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The two doctors are next door neighbors, each living in an ultramodern, all-glass houses in the rich part of town, the Murgle area, which is a place I’ve visited often in my past investigations. The two houses themselves are nearly identical, constructed from dark wood, concrete and blue-tinted glass, and I’m willing to bet that they used the same architect as another doctor I’ve had a run-in with recently, who also lives around here did.
The back yards are connected and covered by a perfectly manicured English lawn, which is getting trampled and rutted by all forensic investigators coming and going across it. Judging by the sheer number of people here, it looks like Sojer called in everyone to perform this search.
Ida is by the shed on the far side of the garden, which is nearly obscured by the thick trees and bushes that separate the property from the public walkway beyond it. She waves as she sees me, but then goes right back to work.
A tall, thin, black-haired and very tanned woman is sitting at the porch table of Kline’s house, surrounded by four young adults—two boys and two girls. She’s the only one not looking at me as I approach, while the younger ones all scowl at me.
“How much longer is all this going to take?” one of them asks. He’s in his early twenties, if that old, and has all the self-assurance and arrogance of the young backing up his angry tone.
“We’re not speaking to any of you,” one of the young women adds in a very similar tone. They both have the same dark coloring as Kline’s wife, so I assume they’re his children, while the other two are fair haired and fair skinned. Lap’s children, I assume.
“The lawyers told us not to speak to anyone,” she adds. “Why can’t you just leave us alone? My father didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Can we at least go somewhere else while you trash our homes?” her brother asks. “This is very hard on my mom.”
“Sorry, but we need you to stay here for now,” I say in a kind voice, since Mrs.Kline really does look exceptionally upset. She hasn’t reacted to this conversation in any way.
Ida comes out of the shed, waving at me again, this time wanting me to join her.
“We found something!” she yells. “Come!”
Sojer overtakes me as I walk across the lawn and reaches her first.
Two other forensic techs are working in the semi darkness inside the shed. Or rather, they’re standing next to what they uncovered: a long black coat, oiled like fishermen on fishing boats wear, three black leather gloves, and a long, thin-bladed knife with a silver hilt and what looks like a ruby, but probably isn’t, adorning it. Everything is already labeled by the small yellow cones they use to photograph the evidence with. One of the gloves looks like it recently got wet and is tiny compared to the other two.
“Where did you find all this?” Sojer asks.
Ida points at the back wall of the shed, right at a spot below the small, narrow window. “It was wrapped up and stored in a couple of black trash bags just there, behind the lawnmower and the gas canister.”
“So we got them,” Sojer says triumphantly. “They share this shed, Kline’s wife confirmed it. Bag everything and tag it. Process it as soon as you can and compare it to the doctors’ DNA. And I’m going back to headquarters to interview them again. You should come with me.”
He means me and I follow him back outside.
The sky isn’t as overcast today as it’s been for the last few days, and a couple of tiny, tentative rays of sunshine are even trying to break through the cloud cover here and there. A hopeful sight and a good omen that things will only get brighter from here. Just as soon as Eva processes her nasty experience with that insane journalist.
I debate texting her to tell her what we found, but she might take that the wrong way, and assume I’m telling her that investigating Hana is pointless. In light of this find it is, but I’m hoping the work she’s doing today will get that shit show interview and Hana’s article out of her system. So I just inform her that I’m heading to the NPB to interview Kline and Lap.
I hope their lawyers will be there and I hope they’ll talk. Because it’s time for them to confess, so we can put this case to rest.
* * *
EVA
Sunday mass wasn’t over yet when Dino and I reached the church. The pews were full and the singsong sound of Father Ignatius’ voice reached us as soon as we entered the gates of the cemetery that encircles the church. We went inside and stood by the door, patiently waiting for it to end. But mass was followed by communion, which, given the number of people in attendance, felt like it lasted forever.
By the time it was over and Father Ignatius finally noticed me, the cold given off by the stone wall I was leaning on was inside me. Even my baby stopped moving, which she hasn’t done for days now. I nudged her a little and she woke right back up with a strong kick, but not before the whole thing gave me a mini-panic attack in the vein of what the hell I’m even doing freezing in a church when the case is all but solved just because I need to be right.
“What can I help you with this morning?” Ignatius asks cheerily as he walks up to us.
I quickly explain that I wish to speak to Brother Cecil about a young woman who used to attend the youth center.
“Brother Cecil? Yes, he’s right there,” Ignatius says and points at a frail, stooped, white-haired man in a wheelchair. He’s sitting by the far-left side of the altar, smiling absently at the people who pass him on their way out of the church.
“But his memory isn’t the best these days,” Ignatius adds. “Although he does remember some things from long ago very well. Did you say this woman was here in 1988?”
I nod.
“Yes, he might remember that,” he says. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”
