26. Finn
Chapter 26
Finn
T he mansion in the middle of nowhere was being used as a hospital before someone turned it into a pile of kindling. It was an unmonitored medical facility, licensed and accredited by absolutely no fucking one. Whoever was in charge of the place abandoned it, the patients, and employees, and left them all to be incinerated in the fire.
Holden and I have read the Fire Marshal and police reports. The staff has been less than helpful in both investigations. Ordinarily I wouldn’t give a shit about a burning building, but it’s in the dead camera zone, and it’s one of the locations pinged on the waste removal van’s GPS. That makes it a clue. To what? We do not know, but it feels important. That’s why I’m here at Canyon Falls General, talking to a woman with skin so translucent that I know it’s been years since the last time she’s seen sunlight.
She’s having trouble keeping her thoughts straight, but there are two things she’s said repeatedly. She’s only thirty-three (but looks like she’s every bit of fifty plus), and when I asked her name, she keeps muttering something about how they took them so they don’t exist. None of the other patients have anything to say at all. They’re doped up or too catatonic to talk.
Exiting her room, I head to the nurses’ station. It might be easier to sweet talk one of the nurses into sharing some details. As I’m approaching the desk, I spot two men poking their heads into the patient rooms further down the hall.
I pull out my phone, and hit record, while pretending to type something. They stop at the nurses’ station and one of them asks if any patients from the fire are on a separate floor, quickly explaining that he’s looking for his sister.
Whoever the girl is, she’s not his sister. The frown on his face, and the worry in his voice are as fake as the lashes on the nurse’s eyelids, and just as unbelievable. But the nurse doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t care. She asks for the sister’s name and date of birth.
“Marcy Glover, and to be honest, I’m not sure of her birthday.”
She looks up from her computer and repeats, “You don’t know your sister’s birthday?”
“I do, but you see, she’s had some medical issues her whole life. I’ve been deployed overseas and just got back into town. I’ve been dealing with the passing of our grandmother, who raised us, and to be honest, I’m not even sure if granny had all her dates and things straight. So I’m not sure what birthday she would have listed for my sister. Sometimes she mixed up our dates. Can’t you just look it up by her name?”
He’s spinning his lie and I’ve moved to sit in a chair, zooming in on the two. The nurse types something and looks up at him, repeating the name, “Marcy Glover?”
“That’s right. With an e. M-A-R-C-Y-E.”
Marcy, with an e . Okay, thanks for the clue buddy. I know before the nurse answers that this Marcye isn’t here, and if she was a patient at the burned down hospital, she should be here. This is where the police report says all the patients were transported to.
I’ve been here all day and Marcye is the first person to have a so-called family member come searching for her. I’m here, but I didn’t pretend to be a relative. My disguise was a delivery guy, and I came loaded with flowers and balloons for the patients. I look back towards the room where the young grandmom is, her words echoing in my head. They took them so they don’t exist.
I leave the waiting area before the two guys do. I’m in my car in front of the hospital, when they exit the building. Judging by the set of their shoulders and the grim looks on their faces, whoever it is that they’re looking for is a problem, and they’re on a mission to silence her. They cross to the employee parking lot, jump into a black SUV, and exit the hospital campus.
I keep a reasonable distance as I follow them through town. Our trip leads me deeper into the Southside than I’ve ever ventured before. I keep checking my rearview mirror to make sure nobody’s following me, following them. I’m pretty sure I haven’t been spotted, but you can never be too careful.
We continue on and they make a left-hand turn onto a road that eventually intersects with Canyon Cove Drive. We take a right, and another left, entering a residential neighborhood I’m unfamiliar with. I stop in front of a house near the corner, watching as the SUV pulls into the cul-de-sac and drives through a gate at the end of the street. I can’t make out the address from here, and I don’t want to risk being spotted driving through the street, so I’ll come back at night and investigate on foot.
I pull up my maps app to figure out where the hell we are. The location pin has me in the middle of Canyon Falls and Red Cliffs. I frown at the dot. When the hell did they build houses and a thru road from the Southside of Canyon Falls out here?
“You’re sure about this?” I ask, gesturing towards Holden’s screens. He’s doubled down on digging through the records for Three Kings Waste Disposal.
“The company has a contract to pick up and transport biomedical waste from Rockridge.” He pulls up another screen and says, “What I haven’t found is the contract for our burned down hospital.”
“But you think they’re connected?”
“I do, which means it’s somehow connected to The League.” He leans back in his chair, placing his glasses on the desk next to his keyboard.
“We can go back out there and look for more clues.”
Instead of agreeing, he says, “Tell me again about the men you saw at Canyon Falls General.”
“I told you everything and showed you the video. They said they were looking for a patient. Someone named Marcye, who was supposed to be the shorter guy's sister. The nurse said there was no one by that name admitted to Canyon Falls General.”
“Did they say she was from our mystery facility?”
“I never heard them mention a treatment facility name.” I replay the video and let him hear for himself.
“They were good about keeping things vague.” He says when the video ends. “I’ve gone through the hospital records. The nurse was telling the truth when she said no patient named Marcye was admitted.”
“What did you find out about that address I gave you?”
“The house is about twelve years old. The name on the tax documents is Phyllis Pacheco. She passed away about five weeks ago, and the obituary lists an unnamed grandson and granddaughter as the next of kin.”
“So they were telling the truth?”
“I didn’t say that. I did a quick search of previous addresses and got a list of places in Florida with possible relatives still living there. The most recent address update was last year.” He motions for me to come closer, and shifts his screen so I can see it. “This phone number is registered to a Maria C. Estrada, possible age 23-30.”
Maria C. Marcye. “I think we should give Maria Estrada a call.” I say, but Holden’s already dialing the number.
“Hi, this is Maria. I’m probably recording right now. Leave a message or join my live stream.”
It only takes a few minutes to find her social media profiles and, sure enough, she’s live streaming a show on pet grooming to promote her mobile grooming business.
A few of the comments are welcoming her back, others are offering condolences on the loss of her grandmother. I pull up her account on my phone, scrolling through the pictures. They all have tags of her in various neighborhoods in Florida, and a few posts about her grandmother who spent the last two years in Florida.
One of the posts lists the grandmother as having dementia, but she looks happy and well cared for in the pictures. “The part about the grandmother being confused tracks, but there’s no way this girl was in the hospital when it burned down.” Looking over at Holden, I ask, “Did her grandmother discharge her while the brother was deployed and forget to tell him?”
“Maybe, but if Marcye is a nickname, wouldn’t a brother know to ask for her given name? And he never gives specifics. Doesn’t provide any options for one of the many birthdates he says the grandmother could have used.”
I pull my butterfly knife out, flicking it open and closed. “Okay, let’s figure this out. Vague answers. A girl who’s not this girl. A vulnerable old lady, and a hospital in the middle of nowhere that technically doesn’t exist, was burned to the ground. Why would someone go through all this trouble to keep something secret?”
He counters with, “Why do people create shell companies? Why do I have an avatar and screen name? Why do we have a bunker? Why do you know the company that collects trash for the city and campus?”
That’s an easy answer. “For protection, and to hide potentially illegal activities.”
“Exactly.”