“Gina Wagner?” Baronick asked, his jaw tight.
“She never believed Dustin was guilty. I couldn’t risk her testifying again. I went to Langley’s last Monday. When she was waiting on someone else, I slipped a healthy dose of insulin into her soft drink. I heard another salesclerk mention it was sugar-free, which was perfect.”
Pete rubbed his forehead. He’d been right. Except he’d suspected Loretta as the scheming, conniving killer. Worse, he’d been so damned fixated on her, he’d failed to look further. “What about Franklin Marshall?”
“That was easy. He was already sick and in the hospital. I put on some scrubs and brought him a can of spiked diet soda. No one should’ve suspected a thing. With his medical history, there shouldn’t even have been an autopsy.”
Except Zoe had insisted.
Baronick unfolded his hands, which he clenched into fists. “Why go after my sister?”
Jenna appeared genuinely puzzled by the question. “Your sister?”
“Officer Abigail Baronick,” Pete said.
Jenna’s mouth formed a surprised “o.” “I didn’t make the connection between you two,” she told the detective. Flashing those innocent blue eyes, she added, “I hope she’s okay.”
Pete felt the rage radiating from the detective. Before Baronick said or did anything to jeopardize the case—or his career—Pete demanded, “Why’d you drug her?”
“I heard she was digging into Maurice’s death and was afraid she’d end up connecting him to me, so I started following her. She went into that new restaurant on Sunday, and when she got distracted by someone, I was able to slip the drug into her drink with no one the wiser.”
“Maurice’s death?” Pete echoed, connecting the dots. Maurice King was John Doe. Not the DLK, who was still very much alive.
“If she’d just left everything well enough alone, I wouldn’t have had to go after her.” Jenna shot a glance at Baronick. “But your sister made the connection between ‘John Doe’…” Jenna made air quotes. “…and Elizabeth’s death.”
Pete noticed Baronick’s white-knuckled grip on his pen. “Start over,” Pete said to Jenna. “Tell us what happened from the moment you decided to speed Elizabeth’s death along. Your plan was brilliant, by the way.” She’d played them long enough. Time for Pete to play her. “And you’re right. If Dustin’s conviction hadn’t been overturned, you’d have gotten away with murder.”
Jenna beamed, pleased by Pete’s praise. “I’d known Maurice for years. First from high school, then later, when I was doing social work. He was a track star in school until he blew out his knee and got addicted to painkillers. He managed to go straight and got clean. But he lost his job and his home and was living on the streets. He never had much of a moral compass, and was so desperate, trying to make ends meet, I knew I could get him to do anything.” She emphasized the last word. “I got the idea about how to get rid of Elizabeth for good while I was visiting friends in Morgantown. When I came home, I tracked Maurice down and gave him the money to buy the black pants and hoodie and a gun that couldn’t be traced. And a little extra cash for his time. I told him to wait in Elizabeth’s backseat during her yoga class.”
Pete stopped her. “You knew about her yoga class?”
Jenna nodded. “And I’d ‘borrowed’ her spare set of car keys when I was at their house.” More air quotes.
Which explained why there were no signs of forced entry. “Go on.”
“I told Maurice exactly how to do it. And I told him to wait two weeks to make sure I’d be long gone. We arranged to meet up after I got back from Chicago. He returned the gun to me, wrapped in the clothes he’d worn, just like I’d told him to. I was supposed to pay him five thousand bucks.”
Pete knew where this was going. “But you never planned to give him the cash, did you?”
“I never had that kind of money. I did have access to opioids though and made a deal with an acquaintance. I traded him pharmaceutical grade oxycodone for some heroin he’d cut with fentanyl. A very special dose, especially for me.” Her smile raised the hairs on the back of Pete’s neck. “Now, everyone does it. Back then, lacing heroin with fentanyl was very trendy.”
“Trendy.” Pete threw the word back at her. “And I bet you used an extra high percentage of fentanyl.”
“Absolutely. Nothing but the best.” She smiled, pleased with herself, but must’ve seen the look of disgust in Pete’s eyes. Her jaw jutted. “Hey, I gave him a choice. The cash, if he’d give me a little more time. Or the drugs right then and there. It was his decision.”
The pen in Baronick’s hand snapped. Pete flinched. The detective opened his fist and let the plastic shards trickle to the table. “Of course, Maurice was an addict struggling to stay clean and couldn’t resist the temptation of your ‘trendy’ gift,” Baronick said through gritted teeth.
Jenna shrugged. “I knew he was on shaky ground. When I waved that stuff under his nose, he gladly accepted it as payment in full.”
Pete could hear Baronick’s heavy breathing next to him. “You knew he’d never cause you problems again,” the detective said.
“It was perfect. He had no ID on him. He was just another bum who overdosed. There was no investigation at all.”
“Until Abby.”
“I really am sorry about your sister.” The feigned regret fell flat.
Pete placed a firm hand on Baronick’s shoulder before he could lunge over the table.
Jenna had answered most of Pete’s questions. But not all. “Why Zoe?”
“She was working to clear Dustin. She learned about the rat poison. Even though she suspected someone else, I knew it was only a matter of time before she figured it out. I hated to have to kill her, but then
