Kat craned her neck to watch the wall-mounted television in the Emergency waiting room. Like the stained fabric chairs, it was bolted down. Apparently without ergonomic considerations in mind, since it angled awkwardly, almost at ceiling height. How many emergency patients had carted off televisions or furniture to warrant such a decision?
Uncle Harry stared blankly off into space, oblivious to the background noise of screaming babies, late night drunks, and the general din of the overcrowded waiting room.
Kat strained her ears to hear the all-news channel above the noisy chatter. Type scrolled across the bottom of the television screen, and the updates sidebar flashed on the right. On what remained of the screen, a reporter stood in front of the Tides Resort at Hideaway Bay.
“Uncle Harry—we were just there!” Kat pointed as the camera panned out from the reporter, a petite blonde wearing a Gore-tex jacket with the television station logo. As the camera angle widened, a man came into view. It was Roger Landers, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. It was still light out. It must have been filmed sometime after he disappeared from the police station.
“Huh?” Harry jerked his head.
“The TV. Look.” Kat pointed to the monitor.
“Look at what?”
“Never mind.” Kat rose and limped over to the television so she could hear better.
“I saw Svensson leave the resort unprepared—that’s when I suspected the worst.” Roger Landers gestured behind him with one hand and he held up a copy of his book with the other.
“What?” Kat blurted.
A couple of women seated opposite them gave Kat withering stares.
Liar. Roger Landers wasn’t even at Hideaway Bay when Svensson disappeared. He couldn’t have possibly seen Svensson leave on his fateful hike, since he had arrived on the same ferry as Kat. Svensson was already dead by then.
The reporter prompted him. “That’s when you raised the alarm? That it wasn’t a suicide.”
“That’s right. Lots of people wanted Fredrick Svensson dead. His views on currency reform were very controversial.”
The camera zoomed in on the reporter facing the camera. “Fredrick Svensson was a Nobel nominee. His research on currency and monetary policy was revolutionary and the basis for the current discussions on currency reform. He had proposed one common global currency throughout his thirty-year career, then suddenly reversed his opinion. In a note written shortly before his death.”
The screen switched to Svensson’s speech in Stockholm. Again Kat saw the woman standing behind Svensson. This time she was absolutely sure. It was Angelika, the housekeeper at the Tides Resort.
Kat still puzzled over Angelika’s housekeeper disguise. If they were lovers as Kat assumed, it explained Angelika’s presence at Hideaway Bay. Was she involved in Svensson’s murder? Could she be the woman who was seen with him the day he disappeared?
Did Angelika have some unfinished business at Hideaway Bay?
Kat realized something else. Why Landers had run from her on the ferry to Hideaway Bay. Being spotted on the ferry would discredit his chain of events. Landers couldn’t claim to have seen Svensson if he wasn’t there. According to the police, Landers was the only witness besides the unknown woman who could pinpoint the time of Svensson’s disappearance. That left the timing of his disappearance suspect. What if he had actually disappeared much earlier?
Kat limped back to the chairs, suddenly aware of her throbbing foot again. She propped it up on the table in front of her, ignoring dirty looks from a middle-aged man across from her.
Landers was trying to set up a story. Was it sequenced to coincide nicely with what he postulated in his book? Or was it something more?
The reporter held her microphone in front of Roger Landers as the camera panned out.
“His abrupt change of opinion was a shock to everyone,” Landers said. “After all, he was now dispelling his theory on currency reform. The basis for his Nobel nomination.”
“Do the police have any new leads on Svensson’s murder?”
It struck Kat as odd that these questions were directed at Landers and not the police. Surely the police of such a small detachment would want to appear on camera. Svensson’s murder was the biggest thing to happen in Hideaway Bay for decades, maybe even ever. So where was Officer Kravitz?
“There is one lead in particular,” Landers said. “Another man disappeared around the same time Svensson did.”
Landers hadn’t mentioned this in their hotel room.
Kat glanced over at Harry. He had dozed off, his head slumped into his chest.
“And who might that be?” The reporter appeared to be coaching Landers, as if she knew the answer.
“Jace Burton. He’s a search and rescue volunteer familiar with the area. He recently lost his job and may have been distraught. He knows all the dangerous areas, including the cornice where Svensson fell. Or was pushed.” The screen flashed a picture of Jace on the screen.
Kat’s mouth dropped open. Landers was framing Jace? Landers knew Jace hadn’t been on that trail. Would he go that far for a story? Was that what brought Landers to Kurt’s cabin? To plant evidence?
If anything, Landers was the criminal, breaking into Kurt’s cabin. Was he involved in Svensson’s disappearance, or just covering up for someone else? Like Nathan Barron?
Jace was right.
Nothing mattered until it happened to you. Then it was always worth fighting for. Kat just hoped it wasn’t too late.