Chapter One Margo Angelhart #2
or if she felt guilty for not coming forward sooner with information.
“Okay,” I said with as much calm as I could muster, “what have you learned since then that you think can help my dad now?”
“He confessed, so he must have done it, but there had to have been a reason, a really good reason, because they were friends.
It didn’t make sense to me, or to anyone who knew Dr. Cooper.”
No, it didn’t make sense. Yet everyone accepted his guilty plea and he’s now sitting in prison.
“And now?” I pressed.
“I saw something unusual,” she said in a rush, “and I tried calling Georgia, but she didn’t answer and her voice mail box was full so I couldn’t even leave a message.”
“What did you see?”
“I need to talk to my husband first. I shouldn’t have called until—but, oh, shoot. I’m sorry to bother you. It could be nothing.
I could be making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“It’s not a bother,” I said quickly, not wanting her to hang up. “I’m still investigating Dr. Klein’s murder because, you’re
right, nothing about that night makes any sense. What happened that prompted you to call me? Please, Liz,” I added with genuine
emotion. “You said you admired my dad. I don’t care what he said, he didn’t kill anyone. I just need something to help him,
no matter how small. Please.” I was begging. I needed to be stronger, but this was my dad and my emotions always seemed to rise to the surface whenever
I talked about his case.
“I can’t share specifics, it’s about a patient. Just . . .” She stopped and I could sense she was having an inner ethical
battle.
“I can meet you anywhere, name the time and place.”
I didn’t want to go out tonight, but I would. For my dad I would walk barefoot over burning coals.
“I saw a patient today,” Liz said. “He hadn’t been in for a couple years, and when I looked at his chart I saw that he had
been a patient of both Dr. Klein and your dad. I was adding information in the notes section, saw a report that had been referenced
so went to look at the results, but nothing was there. Everything is electronic. The reference number was in the notes, but
the report was missing. That’s when I noticed an entire year of his file was missing. Um, every encounter with a patient is
logged. If an encounter is deleted, it shows that. It happens. Except his chart had notes referencing these deleted encounters,
but the notes didn’t make sense out of context. So it stood out.”
She stopped talking. I waited, but there was only silence.
“Liz?” I prompted. “Could it be because he hadn’t been seen during that year?”
“No, because there were visit dates and codes, but when I clicked through, the screen was blank. That’s why it stood out to
me. I thought maybe I misread it or had done something wrong,” she continued, “so at end of shift, I pulled it up again. And
I couldn’t find anything. His entire chart was gone. Logs. Everything. Just—gone. Not even a patient record, as if he didn’t exist.”
“What’s his name?”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said flatly.
“Well, if his patient chart is gone then it’s not really a privilege anymore,” I said.
“That’s not how it works. I will not violate his privacy, I could lose my job.” she said emphatically.
“I think we should meet tonight.” This was a lead, no matter how tenuous. If I could get one small detail to chase, that was
better than what I currently had, which was nothing but a missing assistant and my deep faith that my dad was innocent.
“My husband is a lawyer, he can help me figure out what I can tell you. There are a few other things . . .” Her voice trailed
off.
“Liz?” I feared she’d hung up.
She sighed, and I could practically hear her weighing the pros and cons of spilling everything, then she said, “Well, this
wasn’t the first time I noticed a year missing from a patient’s file.”
“You’re telling me that there are at least two patients who have a missing year that you believe was deleted. Why would this
be important?”
“The year missing was four years ago.”
Before Dr. Klein was murdered and my dad pled guilty.
“Let’s meet. If not tonight, tomorrow. Anywhere, anytime.”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “Is seven too early?”
“Not at all,” I said, relieved. “Where?”
“Not near the medical center,” Liz said. “I can’t have anyone see me talking to you. I’ll bring my husband. I really want
to help, but I need to make sure that I’m not going to get in trouble for it.”
“I understand.”
“There’s a little coffeeshop I like in North Peoria, not far from my house, the Wild Pine?”
“Okay, I’ll be there. Seven a.m.” I wrote it down. “Liz—”
But she’d already hung up.
I stared at the phone. I should feel elated that I had a lead; instead, I feared it was another dead end. Still, I had some
hope for answers.
Cal came over, rubbed my arms.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“This about your dad?”
I nodded.
“Will it help him?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I have to talk to her.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Cal knew the basics: My father, Dr. Cooper Angelhart, had pled guilty to murdering his colleague Dr. Devin Klein. He took
a plea deal—fifteen years for second-degree murder. I had never believed he was guilty, no matter what he said. But after
three years of searching and hitting dead ends, I’d let it go after Georgia Rollins vanished and wouldn’t return my calls.
She disappeared around the time she told Liz to call me if she had information. I made a quick note to remember to ask Liz
what shelter they met at. There weren’t an unlimited number of facilities for veterans, even in a large city like Phoenix.
I rubbed my eyes. There were so many holes in my dad’s story, starting with the gun. Dad claimed it was his. It wasn’t. I would’ve known. Guns were kind of my thing. He had a .45 Smith & Wesson he rarely used. Klein was shot with a Sig Sauer P320—sleek, compact, and nothing my father ever owned.
And motive? No one could tell me what they argued about. My dad wouldn’t even talk about it. And why had he brought a gun
that night in the first place? Why did it take him two days to confess? Why did my mother go along with it when she damn well
knew the man she loved and raised five kids with would never kill anyone in cold blood?
None of it added up.
“Talk to me,” Cal said gently.
“I need to be in North Peoria at seven.”
“Then we better go to bed early. Unless you’d like me to leave?” he added with a slight frown.
I shook my head. “Don’t go. I just . . . I might not be completely present tonight.”
He took my hand, led me back to the table.
“Let’s start by finishing dinner. I might have dessert.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Dessert? Is that a euphemism?”
He placed a hand on his chest. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Miss Angelhart. I made gelato.”
My mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”
“I never joke about dessert.”
Cal got up, walked over to my fridge, opened the freezer, and pulled out a container I didn’t recognize. He brought it to
the table with two bowls and spoons. I reached for it.
He slapped my hand. “It needs to sit ten minutes. Be patient.”
“I can’t believe you made gelato. And it’s chocolate.” I was more than a little impressed.
He grinned, those bright blue eyes flashing. “I’m full of surprises.”