Obsessed (The Lizzy Gardner Series) (18 page)

CHAPTER 40

“Oh, man, you need to take a look at this.”

Hayley had just stepped into her apartment. She hung the dog leash on the nail next to the door before she made her way to the kitchen area, where Kitally was working on her laptop.

“What is it?”

Kitally pointed to a picture of a girl, then zoomed in on the girl’s face. “Who does that look like to you?”

“Like a younger Abbi Santos. What site is this?”

“It’s not good. It’s a porn site, but not just any porn site. Here the parents not only rent their kids out to perverts, they also post nude pictures of their teenage kids. They get paid for every click.”

“That is fucked up.”

“Earlier today, I ran Owen Santos’s name through a database of porn sites and sure enough, it popped up. That was my first clue that Mr. Santos had hobbies other than his fish. The problem with finding the hardcore perverts is that as you get to the more repulsive sites like this one, just about all the men use aliases and they’re difficult to track down.”

“What made you think to look for him on a porn site?”

“Come on,” Kitally said, “the man talks to his fish. He’s missing and his daughter is a cutter. We’re obviously dealing with a highly dysfunctional family. Anyhow,” she went on, “if a pervert wants to do more than just look, if he wants to sell pictures or anything else on any of these sites, the guy needs to give the so-called company a name and a bank account so they know where to send the money. These scumbags treat these sites like a real business, with 1099s and everything.”

“Did you sign up with a fake name?”

“No,” Kitally said. “I hacked into their system. I found Owen’s name within five minutes, which means he’s a vendor, not just a viewer. It didn’t take me long to find shots of Abbi. No wonder there’s no love lost between her and her father.”

“I guess you didn’t find any pictures of the younger daughter?”

“Nope. But poor Abbi was forced to do some pretty disgusting shit. I’ll print a few of the pictures and put them in the file.”

A rock hit the window, cracking the glass and making Kitally jump.

Dog barked and Hayley went to the sink and looked out the window. Nobody was there. She ran out of the apartment and downstairs.
Leave Us Alone
was spray-painted in green neon letters across the garage.

Kitally joined her. “Hmm. It’s obvious who left this message. She might as well have signed her name.”

Hayley sighed. “What are you now, a handwriting expert?”

“Just observant. Didn’t you see the green paint on the tips of Lara’s fingers the other day?”

“My attention was on Abbi’s wrists,” Hayley said as she noticed a man sitting in a Chrysler LeBaron parked across the street.

“Well, my guess is Abbi used her little sister’s spray paint.” Kitally pulled out her cell phone and used it to take some pictures, then looked at Hayley. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t look across the street,” Hayley said. “Just point to the paint on the garage door and keep talking.”

“Fine, but can you at least tell me what’s going on while I talk about nothing?”

“There’s a car parked across the street by the park. I’ve seen the driver before. He used to work for Brian.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go over there and talk to him. While I’m at it, I need you to get his license plate number.”

Hayley got halfway across the street before the car took off, tires screeching as it shot right at her. Hayley dove out of the way, rolled a few times, then jumped to her feet and said, “Did you get the number?”

“No. Let’s go after him.” Kitally jumped on her motorcycle and turned on the ignition. As soon as Hayley threw her leg over the back of the seat, Kitally took off.

After Kitally rounded the first corner, Hayley caught a glimpse of the Chrysler making a left up ahead. Kitally sped up and took the next turn too sharp, just missing a parked car, but managing to hold the lean position and keep the bike upright. The engine growled and screeched when she downshifted in order to swerve around a group of people crossing the street. Hayley had no idea how fast they were going and she didn’t want to know.

The Chrysler ran a red light.

Kitally hit the throttle. The front wheel jumped as they sped through the intersection. There were too many cars between them, so Kitally jumped the bike onto the sidewalk. People shouted and shook their fists before she cut back onto the road.

Kitally squeezed down on the throttle as she circled around the car in front of them, then sped up. They were gaining on him as they headed up El Camino.

He took a right. Kitally did the same.

“Which way did he go?”

“I’m not sure,” Hayley said. “Pull into the shopping center.”

Kitally circled around the area while they both kept a lookout. She stopped and said, “Damn. We almost had him.”

“One. Zero. Eight,” Hayley said. “Those were the first three letters on his plates. Doesn’t do us much good.”

They both took a moment to catch their breath.

“I guess you’ve been driving this thing for a while.”

“Since I was a kid.”

“Since we’re out and about,” Hayley said, “let’s go say hello to Helen Smith, Robin Santos’s neighbor, and see what she can tell us about the mysterious Owen Santos.”

Helen Smith resembled a troll. She stood under the five-foot mark. Her rolled back didn’t help matters. She had beady little eyes and a mountainous nose. She wore a flowery dress and a lavender sweater with missing buttons. Not only did Helen Smith talk a lot, she talked fast. It was like speed-reading: if you caught the first and last word in every sentence, you could pretty much figure out what the hell she was saying.

“The only normal one in that family is their little girl, Lara. Sweetest thing in the world,” Helen said. “Before Owen Santos disappeared, Lara used to come over all the time, mostly after school. We would talk and bake cookies.”

“What would Lara talk about?”

“She was always worried about her older sister.”

“Did she say why?”

“Well, you see, Lara is a freshman in high school now, which means she still goes to the same school as her sister. Apparently there were—maybe there still are, I don’t know—a lot of rumors going around, and Lara was worried about Abbi’s reputation. If I were her mother, I would never let Abbi out of the house wearing those skimpy clothes and that crimson lipstick. I mean, come on, ladies, she’d be better off with a colorful braid or tattoos like the two of you.”

“It’s called a dread,” Kitally told her. “Not too many people can rock one.”

Hayley scratched her neck and said nothing.

Helen didn’t need any prompting to keep talking. Hayley and Kitally sat on stools, watching her talk with her hands as she ran around the kitchen, collecting bowls and a mixer. “So you two work for that Lizzy Gardner woman?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kitally said, which for unknown reasons made Hayley smile.

“Could you grab the flour from the pantry?” Helen asked Kitally.

“You need to put on some weight,” Helen told Hayley the minute Kitally disappeared. “That friend of yours is a tiny thing, too, but she looks healthy. Could you grab a couple of eggs from the refrigerator?”

Hayley didn’t budge.

“The sooner we get these in the oven,” the woman told her, “the sooner you two can try a little bit of heaven.”

Kitally ended up getting the eggs and doing the baking while Hayley ushered the woman into the main room and did her best to keep her focused on why they were there in the first place.

“Is Owen a friendly man?” Hayley asked.

“Hmm. I don’t know about friendly, but he says hello or thanks me for the cookies I send over with Lara. Overall, I guess I’d have to say he is a strange one. I don’t trust people who don’t say much.” The woman stared at Hayley. “Like you, young lady. You’re a tough one to gauge. All of those tattoos on your body are throwing me off. Do they mean something?” She pointed to the snake tattoo on Hayley’s neck, the one with the skull for a head and a slithering tongue. Helen winced. “An angel on your collarbone and a snake thing on your neck. I don’t get it.”

Hayley shrugged. “If I told you it meant something, would it matter?”

Helen wagged a finger at her. “Ah, I get it. This is one of those curiosity-kills-the-cat things, isn’t it? If you tell me what it means and I don’t like it, I might not like you.”

“And why would I care if you liked me or not?” Hayley asked, irritated that the woman was getting to her.

“Everyone wants to be liked. It’s human nature.”

“She really doesn’t care,” Kitally told Helen as she stirred the ingredients inside the giant bowl she held in her arms.

“What happened to your finger?” Helen asked next.

Hayley was about to tell the woman to fuck off, that it was none of her business, when Kitally dropped the spoon into the bowl and picked up a framed picture. “Who’s this?”

“That’s my daughter, my only child.” Helen swallowed as if she were trying hard to keep her peppy self in check. “She was killed by a drunk driver.”

“I’m sorry,” Kitally said. Then she gave Hayley a look that said
give the woman a break
and headed back into the kitchen.

For the first time since they’d entered the house, Helen Smith was quiet.

For some weird reason, Hayley felt the woman’s pain ripple right through her.

As Hayley watched the woman sit quietly, she realized that nobody had ever asked her about her tattoos before. Not Lizzy, not Kitally, not even her mom. Hayley unclenched her teeth and said, “This coiled snake tattoo on the back of my neck represents my reality. The serpent holds his ground—fights and never retreats.”

Helen lifted her head and her eyes brightened just a little bit. “Is your snake poisonous?”

“No. Its venom provides me with expanded consciousness.”

Helen looked doubtful.

“The angel on my collarbone,” Hayley went on, “is someone I used to know.”

“The other
you
before all the bad,” Helen said as if she could read her mind. “She’s your guardian just as my daughter is mine. They watch over us and remind us to live in the moment and to dance like nobody’s watching.”

“Sure, yeah,” Hayley said.

The buzzer on the stove began to ding.

“I like your tattoos,” Helen said with a gentle pat on Hayley’s knee. “Now let’s go eat some cookies.”

CHAPTER 41

“Dad looks so much better,” Cathy said as she and Lizzy headed for the cafeteria to grab some coffee. “I’m proud of you for coming to see him. I do think it’s good for both of you.”

Lizzy nodded her head as she tried to think about how she was going to tell Cathy what she’d learned about their father.

After they grabbed a coffee and took a seat at the end of a long rectangular table, Cathy looked at her and said, “OK, out with it. You suck at trying to keep things from me, so what’s going on?” She pointed a finger at Lizzy. “And please tell me this has nothing to do with you and Jared.”

Lizzy frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“Never mind. What is it then? What’s going on?”

“It’s about Dad.”

Cathy frowned.

“Remember the day Dad had gotten out of surgery and I called you to let you know the nurse had called me by mistake?”

Cathy nodded.

“Well, I didn’t tell you the whole truth. The fact is I went to see Dad that morning, but he’d just been wheeled out of the recovery room. After watching him sleep for a while, I got up to stretch and found an envelope made out to Grandpa with a handmade note inside.” Lizzy pulled up the pictures on her phone and handed Cathy her cell.

Cathy glanced at the drawing. “Emma. Who is Emma?”

“There’s more,” Lizzy said. “When Dad woke up, he called me by the name of Michelle, then reached out his arms and asked for Emma.”

“Well, he was obviously still drugged up . . . you know . . . delirious.”

“I was thinking that was the case,” Lizzy went on, “but there was a return address on the envelope. I did some investigating—”

“Of course you did,” Cathy cut in.

Lizzy sighed. “Michelle and Emma live in Oregon. I found an address and telephone number. I called Michelle, but she wasn’t home so I talked to her husband instead. I pretended to be a nurse calling from the hospital and told him that Mr. Gardner had listed Michelle Borell as one of the emergency numbers and that I needed to know if the name and number were correct.”

“This is crazy,” Cathy said. “What did he say?”

“He said yes, that all of the information was correct. He sounded concerned. He wanted to know how Michelle’s father was doing.”

Cathy stared at Lizzy as if she had lost her mind. “Are you trying to tell me that Dad has another family hidden away in Oregon?”

“I’m just as confused as you are, but I figured you would want to know about this.”

Cathy stood up. “Why would you do this?”

“Why would I do what?”

“You have a wedding to plan but we have yet to try on dresses or celebrate in any way. More importantly, Dad has cancer. He’s dying, Lizzy, and yet here you are making phone calls and doing everything you can to find a way to drive a wedge between me and Dad.”

Lizzy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I should have known you would find a way to try to make this my fault.” Lizzy shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

Without another word between them, Cathy grabbed her coffee cup and tossed it in the garbage by the door as she walked out.

After Lizzy watched Cathy storm off, she decided to let her be for now. Cathy needed time to digest the news and figure things out for herself.

Once again Lizzy’s life felt like it was spiraling out of control. Jared was the only stable thing in it. She really did need to take a few weeks off and concentrate on her wedding, now only thirty-two days away. And yet she knew she wouldn’t be able to get anything done until she helped Dr. Blair. The woman had made a terrible mistake. But the thing was, Lizzy could sense fear miles away and Madeline was seriously afraid for her life.

Lizzy couldn’t just push it all aside. Whether Detective Chase or anyone else wanted to acknowledge it, the truth was that Madeline’s friends were disappearing. They needed to find the person responsible before he got ahold of anyone else.

As long as she was here, Lizzy took the elevator to the third floor, where she stopped at the nurses’ station to ask about Madeline’s clinical toxicology report. There was only one nurse at the desk. According to the tag on her chest, her name was Margery. The odds of getting any information from the nurse were not in her favor, but one thing she’d learned over the years was that it never hurt to ask.

“My client, Dr. Madeline Blair,” Lizzy told the nurse, “had some tests done here last week. I called a few days ago, but the results hadn’t arrived yet. I was wondering if someone could tell me when we can expect her toxicology report to come in?”

Margery clacked away at the keyboard. “The report is right here. These tests usually take weeks, but it looks like Dr. Blair’s tests were expedited. They came in two days ago. When did you call?”

“Yesterday.”

“That’s odd.”

“What?” Lizzy strained to see the report, but the monitor was turned away from her. “I’m a private investigator hired by Dr. Blair. Would it be possible for me to get a copy of the report?”

Margery leaned in and peered at the screen.
Come on, lady, give me the report.
She could always have Madeline stop by for it, but that would be a hassle and would waste precious time.

“Janelle Brown was the nurse in charge that day.” Margery looked around. “That’s Janelle right there. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Damn. As soon as Margery walked off, Lizzy leaned over the counter and moved the computer screen so that she could scan the report. It was mostly mumbo jumbo, medical jargon she didn’t understand, but then she saw the words
etorphine
and
fentanyl
and she knew instantly that’s what Madeline’s attacker had used to immobilize her. Why both drugs, though? Perhaps there was no method to his madness. Maybe he used whatever he could get his hands on. He must have shot Madeline up in the beginning so he could tie her up and then again before he removed all evidence.

Lizzy had straightened just as Margery pointed her out. Despite the severe expression on her face, Janelle was an attractive woman in her early forties. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a messy bun. A streak of white through her bangs, though, spoke of stress, or maybe she had a pigmentation anomaly. A stethoscope hung down her chest over blue scrubs. Completing the ensemble were black canvas tennis shoes with white polka dots. Interesting.

Janelle walked over to where Lizzy stood. “Margery tells me you want a copy of a report. We have strict rules about these things. We can’t give the report to anyone but the detective in charge of Ms. Blair’s case.”

“I have his card right here in my bag. Would it be possible to have the information sent over to Detective Chase today?”

She stiffened, obviously not pleased by the request, but she collected herself and agreed to have Margery look into the matter. It would be hard to miss the crackle of bad energy coming off the woman. When Lizzy failed to head off, the nurse’s eyes roamed over the length of her, assessing and resentful. “Is there something else I can help you with?” she finally asked.

Despite the woman’s wrathful stare, Lizzy held her ground. “I was wondering if you could tell me how many drug diversion cases you and your staff report each month.”

“Is that why you’re here? Because of a reported drug theft?”

“One of the cases I’m working on involves the theft of syringes of fentanyl, a narcotic painkiller used—”

“I am aware of the drug fentanyl,” Janelle said, cutting her off.

“Does your hospital have a password-controlled system for dispensing narcotics in the operating room?”

“Of course.”

“And every loss is reported to the DEA within twenty-four hours of the theft?”

The woman’s face flushed. Her fingers curled at her sides as if she were getting ready to claw somebody’s eyes out, most likely Lizzy’s. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?”

“Not at all.”

“And what was your name?”

“Lizzy Gardner, private investigator. And yours?”

“Janelle Brown, head nurse. It’s time for me to get back to work. If you have further questions, I suggest you take the matter up with the hospital administrator.”