Fractured (24 page)

The receptionist, middle-aged and harried, at first nodded, but then frowned even as she reached for the keyboard of her computer. “Don't you need a court order for this kind of information?”

What? People watched entirely too much television, Jason thought irritably.

“Employee information in a public institution is already available, but it would be a lot simpler if you could give it to us. We can get a warrant for the student roster, but this is not invasive information, just a list of names. As I said, we are following a lead. There is no actual suspect as of yet.”

In the end, a short call to Metzger, a twenty-minute wait, and one fax later, they had the information they wanted. He tried to decide if she admired the woman's stubbornness or just found it annoying since this
was
a murder investigation. Ellie stayed pleasant, but he wasn't nearly as patient. Then again, ever since their conversation with Grasso he'd been tense.

“No one named Lauren in the same department, but she could easily be other faculty,” Ellie said as they walked toward the car, students streaming past, shivering against the cold. “In the past year, only two students with that name, but then again he taught upper-level classes and it isn't
that
common of a name.”

“We know someone named Lauren.” Jason pushed a button on his key chain to start the truck. “Just met her recently.”

The offhand tone of his voice obviously set off alarm bells. He was not an offhand kind of person. Ellie looked at him sharply, “Go on.”

“Pretty, wouldn't you say? She seems kind of interested. I mean she just showed up at my apartment the other night. We went out for a drink.”

“Lauren, as in the governor's Lauren, just showed up? And she asked you out?”

He slanted a sardonic look her way. “Your level of surprise isn't very flattering. Yes, she asked me out for a drink and I went. Man and woman sharing a booth and having a beverage. Not a first in the history of mankind.”

“True enough.” She opened her own door before he could get it for her and clambered inside the vehicle. “And I'm not really all that surprised given the way she was flirting with you at the dinner. Get in and tell me why it's bothering you.”

“I never stated it was bothering me.” He stood there in the snow, flakes drifting onto his coat, a few clinging to his lashes.
So, she had noticed
 …

“Bullshit,” she said inelegantly and slammed the door.

She had a point, since it
was
bothering him. He went around and got in, flicking up the heat, slamming his door even more vehemently. “It was more how she acted than anything … I don't know. She said she was studying for her MBA, and she works at the hospital.”

“She wasn't taking any of Peterson's classes.”

“But what if she saw him there?”

“What if? Keep going.”

“It seemed contrived.” He didn't pull out right away, still thinking, staring at the snow-flecked windshield. “She really flirted with me, but there was something forced about it. I'm not doing a good job of describing it, but let's just say I had a drink with a very nice-looking young woman who went through some trouble to make it happen and I was uncomfortable for some unknown reason.”

“That certainly is not you.”

“I'm trying to tell you a serious story, dammit.”

Ellie looked interested and that was good, but he would have preferred at least some measure of annoyance based on jealousy. “Go on. I'm listening, believe me. So a pretty woman who just happens to have the same first name as the one who might or might not have been seeing Peterson asked you out. Give me one solid reason that is pertinent to this case.”

He put the truck in gear and looked over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking space as he said, “Because, FYI, I'm blond and about the same age, height, and weight as the other three victims. She also drives a pretty nice black car. During the course of casual conversation about our routine lives, she even mentioned the hospital cafeteria served some killer apple cinnamon muffins.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I know,” he said grimly, “but yet I kind of think I am.”

*   *   *

As she watched
the white-dusted buildings as they drove past, Ellie digested this new twist to an already unusual case.

He could be delusional.

Only Jason Santiago was a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

He was thinking, she was thinking, and they didn't talk for a while.

In profile she studied his slightly Roman nose. There were Italians that were blond, especially from the northern part of that country. “A few more details would be appreciated for this insane theory. It could be coincidence. We are talking the governor's niece here.”

“I agree, but…” He trailed off.

“But?”

“The name is hardly significant, I agree,” he said, turning into the station parking lot. “And the muffins … has there ever been a murder case on record solved by a link to baked goods? It was more
her
. I'm trying hard to figure out how to describe it. She even said she felt like a stalker, and you know, it rang true. She might have been exactly that. I just have a hunch. Jesus, I hate that damn word. No, she wasn't one of his students, but there is a clear tie between Peterson and the hospital.”

A hunch. And Peterson had eaten something that resembled an apple muffin. So had the second victim.

The problem was, he could be right. The link was starting to strengthen. Peterson and the hospital. Lauren and the hospital. Maybe they could link victim two as well.

He turned the truck off but Ellie didn't make a move to get out, mostly certain he was dead wrong, but not convinced enough to tell him to just go get a life. Her gaze was searching and he looked right back. “So, you are trying to tell me that a possible murderer sought out the officer who is investigating her crimes and invited him out for a drink?”

“Oh, hell no. I'm saying we stumbled across each other because of that accident and I fit what she seems to be looking for. Maybe that we're looking for
her
is a secondary thrill of some kind. Don't ask me for a motive, I don't even have a theory on that one. All I know is it seems like she went to some trouble to make sure we'd meet again, first at the dinner, and then when she came to my apartment.”

“It's possible she just thinks you're an attractive guy.”

“Thank you. I accept the heartfelt compliment.”

He was, as usual, impossible. “A professor, a squatter, an exterminator, and a homicide detective? That's quite a range of dissimilarity.”

“It isn't what we do, Ellie, it's how we look.”

The parking lot resembled something out of a dreary movie, snow-covered and not yet plowed because so far they only had maybe an inch of accumulation on top of the piles of existing snow. “It sounds pretty far-fetched,” she said, but her voice didn't carry the earlier conviction. God, maybe he was on to something. “All we have is a first name with a tentative link to Peterson. Admit that's very, very thin.”

“I have her phone number.”

“What are you going to do, call the governor's niece up and ask her if maybe she murdered three men—four if she shot Gurst—and if she says yes, we can make an arrest? Great plan.”

He lifted his shoulders. “Look, we think we're looking for a woman. Possibly someone named Lauren, and there is a thread with the physical descriptions,the car, and even those muffins link the second victim. I admit it's thin, but my instincts tell me something is off. Why don't I just call her and make another date?”

“Maybe because she could be a potential murderer? Just a thought.”

“How nice to know you care.”

Despite the sarcastic drawl of that observation, she actually did. “I'm being serious. The whole world thinks there are successful serial killers crawling around everywhere, when in truth it is very hard to get away with it. That means the good ones are not just dysfunctional but also smart. Don't be stupid.”

He said mildly, “I think I've just been insulted. Luckily I'm too stupid to be insulted. Tell you what, let's put this in front of Grasso and get his opinion. A forum is better than an argument.”

“Forum?” She opened her door. “Really? You
have
been watching PBS.”

*   *   *

Georgia sat and
contemplated the fire.

Ethics were a pain in the posterior, and she'd known it going in when she chose her profession. There was a reason they had to take classes on that subject and on the legal ramifications of falling asleep during the part about patient confidentiality. She'd stayed wide awake.

She liked her living room. It had warm wood floors and the mantel was polished wood wide enough to display several vases she'd collected over the years, and vintage family photos. She'd made sure her couch was comfortable enough she could slip out of her shoes and relax before the fire. At the moment, however, she was immune to the inviting atmosphere and focused on her current dilemma.

It was clearly part of her professional responsibility to divulge information revealed in therapy that, if she felt it was pertinent, threatened the safety of an individual.

But, she pondered as she sipped a glass of wine, her feet up on an ottoman, the flames leaping and giving out welcome warmth, when an unstable patient speculated on the emotional state of a person Georgia had never even met, she was not obligated to report that to anyone. She might even be violating any number of rules and costing the taxpaying population money if the police chose to pursue the tip.

It wasn't like she enjoyed being in this position, and in a moment of self-contemplation, she wondered if two of her patients weren't homicide detectives would she even be having this inner conversation.

In the end, she picked up her phone and called Grant again.

She cut his warm hello short. “I need your help.”

“If this is a flat tire, I'll come get you right away, but I have a feeling it isn't.”

The man was entirely too astute, she'd always known it. “No, I'm sitting in my living room drinking Merlot.”

“Wearing?”

She laughed. She couldn't help it. “Fully clothed. Sorry.”

“I'll just pretend I got a different answer. I'm very curious about the question at hand. Shoot.”

“Remember our recent conversation?”

“Certainly. Your fragile patient with the roommate issues.”

She crossed her ankles and closed her eyes. The fire crackled. “I think I have a new problem. I just want you to tell me what you would do, and then I'll make a decision and never tell you what it is. Agreed?”

“How can I refuse an offer like that? My pompous opinion and no ramifications? I'm in.”

“I want to know if I should go to the police. All I have is the speculation of an unstable patient about someone I have never met or evaluated. It feels to an extent like repeating unreliable gossip. On the other hand, if half of what this patient has told me is true, this person could potentially be a true threat.”

“To?”

“Random victims. That's my impression. There's a transference problem from a past occurrence that maybe has the roommate acting out her rage. She's acquired a gun, I know that much.”

“That's quite a leap. A lot of people in this country have guns.”

She briefly outlined what Rachel had told her about Lea following men around.

“It sounds dangerous.” Seriousness replaced his earlier teasing tone. “But I'm not sure what you can do. This is not duty to warn because it doesn't sound like there is anything concrete enough for that. This is a feeling a patient has because she is at odds with someone she knows. Georgia, tread lightly on this. First of all, the police deal with facts, not suppositions, and you have no facts that I've heard so far.”

“It is possible there's blood in Lea's car. Rachel has said she thinks it might be. What if by DNA they could link it to a crime?”

“Oh.” He audibly blew out a breath. “That's a little different, but still, if you only
think
you have it … this is tricky. Your first concern should be the welfare of your patient. From what I've heard so far, she has a very involved relationship with this person and should you bring her suspicions to light it would probably shatter it. What would that do to her, especially if it proved not to be true?”

Rachel never talked about other friends, just Lea. He had a point.

“Agreed.”

“Dinner soon?”

“I'd like that. Thanks.” She pushed a button and went back to watching the fire. She really owed Ellie MacIntosh.

But paybacks could be hell.

 

Chapter 24

Jason parked the car and wondered again about the vagaries of fate.

Grasso's house was in a neighborhood built by old money, set well back from the street, the manicured lawn indicative of the fortune he'd been left when his parents had met with an accident when he was still in college. He answered the elegant front door without his suit coat, his tie discarded and his shirt unbuttoned at the neck and yet Jason wondered if he ever actually relaxed.

They came from very dissimilar backgrounds but had one thing in common. Both of them had a unique dedication to their job.

“Come on in.” Grasso stepped back to let them into the foyer. “The one evening I leave a little early and work comes to me. Good. Saves me from going back. The message you left sounded pretty interesting. Let's go sit down and you can fill me in.”

Both he and Ellie had been to the house before and Jason was fairly sure that Lieutenant Carl Grasso hadn't changed the expensive but dated furnishings one bit since he inherited the pricey property, but that was his choice. His place might be decorated like a college dorm room, but it was a lot more comfortable in his opinion than this big rambling house.