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D.D. nodded. “I don’t know that Mayor Howard will consent to us talking to his niece separately. My guess is he’ll say she can’t speak so he needs to be present to communicate on her behalf.”
“We’ll gather the staff and talk to them as a group. That will appear less threatening and make it harder for Mayor Howard to refuse without calling undue attention. His niece isn’t alone and the rest of the staff must be able to communicate with her in some fashion—otherwise, how else could they have worked together all these years? I’ll ask questions. You watch her fingers for your special coding system and we’ll see what we get.”
“I like it.”
“Of course. I’m brilliant. Which is why we get along so well.”
“And how we’re going to nail the son of a bitch who’s leaving a trail of dead women all over this town,” D.D. agreed.
Mayor Howard wasn’t thrilled with their assertion they needed to interview everyone present in the inn last night. He tried to argue his guests’ right for privacy, his and his staff’s need to mourn. The sheriff, however, stood firmly with them—and, denied local support, the mayor had no choice.
Sheriff Smithers sent an officer to rouse the four couples who’d stayed the night. Kimberly announced she and D.D. would handle questioning the staff, who were apparently huddled in the kitchen, awaiting news. In the meantime, she needed the mayor to identify which computer or personal tablet his wife might have used to write her suicide note.
The request sent another long shudder rippling through the mayor’s bent frame. He bowed his head, appeared once again to fight for breath. The man seemed genuinely distraught. As if this were the worst night of his life. As if he still couldn’t believe his wife was dead.
“She’s gone,” he said abruptly. “Martha, my wife, my partner, my best friend. Thirty years... There’s no hope for me now.” His tone was so hollow, it sent a shiver down Kimberly’s spine.
She kneeled beside him at the table. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I loved her.”
“I understand.”
“I did what she wanted.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted her to be healthy. Then she was. And God help me, I didn’t ask any questions. I never considered the cost. If not from me, then how did she get the kidney in the end?”
“Mayor Howard, I need you to go with Sheriff Smithers now. He’s going to help you find your wife’s computer. It’s important. Helping him will enable us to wrap up our investigation. I know this is hard. Just another hour or two, and we’ll be on our way. Who is in charge of your staff?”
“My wife—” The mayor caught himself. “Cook. She’s in the kitchen now. Prepping breakfast, I’m sure.”
Kimberly rose to standing. “Sheriff,” she prodded, indicating it was time for him to lead the mayor away.
Smithers got it. He put his hand on the mayor’s shoulder, both men looking equally grim. Kimberly understood. Sheriff Smithers was a county sheriff, not the town sheriff, but these were still his people. He had obviously known the mayor and Martha Counsel personally. These kinds of cases, where the trouble struck close to home, were never easy.
Mayor Howard climbed shakily to his feet, then followed the sheriff out of the front breakfast room.
Beside Kimberly, D.D. nodded slightly, acknowledging a job well done.
And yet, how to explain the unease rippling through Kimberly’s gut? They had an admission of guilt—a woman who’d killed herself because she was sorry for the kidney she had most likely stolen from one of their victims in the woods. They had the presence of medical supplies found in the mass grave—the IV port—which further supported this theory.
They had four victims, maybe all of whom had been used the same way: unwilling donors for illegal surgeries performed by a doctor dead eight years past. Illegal surgery explained the bodies, explained their timelines. Probably even explained the mass grave—three operations performed at once. Which made the victims what, medical waste?
Human nature never failed to disappoint. If there was a worst-case scenario out there, some person someplace had done it.
But the coroner’s words haunted her: Why would a woman who desired to live enough to resort to an illegal surgery decide to end it all, suddenly, just like that?
“Ready?” D.D. asked.
“Ready enough.”
D.D. indicated the swinging door connecting the kitchen. “No time like the present.” She shoved her way through, Kimberly at her heels.
“Hey, Cook. We have some questions for you.”
