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“They might to someone within your company,” Nick countered. “Say for instance, Karl Errol?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. Karl is a researcher—wouldn’t they see that as suspicious?”
“Not if he gave them a good reason. Or if he had someone else call, pretending to be you or Edith.” He stared at the timeline for a moment. “I think it’s clear that whoever tracked your cell phone was someone from inside your company, Rachel,” he said slowly. “Not Frankie Caruso.”
* * *
Rachel’s emotions rolled up and down like a yo-yo, and Nick wasn’t helping matters. First Frankie was involved, and then he wasn’t. The kidnapping was related to her failed diabetes medication, and then it wasn’t.
Her head ached and she pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to ease the pressure. “I’m not sure what to think,” she said finally. “Maybe we should go back to Chicago, see if we can talk to Karl.”
Nick was still entering dates and times into their makeshift chart. “Josie’s suicide is bothering me,” he muttered half to himself. “Would make more sense if it was actually murder staged to look like a suicide.”
That caught her attention. “Why?”
“Because suicide indicates she felt guilty about something,” he explained. “If she was part of the cover-up related to the failed diabetes medication, then okay, I could buy that idea. But if she stumbled onto the truth and intended to come talk to you about it, then I’m more inclined to believe it was murder.”
A chill snaked down Rachel’s spine. “The meeting I was supposed to have with Karl and Josie the day I received the threatening letter and called you—it was set up by Josie. She told me that she had something important to discuss with me and insisted that Karl be there, too.”
“That fits with my homicide theory,” he said. “Do you think Edith knows anything more about what Josie wanted to discuss with you?”
“I doubt it. Edith was more concerned with fitting all the necessary meetings into my schedule. She wouldn’t ask Josie why she wanted to talk to me. If Josie said it was important, then she’d find the time to make it happen.”
Nick grimaced and then turned his attention back to the timeline. She found it hard to concentrate, though, too preoccupied by the idea of her employee possibly being murdered.
How Nick worked homicide cases on a regular basis was beyond her comprehension. She admired his strength and his dedication, more than she should.
She glanced over to the sofa and frowned when she didn’t see her son sitting there. For a moment panic set in. “Where’s Joey?”
Nick glanced up in surprise. “He was there a few minutes ago.”
She jumped up from her seat next to Nick. “Joey?” she called, her tone sharper than she intended.
Joey didn’t answer but suddenly there was a loud crash from the direction of the bathroom. Without hesitation, she rushed over. “Joey?” She knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?”
“The smell,” she heard Joey whimper. Concerned, she opened the door, grateful there was no lock.
Joey was huddled on the floor, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. The medicine cabinet door was open and it took a minute for the harsh scent of aftershave to register, because she was focused on the smears of blood on the sink. “Joey, what happened?”
“Don’t tell Nick,” he whimpered.
She tried to figure out what happened. “Don’t tell Nick what?”
“I cut myself with the knife,” Joey managed to blurt out between sobs. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want Nick to be disappointed in me.”
Her heart wrenched in her chest, and she knelt beside Joey and pulled him into her arms. “Nick won’t be disappointed in you, sweetie. Let me see the cut.”
He held out his hand, and she could see the slim cut along the pad of his thumb. There was a small bit of blood and she needed to examine the cut to make sure it wasn’t so deep it needed stitches.
“Let’s get that cleaned up, okay?” she suggested calmly.
“I don’t like the smell,” Joey said again.
She frowned and turned on the faucet, sticking his thumb beneath the gently running water. The broken bottle of stinky aftershave was lying on the floor, the liquid seeping into the wooden floor. “What happened, Joey?”
“I was looking for a Band-Aid,” he said, sniffling back his tears. “And I accidently knocked it over.”
