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When the doctor asked her how she got her son shining, scouring, sweeping, Sophie said Russian sons always do chores.
“It’s how we train them to be a good husband,” she said with a laugh. Unlike her own ex, Andre, she said, who was finally released from prison that week and on a plane to Moscow.
The doctor felt sick with shame hearing this, imagining how her own son, Josh, would respond to spending a Saturday mopping floors.
Not well.
Masha used to make his bed for him, tidy his school books, do his laundry, cook his meals. Steven insisted. Josh was to be free from chores to study. The doctor even made his school lunch at night, a bagel and cream cheese, Ziploc of almonds, chocolate pudding, carrots. He could have done that himself. But he’d never held a broom in his life, and rarely, if ever, played with the dog. Would Josh and Nikolai get along? Masha had moved out, but they’d made up. Or at least, the doctor thought they had. Masha visited sometimes to help Sophie out with certain big cleans, like the basement and attic, to pick up some cash. That day they’d cleaned out the doctor’s garage.
Over the phone, Morse had good news: none of her patients had suffered a break-in since Mr. Lewis eight weeks before.
This was a relief. She had secured her company’s systems. This had worked, or the perp (or perps) had maybe moved on. She had also upgraded and secured the house. No more wired alarms. The doctor’s system was top of the line, with HD night vision, digital smart locks, and nothing wired that could be splattered or cut.
The other news, Morse said: “There was no match between the files and the Russian guys.” All three men had ties to the Russian mob, but alibis that checked out the night of the Stanley Lewis murder and the nights of the other robberies, too. “We haven’t found another lead.”
“No one?” said Parks. “Even with forensics?”
“No blood, no hair. We haven’t lifted a single print.”
Elena, Laticia, all of the doctor’s hospice employees had checked out fine, and business could resume as usual.
The doctor sighed. “That’s so weird. It must have been a random hacking. Maybe it was.”
“Easily,” said Morse. “These guys could be anywhere. China. Korea. Wisconsin. Iran. Information is hard to secure.”
Dr. Parks nodded. The truth was she wanted it all behind her. She could only handle so much at once, and Josh was coming home in three days. That alone—he alone—was enough to manage.
She was nervous about it. Dreading it, actually. He’d been away now for three whole months.
Steven would fly to Billings in the morning, attend a few meetings at Wellborn Ranch, and then fly Josh home two days later. Josh would spend a week at his dad’s, in the condo in Westwood, and then move back to the Bel Air house. He’d live there with his mom, except on weekends, all summer long and for the upcoming school year. Junior year would be a tough one, she thought, with SATs, college visits, and AP exams. She wondered how Josh would get through it. She hoped Wellborn worked, and that her son would come home clean and sober, well-mannered, sane, and stay that way in his outpatient program in Beverly Hills.
“Thanks,” she said to Morse, and sighed. “For the update.”
“You’re welcome. We’ll be in touch if we get any leads.”
“I appreciate it.”
The doctor hung up her mobile and turned to the landline, which was ringing on the counter. She looked around to find the handset, sure it was Steven calling about tomorrow. She found the receiver and picked it up.
“Hi, Steve,” she said. But it wasn’t Steven.
It was Adam Shaw from Wellborn Ranch.
CHAPTER 27
“WE’RE MISSING JOSH,” said Adam Shaw. He sounded too calm. “As of this morning.” Shaw was Wellborn Ranch’s director.
Dr. Parks had never liked him.
He didn’t have a medical degree. That she knew. But he called himself a doctor. She’d asked him about it, point blank, when they all met at the intake meeting. Shaw had mumbled, “PhD,” but in what exactly he never said, nor did he specify a school.
The doctor sank onto a barstool. She needed the ballast. Missing? Her son was missing?
“What do you mean?” She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
“He’s gone,” Shaw said. “We’ve searched the mansion. And the grounds. All the camera feeds. No one has seen him since last night at sleep-check. After lights out, when he was in bed.”
The doctor’s thoughts spun. How could Josh leave Wellborn Ranch? It was smack in the middle of the Montana wilderness. There was a single one-lane road that led through the woods and up a big mountain to the damn place. It was totally remote, a hundred miles or more from Billings.
