“I don’t know,” Ray said. “But to make him a likely suspect for the murders, we have to prove he’s part of the adoption agency. I’ll pass on everything to the FBI tomorrow.”
“You said you’d check into Oscar and Tyler’s financials. Did you find anything?” I asked.
Ray stacked Oscar’s tablet on top of the laptop. “Oscar’s credit rating was good for a college student. It showed his loans and he’s never missed a payment. Tyler’s credit rating was worse.”
“Why’s that?” Joe asked.
“Because he appeared to be spending more than he made. His credit cards were ten to fifteen thousand a month. It looks like he bought everything using a card. His income on last year’s taxes was $120,000. I’m guessing he was using the Cayman account to save for retirement because he had no assets listed other than his car and house.” Ray stood. “I think that’s all we can do for now.”
Joe stood and stretched. “Sounds good. I’ll follow Charlie to work in the morning so she has a car, just in case.”
“I should be there by lunch.” Ray tucked the electronic equipment under his arm. He cut his gaze to the butcher paper. “You okay if we leave that up?”
“Yeah. We’ll meet here after work and continue.” I stood and stretched my stiff neck.
“Good. I’ll see if I can find tax records for the adoption agency. Any records.” Ray walked toward the front door and stopped. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. How Oscar overdosed unintentionally?”
Joe cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about that. In medical school a teenager came into the emergency room after being overdosed with insulin. His little brother had been playing with his needles and injected expired insulin into an orange. Their mom walked in and the kid afraid of getting into trouble hid the needle, but left the orange out. His brother ate the orange and overdosed. Oscar would be disoriented, but if he was working late with Tyler, he could have been overdosed at work and Tyler and his partner brought him back here. If Peter bought kids off the black market, he could get insulin.”
Ray scrubbed his hand through his beard. “I’d have seen or heard them drive up.”
“If you were home,” I said. “If Joe’s right and they were working late, you could’ve been having dinner with your mom, or out. They could’ve dropped off Oscar at eight or nine rather than the middle of the night.”
Ray looked around the room. “That makes sense. No forced entry because they used his keys. They probably turned on the TV, set it on a timer so it looked like he was home.”
“And we can’t prove any of it. Tyler’s dead, we can’t ask him.” Frustration bled into my voice.
Ray grunted. “And that proves his partner is tying up loose ends. Be careful. Lock up. I’ll keep the security camera on.”
“Deal.” Joe followed Ray to the front door and locked it behind him.
We trudged to the bedroom. Even with fresh sheets and all of Oscar’s things gone, I still felt like he was present.
Waiting.
Wanting justice.
And I’d make sure he’d get it.
Chapter Thirty
My magical memories of time spent at the cabin didn’t include the lumpy mattress, the drafty windows, the water heater that took twenty minutes to heat up and held twelve minutes of warm water.
Even Joe woke up grumpy. He creaked and cracked when he got out of bed. “We’re staying at a hotel tonight.” He stretched and winced. “I’m too old for camping out.”
I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and showered, highlighting the major parts and getting out before the water went from cool to frigid. Even my hair seemed to revolt, and I had a cloud of frizzy curls that I attempted to tame and gave up and pulled into a bun.
Joe met me in the kitchen. He pulled me into his arms and rocked me back and forth. “We forgot to bring coffee.”
I blinked, the words taking a moment to register. No. Caffeine.
Even the small circles he caressed on my back couldn’t lessen the blow. “It’s okay.” He kissed my head. “You’ll survive and there’s coffee at work.”
I loved Joe, but his ability to function in the morning after the worst sleep in years was flat out cocky. Unimaginable. And I had to drive. Operating heavy machinery decaffeinated seemed dangerous.
“Is there tea?” I whined.
Joe’s lips pinched together. “There is, but it’s chamomile.”
“There’s no caffeine?” Hope lingered in my voice.
“Babe, I think you might consider twelve-stepping your addiction to caffeine.”
I quirked one eyebrow.
Joe held up his hands. “Right. We’ll table that discussion for later.”
I drove to work in a fog. Frustrated. Miserable. In my rear-view mirror I could see Joe signing along with the radio.
He waved and blew me a kiss when I pulled into the parking lot at Sunnyview. I skipped the locker room and went straight to the coffee shop.
“You okay, Charlie?” Nora joined me in the hallway.
For once I didn’t have to slow down to keep up with her. “I haven’t had coffee yet.”
“Hoo boy.” Nora thump-slid faster. “Make a hole, people. Charlie needs coffee.”
Word travelled down the hall and to the barista, so that when I approached the counter I had an extra-large black coffee waiting for me.
I reached for my purse and realized I’d left it in my car. I looked at the barista for assistance.
“It’s on the house.” She pointed to the counter. “There’s cream and sweeteners over there. Do you need help?”
Bless her heart.
“I’m on it,” Nora said. She brought me a wooden stick, three Splendas and the creamer. She doctored the coffee and pushed it toward me. “Drink. You’ll feel human.”
I sipped. And sipped again. “Do you think I should quit caffeine?”
Nora cocked her head to the side. “Maybe not when you’re working. Now, tell me about your break-in.”
So, I did.
And I told her that Ingrid’s grandkids were definitely from Guatemala
