Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Detective McCully?” Victoria paused outside the open doorway of the detective’s office at the police station.
He angled his brown-haired head to see past the computer monitor on his desk. His eyes narrowed, seemingly at the moment he realized who she was. Not exactly pleased to see her, apparently.
She mustered a smile and stepped inside. “The lady at the desk said I could come back to your office.”
“Did she?” The question sounded rhetorical, and decidedly unhappy.
Perhaps this had been a bad idea. But if Thomas was murdered, and she had evidence the detective didn’t, she had a duty to share that information. She would simply do so in a manner that was as kind and non-threatening as possible.
“May I borrow a moment of your time?” She walked farther into the office, pausing at the chair that stood opposite the desk.
“I realized that, in my shocked state this morning, I forgot to give you some information. I know detectives like to have all the facts to do their job, so I must apologize that I forgot to tell you everything earlier.” She paused, but he still didn’t ask her to sit.
He simply stared at her. At least his expression appeared to reveal he was thinking, not about to shout at her or send her away.
Hesitation could be helpful. Victoria stepped in front of the chair and sat before he could tell her not to. “I forgot to tell you what Thomas said to me the day before his death.”
“You saw him yesterday?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you that. I was sure you’d want to know.”
His lips pressed together.
Taking his silence as a sign she could continue, she carried on.
“Thomas was highly anxious. Normally, he was a self-assured, confident, and commanding person. But that day, he seemed rattled and told me expressly that he couldn’t trust anyone.
” He had also told Victoria that she was the only one he could trust, but she wasn’t sure the detective would like hearing that.
It sounded too self-aggrandizing and might make her seem to be trying to trick the detective into trusting her, as well.
“A lot of people say things like that, Ms. Weston. It’s not evidence of murder.”
“I understand that.” She kept her response even and unbothered.
“But it was the way he said it that was concerning. He was nervous and almost frightened, which was very uncharacteristic for him. When I asked him specifically if he couldn’t trust even his close friend, he confirmed by implication that he could not. ”
“By implication.” McCully’s mustache angled with his smirk.
“Yes. He indicated that he thought he could trust his lawyer, but also said his nephew and niece were waiting around for him to die.”
McCully picked up a pencil from his desk and rotated it between his fingers as if he was bored. “Did he give you evidence of any of these…suspicions?”
“No, but he clearly had some or he wouldn’t have been so upset. And before I left, his friend came to the house, and Thomas sounded so angry with him. I’d never heard him speak in that tone to anyone before, not even his niece and nephew.”
The detective dropped the pencil on the desk and leaned onto his elbows. “Look, Ms. Weston. People not liking their relatives and having arguments with friends—none of that is evidence of a crime, okay?”
Disappointment sank in her stomach. “But I believe he thought he was in danger. He said he was going to explain everything to me this morning.” The last words caught in her throat. Was it really only that morning that she had been going to see Thomas, to talk to him, to try to help?
“It’s like I said. I get that you want to make sense of what happened, but all deaths are hard and all of them are senseless.
” McCully pushed to his feet and walked around the desk to stand by her chair.
“I’m afraid I just don’t have time to listen to everyone talk through every death I deal with in my job.
There are therapists that I’m sure could help you. ”
Victoria blinked. Had he actually told her to go see a therapist because she thought her friend was murdered?
McCully extended his hand toward the doorway. “I do have to get to the investigations that are ongoing right now, so…”
She lifted her purse off her lap and stood, trying to meet the detective’s gaze.
He looked away, directing his attention at the door he apparently expected her to hurry through.
She walked at a normal pace, weighing the risks of trying to say more. She paused by the doorway and turned back. “Thomas was also—”
“Look, miss.” McCully cut her short with his gruff tone as he crossed his arms over his white shirt.
“There’s going to be an autopsy because that’s standard in unattended deaths like this.
And I’m confident it will confirm his death was an accident.
I can’t do anything else for you, and you need to stop taking up this department’s valuable time with your theories.
Good day.” He swung toward his desk and marched behind it without another glance her way.
Pinching her lips together, she left his office. So much for Cillian’s suggestion she try again with the detective. She’d known he wouldn’t listen to anything she had to say. What a completely futile exercise.
At least they were going to perform an autopsy. Perhaps the results would be the evidence needed to convince the detective that Thomas had been—
A vibration in her coat pocket halted her thoughts. She paused in the hallway to pull out her phone and check the text message.
We need to talk. Come to the house tonight at 8:00.
Dad. She could guess what he wanted to discuss. Hank’s waffling on his education and career would be making their father very unhappy.
Unless he had heard about the death of her patient that morning. Her father was well-connected, but he didn’t usually hear news sooner than media outlets. And he wouldn’t likely know that the wealthy shipping magnate was Victoria’s client, since she’d never mentioned him.
This urgent text must be about Hank. She responded with confirmation she would be there, though she’d have to hurry straight to the house from Pilates class.
Hopefully, she would have more success smoothing things over and keeping the peace with her father than she had with Detective McCully.
Cillian pulled his motorcycle into the driveway of the middle-class residence and parked alongside a black Nissan outside the closed garage.
Good. Should mean someone was home.
Cold calling Rebekah Leeland had gone pretty well, despite having to talk over the phone since she lived out of state.
But asking about a malpractice suit was a pretty delicate topic.
Face-to-face would be much better. Cillian would be able to gauge expressions and reactions to better tell if the plaintiff was telling the truth.
And he’d know how to adjust his own approach if needed.
This plaintiff, Marsha Faint, and the other plaintiff Cillian intended to contact, both lived in Chicago. Hopefully, Marsha would be as willing to share as Rebekah was.
Cillian swung his leg over the Harley-Davidson Road King and removed his helmet, taking off his gloves to run his fingers through his hair. Pretty nippy ride tonight. Just the thing to give him some added energy for this conversation. The chance to get one step closer to saving Victoria.
He strode up to the door and rang the bell. No dog barked from inside. Good. A nervous dog could’ve cut the interview short much too quickly.
He resisted the urge to punch the doorbell again, though it felt like an eternity. Wouldn’t help to irritate anyone inside.
The door finally swung open. A woman with short gray hair peered up at him through round glasses.
Cillian gave her his friendliest smile. “Hi, are you Mrs. Marsha Faint?”
Her eyes widened slightly as she craned her head to look at him from her petite height. “Yes.”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening like this, ma’am. I hope you weren’t in the middle of dinner.” Though he’d actually chosen six o’clock as the time to arrive since it was likely she would be home.
She just stared at him.
“My name is Cillian Doherty, and I have sort of an unusual question for you. It’s a delicate matter about my grandmother.
” A grandma seemed like a more relatable choice for this plaintiff.
“She was a patient of Dr. Henry Weston, but things didn’t go well.
I learned you had a similar experience, and I wondered if you could offer some advice to help my grandma.
She’s thinking of suing Dr. Weston for malpractice, but we don’t know if we should or how to go about it. Can you offer any advice?”
Her pale lips disappeared further as she mashed them together. Her gaze darted past him into the darkness.
Interesting. Was she afraid someone was out there?
“No. I can’t. I don’t know how you got my name.” She was headed toward closing the door on him. That was obvious just from her tone.
He jumped in quickly to try again. “I’m so sorry to intrude on your personal life.
Someone who wanted to be kind to my grandma let us know about what happened to you.
And how you were brave enough to sue for malpractice.
It’s so courageous, and I just wondered if you could share how it went.
What the results were for you, and maybe what you would suggest my grandma should do?
She would really appreciate your kindness. ”
“I can’t help. I don’t know anything.” Marsha’s response was terse, almost robotic as she darted her gaze back and forth beyond him, like she was checking for something or someone.
But she hadn’t settled out of court. Cillian knew that from his research. So she wouldn’t have to keep quiet because of a non-disclosure agreement.
“Anything at all would help my grandma. Please, Mrs. Faint?”
The please drew her attention up to his face. She stared at him for a few beats, then dropped her gaze.
“I really can’t.” She backed away. “You’ll have to go.”
“Ma’am, are you okay? If someone has frightened you—”
She started to swing the door shut as she shook her head. “No, no. I can’t talk. You need to leave.”
The door closed. Deadbolt clicked into place.
Cillian restrained the instinct to knock or ring the doorbell again, just as he’d held himself back from bracing the door open when she’d tried to close it. This wasn’t the right moment for force, even if all he wanted to do was talk to her longer.
She was the one, the key to the leverage he needed.
Because when she’d looked at him that last time, fear had filled her eyes. She must have been intimidated, threatened, or blackmailed into silence. Which meant Dr. Weston had been guilty of the malpractice she’d tried to sue him for.
And he was guilty of illegally dissuading her from going through with the suit.
Now all Cillian had to do was find the evidence to prove it. Then he could force Henry Weston to finally set his daughter free.