Day 20 – Wednesday afternoon
En route to the police station
“STOP!” Ginny almost dropped the diary as Fergus slammed on the brakes. He pulled the car over to the curb, then turned to stare at her.
“Why?”
She pushed the book at him. Marjorie Hawkins had gone through Phyllis’ papers, looking for evidence of blackmail, then come to the conclusion she’d been suspecting the wrong person.
He read the entry, his mouth settling into a tight line. “Which way?”
Ginny fed him the GPS coordinates. She didn’t need to tell him to hurry.
He pulled up in front of the house, then slid out, motioning for her to stay put. She watched him circle the place, gun at the ready, peering into the windows, disappearing around the back, then reappearing. He paused at the front door, then opened it and slipped inside. A minute later he came out onto the stoop and gestured for her to join him.
“He’s in here.” Fergus led the way to the kitchen. “Don’t touch anything.”
Ginny could see they were too late. He lay on the floor beside an overturned chair, coffee and body fluids mingling beneath him, his face contorted in a rictus of agony.
Fergus had pulled out his phone and was talking to Himself. “Aye, dead and cold.” There was a pause. “We let ourselves in. Will she overlook that?” He nodded into the phone. “All right. I’ll call.” He broke the connection then dialed again. “Detective Tran, please.”
In spite of her medical training, Ginny was having trouble with the stench. She’d been trying to hold her breath and felt a bit dizzy. She turned toward the kitchen table, reaching for one of the chairs, but found Fergus’ arm around her waist, holding her upright. He finished the call, then stuck the device in his pocket and turned her toward the front door. “Outside.”
Ginny let him lead her back to the car and sit her down, with the door open to let the cold air clear the fog in her brain. When Detective Tran arrived, Fergus took point, handing the diary to her, and explaining what had brought them to the house.
She eyed Fergus. “Was the front door locked when you arrived?”
He nodded. “But the alarm was off.”
“Will I find evidence of your entry on that lock?”
“Yes, ma’am. There were exigent circumstances.” He gestured toward the diary.
She nodded. “Very well. What else do I need to know?”
“You will find my footprints and Ginny’s in the front hall and the kitchen, but neither of us touched anything.”
“You are sure of that?”
“I am.”
“All right. Please wait here.”
“Detective Tran,” Ginny stopped her. “I want to look at that crime scene again.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “I will consider your request.” She made her way into the house.
When the detective had gone, Fergus turned to Ginny. “Why do you want to go back inside?”
Ginny took a deep breath. “There were two photographs on the kitchen table.”
Fergus’ eyes narrowed. “Of what?”
“Of the inside of the Medical ICU break room.”
Fergus caught his breath. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
* * *
Wednesday afternoon
Forbes residence
In the end, Detective Tran decided she could not allow an outsider onto her active crime scene. She did, however, promise to send copies of any photographs they found, and with that Ginny had to be content.
Lunch at home was the usual casserole, fresh fruit, salad, and hot bread. Usual in that on Wednesdays, Mrs. Forbes cooked after getting home from her teaching job. Ginny watched Fergus consume the double portions her mother still made because she had raised a son, even if he no longer lived in Dallas.
“Not hungry?” Mrs. Forbes eyed Ginny’s plate.
Ginny still had the smell of Isaac’s kitchen in her nostrils. “Maybe later.”
She excused herself and went upstairs. She stood for a moment in the door of her home office and looked around. The normally neat, organized space was flooded with paper.
The stacks of white teetered, threatening to fall, festooned with sudden color in every shade of the rainbow from the sticky notes and flags and bookmarks in use. There were colored printouts, too, of her mind map, and timetables, and to do lists. The bookcases hid behind the work. The oriental rug struggled under its weight. The whole thing seemed to mock her, as if it knew she had failed.
With both Lisa and Marjorie Hawkins absolved of murdering Phyllis, the only candidate left was Grace. Ginny heaved a sigh, sat down at the computer, pulled up her files, and got to work.
There was nothing new in any of them. No clue to follow. Every item on her Action Plan completed. The mind map filled in and all the cross-links in place. Nothing that definitively pointed to Grace. Three futile hours later, Ginny picked up the phone and dialed Austin.
“Clara? It’s Ginny Forbes. I have a question for you. Well, more like a plea. I’m desperate! Can you think of anything, anything at all, that might give us another clue in the death of Phyllis Kyle?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, that’s the problem. You said at first you thought it might be a case of mistaken identity. Did anyone threaten you?”
Clara’s nod came down the line. “Oh, yes. There’ve been some very angry people down here. Nothing ever came of it. But—”
“But what?”
“I’ve just remembered. There was a woman making threats, but they weren’t directed at me. She was threatening Phyllis.”
“Was Phyllis pretending to be you?”
“Yes, but the other woman knew who it was. She called her by name.”
“Can you describe the other woman?”
“Sure. A tall, elegant black woman. And I got the impression this wasn’t the first time they’d argued.”
Ginny pulled up the Hillcrest website and accessed the ICU staff directory. “Clara, if I send you a picture of a woman, can you tell me if it’s the same one?”
“Maybe. Let me see it.”
Ginny sent it over the wire, then waited for the image to arrive in Clara’s e-mail box.
“Yes. That’s her.”
Grace.
“Can you remember what she said?”
“No. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying that much attention. I remember the other woman pointing her finger at Phyllis and poking the air with it. You know.”
“Yes,” Ginny had no trouble imagining that scene. “How are things going on your end?”
“We’ve had the most exciting day! According to the news, they’ve made twenty drug busts. It’s as if the police suddenly had inside information on where to find the criminals.”
“Are you out of hiding?”
“Sort of. The police have cleared me to go home, but I’m officially on vacation for a while.”
“Give it a week. If I know Agent DeSoto, he’ll have the streets of Austin safe to walk again before you can turn around.”
“Just in case I want to turn streetwalker.”
“Or saunter down Sixth Street, enjoying the evening air.”
“That sounds nice. You should come down and join me.”
Ginny promised to come visit, then hung up the phone and turned back to the investigation.
On the face of it, Grace was elsewhere when the murder took place. The evidence that supported her claim included the computer-generated date/time stamps, the images of her with her patients, the non-movement of her ID badge during the relevant times, the image showing her with neither her scrub jacket nor her badge, and the subsequent images showing her with both.
The evidence contradicting her story (if you were willing to give it such a strong name) consisted of the image of Grace making changes to the TPN pump in Phyllis’ room at five minutes after three a.m., while Phyllis was alive and well and helping Susan with her admission.
Evidence of nothing in particular included images showing Grace in the scrum in front of the nurses’ station each time there was a Code or an admission.
Evidence of a motive included Grace and Phyllis’ animosity toward one another. They had been seen arguing more than once (Lisa’s testimony about the fight under the bridge and Clara’s report of Grace’s threats toward Phyllis). But heated words do not prove murder. What in Grace’s life could have made it necessary that Phyllis should die?
Ginny glanced at the clock. Three hours, minimum, before she could hope to catch Grace at work. If Grace was guilty, she would just deny killing Phyllis. But if she wasn’t, she might say something different, or say the same thing a different way, and maybe it would help solve this case.
Ginny jotted a few notes down on a piece of paper and stuck it in her pocket, then rose from her chair and turned to find Fergus leaning against the door jamb.
“Going somewhere?”
“How long have you been standing there?”
“A while.” He pushed off the wall and stood square in the doorway, his arms crossed on his chest. “Your mother asked me to remind you. John Kyle and his sons are expected for dinner.”
“Oh!” Ginny had forgotten about the visit. Well, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t expect to find any of the night crew in place until well after seven p.m. “I’ll be right down.”
Fergus didn’t move. “I’d like to ask you a question, if I may.”
Ginny found her attention suddenly focused on the man standing in her doorway. She nodded.
“What’s your relationship with Jim Mackenzie?”
“He’s my laird’s grandson.”
“Nothing more?”
“He’s a friend.”
“He’s in love with you.”
Ginny took a grip on herself. A man like Fergus, trained to pay attention, could hardly have missed that.
“I know.”
“So what’s the problem?” Fergus uncrossed his arms and moved toward her. “Has he hurt you?”
Ginny found herself rooted to the spot, her eyes locked on his. She managed to shake her head.
He crossed the carpet and stood looking down at her. “Ginny, if you need help, tell me.”
She swallowed, then forced herself to speak. “No. He’s done nothing wrong. It’s not him, it’s me.”
“Tell me.”
She shook her head.
“You can trust me, Ginny.”
She swallowed hard. “I know.”
His brow furrowed. “You told me Lisa made accusations against Jim, but she didn’t tell you what he’s supposed to have done. Would you like me to find out for you?”
Ginny wasn’t aware she had stopped breathing until the room started to spin.
Fergus put her back in her chair, then pulled up the other, and sat down facing her. “I have resources. Discreet ones. He would never know. Neither would Angus.”
Ginny sucked in a breath. “I’m supposed to be learning to trust him.”
“That will be easier if you know the truth.”
Her forehead was a collection of tight little knots. “Trust means not insisting on knowing.”
He sighed. “Ginny, there’s no man on earth, no man worth knowing anyway, who hasn’t done something he’d rather not have everyone find out about. The best men confess to the women they love. Has he done so?”
Ginny swallowed and shook her head. “But he might.”
“And you want to give him the chance.”
She nodded.
Fergus studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. We’ll wait and see what kind of a man he is.”
“He will be Laird of Loch Lonach.”
Fergus raised an eyebrow, his eyes still on hers. “All the more reason to know if he’s the right man—for the job—and for you.”
* * *