Page 27 of Wasted
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.
