Christine frowned. “I know Mayor Bearing. Is Tommy one of his kids?”
“Yes. How do you know the mayor?” Laurel asked, her mind drawing quick connections.
Christine stilled. “I can’t answer that.”
“Personally or professionally?” Laurel asked smoothly.
“Professionally,” Christine said, shifting her weight from one foot to another.
So the mayor was probably a patient of the hospital. Tommy had mentioned that the mayor and Harvey Brewerston had been treated by the same cardiologist. Laurel made a mental note to track down more details. “I understand you can’t discuss patients, but has the mayor’s son ever been present at your hospital with his father? Maybe attended an appointment with his dad?”
“No, sorry,” Christine said. “Not to my knowledge. I’ve never met Tommy Bearing. I don’t think I have, anyway.”
But perhaps Tommy had seen Christine at some point. “Who does your gardening, lawn work, or landscape maintenance?”
Christine shrugged. “I believe it’s the same company who does the snow removal. That’s all handled by the homeowner’s association.”
Another dead end and not Greenfield Architecture. “Have you participated in the charity auction run by the mayor’s wife every year?” Laurel asked.
“No. Again, I live at work,” Christine said, drawing her beige wool coat off the back of her chair.
“All right. Let’s have Walter get you settled, and then we’ll talk again. Thank you.” Laurel left her coat in place and strode back to the computer center, where Nester was rapidly typing on his keyboard. Once inside the room, she noticed a couple of scratched snowboards mounted on the right wall. One had a two-inch dent in the side. It must’ve been a heck of a rock he’d hit.
Nester finished typing. “The phone dumps from Charlene Rox and Sharon Lamber are downloading right now.” He sat back and stretched. “Yeah, baby.”
“I like the snowboards. What are you planning to hang on the wall behind you?” There wasn’t a window in the computer hub.
He glanced at the boards. “I thought my diplomas and certificates should go on that wall. I mean, if we stay in this office, which is pretty cool.”
That made sense, and no doubt he had many. She needed to make a decision about her job. “Do you snowboard often?”
He nodded, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah. It’s my passion and has been since I was like eight years old.” He rubbed his hands together. “I have two older brothers who were star athletes in pretty much every sport they tried, and I sucked. I’m much more interested in computers and gaming, except when I’m on a board on the snow, letting gravity take over. Then I’m just as good as they are, if not better.” He jerked his head toward the boards. “Have the scars to prove it.”
“Is that why you chose to be in this unit?” She’d taken a look at his personnel file, and with his marks, he could’ve gone anywhere.
“Home is in Tacoma, and this is close to home but with even better ski hills.” He glanced at his screen. “Also, I was interested in you and this new unit. You did an amazing job with the Snowblood killer, and I figured this job would keep me on my toes so I wouldn’t get bored. If the FBI makes this permanent, I figure we’ll be traveling soon as well, since we’re specialized, and I like to travel with somebody else footing the bill.”
All good points.
He stiffened and then reached for the keyboard. “Here we go. Let me run a quick . . . yeah . . . algorithm . . . just to see . . .” He typed faster than he spoke, his fingers flying. Then he sat back. “Aha.”
“Aha?” She moved toward the weathered door that served as a desk for his computer.
“Yeah.” He typed again. “There’s a number that comes up a lot in Sharon’s phone that just stopped showing up three weeks ago. Let me see who this belongs to . . .”
She cocked her head. “You can trace phone numbers now?”
“Yep. Had the techs hook me up, helped them make it better, and figured it was all good. I do have clearance, right?” He leaned forward. “All right. Sharon Lamber spoke with a Dr. Joseph Keyes at least three times a day for a couple of months, often way into the night. Let’s see who this guy is.” He typed again and then whistled. “A quick Google search shows Dr. Joseph Keyes as a premier cardiac surgeon.”
“At Pacific Western Hospital?” Laurel asked.
Nester nodded.
Laurel turned on her snow boot and ran down the hallway, clomping loudly. She barreled into the reception area, ignored Kate’s gasp, and leaped down the stairs into the vestibule. She skidded through loose snow as she shoved open the outside door, sliding across ice and scrambling to catch her balance.
It was a crisply clear day with a brilliant blue sky and weak sun. Clouds hovered over the far mountain as if ordered to stay away for the day. She waved her hands wildly. Walter was just pulling out of his parking spot next to a red BMW SUV driven by Christine Franklin.
They both slammed the brakes, opened their doors, and partially stepped out of their vehicles.
