The Other Page 16

  “The governor doesn’t give personal interviews.” A rote statement.

  “That’s disappointing.” Infuse a little guilt. “This book is a compendium of Oregon governors, and I really just need one small detail about her son Logan.”

  An awkward pause. “You’d better start over with your research.” The woman hung up.

  Huh? What did she mean by that? It sounded like she’d made an error. Rox doubted if it was important. The call had been a long shot, and she had to move on to more productive efforts.

  A depressing thought interrupted her plans. What if Logan had gone home to his mother and she’d already sent him back to Mt. Angel? Oh hell. She had to check. Rox picked up the burner phone again and keyed in the number. Anxiety rippled through her body. Every time she thought about the place, she got the shivers.

  The male counter person answered. “Mt. Angel Psychiatric Hospital.”

  A flash of rage kept her from speaking for a moment.

  “Hello?”

  Rox plunged forward. “This is Dr. Edwards from Serenity House. There seems to be some confusion about Logan Wilmont’s transfer. When is that rescheduled for?”

  “Give me a moment.”

  Rox counted while she waited. It took him fifty-six seconds to respond. “The transfer has been cancelled.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “My understanding is that Logan wanted to come here. I’d like to consult with him.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Why not? I’m a psychiatrist, and he’s supposed to be in my care right now.”

  “Let me verify something and call you back.” The guy hung up.

  Damn. He was probably checking on her by calling Serenity House. Still, the phrase “that’s not possible” could mean that Logan wasn’t in the building and the administrator knew it.

  Or not.

  Rox gathered up her three phones and tossed them in her shoulder bag. She grabbed her laptop too. What else would she need today? A little Xanax might be nice.

  A cell in her purse beeped with a text notification. She grabbed her work phone, then realized it was the burner cell that had sounded. She opened the message from a number she hadn’t seen before: I’m into the hospital data now. Found a ghost file for Lacy Jaskilca. Only there for 2 days. Logan Wilmont’s file is huge and has weird notations. I’ll send it to your email. JKS

  Rox sucked her breath. Lacy had been a patient at Mt. Angel, and they had scrubbed her record. What the hell had happened? She feared the worst. But who would kill her and why? Or maybe her death had been an accident. A medication overdose or ECT that went horribly wrong. Rox ached for the girl’s father and hoped to discover the whole truth for him. But the hacked information couldn’t be used to send the police to search the property. They needed more.

  She texted back: Thanks! Anything on the fertility clinic?

  As she waited for a response, Rox paced the living room, watching out the window for Marty. Jason didn’t take long: Not yet. Had to use a T horse. May be hours or days.” The horse had displayed as a little icon, and she knew the T stood for Trojan, a simple but effective hacking tactic that involved emailing someone inside the company with imbedded malware.

  She heard Marty’s sedan roll into their driveway and jumped up, ready to wrap up this case. She couldn’t handle the anxiety anymore. Losing the target kid after an extraction was a first, and being drugged and restrained was beyond the call of duty. She’d also ruined her relationship with Kyle. For no pay! At what point did they walk away?

  Marty hurried into the house. “Ready?”

  “Always.” Rox grabbed her loaded shoulder bag, then nodded at him to grab the cooler.

  “You packed snacks.” He raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t just a drive to Canby, is it?”

  “That depends on what we find—and what the hacker comes back with.”

  Marty walked over and pressed a small plastic bottle into her hand. “I picked up your prescription. We’re not leaving until you take one.”

  His intensity made her smile. “That’s a little manipulative, don’t you think?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m sure the electrical shocks triggered that seizure, but I’ll humor you.” She twisted the bottle open, popped one in her mouth, and reached for her last swig of cold coffee. “Happy now, Mr. Mom?”

  “Since you’re asking, I could do with a little less sarcasm.”

  They both laughed and stepped outside. “Let’s take my car,” Marty said. “It’s roomier if we decide to watch Shay’s house for a while.”

  When they were on the road, Rox told him about the ghost file for Lacy Jaskilca.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think it’s a file that was deleted, but some of the data is still floating in the system.” She glanced at her phone, hoping for another text from Jason. “It’s hard to totally eliminate digital information without actually destroying the hard drive it’s stored on.”

  “I know. That’s how the bureau’s tech people find child porn and white-collar fraud on perps’ computers.” Marty took an exit for I-5 south.

  “The problem is that we have no way of bringing that evidence to the police or FBI.”

  “Yeah, but I get the feeling the kid knows something he’s not telling.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe his mother’s arrangement with the hospital.” Marty looked over at her.

  Anger surfaced, making her chest hot. “If we find Logan, let’s take him to a custody lawyer. He needs someone fighting to keep him out of Mt. Angel.”

  Marty nodded. “Good idea. If he feels safe about not being sent back, he might open up and offer incriminating testimony about patient abuse.”

  Rox wished she could testify and help put the director away, but her story would likely remain untold.

  “Maybe the DA will offer you immunity in exchange for your statement,” Marty added, obviously on the same train of thought. “I mean, if we can present enough evidence for them to open an investigation.”

  “I’m not counting on it.”

  Forty minutes later, they passed through Canby, a quaint town that was lush with trees and old single-story buildings. The only business that stood out was a diner called Papa’s Greasy Spoon. Rox had grown up in Portland, but had never been through this particular area to the southeast. Her recent research indicated that Canby was known for fishing, covered bridges, and apple orchards.

  At the edge of the city limits, they turned on Forest Road and followed the Molalla River south, passing farms and fields. Out of habit, Rox started watching for mailboxes and addresses. According to their GPS, they had another turn and seven miles to go. But in rural areas, the software wasn’t that reliable and sometimes announced “destinations” in the middle of nowhere.

  The road split a mile later, and they stayed to the right, assuming that was the turn indicated on the map. A few minutes later, they passed an unmarked gravel lane, then a minute beyond, the system’s voice told them they had arrived. In the distance, they could see a large pond that filled the low corner between the two rural roads.

  “It must be that driveway back there,” Rox said.

  Marty slowed and turned around. “I’m surprised there’s no mailbox or sign. Didn’t you say Jill Palmer owns this property?”

  “According to the county, she does. And it’s valued at six-fifty.”

  Marty whistled. “It’s either a lot of house or a lot of acreage.” He swung left onto the gravel lane and slowed again. Maple trees lined the long bumpy driveway, but an evergreen forest covered the land beyond. A No Hunting sign, followed by a No Trespassing warning.

  “They really don’t want us here, do they?” Marty chuckled, but his tone contained little humor.

  “By they, you must mean the Goyers.” Based on the reporter’s notes, Rox had done some online research and extrapolated the family history. “Jill and Shay’s parents moved their family
here after the sisters finished high school. Sometime after Jill married Blake Palmer, Mr. and Mrs. Goyer died in a car crash and apparently left the house to Jill. She and her husband lived here while he was county commissioner, and Jill ran the local Democratic party.”

  The house came into view. Built with large stones mortared together, it was dark and stately and would probably still be standing two hundred years from now. Marty stopped the sedan in the circular parking area. “How did Shay end up here?”

  “Lexa Robbins speculated that Jill took in her sister after Shay’s painful divorce.” Rox stared at the house. No cars. No lights. She unbuckled and continued with her update. “Then Blake Palmer ran for governor and won, and the couple moved to Salem to live in Mahonia Hall. Apparently her sister stayed here.”

  “Logan must have stayed too.” Marty started to climb out. “Shay told us she raised him from age three. That was about the time his dad became governor.”

  “His mother must have decided he was too quirky for public life.” Rox shook her head. “I can’t imagine what his life was like.”

  “Let’s look around. Maybe go inside. I want answers.”

  She did too. Rox jogged up to the front door and knocked, not expecting a response. She checked the knob. Locked. Made of dark wood, the wide door had only a tiny peephole. Stepping to the side, she crunched across the small white rocks that served as landscaping around the house. The front drapes were slightly open in the middle and she peeked through. A dark room with wood paneling on the lower part of the walls.

  “I’ll check the back door,” Marty called out.

  She followed him around the stone walls, noting that all the windows were covered with closed curtains or blinds. Shay took being a recluse to an extreme.

  The back door was unlocked. “I’ll be damned,” Marty commented, pushing into the house.

  “She probably left in a hurry.”

  They entered a small mudroom, noting a bench with boots under it and hooks on the wall, with a rain slicker hanging. Rox braced against the cold. The heating system obviously hadn’t been on in a while. They moved quickly through the quiet house, noting that the bedrooms all smelled musty and looked unlived in. But circling back, they realized two drawers in the large kitchen were slightly open and a hint of burnt toast hung in the air.

  “Someone has been here recently.” Marty stared at dishes in the sink.

  “Any moisture?” Rox asked, walking over.

  “Yeah, we’ve got drops of water in the drain.”

  Rox tried to work through the timeline. “Lexa was killed Sunday, and I don’t think we’ve heard from Shay since. Kyle and the Major Crimes team were likely here on Tuesday or Wednesday. I’m sure they searched thoroughly.” She closed a silverware drawer. “Including this kitchen.”

  “Logan was still with me then,” Marty reminded her. He gestured around the house. “There’s obviously not much to search. Did you notice the lack of personal stuff?”

  “I did.” The bathroom held a toothbrush and toothpaste, but no makeup. No books, magazines, or mail were stacked anywhere, and the beds were neatly made. “It’s almost like a vacation home.”

  “Except for all the art.” Marty touched a ceramic bowl on the counter. “Some have dust, but others don’t.”

  A noise overhead startled them both, and they looked up.

  “Too loud to be a squirrel.” Rox scanned the ceiling for an attic entrance.

  “The mud room.” Marty charged toward the back exit.

  In the tiny area, they both stared upward. Rox spotted something thin and black along the edge of the ceiling over the back door. She climbed on the bench and reached for it—a plastic handle that pulled out. She gave it a tug, and a set of hideaway stairs slowly descended.

  Marty grabbed the metal railing and unfolded the second half. He climbed up partway and called out, “Logan? It’s Pops.”

  Rox almost snickered.

  “We’re here to help you. Come on down.”

  Please! Rox didn’t want to enter the dark windowless space of the attic.

  After a moment, the boy appeared in the opening, wearing the jeans and hoodie Marty had bought him. “You won’t take me back to the hospital?”

  “No way.” Marty shook his head. “We risked a lot just to get you out.”

  “We’re going to find you a lawyer,” Rox added.

  Logan started down the steps. “I have something I need to do first. Will you take me?”

  “Where?” Rox was skeptical.

  “The fertility clinic where I was conceived.”

  Chapter 34

  That was the last thing Rox expected him to say, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. “Can I ask why you want to go there?”

  “There’s something I need to know, and only they can tell me.” He jumped down from the stairs and pushed them back into the ceiling.

  Rox thought about Jason, the hacker. He might still come through with information from the fertility clinic. “Maybe I can find out for you.” She softened her tone, trying to sound gentle—instead of hyperintense, insanely curious, and painfully frustrated like she really felt. “You’ll have to tell me what you want to know.”

  “I can’t. Not yet. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

  She touched his arm. “We don’t think you’re mentally ill and neither does your aunt.”

  Logan’s eyes filled with despair. “I don’t want to talk about Shay.”

  “I’m sorry she’s not here for you.” Rox glanced at Marty, and he shook his head. Eventually, they would have to tell the boy that his aunt was suspected of murder and had likely left the state.

  An ugly thought popped into her head. What if Jill had killed the reporter and tried to frame her sister? The governor seemed to have motive to want Lexa Robbins silenced. If Jill knew that Shay had orchestrated Logan’s release, maybe she wanted to punish her for it. Or at least get her out of her son’s life. Rox wished she could share the theory with Marty, but she wouldn’t do it in front of Logan. She wanted to tell Kyle too, but he wouldn’t listen.

  “We should go,” Marty said. “The sooner we get you legal protection the better.” He moved toward the door.

  Logan followed. “I didn’t know kids could have lawyers.”

  “Sometimes they need them,” Rox added. “Especially when their parents aren’t doing the right thing.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Mother either.”

  Rox understood his pain, but she needed information. Her frustration kicked up a level and she struggled to be patient with the boy. But she would wait and see what the hacker came up with. Still, Logan’s experience at Mt. Angel could be incriminating enough to prod law enforcement into launching an investigation. She had to get the boy talking.

  As they all got in the car, she asked, “Were you given ECT at the hospital?”

  “Yes.” He buckled up in the backseat.

  Rox turned to face him. “Did they give you anesthesia? Or were you awake for it?”

  “The first two times they sedated me. After that, they didn’t, because it was meant as a punishment.” His tone was surprisingly matter of fact.

  Logan seemed to have been traumatized to the point of numbness. “Were you physically abused?”

  “Bruno pinched me a lot, but that’s all. He was meaner to the girls.”

  “You need to tell all this to an attorney.” Rox planned to search for one while Marty drove.

  Logan stared into her eyes. “But we’re going to the clinic first, right?”

  She glanced at Marty. “Hopewell was on my list anyway.”

  “Tell me where to find it.” Her stepdad started the car.

  Logan was quiet on the drive south, and Rox resisted the urge to batter him with questions—other than to find out he’d hitchhiked the twenty-five miles from their house to Canby. For some fifteen-year-olds that wouldn’t be a big deal. But for Logan, who’d been isolated most of this life, it had to have been difficult. Rox
was proud of him in a strange way, but she would also be glad to hand off the responsibility soon. With Google open on her phone, she searched for a lawyer who would take Logan as a client.

  When they neared Salem, the boy abruptly started talking. “It was weird being at the Canby house after years of being gone, especially by myself. It’s my home, but it doesn’t feel the same without Shay.”

  Rox started to speak and stopped. She wanted to assure him that he would end up in a nice foster home, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie. She had no idea what would happen to Logan.

  He kept talking, “I don’t want to live there anyway. Some bad things happened.”

  It felt like a lead ball dropped into her stomach. “What things?”

  “I’m not sure, but snippets of memory are coming back to me.” He emphasized the word snippet, as if he’d recently learned it.

  Rox willed herself to be patient and not shout Just tell me! “When you have the whole picture, Pops and I would like to know what you remember.”

  Marty gave her the stink eye. “You don’t get to call me that.”

  As if he could stop her.

  Ten minutes later, they pulled into a nearly empty parking lot in north Salem. The fertility clinic sat across the street from a big medical complex and featured the same exterior: charcoal-toned concrete with red-brick trim and lots of tinted windows.

  Rox looked at Logan in the backseat. “You have to brace for the possibility that they won’t tell you anything.” She expected him to be turned away, but she’d brought him because she understood his need to try.

  “Why wouldn’t they tell me?”

  “Because the file and information belong to your mother.”

  “But it’s about me.”

  “You were just an embryo. You don’t have ID or a way of proving you were conceived here.” Rox suddenly regretted this stop.

  “I have documents.” Logan reached into his front pocket and pulled out papers. “Aunt Shay came here too, around the same time.”

  Rox remembered that from Lexa’s notes. “Did your aunt talk to you about the fertility clinic?” She knew she sounded skeptical.