Page 34 of The Drowned Woman
Most of the photos were of nursing facilities. The final ones were a stately colonial-style mansion on a well-manicured lawn. “Trudy’s been searching for a long-term placement for Walt,” Luka said. “His physician said she’d decided on a place in Smithfield.”
Krichek tapped his own device, scrolling down to squint at a report. “Cell records show she was there last week and again yesterday.”
“There were photos taken yesterday that were deleted from her phone. These six,” Harper said. She highlighted the photos and enlarged them to fill the screen. They showed the grounds around the nursing home, its street, and the neighboring houses. Somehow Trudy had found a window of opportunity to take the photos when the rain had stopped, leaving behind puddles that reflected the parked cars and trees along with a row of smaller, but still elegant homes that lined the avenue.
“Why would she delete them?” Krichek asked. “To save room on her phone?”
Harper shook her head, her grin wide. “Trudy didn’t delete them. The metadata says they were erased from the phoneaftershe died.”
That earned a raised eyebrow from Krichek. “The killer didn’t want anyone to see them.”
“But he didn’t know they were still in the cloud’s trashcan where Sanchez found them,” Harper finished.
“Where’s the phone now?”
“Sorry, boss, that’s all I have. Sanchez said as soon as the photos were deleted, the phone was turned off and its GPS disabled. Said the actor probably removed the battery and SIM card. Last tower it pinged to was the one nearest the Falconer at 8:24 this morning, only a few minutes after the murder.”
“It might still be there. Along with the stun gun.” Luka narrowed his eyes at the photos. They were perfectly ordinary pictures of a perfectly ordinary street. The only human visible other than Trudy’s reflection in a car side mirror was a faint silhouette of a man at the far edge of one shot. “Sanchez is enhancing these images?”
“Yes, sir. Running them through every program he can think of.”
“Where are we on motive?” Luka asked Krichek. Even if the photos were the reason why Trudy was targeted, they still needed to rule out any other motives. And they didn’t rule out Walt entirely; he could have been working with an accomplice.
“Financials look fairly benign. No excessive debt, but their retirement accounts have taken a hit because of Walt’s medical bills. Last year they established a family trust so that if anything happened to Trudy, the money would be earmarked for Walt’s care. That’s where her insurance payoff is going. Half a mill, should buy Walt a nice room at that nursing home.”
“No other beneficiaries? Next of kin?”
“Nope. Just the two of them. No one other than Walt stood to profit financially from Trudy’s death.”
“If Walt isn’t our actor—and we also need Sanchez to analyze the monitor footage, see if it’s been tampered with—then the killer knew to ring the doorbell to wake Walt. And to open the door for him,” Luka said.
“Setting Walt up to take the fall.” Krichek grinned at his own joke, ignoring Harper’s groan and eye roll.
“Bad puns aside,” she said, “if our actor intended to implicate Walt, they knew about Walt’s medical condition and the safety latches Trudy had installed on the door.”
“So someone who’s been inside their apartment. And someone with access to the Falconer,” Krichek added.
“Maybe they were disguised as someone in a position of authority?” Harper suggested. “That would also explain how they got out without anyone noticing them. Dressed as a cop or a medic.”
“Or they just moved fast, knowing that Walt seeing Trudy’s body would provide a distraction when he called for help.”
As Luka listened to Krichek and Harper’s ping-pong of theories, he couldn’t help but think that there was one person who fit every aspect of the profile they were building.
“Krichek,” he interrupted their debate. “Did you find that report I asked you about? The one from the neighbor about a possible cyberstalker.”
“No report ever filed by or about Risa Saliba. Not with us, at least. Maybe since it’s cyberstalking she went straight to the feds? It’s their jurisdiction.”
Luka sat back, absorbing the implications. Had Risa lied about filing the police report? Or had Leah misunderstood which agency Risa had spoken with? Krichek was right; a journalist with Risa Saliba’s experience would definitely know that the FBI investigated cybercrime. Hell, she’d written a story on it.
He needed to talk to Risa Saliba. But not until he had a chance to do a thorough background check on her and go over her so-called stalker files again. And look at what stories she’d covered before she got sick. If she was hiding anything, he was determined to find it.
Twenty
Despite the fact that Good Sam was only a mile away from her home, Leah lost her nerve halfway there. Luka was counting on her to get Ian’s files, but she couldn’t even make the turn onto Jefferson, her old street. Anger simmered through her. Not just anger, shame at her weakness. More than a hint of despair and dread—she couldn’t even perform this simple errand, and it was only one of an overwhelming myriad of tasks Ian’s death had left her with. She had an inbox filled with forms and phone calls waiting to be returned to insurance adjustors, attorneys, bankers, his former employers, retirement advisors, credit card companies, the DMV—the list was daunting and endless.
Instead of wallowing in grief and self-pity, she allowed herself the luxury of anger. And, as she drove past the school, she realized she had a target other than her own wounded psyche to direct it at. Classes were out, the kids all gone, but the lights were on in the administrative wing, she noted as she took the spot closest to the main door. She ran through the rain to the door, glad to find that it hadn’t been locked yet.
The guard post was empty and the only person in sight was a custodian waxing the floors at the far end of the corridor. She strode into the administrative offices, past the vacant secretary’s desk, and into the vice principal’s office.
