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Scarlett frowned. Something wasn’t right about that, but her tired brain wasn’t sure what. From her pocket she fished out the folded papers that Stone had printed for her earlier that day.
‘What’s that?’ Jill asked.
‘Stone’s story about Woody McCord, the husband of the woman who wrote the letter.’ Getting her second wind, Scarlett rose and paced while she read to herself. She didn’t want to share any more with Jill until she knew where she was going with this.
After a minute, she stopped pacing and turned the paper over to write the key dates on the back. ‘What day did you actually receive that letter, Jill?’
Puzzled, Jill scooted to sit on the edge of her seat, her brow furrowed. ‘Thursday. I remember because Halloween was the next day and I was going to a party with Mikhail and his friends. We went to the party store to pick up our costumes.’ She looked away. ‘He didn’t run away until the weekend, but the party was the last time I saw him alive.’
‘I’m sorry to dredge this up, but it’s important.’
‘Why?’ Jill frowned. ‘How do you know?’
‘I feel it.’ Scarlett made a face. ‘Too weird, I know, but I’ve learned to trust my gut. Usually my gut remembers stuff my conscious mind has forgotten.’
Jill gave her a look. ‘Maybe you are a super-cop,’ she said with mild sarcasm.
Scarlett shook her head, ignoring the girl’s attitude. ‘No. That would be Deacon. The guy remembers everything. He kills at Jeopardy. I’m just good at Wheel of Fortune.’ She looked at her page of scribbles. ‘If you received that letter on Thursday, it had to have been mailed Monday or Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest.’ She wrote that down too.
‘Okay,’ Jill said. ‘So? What does all that mean?’
‘So . . . I don’t know yet.’ Scarlett rearranged her scribbles into a timeline.
Mon. 10/27–Wed. 10/29: letter written/mailed by Leslie McCord
Wed. 10/29: McCord tells his attorney and prosecutor that he will name names
Thurs. 10/30: Letter received at Ledger by Jill via USPS
Thurs. 10/30: Woody McCord found hanged in his cell (murder or suicide???)
Mon. 11/3: Leslie McCord ODs on pills (estimated by ME)
Wed. 11/5: Gayle reads letter, has heart attack; Mikhail’s body found; Marcus shot
Thurs, 11/6: Leslie’s body found in her home per police report
Reviewing the dates, Scarlett saw what she’d been missing. What it means, she thought, is that Leslie McCord wrote a letter referring to her husband’s death before he died. She looked up from her notes to meet Jill’s curious gaze. ‘It means I need to see that letter.’
‘Another gut feeling?’
‘Yeah. Do you know the combination to your aunt’s safe?’
‘No. She wouldn’t trust me with that. I tried to break in once, to see if I could, but I couldn’t.’
Scarlett bet that Diesel could. ‘Come with me. You can’t stay here alone. It’s not safe.’
Jill frowned, but got up. ‘Why did you tell me to earlier?’
‘Because I was too tired to think. I’m not tired anymore.’
Scarlett jogged back to the main waiting room only to find a full-fledged argument in progress. Marcus and Diesel were nose to nose. Deacon had returned, and he and Scarlett’s father were trying to calm the two men down.
‘What’s going on here?’ she demanded. ‘Is it Stone?’
Diesel’s huge chest was pumping like a bellows. ‘No, he’s still in surgery.’ He shoved a finger into Marcus’s chest, a futile gesture considering they all still wore vests. ‘Maybe you can make this asshole here see reason. I sure can’t.’
Marcus’s jaw was tight, his fists clenched much as Jill’s had been. Scarlett gently pushed Diesel aside, covered Marcus’s fists with her hands, tucked them under her chin, and waited for him to calm down.
Thirty seconds later he’d moved in, trapping their hands between their bodies, dropping his forehead to hers. ‘He called.’
‘Who?’
‘The man who has Gayle,’ he murmured.
Oh shit. She had to draw a breath, because her temper was starting to flare hotter than Diesel’s. She closed her eyes for four pounding beats of her heart, then opened them, promising herself she’d stay in control. For Marcus. ‘Let me guess. He wants a trade.’
‘Got it in one,’ Diesel said, still furious.
Marcus lifted his head, his nostrils flaring as he tried to control his temper. ‘Shut up, Diesel. I mean it.
‘Let me guess,’ Scarlett said again, so calmly she stu
Cinci
Wednesday 5 August, 9.15 P.M.
‘Oh, she’s smart, Marcus,’ Diesel snapped out. ‘Or maybe not, considering she’s thrown her lot in with a guy with a goddamn death wish.’
Marcus ground his teeth so hard that a pain spiked up his skull. He couldn’t deal with Diesel now. He needed to focus on Scarlett, who’d done the long blink and was now staring up at him with a clinical expression he knew was costing her dearly. ‘Diesel, I swear to God, if you don’t shut up . . .’
‘You’ll what?’ Diesel said, holding his arms wide. ‘You’ll hit me? Go ahead. I’ll hit back and maybe knock some fucking sense into your head!’
‘Um, excuse me?’ A nurse stood in the doorway looking upset. ‘Do I need to call Security?’
‘No,’ Marcus said.
‘No, ma’am,’ Diesel muttered.
Scarlett still held his fists in her hands. ‘All right,’ she said quietly. ‘Will someone who is sane please tell me what I missed?’
Deacon cleared his throat. ‘Well, we’re thinking the caller had to be Sweeney because Stone described the shooter’s body size as consistent with the man we saw in the photo with Alice. Sweeney said he has Gayle and for Marcus to meet him at the entrance to Shawnee Lookout Park at midnight. He’ll then allow Gayle her freedom, in exchange for Marcus. Marcus wants to do it, with a plan that he hasn’t come up with yet. Diesel says he’s a fucking fool. I’m somewhere in between the two.’ He glanced at Scarlett’s father. ‘Is that pretty complete, sir?’
‘Yeah, I’d say so,’ Jonas said.
‘And if we had a plan?’ Scarlett asked evenly. Too evenly. She was holding herself together so tightly that Marcus thought she’d crack in two.
He knew how she felt. He wanted to . . . hit something. Preferably Diesel.
‘Depends on the plan,’ her father said. He laid a tentative hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘Have you calmed down enough to think about this, son?’
Marcus shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘At least you’re honest,’ Jonas muttered.
‘What exactly did Sweeney say?’ Scarlett asked. ‘Exactly.’
Marcus let go of one of her hands to fish his phone out of his pocket. ‘I recorded it. It came through as Gayle’s caller ID.’
Scarlett pressed her free hand against his chest. ‘Jill doesn’t need to hear this.’
‘I’m staying,’ Jill said stubbornly. ‘Play it, Marcus.’
‘The audio isn’t bad,’ he murmured in Scarlett’s ear. ‘I won’t show her the video.’
Surprised horror filled her eyes, her manufactured calm gone. ‘Holy God.’
‘Yeah,’ Marcus said grimly. He hit PLAY and squared his shoulders, preparing himself to listen again.
‘Hello?’ Marcus winced at the sound of his own voice, full of hope. ‘Gayle?’
Hearing the twisted chuckle again felt like someone was grabbing his heart right out of his chest.
‘No, Marcus, this isn’t Gayle. But she’s with me. You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble recently. Let’s cut to the chase. I want you to meet me at Shawnee Lookout at midnight. It’s a cliché, I realize, but I’m on a tight schedule. Meet me there and I’ll put Gayle in your car and she’ll be free to leave.’
‘Like everyone you butchered at the Ledger was free to leave?’ Marcus asked coldly.
‘That was payback. Like I said, you’ve caused me trouble. Meet me or don’t, but if you don’t, Gayle dies. Oh, and don’t involve the authorities.’