Chapter Thirty-Eight
I rummaged in the console between the car seats for a tissue and swerved from the center yellow line. In a flash I relived the one and only time I had crossed into oncoming traffic.It had been after Aram broke up with me. I thought he had wanted to meet me at my car for a secret kiss, but it had turned out to be a sucker punch. He simply watched me become a mess of sobs, snot, and tears.
Was it now over with Patrick and I, too?
I banged the steering wheel with my palms. “No!” This was a different situation. A ridiculous, inappropriate misunderstanding. Would Patrick accept my explanation? Or would I suffer another heartbreak, once again, ironically, precipitated by Aram? Why couldn’t Aram have stayed away? I had to be honest. Why didn’t I stay away? I hated myself for my behavior. I had toyed with temptation and, until now, thought I had control.
With my sleeve, I wiped my eyes. After Aram’s kiss, Patrick’s darkened expression haunted my mind. His cold, silent reaction was more unnerving than the revving of his truck engine as he sped away.
When I got to the house, Patrick’s truck was already on his driveway, and I parked behind it. I pushed open the front door and crept into the kitchen. He sat drinking a can of beer. My gun rested in the center of the table. My chest tightened, and I wrung my hands.
“Patrick—” I started to explain.
Without looking at me, he cut me off. “You know, I rushed over to Hamid’s place to fill you in on significant updates of your case. I tried calling, but I guess you were busy.”
“What you saw isn’t what you think you saw.”
“Here’s your gun,” he said. “The slug you fired was retrieved from the concrete wall. You’re officially in the clear and not responsible for inflicting any injury to David Moreno.”
I had prayed for this news. “Thank you for telling me, Patrick. But, please, don’t be angry. Let me explain.”
He continued talking as if he hadn’t heard me.
“The most unexpected confession occurred today, at Lockwood High School. Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for this solve. It’s funny how there are times when guilty parties implicate themselves.” His jaw clenched, and he looked at me, devoid of expression. “In the cafeteria, a sixteen-year-old boy bragged to his friends about his clever techniques of getting revenge on someone who ‘screwed his mom’ at work.”
My mouth slackened. “What?”
“This young man boasted about how he had disabled an engine with a bottle of cola. But his luck ran out when a girl behind him heard his story and told the principal. With impending expulsion, he confessed to the cola crime, and for threatening harm via a note and a broken mirror. It’s still to be determined if the mother was in on it.”
“Victoria.” I shuddered. Her hatred of me ran deeper than I realized.
“The young man will be getting a restraining order to stay away from you and your apartment.”
“I would have never guessed this.” It hadn’t been David, like I’d assumed.
“As for another part of your case, I have a location on Dr. Fulthorpe. He used a credit card out of state.”
“That’s fantastic,” I said and tried to make eye contact. “Patrick, please, talk to me.”
He finished his beer. “What’s to say, June? Except, Aram’s the guy that fucked you up, isn’t he?”
“Fucked me up?” I tensed at the crudity. He had never spoken to me this way before.
“I should have suspected when I saw he texted you a couple of weeks ago.”
“You looked at my phone?”
“No, June, I wasn’t snooping. Your phone was on the bed and buzzed on as I walked by. Funny how timing works, too.”
“So, you don’t want to talk about what happened this evening? Know my side of the story?”
“There’s only one side. The truth. And I saw it clearly.”
My heart dropped. I could understand him being angry, but he wouldn’t even engage in a conversation. For a man of the law, he was being closed minded for not even trying to hear me out.
“Very well. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get my things.” I went up to the bedroom and took my duffel bag from the closet. I shoved my clothes into it and forced the zipper shut.
Patrick stood at the bottom of the stairs, large, imposing, but he didn’t try to stop me from passing by.
“June, don’t go,” he said in a low tone.
“You don’t want me to go?”
“You may still be in danger,” he said.
“Well, let’s discuss that, shall we?” I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “You just told me the juvenile delinquent that damaged my car and threatened to cut up my face has been busted. And David Moreno, the guy who had broken into my house, is dead. So, I’d say I’m in the clear. Besides.” I grabbed the pistol from the kitchen table and held it up by the barrel. “I’ve got this now. Goodbye, Patrick.”
I bolted outside and shoved the weapon into my purse. With so many distracted thoughts, it felt like I was driving blindly. I eased off the accelerator and focused on the road and the color of the streetlights. My phone beeped, but I ignored it until I arrived at my duplex. Only then did I have a look.
—June, please call me if you get a chance. I’m here if you need me.—
The message was from Aram, not Patrick.
I texted back.
—I’m fine. Good night, Aram.—
When I entered my apartment, the box that had contained the cracked mirror sat on the hallway floor. I grabbed it and threw it out onto the front lawn. I locked the door behind me and turned on the exterior light. I checked around to see if everything looked in place, and then I made sure the back door was secured as well.
I didn’t want to think or feel anymore. How could I numb the stabbing in my chest?
I rummaged through the bathroom cupboards for a sleep aid and then fell into bed. Sweet nothingness engulfed me until the early beaming sun heated my face. I reached for my phone, and my heart raced a million miles a minute. The message box was empty. No text from Patrick.
I got up and headed to the kitchen. I foraged through the scant items in my refrigerator and found nothing to snack on but wilted celery, spongy apples, and a desiccated piece of cheddar. I tossed them all into the trash. I snatched an open box of wheat crackers and sat on my couch. I munched on stale biscuits in disbelief at how things had ended with Patrick. We had been so close, almost inseparable for weeks. How could he let our relationship vanish, like a puff of smoke? Didn’t he want to fight for us?
The one thing I had learned from the last two years was not to dwell on sadness. I’d try to distract myself, at least for the day. My thoughts would be best served trying to bring closure to the David Moreno mystery.
I suddenly gained clarity of what I wanted to do about this case. I dialed St. Eugene’s Hospital.
“Hello. My name is June Harber. I would like to speak with Dr. Crawford, if that’s possible.”
“Are you a patient?”
“No. But I actually may have some information for him. Something he requested.”
“Just a moment,” she said.
I waited for a couple of minutes and thought my call had been cut off. The phone clicked.
“Gideon Crawford here.”
I was expecting to leave a message and was surprised he took the call himself. “Hello, Dr. Crawford. This is June Harber.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Harber?”
“I wanted to let you know, after our last conversation about David Moreno, I may have stumbled upon something.”
“I’m listening.”
“I found a flash drive in my basement, and I believe David Moreno had put it there. As ridiculous as it sounds, I think he was hiding it for some reason.”
“That sounds like an interesting theory. Though I suppose we’ll never know since he’s gone now.”
I regretted my rash decision to call Dr. Crawford. “It sounds implausible, I know. But you’re right. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Dr. Crawford.”
“Don’t give it another thought, June. By the way, out of curiosity, did you take a look to see what is on that drive?”
“Yes, I did. I believe it contains a list of patient names. They may be your patients, actually. I wondered if you could shed light as to why they would have been listed.”?
“You got me curious. I can squeeze some time in to have a look. Will you be coming with the officer?”
“No, just myself,” I choked out.
“Well, I’m working a half day today. Are you able to come to the clinic at about one o’clock?”
“Sure. I can be there then.” I hung up and paced in my living room. What the hell was I doing without Patrick? Was I even thinking clearly? Yes, everything would be fine. I’d ask a few questions and be on my way. Hopefully, he would divulge some information about his partner, Dr. Fulthorpe. I sat on my sofa and scribbled questions to ask.
I checked my phone again. No messages.
Lickety-split, Patrick shifted into reverse and backed out of my life. Apparently without even looking back. And then I thought about it from his point of view. Would I have been forgiving if I had seen him with another woman?
Probably not.
With no one around, I didn’t need to hold back my tears. I deserved this. Not because I let Aram kiss me, but because I let myself believe someone could love me as much as I loved them. I knew this could happen when I let my guard down. Nothing was for certain. Nothing.
I put on black tailored slacks and a long-sleeve crew-neck sweater. I dabbed concealer under my red eyes and brightened my complexion with some blush and lipstick. I looked in my purse to make sure the memory stick was inside. It was beside the gun. I hesitated in checking my phone yet again for messages. I looked at it and then dropped it back into my bag.
No calls. No messages. I was on my own.
After this meeting with Crawford, I was officially resigning from this case.