Kevin agreed to come in early for his shift, freeing Pete to leave the station and his township. His first stop was the farmhouse.
The plastic to-go cup wasn’t on the counter. He dragged the trash can from under the sink and wiggled his fingers into a fresh pair of Nitrile gloves. He’d gone dumpster diving plenty of times in his career. At least this was his and Zoe’s garbage. No maggots. No dead bodies. Just an empty milk carton, some advertisements from the mail, and a discarded frozen fish box from last night’s supper. Under that, he found what he was looking for. Except the lid had come loose and less than a tablespoon of the caramel-colored liquid remained.
He lifted the clear plastic glass to eye level. Was there enough to analyze? He could only hope. After replacing the lid and removing the straw, he taped over the crosshatched opening, and sealed the whole thing in an evidence bag.
With the possible source of Abby’s illness secured in his township SUV, Pete decided to make one quick detour before heading to Brunswick.
Rebecca Weaver responded to the doorbell before it had completed its chime. “Chief Adams. I’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.”
He entered a two-story-high foyer with a chandelier that looked like modern art hanging high over his head. Rebecca ushered him into a room to the right which held a desk, several chairs, and a full wall of organized shelves. The large window looked out to the driveway in which his vehicle sat. No wonder she’d answered the door so quickly. She’d seen him pull in.
“You’ve been expecting me?” he said.
“Yes.” She extended a hand toward one of the chairs. “Please sit down.” Once he had, she lowered into another—not the office chair behind her desk—and crossed those incredible legs. “I’ve been reading about Dustin’s new trial and figured you or one of your colleagues would be paying me a visit.”
Rebecca Wagner looked much like she had nine years earlier. She now wore her dark hair in a short bob and had developed a few lines around her mouth, but she remained as fit as ever. Good thing she had a firm alibi for the night of Elizabeth’s murder. “Are you willing to testify again?” he asked.
“Yes.” She shrugged. “But seriously. Does it really matter whether I’m ‘willing’ or not? I’m sure there would be a subpoena with my name on it if I wasn’t.”
Pete smiled. Rebecca was no fool. He pulled out his notebook. “I realize you’ve answered these questions before, but I have to ask them again.”
“Go right ahead.”
The interview revealed no surprises. She reiterated her previous story of a brief affair that had ended well before Elizabeth’s death, her competitive yet friendly relationship with the victim, and her rendition of Elizabeth’s reaction to learning of her husband’s infidelity.
“How many of Dustin’s other women are you aware of?” Pete asked once he’d completed going over the rest of her story.
“The ones who came forward for his first trial,” Rebecca said. “And only because I saw them in the news. Other than the girl I told you about at the time, I wasn’t privy to Dustin’s little black book.” A trace of a sneer crossed her lips. “I had no interest in his sexual exploitations.”
Pete dug his phone from his pocket and pulled up the driver’s license photo he’d saved after his conversation with Zoe. He handed the device to Rebecca. “Have you ever seen this woman before?”
She studied Loretta Marshall’s photo, then shook her head and returned the phone. “No. Sorry. Is she another one of Dustin’s conquests?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” If she was, some big questions would be answered. But some bigger ones would arise. He stood and shook Rebecca’s hand. “Thanks for your time.”
“I’m glad to do my part.” Her expression hardened. “Whatever it takes to put that scum behind bars for good.”
As she ushered him out, he wondered if he should warn her to be careful about her food and drink.
Except he realized what had been bothering him—and what they may have been missing.
Zoe paused at Abby’s hospital room doorway and peered in. Seth remained seated next to the bed, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. His eyes were closed, and even from the hallway, Zoe could hear his soft snoring. Abby didn’t seem bothered by it though. She too had her eyes closed. And, Zoe noticed, was holding Seth’s hand. She smiled. A glance at the heart monitor revealed normal sinus rhythm, blood pressure, heart rate, and blood ox levels. Satisfied, she moved on.
Franklin had died in a room on this same floor but in a different unit. Zoe hoped Dorian, the nurse she’d spoken to last Wednesday, was on duty. The nurses’ station hummed with activity, but Dorian wasn’t there. Zoe leaned on the counter in front of another nurse who was working on a computer. “May I help you?” the nurse asked without lifting her gaze.
“Is Dorian on duty today?”
The nurse looked up and studied Zoe. “She’s with a patient right now. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Thanks. I’ll wait.”
She didn’t have to wait long. Dorian stepped out of a room at the end of the hall and bustled toward the station. She slowed when she spotted Zoe and did not look happy to see her.
“What do you want?”
Zoe was taken aback by the sharpness of her tone. “I wanted to ask you about the day Franklin Marshall died.”
“Sorry. Can’t help you.” Dorian brushed past her and into the nurses’ station.
Zoe had the definite impression what Dorian really meant was she wouldn’t help her. “Why
