Chapter 24
Griffin
When Griffin arrived in Darnell’s room, having run the pap gauntlet outside the hospital, the nurse from palliative care was there—but no Lana.
“I’ve just finished up,” the nurse said. “I’ll leave you in peace.”
“My friend was in here earlier, sitting with Darnell. Do you know where she went?”
“She got a phone call that upset her, and she called a taxi and left. Something wrong?”
“How long ago?”
“Maybe ten minutes,” she said as she left. “Twenty?”
Griffin rubbed his hair. He still couldn’t reconcile the Lana he thought he saw with the Lana who’d sold those stories. He didn’t usually read people wrong. Was he blinded because he so wanted to believe she was as genuine as she seemed?
He called her number, but it went to voicemail. He hung up, and his phone rang right away. Not Lana—Estelle.
“So,” Estelle began, “my guys found the security camera—outside a laundromat down the street. The owner said Darnell found two frames that caught his interest—the one of Vivien’s car going into the hospital…”
“The one I found, yeah.”
“And also one of her car leaving.”
“So she did leave?”
“Not quite. I’ll send it to you.”
She hung up. A minute later his phone beeped with a text. The still from the camera showed the car leaving, but with another woman driving—the nurse he’d just been talking to. He dashed into the corridor, but she was gone. A pap was there, phone in hand, camera around his neck—one of the regulars.
“Not now, please,” Griffin said, walking past. He could feel his expression going into neutral. “How the hell did you get let in?”
“I’m not here to take photos,” the guy said, jogging to keep up. “Not this time. This nurse let me in, okay? Couple of hours ago. She even told me this was Darnell Lascelles’ room, in case I wanted to get photos of you and your girlfriend.”
“Oh great.” Griffin stopped. “Did you happen to see her nametag—the nurse?”
“Yeah, weird name, like Octavia.”
“Ophelia?”
“Could have been.”
“Did you see her a few minutes ago, right here?”
“I only just got here. But I gotta tell you, it was weird—like a set-up.”
“How so?”
“Usually, people who give you tipoffs or sneak you in, they expect cash in return, but she never asked. But then, as soon as I start taking photos, she pulls the girl away and calls security on me.”
“She took Lana? Where?”
“I don’t know, man. I took off. But I saw your girl again later, in the stairwell. Pale as anything. She told me to give you a message.”
“Lana told you to give me a message.”
“I’m not making it up, I swear. I told her you wouldn’t listen to me. She said, ‘Room 341.’”
“That’s it? That’s the message?”
“That’s it. I didn’t even take a photo of her, okay?
You know how much I could get for that? She has currency!
Where-is-Griffin-Hart-dot-com is like fifty percent about tracking her right now.
And she stole my cap! Vintage eighties Broncos Orange Crush—that’s worth real money!
” He raised his chin. “She promised me an exclusive if I gave you the message.”
“What exclusive?”
“She didn’t say, but she said it’d be big.”
Griffin stared at the guy’s pink, sweaty face.
He did appear to be telling the truth—if that was possible for a bottom feeder, if Griffin’s instincts hadn’t fully deserted him.
So Lana was promising a pap a story now?
Room 341 had to be on the same floor as Franklin Ross.
If the nurse was lying about Lana leaving, was that where she’d gone?
“If it’s true, your reward is the knowledge you did a good deed.”
“Please, man. I got medical bills you wouldn’t believe. You gotta admire my restraint not taking your picture, given the breaking news.”
“What news?”
“About you being wanted by the cops.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“Seriously, just in the last few minutes. There’s a scoop on one of the sites I shoot for.” He opened a website on his phone. Griffin could just make out the headline: Griffin Hart: Wanted by Police? “I could get a big paycheck for the first pics of the fugitive.”
“Show me that,” Griffin said, snatching the phone.
The story quoted unnamed police sources saying Griffin was a “person of interest” in a murder inquiry. It was only a few paragraphs long—with more promised. Who was he supposed to have killed?
Shit. He needed to find Lana.
“You see how restrained I’m being?”
Griffin returned the phone. “I got bigger problems—but thanks, you’re a real hero.”
Griffin rounded the corridor, got to the elevator and punched the button repeatedly. His phone rang—his manager. He ignored it. Lana was the priority.
“Don’t worry, baby,” called a familiar voice beside him. “Momma’s here.”
He groaned. Were they letting anyone in now? “Not now, Maggie.”
“I been looking for you,” she whispered. “It’s a set-up! I know it’s a set-up! I’m here to save you before the cops come for you!”
“What do you mean ‘before the cops come’?”
“They’re on their way, baby! It’s on the news—OJ all over again! But I can get you past them.” She was almost jumping with excitement. “I got my car here—in the basement garage. You can hide in the trunk!”
The elevator doors opened. She went to step in with him, but he held up a hand. “No thanks, Maggie.”
He got out on the third floor, still ignoring his ringing phone, and found Room 341. It was the one with the John Doe. Except, he realized as he entered, it was a woman, unconscious. A slender woman with dark hair.
“Lana?” he said, approaching the bed, his heart jumping.
It wasn’t Lana—it had to be … her sister.
An orange cap lay on the floor—a Broncos cap.
Griffin’s gaze snagged on Vivien’s hand—there was a torn piece of paper in it.
He drew it out—a photo—and stared at it.
Had Lana left it for him to find? But what did it mean? And where was she?
He canceled the incoming call, set his phone to do-not-disturb to shut the damn thing up, and did something he’d never done in his life.
He went on the Where-is-Griffin-Hart website.
If Lana had left, there would be footage.
And there was. Stacks of footage—inside and outside the hospital, multiple streams rolling ever since he and Lana had arrived.
He rewound every feed by half an hour and watched them on fast-forward, stopping at anything likely.
There was even a live feed of the VIP entrance from a neighboring building—the same angle of the shot that had caught him hugging Lana.
But no taxis—just an ambulance leaving five minutes ago.
Nothing likely from the main entrance either—on foot or by car, unless she was out of sight.
Out of sight. Like, in the back of an ambulance.
He went back to the feed of the VIP entrance and zoomed in on the driver. The blond doctor. And next to him was … Detective Keisha Graham. Everywhere they turned, the same people were there. The detective, the doctor, the nurse.
He stared blankly out the window. The witness to Darnell’s body washing up was a nurse. The only witness. The doctor had him rerouted here in the ambulance. Probably easy enough to do, if he was expecting the call. He looked at the photo in his hand. That couldn’t be a coincidence, either.
He called Estelle.
“Griffin! What’s all this about you being wanted by the police?”
“They’re setting me up.”
“Which likely means that you’re getting close to the truth. I don’t know how they think they’ll get away with it.”
“Speaking of the truth. You’ll never guess who I’m standing next to.” He told her about Vivien, the photo that Lana had apparently left for him, and the ambulance.
“That would explain a lot,” Estelle said.
“You think they’re all in on this?”
“Whoever’s in on it, you need to get out of there before they stitch you up.”
“I can hear police sirens.” He would never get out without being seen, even if he had deliberately rented the least memorable car he could.
And yet… He frowned, remembering something.
The guy laying shells outside Darnell’s cottage—he said he saw Griffin’s car there yesterday.
Sweet ride. No one would call the rental a sweet ride.
He scoffed. It hadn’t made sense then—not that Griffin had stopped to put it together—but it made perfect sense now.
He looked at the ripped photo in his hand.
What else had he missed? Some Shadow Cop he was.
“Griffin, call a lawyer, now—a good criminal lawyer. I can give you a name. If footage starts circulating of you being led away in handcuffs, I can’t see how that would be recoverable. We obviously can’t trust the cops—you’re in too deep.”
“And in the meantime, what will they do to Lana? She knows too much. If they’re trying to frame me for a murder—what if it’s hers?”
“Get yourself safe, then we can try to find her. Like in a plane where you put on your own mask first. This is scary shit, Griffin. Lawyer up. It’s time to sound the retreat.”
Retreat. That was his pattern—all his adult life he’d retreated when things got tough. Went blank. Retracted, as Lana said.
“The approach to the inmost cave,” he said.
“The what?”
“The deep breath before the plunge.”
“Are you … quoting the hero’s journey at me? Are you crazy? This is not a film. This is real.”
“You’re right—it is real.” It was Luke refusing to join Vader and plunging into the unknown. Rick in Casablanca taking a stand to save Ilsa. Achilles vowing to fulfill his destiny and finally confront Hector. “‘Both of us have been fated to make red the same earth here in Troy.’”
“Is that a line from the show? Griffin, you know what happens to Achilles in Troy.”
“That’s still a whole season away.”
“I’m not liking where this conversation is heading. I’m not liking this version of you. Give me the Griffin who doesn’t give a shit.”
“I’ve always given a shit. I just haven’t always shown it. Anyway, you can talk—look at all the shits you’re giving!”
“I’m playing the long game. I know when to pull back, and that time is now.”
“These guys have Lana, and I’m not pulling back until I find her.”
“After she betrayed you? I assume that leak about Toby came from her?”
He was silent.
“You’ve known this woman for what, a week? Maybe she’s in league with them—that makes more sense than you’re making right now.”
“I trust her, Estelle.” There it was. He trusted Lana. And yes, he didn’t want to believe that someone he’d thought so genuine had spilled his secrets, but also—he didn’t believe it. He exhaled. The realization came as a relief.
“You don’t know her! You have way too much skin in this game now, Griffin. It’s time to stop. Protect yourself.”
“Trojan horse,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I have an idea. Let me explain.”
A couple of minutes later, he found Maggie again, and clearly made her day by accepting her offer. “Worth a shot,” he said, shrugging. They took the elevator to the basement garage. He noted her car was parked away from security cameras.
As they approached it, Sweetie climbed out of the passenger seat, aiming a handgun at Griffin. A huge man loomed out of the shadows.
“What the hell?” he said, raising his hands. “Sweetie, put the gun down.”
Maggie plucked the phone from his hand and tossed it. “Get him in the trunk, Jerry,” she said, in a serious tone he’d never heard her use.
Jerry? This behemoth was her son?
“Nothing personal man,” he said, approaching. “I loved you in Precipice.”
“Are you kidnapping me, Maggie?”
“If you want to see your sweet girlfriend again, I suggest you get in. Conscious or unconscious—it’s your choice.”