Caitlyn leaned her head back against the passenger seat of Josh’s car, unsure if she should press him over what just happened. Josh’s tone had changed suddenly, and she had no idea why, although it seemed to be Jarred Carmichael’s name that had subdued him.
“Did you know him?” she finally asked. “Jarred Carmichael?”
“Not personally. His name just . . . it brought back an unexpected memory.”
“Not a good one, I’m assuming.”
“What did Helen say about him?” he asked.
“Looks like he was head of this project—Starlighter—where they were struggling to verify the results.” She flipped through a few pages and gave him a rough translation of Helen’s notes. “Questions about JC. Not sure what to think. Project on schedule, but results seem off. Something going on? JC wants to verify with further testing. Pathogen not reacting as expected. Need to look into results further.”
“What does that mean? ‘Pathogen not reacting as expected’?”
“It means the immune system is not reacting to the virus the way they thought it would.”
“So something was bothering her.”
But what? What had been going on in the lab that had been worth murdering someone?
“And the only time you ever heard about this project was once from Olivia, and more recently from Helen?” he asked.
She nodded her head. “Helen mentioned it a few days before she died. We were having lunch together, and I knew something was wrong. At first I thought it had something to do with her son, but then she mentioned this project.”
“Starlighter.”
Caitlyn nodded. “When I pushed, Helen closed off. Now I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I would have pressed harder. Maybe I could have somehow saved her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know, but if I’d asked questions, maybe I’d have something that could help us now.”
She replayed the conversation she’d had with Helen . . .
“What do you know about Starlighter?” Helen had asked her.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a . . . special funded project at the lab.” She shook her head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“Helen, if something’s bothering you, you know you can talk to me—”
“Really, just forget it. It’s nothing.”
Helen’s response had bothered her, because it clearly wasn’t nothing. She’d never seen Helen so rattled. And she’d been right. Three days later her friend was dead.
Josh took a sip of his coffee. “I need to ask you a question. It’s a little off topic, but something I need to know.”
“Of course.”
“Did you ever see Carmichael and Olivia together?”
“Together?” Caitlyn shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the question. “Are you asking if something was going on between the two of them?”
Josh frowned at the question, but nodded. “I’ll be blunt. I have reason to believe they were having an affair.”
She managed to hold back her shock. She might have worked with the man, but she didn’t really know him well. Olivia, though, she had known. And while no marriage was perfect, it was hard to imagine her having an affair. Especially with someone like Carmichael.
“I doubt it. Jarred Carmichael is . . . I don’t know if you’ve met him but . . . let’s say he’s not exactly what you’d call a catch. He’s smart, very smart, but also pretty brash and unpolished. And he’s married, though I never met his wife.” She shook her head. “So, Carmichael and Olivia? Honestly, that’s hard to imagine.”
She studied his expression in the dim light, wondering if she should press the issue or let the question drop. She finally decided to ask. “Why do you think she was having an affair?”
“I don’t really have any proof, but after she died I found emails and text messages they’d exchanged. Nothing I read hinted at anything romantic or sexual, but when I first read them, I just thought they were being discreet.”
“She worked with him,” Caitlyn said. “Isn’t there a chance the messages were simply work related?”
“Maybe, but at a minimum I’d say they had to have met three or four times outside work.”
She looked at him and wondered what else she’d missed. “She never hinted that the two of you were having problems. Not that she probably would have shared something like that with me, but still . . .”
“No. I didn’t think so, but I can’t . . . it’s hard not to wonder.”
She could hear the tug of war of emotions in his voice. Olivia was dead, and he was faced with picking up the pieces of what remained, without the chance of ever getting any of the answers he needed.
“I’m surprised you’re not married,” he said.
His abrupt change of topic was unexpected. Not that she could blame him. Sharing marital problems with someone he barely knew couldn’t be easy.
She watched a couple of young people hurry into the bar while laughing about something. But still there was no sign of Patrick.
“I was engaged once,” she said, thankful that the sting of the breakup had faded years ago. “He was my college sweetheart. We met my junior year and it was love at first sight. At least it was for me.”
“What happened?”
“Our last semester he came to me and told me he’d found someone else. Told me he didn’t love me anymore. I was devastated, shocked . . . I suppose I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Or at least I didn’t want to.”
“Maybe we’re blind to those we love the most. And you’ve never found anyone else?”
“No. Not that my friends don’t try to set me up with eligible men. Like Olivia always tried to do.” She let out a soft laugh. “But it’s never clicked for me again.” She turned the conversation back to Olivia and Carmichael. “What if they weren’t having an affair? What if this all has to do with what was going on at the lab?”
“I want to believe that’s true, but there’s just been a lot of things that don’t add up. About the night she died . . .”
She waited silently for him to continue. He looked away, as if he feared resurrecting that moment. Not that she blamed him. How many times had it replayed in his mind, over and over like a broken record? She could guess, because she knew what loss felt like. When only time and distance could begin to heal that brokenness.
“The night Olivia was shot . . . all I could do was hold her while she died.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“That’s what she said to me that night. That she was sorry, that she needed to talk to me. That I needed to know the truth.”
“I don’t know. None of it made sense at the time.” His jaw tensed. “I told her not to talk. Promised her that she was going to be fine. Which I knew wasn’t true. But at the time, all I could think about was that she was dying, and I had to save her. It was later when I started to wonder if she’d been trying to tell me she’d been having an affair. It fit with what she said. I wondered if she could have been talking about Jarred, but maybe she was talking about something else. She died before she could tell me. I never told anyone. It wasn’t something I wanted to see hitting the news cycles. It seemed too . . .”
“Personal.”
“Exactly.”
“And it was. But now . . .” He hesitated before continuing. “I guess it’s just hard not to wonder if I’d been a better husband, or worked fewer hours, but I always thought she understood. That she supported me. I don’t know.”
“From what I saw—as well as things Olivia told me—she was crazy about you, Josh. You remember when she showed up at work on your birthday?”
He shifted in his seat. “I remember I’d been working extra hours on a case and felt like I was never home.”
“She never complained to me about your long hours. All she ever said was that she missed spending more time with you.”
Josh let out a slow breath. “She called me from the parking lot. Told me she was waiting to take me out to lunch whenever I could take a break. I’d almost forgotten. It turned out to be one of the best birthdays I can remember.”
Caitlyn smiled. “She planned that day for weeks. And if you ask me, that sounds like a woman in love.”
“But here’s what I don’t understand,” Josh said. “If she knew something was going on at the lab, if she felt that her life was in danger, why didn’t she simply come to me? I think she must have been in over her head, but then I feel guilty because I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t have come to me.”
“There could be other explanations,” Caitlyn said.
“Like?”
“I don’t know. Blackmail . . . coercion. Or maybe she found out something someone didn’t want her to know about.”
“Maybe.” Josh drew in a deep breath. “Do you remember the car wreck she was in a few days before she died?”
“Of course. You think that had something to do with all of this?”
He shrugged. “I never thought of it that way, but in light of what we know now, it could have.”
At the time, Olivia had blown it off as nothing. A truck had slid across the median and slammed into her car. Miraculously, she was fine, besides a few bumps and bruises. They’d never thought it was anything but an accident. But what if it hadn’t been? What if someone had tried to scare Olivia—like they had her? And then, when that didn’t work, they’d killed her?
A man matching the description of Patrick was heading down the sidewalk, drawing her out of their conversation.
“Josh . . . that’s got to be him.” She grabbed the door handle. “He’s walking toward the bar from the west.”
“I think you’re right.”
Bingo. They’d found him.
“He’ll react better to me than a cop charging at him.” She opened the car door and started to get out.
He pressed his hand against her arm. “I know that the plan was for you to approach him first, but I’m having second thoughts.”
“We can’t lose him, and if he realizes you’re a cop and runs . . .”
He frowned, but she could tell he knew she was right. If he went tearing after him, the man would bolt.
“He’s not going to do anything,” she said.
“You don’t know that.”
“Fine. Go, but I’m right behind you.”
She took off across the street at an even pace, knowing she needed to find the right approach. She hadn’t sat in the car for two hours to not get the answers they needed. And they needed to talk to him now, because they might not get another chance.
Live music sounded from inside the bar. Ahead of her and to her right, two couples walked up to the front door laughing, oblivious to what she was trying to do. Patrick was now twenty-five feet from the door. She lengthened her steps as she crossed the street, ready to meet him on the sidewalk before he got to the front door.
“Patrick Lindstrom?”
The man slowed down. She swallowed hard. His wife’s description didn’t do him justice. He was easily six three or four and at least two hundred and fifty pounds. A day-old beard covered his face and tats covered his knuckles. A wave of anger went through her at the thought that this man beat his wife and more than likely terrorized his kids. But no one was all bad. If she could find a way to appeal to the man’s humanity, maybe he would help them. She’d much rather avoid plan B and Josh taking him down. They’d end up at the precinct in his captain’s office.
God . . . we need him to listen to us. Need him to verify Rudolph’s alibi.
“Patrick . . . I need to talk to you for a moment.”
He stopped half a dozen feet in front of her. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Caitlyn Lindsey. I was wondering if I could talk with you about Rudolph Beckmann. I understand the two of you are friends.”
“Don’t know what that has to do with anything. Rudolph Beckmann is in prison for murder.”
“I believe he’s innocent.”
“Who told you that?” He rested his fists on his hips. “I don’t know what you want, but everybody in prison claims they’re innocent. Doesn’t matter to me.”
He started past her toward the bar.
“Wait, please.”
He stopped again, then noticed Josh.
Caitlyn held up her hand. “He’s with me. He’s just a friend.”
“He’s a cop, ain’t he?”
“We just want to ask you a couple questions,” she said. “That’s it.”
Patrick hesitated for a split second before pulling out a knife, grabbing her, and pressing the blade against her neck.