Ice (A Chris Matheson Cold Case Mystery Book 1) Page 11

  “I wasn’t the father,” Chris said.

  “This isn’t about you,” Jacqui said. “It’s about Sandy. Dr. Poole sees that she’s pregnant and isn’t in the best of situations. Meanwhile, suppose he is contacted by a couple who desperately want a baby—desperate enough to buy one on the black market.”

  “Or suppose Dr. Poole has been up to his eyeballs in the black market sale of babies all along.” Francine turned to Chris. “You say he’s on the board of the pregnancy center?”

  Chris nodded his head. “He’s got a lot of influence in this town.”

  “The pregnancy center would put him in contact with a lot of young desperate, vulnerable girls with unwanted pregnancies,” Elliott said.

  “Okay, let’s say this Tamara Wilcox was Sandy,” Francine said. “He’s a doctor. Why not deliver the baby someplace other than a hospital in the very same neighborhood where she lives where someone can identify her?”

  “Something went wrong,” Chris said.

  “He may have given her a drug to induce labor,” Jacqui said. “If she had a bad reaction to the medication, that could have caused her to go into cardiac arrest. So he drives Sandy, unconscious, to the hospital and Poole makes up a story about finding her in the parking lot and gives a phony name.”

  “But if Sandy had survived, she would have given her real name and named Dr. Poole for being one of her abductors,” Francine said.

  “They may have kept her drugged the entire time so that she wouldn’t have known who her abductors were,” Elliott said. “Was there an autopsy?”

  “Yes,” Jacqui said. “The medical examiner determined that death was natural causes. She had an undetected birth defect in her heart.”

  “That birth defect may have contributed to what killed her,” Chris said. “There are poisons and toxins that aren’t discoverable unless you look for them.”

  “No tox screen was done.”

  “If the motive was to steal the baby, then how were they going to kidnap it from inside the hospital?” Elliott said.

  “This was twenty-four years ago,” Jacqui said. “Hospital security was not as tight as it is now.”

  “Even back then, Dr. Poole was a very influential doctor in the area,” Chris said. “He would have had the means of getting the baby released to adoptive parents.”

  “We need to find some way to positively identify this Tamara Wilcox as Sandy Lipton,” Elliott said. “What happened to her body?”

  “And the body of the baby,” Chris said.

  “That’s another suspect we can’t forget,” Francine said. “The baby’s father. Maybe Dr. Poole was working in cahoots with the father. The father could have been the one who put the baby up for sale.”

  “Not only will the baby’s DNA clear me, but it may identify Sandy’s real killer,” Chris said. “Jacqui, can you and Ray find out who claimed the bodies of this Tamara Wilcox and her baby?”

  “It wasn’t until weeks after she’d died and the body had never been claimed that the hospital started asking questions,” Jacqui said. “At that point, she still had an ID—Tamara Wilcox. The hospital assumed that the family couldn’t afford to make arrangements for her body.”

  “But the police were looking for a Jane Doe or Sandy Lipton,” Chris said. “That’s why they never found her.”

  “The police were looking for Sandy Lipton in a shallow grave someplace when her body was in a morgue all along,” Francine said. “Like The Purloin Letter. Hide a letter among a bunch of other letters. Our killer poisoned Sandy and delivered her to the ER to die. When she died, she ended up in the morgue to get lost among other dead bodies.”

  “It wasn’t until much later that the hospital’s business office discovered that the address and ID were a phony,” Jacqui said. “The hospital assumed that they had been given fake information because she and her family couldn’t afford the medical care. They had no idea this woman was a missing person.”

  “I’m sure her body is long gone,” Chris said.

  “Hey, don’t underestimate us,” Francine said. “In less than forty-eight hours, Jacqui and Ray found a woman who had been missing for twenty-four years. We’ll find her body.”

  “The morgue doesn’t just toss out unclaimed bodies with the trash,” Jacqui said. “Wherever Sandy’s and her baby’s bodies went—there’s got to be a paper trail. All we have to do is follow it. And, when we find them, then we’ll be able to ask them what happened. Even dead bodies talk—no matter how long they’ve been dead.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Usually, the morning rush at Billie’s would end by mid-morning. However, on this morning, the power was still out in most communities east of Charles Town. After they had finished eating, many customers lingered while debating whether to return to their homes or find another place to hang out.

  The Geezer Squad gave their table to a family with three small children. Each member of the squad took an assignment to follow up on Jacqui and Ray’s findings. Somehow, Jacqui was going to access the hospital records to find out what had happened to Tamara Wilcox’s body, as well as that of her baby. Chris was afraid to ask how she would be able to get into the hospital’s secure records.

  Francine was going to dig into Dr. Frederic Poole’s background for evidence of him using the pregnancy center to deal in black market adoptions. She was also going to check her sources for information about an illegal adoption ring that could have kidnapped Sandy to steal her baby.

  Elliott fell in step with Chris as he made his way along the plaza’s walkway to where he had parked his truck. “How long has it been since you had any contact with the Krawford family?”

  “I wasn’t even married then. At least fifteen years. Why?”

  “And you were undercover when you worked that case.”

  Chris stopped and turned to Elliott. “I didn’t say—”

  “You wouldn’t have been able to make any progress in the case against them if you weren’t. You need to find out if this dude had gotten himself offed by the Krawfords—if it’d been a professional hit. You could ask them, but they’ll say no.”

  “True.” Chris was intrigued.

  “The only way to find out for certain is to ask someone on the inside.”

  “Do you know anyone on the inside?”

  “I know a guy.”

  “You know a guy? Close to the Krawfords?” Chris chuckled. “How close?”

  Elliott brought his lips to Chris’s ear. “Very close.” With a wink, he turned and walked away.

  Chris called after him. “How long will it take for you to get in touch with your guy?”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Elliott replied with his back to him.

  Chris narrowed his eyes to gray slits. How does Elliott know the Krawfords? Can he be former FBI, too? At the club meeting, everyone had revealed their background except Elliott.

  His phone vibrated to signal that he’d received a text. Chris extracted it from his pocket while making his way to his truck. It was a text from his daughter Emma. The thought of his youngest daughter texting him a note of affection made him smile—until he saw the picture she was forwarding to him. Horror gripped his heart at the sight of Sterling—his eyes bugging—clad in a pink tutu and a plastic tiara wrapped around the top of his head.

  “Oh, no!” Chris said to the image of the stunned canine, “Hang on, Sterling!” He shoved the phone into his pocket and ran for the truck. “I’m coming to save you!”

  “How was breakfast with Elliott?” Doris intercepted Chris in the family room after breaking up Emma’s tea party.

  Even Thor, looking splendid in a blue sequined Cinderella costume, seemed disappointed to see Sterling swept away from the table in the girls’ playroom. They had been having so much fun eating real sugar cookies and drinking orange juice in plastic tea cups.

  “Fine,” Chris said while
brushing Sterling to make sure he got every speck of the multi-colored glitter that Emma had sprinkled over him out of his fur.

  “What did you two talk about?”

  “Mysteries.”

  “What kind of mysteries?”

  “The ones on the list for our book club.”

  He sensed his mother behind him folding her arms—a sure sign of growing suspicion. “Your book club meeting ran ninety minutes late the other night and now Elliott calls you to meet him for breakfast to continue the discussion? That must have been some book.”

  “It wasn’t just Elliott,” Chris said. “A couple members of the club met us, too.”

  “What members?”

  “Francine and Jacqui.”

  “Jacqui?”

  Chris gave up on his search for glitter and rose to his feet. “What’s wrong with Jacqui?”

  “Nothing.”

  Chris arched an eyebrow at her.

  “Her husband was much older than she was,” Doris said. “I’m not one to gossip—”

  “Of course not.”

  “—but Jill told me that he was married when they’d met. She was a med student, and he was her professor. He left his wife and children to marry her. He died a little over five years ago. Of course, he left her a fortune. She retired from the medical examiner’s office in Pennsylvania and moved to a big showplace up in Eagle’s Nest on the mountain.”

  “If she married him when she was a student and he died around five years ago, they must have been married for a real long time,” he said. “Maybe it wasn’t as sordid as you think.”

  “You mean like Blair and her Australian friend?”

  As she followed Chris up the stairs to the living room, Doris wished she could suck the reference to his late wife right back into her mouth. Too late. The unspoken truth about why Blair had left her family to take an overseas assignment was out there. The only option she had left was to change the subject. “Katelyn asked me for money.”

  Chris came to a halt. He squared his shoulders and turned around to face her. At their feet, the three dogs watched the exchange between their masters like it was a tennis match.

  “Did she tell you what she wanted the money for?” Chris asked.

  Doris folded her arms. Her displeasure matched his. “A date with Zack.”

  “I hope you said no.” With a shake of his head, he held up his hand. “Even if you didn’t, I’m forbidding her to go out with him. The guy’s a player. He’ll break her heart.”

  “Christopher, don’t you remember anything from when you were a teenager? If you forbid her to see Zack then that’s only going to make him more attractive to her. She’s going to want him more.”

  “You never forbade me to see anyone. Probably because I didn’t get hooked up with losers like this kid.”

  “Have you forgotten about Rodney? Or how about Felicia?” Her hands landed on her hips. “I can’t tell you how many nights I tossed and turned—worried sick while you were dating that tramp.”

  “Felicia was not a tramp.”

  “What else do you call a girlfriend who hooks up with your best friend?”

  As if the German shepherd were capable of speaking in his defense, Chris looked at Sterling, who laid down with a moan.

  Sadie and Mocha almost seemed to smirk in agreement while Doris continued.

  “When I could sleep, I had nightmares of Felicia getting pregnant and then we’d be stuck with her in the family. Thank God it was Rodney whose life she ruined instead of yours.”

  “Mom, you never told me you felt that way about her.”

  “Exactly!” She practically stabbed him in the eye with a manicured fingernail. “I saw early on that those two were bad news, but I kept my feelings to myself and prayed that your good sense would kick in—which it did.” She sighed. “Oh, when you got together with Helen, it was the answer to a prayer.”

  “And then she ended up breaking my heart,” Chris said.

  “I’m sure she had a good reason.”

  With a groan, Chris led Sterling through the mudroom.

  “Leave Katelyn to me.”

  “I don’t want you giving her money to go out with that SOB.”

  “I’ll talk sense into her.” Doris followed Chris out onto the porch. “You’re taking Sterling with you?” Folding her arms across her chest to keep off the chill, she shivered on the porch while watching them cross the driveway. “He’s not going to get in that truck. They had to sedate him the other day for us to bring him home.”

  “He’ll ride with me.” Chris opened the passenger door and gestured for Sterling to jump in. “Get in, boy.”

  Sterling looked up at the seat high above him and then back to Chris. He laid his ears back in fear. His eyes were wide.

  “Told you.”

  Chris knelt in front of the former police canine and petted him. “You have every reason to be scared. Something horrid happened to you when you were with your last partner. I get that. But I’m not going to let you be trapped like that. You’re not going to be in a crate. You’re not going to be locked in the truck unable to get out. Here’s the score. If you want to ride with me, you need to get in the truck—front seat. Otherwise, you’re going to be stuck here getting dressed up in Lord knows what.” He whispered in his ear. “Emma has a Supergirl costume.”

  Before Chris had time to stand up, Sterling leapt up into the front seat. With a chuckle, Chris slammed the door and crossed around in front of the truck to the driver’s side.

  “What did you say to him?” Doris asked.

  “Can’t tell you. It only between us guys.”

  Chris and Helen had agreed to meet with Deputy Sheriff Rodney Bell to brief him on the FBI taking the lead on the Tommy Bukowski murder. Hopefully, the lieutenant in charge of the state police’s local homicide division could extract details about Ethel Lipton’s statement that Chris didn’t have the authority to get. They also hoped that her presence would make Rodney less hostile about Chris’s involvement in the investigation.

  Sterling proved to be a good passenger. Instead of being closed up in the rear compartment of an SUV, he rode in the front seat. When not peering at the passing landscape, he’d cock his head and perk his ears in response to the classical music playing on the truck’s radio.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Chris said when he saw Sterling peering at the computer screen built into the dash. “You’re used to radio dispatches during your previous ride-a-longs. Do you like music?” He pressed the station selection icon on the screen to change from a Vivaldi channel to Bach.

  As the loud thunderous notes of a horn section erupted from the speakers, Sterling sat up straight. His eyes bugged almost as wide as they did when Emma wrapped the tiara around his head.

  “It’s an acquired taste. You’ll get used to it.” He patted the dog on the head before turning the truck into a convenience store along Route 340.

  They had plenty of time to kill before meeting Helen at the sheriff’s department in Kearneysville so Chris decided to fill up his gas tank. He pulled into the service station and climbed out. While pumping the gas, he watched Sterling, who was staring at the radio console in the dashboard, even though it wasn’t playing since the engine was off.

  While washing the windows to clean the road salt off, Chris smiled at the handsome German shepherd. His markings were very similar to Winston’s, but there were telling differences between their personalities. Sterling was much more playful—as shown by using the low hanging tree branch for a swing.

  How was he even able to engineer the concept of using a tree branch for a toy? The thought of doing that would have never entered Winston’s mind.

  How Sterling was able to tolerate Emma putting him in a tutu, Chris did not know. That and his immediate friendship with Thor was clear evidence of his gentle nature. But, gentle dogs don’t b
ecome police canines. There had to be a fighter lurking somewhere under his mild-mannered exterior.

  After he’d finished at the pumps, Chris pulled the truck around to the front of the convenience store. “You’re probably wanting a snack, huh?” he asked the dog, who was still studying the radio. The low brooding notes of Johann Sebastian Bach flowed out of the speakers.

  Chris slid out of the front seat to go inside to buy a chew bone to keep Sterling occupied during his meeting with Helen. He left the engine running to keep the dog warm during the couple of minutes it would take to make his purchase.

  After paying for the chew bone, he hurried outside. Through the windshield, he saw Sterling watching him. His tongue hung seemingly to his chest from his open mouth. When Chris opened the door, an explosion of fiddles playing a Charlie Daniels’s tune about the Devil going down to Georgia knocked him backwards.

  Sterling had figured out how to change the radio station.

  Before climbing back into the truck, Chris reached across the driver’s seat to punch the screen until he managed to find another classical station.

  Sterling’s ears fell to the side. He uttered a whine.

  “No country music.” Chris climbed into the driver’s seat. “Just because we live on a farm and I drive a pickup truck doesn’t mean I like country music.” He dug the dog treat out of the bag and fought to unwrap it.

  Sterling hung his head. His brown eyes darted from where Chris was fumbling with the wrapper that appeared to be cemented around the oversized dog biscuit to the radio’s touch screen.

  “I hate country music. As a matter of fact, I hate any song with vocals.” He let out an exasperated breath and held the unwrapped biscuit out to the dog. “No more country music. I drive and I control the music in the truck. Got it?”

  Sterling looked at Chris, the biscuit in his hand, and then back to the console from which a light bouncy classical tune was playing.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Sterling’s eyes met Chris’s. Then, quick as a rabbit, he punched the console with his snout. While Reba McEntire lamented about her broken heart, Sterling snatched the biscuit out of Chris’s hand.