Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (20 page)

He picked up the phone and grabbed his pen. “Sullivan.”

“Mr. Sullivan, Patrick Lodge. Sorry for my delay in responding. I’m not contacted by private investigators every day, so I wanted to do a bit of research on your firm. It’s quite impressive—and highly reputable, according to the St. Louis County detective one of my local police friends called. The man he spoke with happened to be a former colleague of one of your partners. How can I help you?”

The executive had done his homework—exactly what he himself would have done in Lodge’s position.

Nice to know he was talking to an astute, thorough professional.

“I’m working on a very sensitive case, and I believe you may be able to offer some helpful information and insights about the person I’m investigating. But I’ll need to ask for your discretion in this matter. Until we have all of the data we need, we’re playing this very close to our vest.”

“Our conversation will remain between the two of us. Who is it you’re investigating?”

“A man by the name of Greg Sanders. I understand he was employed as your caretaker for several years in Montana.”

“Yes, he was.” Lodge sounded surprised. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. What can you tell me about him?”

“He was honest to a fault and absolutely dependable. When I hired him, I was planning to do an addition to our cabin, and I thought having a caretaker with a construction background would be helpful. That proved to be true. He kept a close eye on the work and offered several suggestions that improved the final product. From everything I observed, he was also a loving father who doted on his son—and the feeling seemed to be mutual. The two were always together.”

Connor continued to scribble notes as he asked his next question. “How did you happen to hire him?”

“To be honest, I expected to employ a local. I put up flyers around Philipsburg and advertised in the Missoula and Butte newspapers. I was a bit taken aback by Greg’s application, but he sounded perfect. And he came with stellar references from his pastor and his former boss.”

“How did he hear about the job?”

“I asked that question in the interview. He said he’d always wanted to live out West, in the mountains, and after he was laid off from his construction job, he thought this was his opportunity. He said he’d been monitoring the newspaper ads in several western cities and saw mine. It was a great fit for both of us. I was sorry to lose him.”

Connor flipped to the next sheet of paper in his notebook. “Why did he leave?”

“I think he missed the construction business, and of course the pay is much better for that kind of work, especially in a large city. So when a friend of his contacted him about a job in St. Louis, he decided to take it. I also got the impression he
wanted to send his son to a bigger school too. The boy will be starting first grade in the fall.”

“Are you aware of any financial problems he might have had, or any travel he might have done prior to working for you?”

“No. Greg never said much about his past. I know he lost both his wife and son a few years before he came west.”

Connor stopped writing. “But he has a son.”

“Yes. Todd’s adopted. Apparently he and his wife were in the midst of the process, and after she died he carried on with it.”

So that’s how he was explaining the boy. Clever. Since adoption records were never publicly available and often sealed, no one could dispute his claim.

“You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Lodge. I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me. Is there anything else you can tell me about Greg that might give me some insights into his character or personality?”

“Not that I can think of. As I said, he was a quiet man and kept to himself, but I had absolute trust and confidence in him. He and his son lived in a small cabin on the property, and when we came for our periodic visits he stayed in the background unless we needed him. There was also a certain sadness about him, but I didn’t find that unusual given the losses he’d suffered. If I think of anything else, I’ll be happy to give you a call.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Dev cracked the door, pointed at his watch, and raised his eyebrows.

Connor nodded and stood. “Thank you again for your help.”

“You’re welcome. I hope your investigation is successful—but I’d hate to hear that Greg was involved in anything questionable. He didn’t have any other relatives, and I don’t know where that would leave his little boy.”

With his real parent—though Connor kept that to himself as they rang off.

“You ready?” Dev pointed at his watch again.

“Yeah.” Connor grabbed his files and stood. “But it was worth the delay.”

As he joined his partner in the hall, Dev smirked at him. “I walked by your door earlier and heard the phony Texas twang. Don’t tell me anyone fell for it.”

“Hook, line, and sinker. Belle even invited me to stop in for an omelet if I ever get out to Philipsburg.”

“Belle, huh? You must have really laid it on thick.”

“I was just my usual charming self.”

“It’s getting deep in here.”

“Eat your heart out, buddy.” He followed Dev into the conference room where Nikki and Cal were waiting. “Sorry for the delay. One of my sources returned my call as I was walking out the door to this meeting.” He took the same seat he’d occupied earlier, opened his file, and launched into a recap of his phone conversations and his futile attempt to mine more relevant information from the data the information broker had sent.

“So we now know Sanders did have income during the three years before he came to St. Louis,” Cal said. “That would explain the source of his funds for the debt payments he was making—but it still leaves a two-year gap in employment.”

“Which I can explain.” Dev flipped open his notebook. “I tracked down Sanders’s boss at his former company in Cleveland. I used the high-school-buddy-trying-to-reconnect ploy.”

“A popular pretext today.” Connor released the tab on the can of soda Nikki had pushed toward him as he sat.

“I, however, didn’t resort to a phony Texas accent.” Dev consulted his notes again. “The man remembered Sanders very well. Said he’d worked for the firm for eight years and they were sorry to let him go. But after new construction projects in the city dried up, they cut their workforce in half. The people with less seniority were let go.”

“Did you get answers to any of Connor’s other questions?” Nikki asked. “Because I did.”

“Fine. You can go next—but I’m not finished yet. His boss confirmed the wife died of cancer and that his son had been diagnosed with some sort of serious problem involving the brain.”

Like Batten disease.

The pieces were all beginning to fall into place.

Now they just needed confirmation that the man had taken his son to see John Marshall. Perhaps the receptionist in Rochester would come through for them on that score.

“His boss said Sanders didn’t talk a lot about his personal problems, but he knew money was tight from a few comments the man made. As far as his boss was concerned, Sanders was a hard worker who loved his family and tried his best to provide for them. Apparently he took his wife’s death very, very hard.”

After a moment of silence passed, Nikki spoke up. “Are you finished?”

“The floor is yours.” Dev made a sweeping motion with his hand.

“I struck gold with the church secretary. After I got her name off the bulletin on the church’s website, I skimmed through back issues to see how long she’d been employed there. Turns out she’s a twenty-year veteran, so I knew she’d be a great source—if I could get her to talk.”

“Why do I think that wasn’t a problem?” Connor took a swig of soda.

“Because you’ve seen me in action. Most recently with the clerk at Build-A-Bear.” She sent him a pert smile. “I told her I was a former neighbor and that I’d found some photos from a backyard barbecue I thought Greg might like to have, since his wife was in some of them. She didn’t have any information on his current whereabouts, as I expected, but we had a nice long chat.”

“I’ll bet.” Connor picked up his pen and prepared for the download.

“Can I help it if most people like me?” Nikki patted her hair and sent his red-haired partner a pointed look. “I won’t repeat the stuff Dev said, since she agreed with all of it, but I did learn some new information. David Sanders died of Batten disease—the late infantile form, which the woman told me is very rare. He was diagnosed when he was four and got progressively worse.”

“Why do we need the Bureau of Vital Statistics when we have Nikki?” Dev chugged his water.

“May I continue?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“By all means.”

“In the beginning, the Sanderses tried all the conventional treatments. Then Jennifer Sanders developed cancer, and the family had to juggle both diseases. After she died, David’s condition continued to deteriorate—and Greg lost his job. Eventually his insurance ran out . . . along with most treatment options. The church held a fund-raiser for David, but it didn’t begin to cover the expenses. Even though all competent medical authorities consider David’s condition terminal, Greg apparently refused to believe the situation was hopeless.”

A muscle ticked in Cal’s jaw. “Our guy’s had some tough breaks.”

“That doesn’t condone criminal activity,” Connor shot back.

“I didn’t say it did. I’m just saying trauma can push some people over the edge.”

Though Cal’s tone was mild, Connor knew there was a world of hurt buried under his comment. Losing a wife to murder was about as traumatic as you could get—and he had a feeling his college buddy had come close to the edge on occasion himself in his early days as a grieving, too-young widower.

“So what else did you discover?” Dev ripped open a bag of potato chips and directed his question to Nikki.

She skewered him with a disapproving look as he chomped on one.

“Hey . . . I’m hungry.”

“There are more nutritious snacks.”

“I like these better.”

“They’re your arteries.” Shaking her head, she went back to her notes. “During the last six months of his son’s life, he got desperate. He began to look into experimental treatments, hoping to have one approved by his insurance before it ran out. When that didn’t happen, he remortgaged his house and took David to a clinic in China that used stem cell therapy to treat the disease. They were gone a month. Three weeks after they returned home, David developed encephalitis and pneumonia and died soon after.”

“There’s our explanation for the airline charges.” Connor finished off his soda, rested his elbows on the table, and steepled his fingers. “Tickets to China cost a chunk of change. But my guess is that was a small expense compared to the treatment.”

“It was. The woman at the church didn’t give me any totals, but I got the impression the cost of the therapy and the living expenses in China were in the tens of thousands of dollars.”

“And it didn’t work, anyway.” Connor’s gaze moved to the vase of exotic flowers on the cabinet across the room. They appeared to be real, but on close inspection turned out to be fake.

Kind of like the hope Sanders had no doubt been offered by the clinic in China.

But desperate people took desperate chances for those they loved—no matter the risk.

And when things went south, they often searched for scapegoats.

As if reading his mind, Cal spoke. “Assuming your client’s husband saw David Sanders, I wonder if revenge is our motive.”

“That seems like a stretch.” Dev drew a question mark on
the pad of paper in front of him. “Marshall’s diagnosis would just have confirmed the medical community’s position—that the disease couldn’t be cured. Why go after him?”

“If Sanders saw Marshall . . . the most respected expert in the country on this disease . . . I’m guessing Kate’s husband was his best—and last—legitimate option. Assuming he heard bad news, he may have cracked at that point. But I agree with your assessment. I think we’re missing something.” Connor frowned and tapped his index fingers together. “Revenge alone doesn’t explain how Kate’s son plays into this.”

“While we ponder all that, want to hear my report?” Cal indicated the tablet in front of him.

“Go ahead.” Connor picked up his pen again. “Unless you have anything else to add, Nikki.”

“No. The woman at the church finished by saying that after his son died, Sanders stopped coming to services and eventually moved away. She had no idea where.”

“I had an interesting conversation with the responding officer, who remembered the so-called drowning incident very well.” Cal consulted the notepad in front of him. “As the report indicated, the overturned boat was spotted by a couple of fishermen, who called in the alert. The officer said the two guys are upstanding area businessmen, so they had no reason to suspect them of being anything more than responsible citizens.”

Connor stopped writing. “Did the cop you talked with offer any off-the-record comments?”

“He didn’t dispute the official findings, but he did admit that your client’s concern about the life jackets bothered him. When I pressed, he went on the defensive and said they looked for other explanations, but there were no leads to follow and the situation did appear straightforward, other than the life jacket anomaly.” Cal consulted his notes again. “I also talked to the owner of the tackle shop where Marshall rented his boat each week.”

“What pretext did you use?” Dev crinkled his potato chip bag as he dug out the crumbs at the bottom, and Nikki rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t—but I did give him my police detective background and referred him to our website, which he perused as we talked. He was happy to cooperate.”

“Did he offer anything useful?” As his stomach rumbled, Connor eyed Dev’s empty potato chip bag, wishing he’d eaten a bigger lunch—and that more than a frozen dinner was waiting for him at home.

“After I chatted with him for a few minutes, I asked him to review his records for the day of the accident and see how many people had rented boats. He came up with eight names.”

Connor leaned foward. “Don’t tell me—Sanders was one of them.”