“But he's been dead for years,” Sam counters. “Is it possible they knew who he was before? That he had something to do with The Order before you investigated him?”
“No,” I say. “I mean, he might have been connected to The Order, but that's not what they were reacting to. This was not the reaction of a group of people who either knew a person was dead or who hadn't heard from them in years. And that got me thinking.”
“About what?”
“His death,” I say.
“It's easy to fool someone when you're the only one watching,” Xavier says.
“Something like that,” I say. I open the folder and flip through the information. “Remember I told you he died in a crash of a prison transport van? He was the only prisoner being transported at the time. The body inside was so horrifically burned and mangled, there were no features available to be compared visually, but the driver walked away with only a slight burn and a broken wrist.”
“How is that possible?” Sam asks.
“I don't know, but does that sound familiar to you at all?” I ask.
“It sounds like Mason Goldman,” he says.
“Exactly. A body burned beyond recognition. Identified based on circumstantial evidence.” I flip through the pages and pull out the one I am looking for. Slapping it flat down on the comforter, I point out the bottom line.
“Both death acknowledgements were signed by Judge Sterling Jennings. He's alive. All this time, he's been alive.”
“What does it mean?” Dean asks. “What would the Dragon have to do with The Order?”
“How many times do you think I can visit somebody in the hospital before the administration blacklists me?” I ask.
As it turns out, I don’t even get the opportunity to risk being banned from any future visitation. When I step out of the elevator, Gloria gives me her usual bright smile.
“How's your arm feeling?” she asks.
“Good,” I say, lying through my teeth.
The truth is my arm hurts, and I've just had to get used to it. When all this is over, I'll rest it. Until then, I need both arms.
“Great to hear,” she smiles. “And in another bit of good news, Millie was discharged.”
I was on my way around the nurse’s station to her room, but I stop.
“Discharged? When?” I ask.
“Early this morning. She's doing so much better,” she says.
I manage a smile. “Good. That's good. I'm really glad to hear that.”
I'm worried as I ride the elevator back down and walk to my car. Something tickles the back of my brain. I reach for my phone to call her, but before I can, it rings. It's not Millie. The name that shows up is far more of a shock and that.
“Hello?”
“When I told you to leave me alone, I meant all your little friends, too,” Rachel Duprey growls through the phone.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Please don't act stupid,” she says. “I already have to encounter enough idiots in my daily life. I don't need somebody else behaving like one. You know exactly what I'm talking about.”
“Actually, I don't. I've had a few things on my mind other than you.”
“Don't talk about my family,” she seethes. “Don't contact me or try to research my father or me. Don't even think our names. What you are doing is reprehensible. I've looked into you, Emma Griffin. I know about your past. Think about how it would make you feel if somebody kept dragging up your mother's death over and over again.”
“Ms. Duprey, I have no idea what you are talking about. I’ve been busy investigating my case.”
“If I hear from you or that woman Lydia again, I will be in contact with my lawyer. I'm tired of being harassed with all these questions,” she says.
“Ms. Duprey, I didn’t—"
The call ends abruptly, and I sit in my car for a few seconds, just going over the conversation in my mind. Shaking my head, I dial Lydia. At this point, she hasn't just irritated me and possibly compromised the investigation. She's conjured up a potential lawsuit. It's probably not something I can stop, but the least I can do is warn her about it.
But she won't answer her phone. Still.
I grab my computer from where I keep it tucked under the front seat and open it up. Lydia's cold case database website is bookmarked, making it easy to pull it up quickly. I don't see anything new on it, but when I go to the contact page, I'm able to connect with several of the other contributors.
They each respond to my messages within seconds. Not one of them has heard from Lydia within the last couple of days. None knows where she is.
It's concerning, and I'm really starting to worry until a thought flashes into my mind. I know exactly where she is.
Setting my phone in its stand on my dashboard, I connect to Bluetooth and call Sam.
“Babe, I just wanted to let you know I will probably be gone for most of the afternoon,” I say.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Apparently, Lydia Walsh has been calling Rachel Duprey and asking her a bunch of questions. Now Rachel is threatening to sue us. Lydia won't answer her phone, and none of her friends at the database knows where she is. Which tells me there's only one place she is. If I'm right, I need to get to her before she causes us any more trouble. It's about an hour away, but I'll keep in touch with you. Is everything doing okay on your end?”
“Everything's fine,” he says. “The forensic team was able to reconstruct three of the skeletons from the cornfield. There are a couple of small pieces missing, but
