Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
How could she have changed so little after so many years? Cillian ran the fingers of both hands through his hair as he stared at the computer screen. But he didn’t see the phone number and address there.
He saw Victoria as she had dropped her gaze and hurried around him outside the Briscoe mansion, as if she knew she’d better run instead of having to admit she was still ridiculously tied to following rules.
Doing whatever people in authority told her to do, including the clearly mistaken Detective McCully.
Cillian had tried his best to break her free from that habit when they’d dated. He’d arguably been the opposite extreme back in those days, but even now as an adult, he could still see she had a problem.
Rules were fine when they were good ones and protected people.
But to blindly acquiesce and submit to every person with authority, no matter how stupid or wrong they were, was ludicrous.
He couldn’t figure out if it was fear, some kind of cowardice that made her do that, or just a brainwashed instinct thanks to being raised by Henry Weston.
The man made sure there were hefty consequences anytime he didn’t get his way.
Nothing physically abusive, as far as Cillian had been able to figure out, but he had an unhealthy psychological hold on Victoria.
Even when she’d been away from him with Cillian on dates and there was no way he could’ve known what she was doing, Victoria had still never crossed him.
Except for that one night. Which majorly backfired because she wouldn’t break free from her father.
She would only follow his rules to the letter, to the bitter end.
And now she was doing the same thing with the police. Well, Cillian couldn’t force her to be more persistent with Detective McCully, but he could end her father’s control over her.
He blinked at the screen, clearing his concentration to see the phone number of one of the plaintiffs in a malpractice suit against Dr. Henry Weston.
One of the four suits he’d found evidence of online was clearly a dud.
The claim was flimsy, a transparent attempt to claim trumped-up psychological damages that hadn’t made it to court or any kind of settlement.
The other three suits had all been dropped. Could be they lacked enough evidence to go to court or even to induce the insurance company to settle. But knowing Dr. Henry Weston, Cillian was banking on another explanation.
Weston couldn’t have much of a bedside manner and didn’t care about people.
But he was an expert neurosurgeon who would never botch a surgery if he could help it, if only to keep his reputation and pride intact.
That said, everyone made mistakes. And Dr. Weston was only human, despite what he’d programmed his daughter to think.
If he had made a mistake and someone sued, Weston wouldn’t be above using unethical and maybe even illegal tactics to quiet the scandal before it could come out.
He would do anything to protect his career and reputation.
To get what he wanted. Cillian had proof of that firsthand when Weston had made his daughter reject Cillian against her will.
There had to be a skeleton in one of the closets of these lawsuits.
Maybe more than one. All Cillian had to do was gather enough evidence that Weston had intimidated, threatened, or harmed a plaintiff, and he would have the leverage he needed to make Weston do the right thing. To let his daughter go.
Cillian copied the phone number from the screen into his smartphone. Maybe he’d get lucky, and the first plaintiff he called would be the winner.
The rings stopped at two and a half. “Rebekah Leeland.”
“Hi, Mrs. Leeland.” He smiled to inject an approachable sound into his tone. “You don’t know me, so I know it’s a little strange for me to call you. But my mother was a patient of Dr. Henry Weston as I understand you were. She had a brain tumor.”
“Oh?” Puzzlement colored the woman’s tone, but she didn’t sound closed off. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she all right?”
“Yes, ma’am, she is. But I’m afraid that isn’t thanks to Dr. Weston, if you know what I mean.”
“Did something go wrong?”
Cillian sighed. “Well, let’s just say she’s considering suing him for malpractice thanks to what happened. I was hoping you could offer some advice that might help her. I understand you had to sue him, too?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.” Rebekah’s voice warmed slightly. Her defenses were coming down.
“That must have been a difficult situation. Is there any advice you could give my mom and me?”
“Well, I’m afraid I won’t be of much help.”
“Anything you can offer would be greatly appreciated.”
“I wanted to go to court, but my lawyer ultimately talked me out of it.”
Great. If that was true, there wouldn’t be any smoking gun here. Cillian swallowed the disappointment and forced pure curiosity into his tone. “Oh, why was that?”
“She said I wouldn’t be able to win since we couldn’t prove that my poor results after the surgery came from a mistake on Dr. Weston’s part. She said I would lose all the money I invested if I tried to keep going.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. So we should make sure we have conclusive evidence if we move forward.”
“Oh, yes. I thought my slow recovery, and the fact I needed another surgery when I’d been told it would be corrected with only one, was enough.
But my lawyer said the opposition was saying the fine print covered that additional surgeries might be required and recovery depended on my own effort.
I couldn’t get into therapy right away, you see, and then I felt so tired and sick on most days. ”
Ah. A case of the patient not doing all she could for the recovery. And Weston was sure to protect himself against different recovery rates. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to guarantee any results.
This plaintiff was a dead end. Unless… “I really appreciate you sharing your experience with me. This is really helpful. Just one more question—did Dr. Weston or anyone from his staff, or maybe his lawyers, contact you directly while you were suing?”
“Oh, no. That wasn’t allowed. They could only contact me through my lawyer.”
“Right. That makes sense.” And left Cillian with nothing to use. “Thanks, again. You take care now.”
“Thank you. And my best to your mom.”
His fabricated mother. But a little white lie was worth it if he could help Victoria. He ended the call with a few more nice words, then glanced at the clock on his computer.
Time for another meeting, this one with the other social worker on staff at CareFull.
Freeing Victoria would have to wait. But not for long. Since he’d become a family social worker, he had a perfect track record of freeing victims from their abusers, from those who controlled them or dictated their lives in various ways.
Victoria and her father were his next, self-assigned task. He wouldn’t give up until he had completed the job.
Was Cillian right? The question swirled in Victoria’s mind and tangled uncomfortably in her stomach as she pulled into the parking lot at Life Pregnancy Care Center. She parked her car in the row of vehicles by the sidewalk that ran the length of the brick building.
Ever since the morning’s events and Cillian’s parting shot, doubt wouldn’t let her rest. She’d spoken with Max about the dilemma when she’d stopped at home to eat lunch, as well as to feed Max and let him outside.
Though highly intelligent, the dog hadn’t been able to offer much insight into whether or not there was truth in Cillian’s inference that her adherence to rules was a problem.
More to the point, her chat with Max also hadn’t shed any light on the question of whether or not she should take another run at the skeptical detective.
She hadn’t told Detective McCully about Thomas’s concerns yesterday when she’d seen him.
Thomas had been so unlike himself—nervous and even frightened when he had said he couldn’t trust anyone.
She should’ve told Detective McCully that. She probably still should. Perhaps that information would make him reconsider his belief that Thomas’s death was accidental.
She glanced at the dashboard clock. She had texted ahead that she would be late for her volunteer shift today, since she had needed to fit in the appointment with…Thomas.
Her heart squeezed. If only they’d had the appointment. Now she would never have one with him again. Never see him again.
The reality of his death, his absence and what it meant, set in a little more. Pain pressed into her ribs under the weight of it. A tear fell down her cheek. She would miss him very much.
But she couldn’t walk into the pregnancy center with tears running down her face.
She dug a tissue from her purse, dabbed away the moisture, and quickly checked her reflection in the visor mirror to ensure no evidence remained of her sadness.
She opened the door, and cold air slammed into her. Her thought boomeranged back to her at the same time. Evidence.
If she was right that Thomas’s death was not an accident, that meant it had to be a murder. And if it was a murder, the killer had to have left some evidence at the scene. Evidence the police likely wouldn’t have found since McCully was so determined the death was accidental.
Victoria walked briskly toward Life Center’s entrance, the wind biting her cheeks. What if the killer was someone with access to Briscoe’s estate? He or she could remove all evidence before the police could return to the scene.
Should she—
“Victoria, good to see you.” Kathleen Burns’ friendly voice bumped Victoria from her thoughts.
Victoria had apparently walked inside without consciously thinking about doing so. She directed a smile at the founder of the local Christian pregnancy center who was restacking children’s blocks in the lobby. “Hi, Kathleen. I’m so sorry I’m late today.”