Chapter 40
FORTY
CARA
—Chyron, HLN Morning Express
The Oakhurst library computers were directly across from the reference desk, but the librarian couldn’t have been less interested in the woman with savagely chopped, purple-black hair who was using them. Cara hoped her look was so off-putting that everyone else would avoid eye contact, too.
She logged in to one of the terminals and created a new Gmail account using the name Carly Cooper. Using the Visa gift card and her new email, she purchased a Greyhound ticket to Sacramento and researched the Amtrak to LA.
Noting the location of the Best Western, she headed first to a nearby gas station with a convenience store, walking like she belonged, just as Rae had instructed.
The day wasn’t particularly warm yet, and the cold blast of air-conditioning as the doors whooshed open made her shiver.
She grabbed a basket and headed straight for the teriyaki beef jerky.
She added three single-serve boxes of breakfast cereal, along with crackers, cheese, and a bag of M&Ms. As she opened the cooler door to grab a coconut water and a Dasani so she could reuse the bottle, a muted TV on the back wall caught her eye.
Over the news anchor’s shoulder was Cara’s glammed and Photoshopped Facebook profile picture.
“Can you believe this shit?” The woman standing beside her yanked open the cooler door and shook her head in disgust.
In the narrow aisle, Cara was pinned between the heavyset woman and an ice cream freezer wedged into what probably should have been a fire exit.
“Crazy,” she agreed, willing herself not to panic.
“You can’t tell me they aren’t tracking everything we say and do. You even just think about something, and next thing you know, it’s right there on the TV!”
Cara wondered what was coming next. She also wondered whether she could push past the woman without breaking the hinges on the glass door.
“I saw online that this iced tea is supposed to be organic, but what does that matter if it spikes my blood sugar? Might as well have a goddamn Coke Classic. That’s what I really want, anyway.”
Cara’s water bottle crinkled as she unclenched her fist. The angry woman wasn’t looking at Cara’s Facebook photo, but the scrolling chyron below it—a warning about the sugar content of so-called health beverages.
“Buyer beware,” Cara said, trying to smile as the woman made her selection and closed the door. She scooted past and hurried to the front of the store, where she grabbed a disposable smartphone and paid the cashier.
In front of the store, she powered on the phone and keyed in one of the few numbers she’d committed to memory. He answered after only one ring.
“Roy.”
He’d given her a special line to call, apparently for clients who hadn’t fared as well as those on his vaunted Wall of Exoneration.
“It’s Cara,” she said, feeling short of breath.
There was a stunned pause. “Oh my God. I’m so relieved! Are you OK? You do realize the entire world is looking for you. Just tell me where you—?”
“I need help.”
“Anything. I’ll come get you. I’ll—”
“I need to know everything you’ve found out about the forensic accountant’s testimony.”
“All I know is his testimony was a surprise to everyone.”
“But you didn’t contact him directly to follow up?”
“Not . . . yet.”
Why hadn’t he already jumped on this for an appeal?
Cara had suggested he look into the general contractor Karl hired to build the surgical center. Karl, who rarely badmouthed anyone, had twice told her the general contractor was a pain in the ass.
Roy dismissed her concerns, saying, “Everyone’s general contractor is a pain in the ass.”
“I need to go through your files,” she told him now. “Everything you have about the surgical center Karl was building.”
“OK . . .”
“Also,” she added, “The killer could have been wearing a blond wig and that idiot coroner would never have figured that out.”
“Are you in town? Let’s meet right now.”
“Not—” She stopped herself before saying yet. “I couldn’t exactly come to your office even if I was.”
“I definitely get that. Can you give me an email or somewhere I can send you information. Or wire you money?”
Cara heard the rattle of a diesel engine. Her bus was turning off the highway and headed toward the stop.
“I have to go. I’ll get back in touch soon.”
She ended the call.