The hospital room was as uninspiring as every other hospital room Miles had ever seen—white walls, unintentionally moody lighting that hummed softly overhead, a single window that looked out onto a parking garage, and the persistent smell of disinfectant that seemed to permeate everything. A small television mounted in the corner played muted local news, and Miles had already watched the same traffic report three times while waiting for the doctor to clear him for discharge.
Nearly three hours had passed since Diana Hartwell's arrest, and Miles's head still throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. The pain medication the nurses had given him helped somewhat, but every sudden movement or bright light sent fresh waves of discomfort radiating from the point where Diana's blackjack had connected with his temple. Back at the museum, he didn’t even argue when Vic forced him to come to the hospital. His head had been hurting so badly and his vision had been so fuzzy that he feared he may be in a great deal of trouble.
Fortunately, as it turned out, he’d only suffered a concussion and a few scratches to his face. He just ended a phone call with Elena, and despite the pain in his skull, he found himself smiling slightly at the memory of their conversation. She'd started out concerned, asking about his injuries and whether he was okay, but that concern had quickly transformed into something approaching fury when he explained how he'd tackled an armed suspect without any backup or protective equipment.
He tried to explain that there hadn't been time to wait for backup, that Mayor Callahan's life had been in immediate danger, but Elena wasn't interested in his justifications. She lectured him for nearly ten minutes about taking unnecessaryrisks and putting himself in harm's way. He hadn’t taken it in an ill way, though. He knew it all came from a place of love.
But underneath her anger, Miles had detected something else—a note of pride, maybe even admiration, that she was trying hard to suppress. When she'd finally run out of steam, she admitted quietly that she was proud of him for helping save someone's life, even if his methods had been reckless.
Maybe he could work with that.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Vic appeared in the doorway. She looked tired and worn down, her usually sharp appearance rumpled and disheveled. He could see the weight of this case in her eyes, and there was a weariness to her posture that spoke of long hours spent dealing with paperwork, interviews, and coordination with other agencies in the hours that had passed since the arrest.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, settling into the uncomfortable plastic chair beside his bed.
"Like I got hit in the head with a blackjack," Miles said, then immediately regretted the attempt at humor as it sent another spike of pain through his skull. "The doctor says it's a concussion and some swelling, but nothing major. No cracked skull, no permanent damage. They want to keep me for observation for another few hours, but I should be able to get out of here tonight."
Vic nodded, relief evident on her face. "Good. When I saw that thing connect with your head, I thought..." She trailed off, not finishing the sentence.
"Any word from Hayes?"
"Just got off the phone with him. He sends his thanks and regards, says the Director is pleased with how we handled the situation. It helps that museum security is singing our praises, as well as the mayor." Vic rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "There's going to be a lot of paperwork, obviously, andprobably some kind of commendation ceremony down the line, but the immediate pressure is off."
Miles shifted position on the hospital bed, trying to find a more comfortable angle. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his head, and he grimaced. "How's Diana cooperating?"
Vic's expression grew grim. "She's not. Refuses to answer any questions. Her lawyer showed up around an hour after we got her to the hospital, and since then she's been completely silent. Won't even confirm her name for the record."
"What about her house? The mine?"
"We got search warrants for both properties." Vic pulled out a small notebook and flipped through several pages. "Her home was thoroughly searched. Found a lot of interesting material—geological surveys of the mine property, detailed maps of the underground tunnels, equipment receipts for mining gear. There are two teams still currently going through it all."
Miles felt a spark of interest despite his headache. "So she was definitely working the mine herself?"
"Looks that way. From what we can put together, she'd been going back down into those old shafts for months. Found what appears to be a significant vein of gold that her father either missed or couldn't access with his equipment." Vic looked up from her notes. "The crime scene team found evidence of recent mining activity—fresh tool marks, recently moved rock, that kind of thing."
"How much gold are we talking about?"
"Hard to say exactly, but based on the equipment she had and the amount of material that's been moved, probably enough to coat dozens of victims. Maybe more."
Miles felt a chill despite the warm hospital room. "Dozens?"
"It gets worse." Vic flipped to another page in her notebook. "We also found extensive financial records on eachof the victims. Bank statements, tax returns, property holdings, investment portfolios—detailed information that would have taken months to compile."
"How did she get access to that kind of private financial information?" he asked. Simply trying to keep track of it all with his head aching the way it was taxing.
"That's the million-dollar question." Vic closed the notebook and leaned back in her chair. "Some of it could have been public record—property deeds, corporate filings, that sort of thing. But most of these documents are the kind of thing that only comes from inside sources. Bank records, private investment accounts, confidential business dealings."
Miles felt the familiar itch of an unsolved puzzle. "So either Diana had access to financial databases that a museum curator shouldn't be able to reach, or..."
"Or someone else was feeding her information." Vic finished the thought he'd been reluctant to voice. "Someone with the kind of access that could pull detailed financial records on multiple targets."
"Has anyone been able to check her computer yet?"
"Yeah, and it seems to be clean. Phone history, too. Either she was incredibly careful about covering her digital tracks, or she was getting this information through other channels."
Miles tried to sit up straighter, then immediately regretted it as his vision swam slightly. "Vic, this supports what I was saying before. About the other element-based murders I found. Diana might be just one piece of a larger operation. Whoever was feeding her that kind of information could be at the center of it all."
Vic was quiet for a moment, staring out the small window at the parking garage beyond. "I want to believe you, Miles. I really do. And I have to admit, the financial records thing bothers me. But we need more than theories."
