“Was Frank involved in an argument with anyone? Was he in trouble financially?”
“No. Are...” Carolyn inhaled raggedly. “Are you thinking that someone might have ... had a hand in Frank’s death?”
“No. Frank’s death was caused by a heart attack. I’m simply trying to get a sense of his whereabouts during the hours that are unaccounted for.”
“Did you check Frank’s phone?” Zander asked. “To see who called him at work?” Based on what Carolyn had told him, he knew the police had taken Frank’s cell phone and several other items as evidence.
“Yes, but I hit a dead end. The call was placed by a burner phone.”
Carolyn looked puzzled.
“A burner phone is a pre-paid, disposable phone,” Zander said to her.
“Which means we can’t access records on the person who purchased it.” Kurt hunched forward and once again scanned the report. “The medical examiner noted that Frank had a bullet woundin his left outer thigh. Do you know when and how Frank received that injury?”
Carolyn regarded Kurt as if he’d spoken his question in a foreign language. “The scar on Frank’s leg isn’t from a bullet wound. It’s from a metal stake that fell and hit Frank while he was working at a construction site back in 1985. I remember because I met him shortly after, when we were both living in Seattle.”
A long silence answered. Kurt met Zander’s eyes before returning his focus to Carolyn. “Ma’am, the medical examiner is certain that the injury was caused by a bullet.”
Zander scowled. Frank had told Zander the story about the metal stake whenever his old injury acted up.
“How can the medical examiner be certain?” Carolyn asked.
“Because he was able to recover the bullet, Mrs. Pierce.”
Quiet descended, thick and cold.
Frank had lied. He’d lied to both Carolyn and Zander about the injury.
A knock sounded, and a deputy stuck his head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a call for you, Kurt.”
Kurt excused himself, shutting the door softly behind him.
Carolyn’s skin had paled, and two wrinkles shaped like brackets dented the skin on either side of her lips. She extended her trembling hand to him, and Zander immediately took firm hold of it. He pulled the file toward them. “Would you like to look over the report yourself?”
“No, thank you. I can’t bear to.”
Zander picked up the papers and read them carefully, using his photographic memory to take mental snapshots of them.
“Zander,” Carolyn said after a time, her voice low.
He set the sheets aside and faced her fully.
She stared sightlessly out the window. “I need to know what happened to Frank. I definitely ... I justneedto know. For myself. For Courtney and Sarah.”
Frank and Carolyn’s daughters were in their early thirties, both married. Courtney was five months pregnant with her first child.
“It’s just that I don’t think I can handle any more ... surprises about Frank at the moment,” Carolyn continued. “It’s all ... it’s really all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.”
“If you want me to, I’ll find out what happened to Frank for you.”
Weary hope sprang to her face. “You’d do that?”
“Of course.” Once, he’d been an orphan convinced that he didn’t need saving. But then Carolyn and Frank had proved him wrong when they’d gone ahead and saved him anyway. If he could save her—even from the heartache of the questions surrounding Frank’s death—he would.
“I don’t know if it’s fair of me to ask that of you,” she said. “It probably isn’t. I’m putting too much responsibility on you, aren’t I?”
“No. You’re not.” He had a manuscript due to his publisher at the end of the summer, but he’d been working on it consistently while he’d been overseas. He could continue his writing pace here, spend the bulk of his time doing what Carolyn needed done, and still get his manuscript in on time. “It’ll be a relief to have something tangible to do. Tracking down answers is tangible.”
