her desk. I saw sympathy in her eyes. “Aimee, I know the Ferreras are almost like family. This case is personal for you, but you can’t let it cloud your judgment about the members of our medical staff. Godfrey Carver is a good doctor. He’s eminently qualified to take the lead on a case like Paulo’s. I’m not sure what Dr. Prine’s comment meant, so let’s not read more into it than necessary.” She put her glasses on and leaned back in her chair. “When you called, you said you had a question about Carver’s CME status. What was that about?”
I filled Cleo in with the latest in my efforts to help uncover the missing continuing education credits Carver kept insisting he’d earned.
“That’s odd,” Cleo said. “You’re still having trouble pinning Kiri down? I thought she’d welcome your offer of help. If something isn’t done by tomorrow, Carver’s staff membership will be suspended.”
“I know. And I’m new enough that I’ve never had to deal with a case like his, so here’s my question. Should I tell Carver that I can’t help him because I’m not getting the cooperation I need from Kiri?”
“Tattle on her to her boss?” Cleo wiggled her pen in her hand. “That’s a tough one, but the circumstances might require it. In forty-eight hours, we’re going to lose an indispensable member of our medical staff. If proof of his fifteen CME credits exists, finding it is critical. Think of worst-case scenarios. Paulo Ferrera is failing and may need another surgery any day now. We have Prine back from Florida, but if anything happened to put him out of commission in the next few days, Paulo would have no one, and neither would any other neurosurgery patient in Timbergate.”
“Then what do you suggest? Do I speak to Carver? Or to Quinn and Sanjay?”
“Let me give it some thought. I’ll call you at the library in ten minutes.”