gorge. According to the police report, which Del Muro included on the blog, Harper claimed that Peggy lost control of her bike going down a steep hill and fell a hundred feet to her death. Del Muro accused Harper of running her off the road so that he could have the Web site to himself. Later, Peggy Murray's parents accepted Harper's gift of stock in the company, which proved to be worth more than a million dollars when it went public. Del Muro accused her parents of taking blood money and being accomplices after the fact to the murder of their daughter.
No doubt Harper knew all about Jamie Del Muro and her blog and his lawyers would be ready when Jason Bolt played this card. Under normal circumstances, I expected Harper to brush the whole thing off as the rant of a crazy person. But these circumstances weren't normal. Dead bodies were piling up around Harper and his institute. Bolt was right about one thing. Harper wouldn't want Jamie Del Muro's story hitting the papers where it would get more play than in the blogosphere. And if the public interest got ginned up enough, an ambitious prosecutor might reopen the investigation.
The better question was whether the story was true, whether Peggy Murray was the first victim of Milo Harper's whatever it takes credo. If she were, Harper wouldn't have broken a sweat over ruining Kate's practice. I added those questions to the ones I had about Harper accessing Delaney's, Blair's, and Enoch's dream project files before and after their deaths.
Even though the institute was closed for the day, I was certain Milo wasn't taking the day off. I'd only been on the job for three days but it was time for a performance review. His, not mine.
Chapter Forty-eight
Lucy and Simon were on the sofa in the living den, feet up on the coffee table, bare toes touching, when I came downstairs after showering and shaving. Lucy's hair was wet. Simon's bald pate was glowing, radiating heat.
It was her house. I was just living in it. She wasn't my underage daughter and he wasn't the bad kid who'd led her astray. I knew all that but still felt like I'd walked in on Wendy and the pimple-faced boy who took her to prom so he could get in her shorts; my problem, not theirs.
'Simon, are you still on the clock?' I asked.
He craned his head toward me. 'Punched out last night, boss.'
I joined them, standing near one end of the sofa. 'I read Peggy Murray's file. Did you know her when you were at Stanford?'
Simon sat up, feet on the floor. ''Course I knew her. We were like the Three Musketeers. We had classes together, lived in the same dorm freshman year. She was what we called geeky hot. I had a crush on her but I didn't have a chance against Milo so I settled for swimming in their wake.'
'Any truth to Jamie Del Muro's story?'
'Peggy worked on the Web site with Milo. I did too, for that matter. Milo always told me it was his idea. I never had a reason to doubt that.'
'And the bike accident?'
'Milo said she lost control of her bike. The police agreed. What else is there to say?'
'Any of that sound familiar?'
'What are you saying?'
'I'm saying that's what the KCPD said about Regina Blair. It was an accident. And they also said that Tom Delaney committed suicide.'
Simon planted his hands on his knees, his face coloring. 'Give me a break, Jack. Jamie Del Muro is a whack job. She started this crap when Peggy died and she's kept it going all these years. Her parents disowned her, for Christ's sake! You can't paint Milo with that brush.'
'Then why did you put all her crap in a file for me to read and why did Lucy write her name on the wall?'
Lucy put a hand on Simon's arm. 'We struck out on the rest of the background checks,' she said. 'You told Simon to dig up anything he could find on Harper. When he told me about Peggy Murray, I told him we had to tell you even if it was bullshit.'
'Think like a cop, Lucy, not like someone who just got out of the shower with one of Milo's musketeers, and tell me how you know it's bullshit.'
She jumped to her feet, squaring her shoulders. Simon grabbed her wrist and she shook it off. 'I know it the same way I know you didn't kill Walter Enoch and you didn't help Wendy steal five million dollars.'
'That's isn't what you know. It's what you believe. There's a difference.'
Simon stood. 'I know Milo and that's good enough for me.'
'Well it isn't good enough for me.'
I grabbed my car keys and headed for the institute. It felt good to be behind the wheel instead of buckled into the passenger seat.
I passed a grocery on Sixty-third Street. The parking lot was jammed and people were streaming out of the store with full carts, trusting the weatherman's forecast more than the sun-spackled sky, not weighing the difference between what they knew and what they believed about the coming storm before stocking up. They were preparing for the worst while hoping for the best, same as me.
My cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and saw Joy's name on the caller ID.
'Hey,' I said.
'Did I catch you at a bad time?' she asked.
It was the same reflex question she asked whenever she called after our son Kevin died, most of those times bad times. After she left me, we softened toward each other until Wendy disappeared, her death another blow to our relationship. In spite of everything that had happened, we both acknowledged a lingering connection, kept alive through Roxy and Ruby. The dogs gave us a safe way to stay in each other's lives, sharing canine custodial duties, neither of us willing to explore why that was important or why we could manage that but nothing else.
'No, this is fine. I thought you were going to be gone all week. Are you back in town?'
'I'm coming home tonight. I'll pick up Roxy on my way from the airport.'
'No problem. Where are you anyway?'
'Houston,' she said, her voice fading.
'You okay?'
'I'm just tired. My plane gets in around eight.'
'Don't count on it. We're supposed to get hammered with a snowstorm.'
'Well, I'll get there eventually. How's Roxy?'
'She's great.'
She hesitated a beat, her voice hopeful. 'Maybe Ruby can come over for a play date next week.'
'I'll check her calendar but I'm sure she can squeeze you in.'
She brightened, her voice rising an octave. 'Thanks, Jack, for taking care of her. I'll see you tonight or tomorrow.'
I wasn't surprised to find Milo Harper in his office. He was at his desk, his back to the door. Sherry Fritzshall stood at his side, one hand on his shoulder, both of them staring out the window. They turned when I knocked. His face was grim, hers ashen. I repeated Joy's question.
'Is this a bad time?'
Harper waved me in as Sherry gave his shoulder a final squeeze and walked past me without a word.
'I told her,' he said. 'About the Alzheimer's.'
'Why now?'
'I had to. My latest memory lapse just cost me a couple of million bucks on a deal I thought I'd made but I hadn't. I thought I could outrun it if I just ran fast enough but I can't.'
'What are you going to do?'
'A couple of billion dollars complicates life. It will take a while to unwind everything, figure out what to keep or get rid of, and who's going to manage it. Sherry screwed up the institute's building security but she's good at straightening things out and she's all the family I have. I need her so I had to tell her. So,' he said with a weak smile, 'what can I do for you?'
