"You know what kind of issues?”
"Again, that's protected information.”
"I don't think Wesley would mind at this point," I said.
“Patient information is protected for 50 years after death unless you can get a subpoena or a family member to sign off on it." Then she added, "But I can tell you this, the walls around here are pretty thin. You wouldn't believe some of the conversations I’ve heard."
“I’m beginning to think Wes may have told Dr. Renick something that somebody wants to keep secret.”
Stacy grew excited, and her eyes sparkled with intrigue. “Ooh! I like the way you think.” She considered it for a moment. “To tell you the truth, I don’t remember hearing anything juicy during Wesley’s sessions. Not that I paid much attention, mind you. I tried to let it just go in and out. Usually, I was preoccupied with other drama.”
"Well, if you remember anything that stands out, get in touch," I said.
Stacy smiled. "I will.” She paused. "What about the stolen computers?”
From her phone, I helped her file a formal report through the online portal.
We left the office and walked back to the elevators. I had already contacted building management about getting security camera footage. They hadn't sent it over yet.
I called the management company again, reminded them of the urgency of the situation, then told them I needed footage for the last 24 hours. Of course, I didn't get to speak to the management company directly, only a receptionist at an answering service. I had my doubts that anyone at the management firm actually got my message. I would stay on top of it until they complied.
We left the building and stepped into the Florida sunshine. A front marched toward us in the distance. Something told me the weather was about to change. The sky in the distance looked ominous.
JD and I hopped into the Porsche and set out for Wesley’s funeral.
28
By the time we got to Holy Cross, the service was wrapping up. JD and I weren’t exactly dressed for church.
The gothic stone cathedral loomed large with spires that pierced the heavens. Ornate stone work and stained glass weaved an intricate tapestry. Arched oak doors, worn and darkened with age, guarded the path to redemption.
I pulled open one of the heavy doors, its hinges groaning louder than I would have liked. We slipped in with caution, partially expecting to get hit with a bolt of lightning.
We hovered by a column in the back and looked over the crowd. Pews creaked and groaned as mourners shifted. Father Callahan’s Latin incantations bounced around the vaulted ceilings—ancient and traditional, yet comforting. He moved with solemn grace, his flowing white robe draped with a purple stole over his shoulders. Candles flickered, and the smell of incense and limestone hung heavy in the air.
Father Callahan was a young guy in his mid-30s and relatively new to the parish. His medium-length wavy brown hair crested the tops of his ears, and he had a trimmed beard.
Wesley’s casket rested in front of the sanctuary.
Sniffles and sobs seeped from the crowd. There were a lot of people here who had cared about Wesley. That was obvious by the size of the crowd. It was tragic his life had to end in such a senseless way. But I grew more and more of the mind that it hadn’t been of his own doing.
When the service ended, six strapping men served as pallbearers. Most were around Wesley’s age. One was older. I figured they were Wesley's friends, and perhaps his father. Maybe some of them had information to share.
Father Callahan sprinkled holy water over the casket before it was transferred to the hearse. The parade of mourners followed to the cemetery for the Rite of Committal.
A tent had been set up to offer shade for the mourners. We lost a few in the journey, but Wesley's ex-wife, Angela, his sort of girlfriend, Lacey, and the pallbearers were all in attendance.
The priest said a few more prayers, sprinkled more holy water, and gave a final blessing. With that, the casket was lowered into the ground.
Sniffles and sobs drifted about, and the smell of flowers filled the air.
Father Callahan said, "There will be a reception at the activity center with snacks and beverages. Please join us."
I spotted Angela. She was talking to some of Wesley's friends who served as pallbearers. Lacey and Angela had exchanged afew awkward glances during the service. Now that the committal was over, Lacey avoided the crowd and walked back to her car. I suspected she wasn't going to make the reception. I sent JD to chase after her before she got away.
I approached Angela and offered my condolences again.
"Deputy Wild, these are my children, Abigail and Maddox.”
