Simon Says Die (22 page)

“She had a pacemaker. The police traced it through its serial number. Looks like Miss O'Neil was divorced, estranged from her family, so no one ever reported her missing.”

“Just like the yardman,” Pierce said. “Was she wealthy?”

“No, although she did have a fairly healthy bank account, at one time. She was a career woman. Started out in computers, then later became a pharmacist. Her ex-husband said she'd been laid off from her job shortly before the last time he saw her. He assumed she'd moved somewhere else for a job opportunity and never thought anything of the fact that he didn't see her again.”

“She had a healthy bank account
at one time
?” Madison asked.

“There were substantial withdrawals over a period of about twelve months, beginning almost a year and a half ago and stopping right around the time of her death—which has been placed as about four months ago.”

Pierce glanced at Madison. “The same time you purchased your house.”

She nodded, wrinkling her brow in confusion. “What does this mean?”

“My guess,” Pierce said, “Is that when Damon disappeared he took up with Miss O'Neil to use her as his meal ticket. It probably took him a few months to get in good with her, and then she opened her bank account to him. When the money started running out, he began to resent that you had inherited so much money and he was probably close to being broke. He eliminated Miss O'Neil because she had no more value to him. He may have been keeping tabs on you, maybe in the hopes he could get some of his money back someday. When you bought that house, and didn't move in, he might have seen an opportunity. He was living there, maybe to make it look like he was upper crust in Savannah, so he could blend in with the wealthy.”

Her eyes widened. “He was looking for another target? Someone else to con so he could get their money?”

Pierce nodded. “Makes sense.”

“But when I moved here, he was forced to leave the house.”

“Right, and his entrée into society. You ruined his get-rich-again-quick plan. He probably thought he could make your life difficult so you'd leave rather than face the problems. Then he could go back to his original plan, find a new rich person to con, and his money problems would be solved.”

She winced at his “leave rather than face the problems” statement. He took her hand in his and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Alex flipped the paper over. “Those are decent theories to pursue. But why wouldn't your husband just kill you if he wanted your money, rather than try to scare you away?”

“I don't know.”

“The police have already exhumed your father's body and should have lab results any time.”

She blinked and held her hand to her chest. “They dug up my father's body?” Her voice was a shocked whisper.

“You didn't tell her?” Alex asked Pierce.

“I haven't had a chance yet.” He watched her closely. The blood had drained from her face, leaving her deathly pale.

He got out of his chair and crouched down beside her. He gently pushed her dark hair back from her face. “Are you okay?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “This is a nightmare.”

“We'll get through it.” He squeezed her hand again. “I'm not going to let you go to prison for something you didn't do. Okay?”

She nodded, but he could tell she didn't believe him.

She tugged her hand away. “I'll be okay. Let's get this over with. Tell me everything.”

Pierce sat back down in his chair next to her, across the table from Alex.

“The chief medical examiner in New York is reviewing your father's case right now,” Alex said. “Your father had congestive heart failure. He was on Digoxin?”

“Yes.”

“The medical examiner said your father's EKG from the hospital had a specific pattern called torsade de pointes. He said that's something he'd expect to see if there was some kind of drug interaction.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Wait . . . that's not . . . are you saying my father's doctor made some kind of mistake? He gave my father medicine that caused his heart attack?”

“I'm not saying that at all. I'm just stating what the report says. The medical examiner is reviewing the records and performing tests on your father's body. We'll find out more once he's finished with his review.” He flipped a page. “Now, onto the next item. Metro PD has some fairly damning circumstantial evidence against you, but as long as the medical examiner rules your father's death was indeed by natural causes, you have nothing to worry about, at least as far as that particular charge goes.”

Pierce studied Madison's every reaction, paying close attention to her body language. There was no sign of relief in her expression. If anything, she looked more worried than she had a moment ago. This was not the look of a woman who just heard that the medical examiner's ruling would clear her of a murder charge.

“What circumstantial evidence?” she whispered, staring down at the table.

“It seems that someone performed searches on your computer for a drug called Maxiodarone, a derivative of . . .” He squinted down at the paper. “Amiodarone.” He looked up at her. “A search warrant was executed against your home earlier today. The police found a bottle of Maxiodarone. When the medical examiner was asked about that drug, he said if it were mixed with Digoxin, it could cause the EKG pattern he saw. And it could cause a heart attack.” He put the paper down that he was reading. “Your fingerprints were found on the bottle.”

Pierce waited for Madison to get mad, to jump up and argue about planted evidence, but she remained silent. She squeezed her hands together in front of her and wouldn't meet his gaze.

What the hell was going on?

“If you have any theories to explain those computer searches or your prints on that bottle, that might speed things up.” Alex took out a pen and waited.

Pierce watched her, alarm bells going off in his mind the longer she remained silent. “Alex,” he finally said, “give us a minute alone.”

Alex glanced at his watch. “We don't have a lot of time if we're going to try to catch a judge today—”

“Five minutes.”

“All right. Five minutes. No more.”

Alex got up, and closed the door behind him. Pierce continued to watch, and wait.

Finally, Madison lifted her head. Her eyes were bleak, her skin still deathly pale. “I
did
perform those Internet searches. And the fingerprints on that pill bottle are mine.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

O
F ALL THE
outrageous things that Madison could have said, Pierce never would have expected this. He stared at her incredulously as she sat next to him at the conference table. Could he have heard her right? He had to have misunderstood, but the sick feeling in his gut was telling him otherwise.

He turned in his seat to face her directly, his knees bumping against the side of her chair. “What did you just say?”

At first, she wouldn't look at him. Then, she swallowed and scooted her chair back so she could face him too. They sat with their knees touching, and when she looked into his eyes, he felt a jolt of true fear shoot through his body—fear for Madison and her future—because he already knew from the bleak look on her face that he
hadn't
misunderstood her.

“The fingerprints are mine. I'm the one who performed those Internet searches.”

A hundred questions raced through his mind, but it all boiled down to one, a question so terrible, he couldn't even voice it.

Did you kill your father?

As soon as he thought the words, he rejected them. He shoved them to the darkest recesses of his mind, locked them away, never to take them out again. He wouldn't ask her that, couldn't ask her that. It would hurt her too much, and he didn't need to ask, because he already knew the answer.

The love that shined through her eyes, that softened her voice whenever she spoke about her “daddy,” wasn't the love of a daughter who could kill her father. There was another explanation.

There had to be.

Unshed tears made her eyes bright, and her jaw clenched as she looked at him. “Aren't you going to ask me if I killed him?”

Her voice was defensive, accusing, but he heard the thread of pain underneath, the fear that he would believe something like that about her. He couldn't blame her for worrying, after the way he'd treated her yesterday, doubting her story, throwing accusing questions at her.

“I'm not going to ask, because I already know the answer. You didn't kill your father.”

The look of surprise and relief that crossed her face had him feeling even more like an ass for how he'd treated her.

“Mads, you've lied to me, and you've hidden things from me since the moment this all began. I want to help you. But I can't, unless you're honest with me. This is it. You've got to tell me everything. It's the only way we can beat this.”

Her lower lip wobbled, and she closed her eyes. A minute passed, and she still wasn't talking.

He reached out, gently forcing her chin up so she'd open her eyes and look at him. “You could go to prison. Do you get that? You have to tell me what happened. How did your fingerprints get on that bottle?”

She swallowed hard, and took a deep gulping breath. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she seemed to curl into herself, like a wounded animal. “I told you that Damon had disappeared after we fought, and that he showed up again when my father was in the hospital. When daddy . . . died, Damon was so . . . odd, so . . . smug. A horrible suspicion went through me, that maybe he'd done something to my father. That he'd . . . somehow . . . caused his heart attack. I didn't even know if that was possible.”

She twisted her hands together. “I couldn't shake that awful suspicion. He was at the funeral, and he kept watching me. Every time I looked up, he was there. I avoided him, refused to talk to him, even though he tried, several times. A few days later, I was digging in my purse, and I found that bottle of pills. I swear I'd never seen them before. They weren't mine.”

“I know. Go on.” He tried to put as much encouragement in his voice as he could, letting her know he believed her. That seemed to calm her, and after a few moments, she continued.

“My father's name was on the label, but I knew all the meds he was taking, and I'd never heard of that one . . . Maxiodarone. I knew, somehow I knew, that Damon had put those pills in my purse, and that he'd used them to cause Daddy's heart attack. I searched on the Internet about the drug itself, and how to fake a heart attack.” She swallowed again. “That's when Damon called, while I was looking things up on the Internet.”

“You were at home when he called?”

“Yes. He was standing right outside, calling on his cell.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears, her eyes watery. “I shouldn't have let him in, but I was distraught, and so angry. I'd just found the pills, and I had to know . . . had to know if he was the one who'd put them in my purse, and why, and if he'd killed . . .” She shook her head. “I let him in. We argued. I showed him the pills. I told him I thought he'd done something to cause my dad's heart attack. I accused him of murdering my daddy. He . . . saw my computer screen, and he knew what I'd been doing.”

The thought of her alone with Damon, telling him she believed he was a murderer, had cold chills running up his spine, just thinking about what could have happened to her. “What did he do?”

The tears she'd been trying to hold back started running down her face. “At first he denied it, but when he realized I didn't believe him . . . he was furious. He said I'd ruined everything. He admitted the pills were his, that he'd thrown them in my purse because someone saw him with them, and he'd hoped to get them back later, but I'd refused to see him.”

She beat her fist against her thigh. “He admitted he'd killed my father, as if it was nothing, as if he was discussing a new suit he'd just bought.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she let out a choking sound.

Seeing the pain on her face made Pierce want to pull her into his arms, but he didn't have time for that now. The best way to help her was to get her to tell him everything. He gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Did he explain what he meant when he said you'd ruined everything?”

“No.”

“Go on, Mads. Tell me the rest. What happened after that?”

“It was cold that day, and he was wearing gloves. I didn't think anything about that, until he grabbed the bottle of pills from me. I never saw that bottle again. But I . . . I knew what he'd done. My fingerprints were on the bottle of pills used to kill my father, my prints, no one else's. I couldn't tell anyone, especially Logan, because if I did . . .”

“You actually thought he'd think you'd killed your father?” he asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

Her brows scrunched together and she shook her head. “No, no, of course not. Logan would never think that of me. But he was already grieving my father's death. I didn't want him to go through the pain I was going through, knowing his death could have been avoided, knowing the evil man I'd brought into our lives was the one who killed my dad.”

“Mads, you can't blame yourself. And you should have told Logan. He would have helped you.”

“How? How would he have helped me? By trying to bury the evidence if that bottle ever showed up? I honestly don't know if he would do that, even if he could, but I couldn't take that chance. Law enforcement is his life. It would have killed him inside if he turned against everything he believed in and suppressed evidence. I couldn't do that do him, couldn't force him to choose between his integrity, and protecting his sister.”

She shrugged, looking defeated. “Not that it matters anymore. The police have the bottle, and my computer. There's nothing anyone can do now. I'm going to prison, and the man who killed my father is still out there, free to destroy another family the way he destroyed mine.” She choked on the last word and buried her face in her hands.

Unable to bear seeing her in so much pain, Pierce reached for her and pulled her onto his lap. He hugged her tight, rocking her against him until her shaking began to ease. “Why didn't you tell me this from the beginning?” he whispered.

“After the way I'd hurt you, I didn't know if I could trust you. I thought you'd tell Logan everything. I couldn't risk that.”

A week ago, he might have told Logan everything. But now . . . hell, he wasn't sure what he would have done today. That choice had been taken away from him the moment the police found that bottle of pills.

The door opened, and Alex stepped into the room.

Pierce glanced at his watch. “Has it been five minutes already?”

“It's been ten.” He pulled out his chair and sat down. As if suddenly noticing the tension in the room, he looked back and forth between them. “Did you need more time?”

Pierce looked down at Madison, raising his brow in question.

She opened her mouth, as if to say something else, but then she pressed her lips together and shook her head. She moved to her own chair and sat ramrod straight, staring at the far wall.

What had she been about to say? Was it possible there was still something else she hadn't told him? He'd have to ask her, later, when they were alone—and when she was ready to answer questions again. Right now she looked so fragile, brittle, as if she were ready to break.

Alex skimmed the page in the open folder on the table, then looked up at them. “I'm going to assume your husband did the searches on the computer, and somehow planted your prints on the bottle, or maybe changed the label and switched with another bottle of medication you'd handled for your father.” He wrote some notes down. “That makes sense in light of the abduction. The abduction proves he had access to your house. He could have used a locksmith one day while you were out and had another key made, something like that. You'd be surprised how many locksmiths will make a key without verifying proof of address. We'll have the alarm company check out the door to the basement. Maybe your husband disabled the alarm on that one door so he would have full access to the house.”

“The alarm was turned off the day of her abduction,” Pierce said, “because the police were going in and out. But you're right, the alarm company needs to come out and perform a complete security check to see if all the entry point contacts are working. I hadn't thought about that.”

Madison looked at him, and he could tell she was wondering if he was going to tell Alex the truth about her prints on the bottle, and the Internet searches. Of course he was. How did she think he could protect her, help build a defense, if they didn't tell her attorney the truth?

But for now, he'd rather keep it to himself. He wanted to think about what she'd told him, and see how everything played out. He also didn't want Alex to decide not to help her. Alex had never been the kind of defense attorney who would defend someone if he thought they were guilty. He was giving Madison considerable latitude, not because he believed her story, but because he was supporting Pierce.

“Let's discuss the known facts about your father's death.” Alex looked expectantly at Madison.

“He had congestive heart failure. He was getting worse, so they put him in the hospital.”

“Was he having surgery? Or being treated with medication?”

“Medication. He improved right away after he was admitted. I thought he'd be going home the next day. I had breakfast with him in his room and he was joking around. Weak but feeling better.”

“Then what?” Alex asked.

“I left for a consultation with his doctors. When I came back, he was sleeping. Thirty minutes later,” she swallowed and cleared her throat. “The alarms started beeping.”

“He had a heart attack?”

“That's what the doctors said. People ran into the room, tried to revive him. But it was too late. He was . . . gone.”

Alex tapped his pen on the sheet of paper. “So, you were the last person to see your father alive?”

She frowned. “I guess so.”

“Hmm.”

Some of the paleness left her face. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it's hard to prove your husband killed your father when you were the last person in the room with him.”

She started to get up, but Pierce wrapped his arms around her shoulders and anchored her to the chair. “We have to fight this, together. You can't run from this, not anymore.”

Pain flashed across her face, but she relaxed in his grip.

Alex poised his pen over his paper again. “Did Damon stop by to see your father that day?”

“Yes, earlier that morning.”

“What time?”

“I'm not sure. Eight, maybe nine. It's probably in the log. We had to sign in to go into his room.”

Alex wrote down some more notes. “You said you had a consultation with the doctors. Do you remember what time that was?”

“Around noon, I guess. Right after lunch.”

He wrote that down, then shut his folder. “I'll drum up a toxicology expert, and subpoena the hospital records. In the meantime, I called in a favor and arranged bail. Settle your bill with the cashier, and you're free to go—with the stipulation that you remain with Pierce. The judge is counting on him, as a federal agent, to keep an eye on you.