Distortion (Moonlighters Series) (9 page)

They’d had a charmed life. From the time she met Bob, things had gone well. They’d gotten married just after he started his residency. She had worked as a secretary and paid the bills while he suffered through the long hours and no sleep. By the time the children began arriving, he was doing so well in his practice that they bought a house and she was able to
be a stay-at-home mom, something she’d always wanted to be. Eventually they built the house they lived in now, a house too big and expensive for her tastes, but one that Bob had loved.

She would have preferred a much smaller property, smaller rooms, something cozier. But Bob liked things big, and he worked so hard for them. What would she do now? She’d never paid much attention to the finances, didn’t even know how much she had in Bob’s life insurance.

The thought of digging for all that information made her sick.

“It’s hard to understand when things like this happen, when it seems the world is running crazy and Satan is having his way.” As the pastor spoke, her thoughts drifted back to that threatening phone message. She closed her eyes and prayed that the guy she’d identified as his killer was already spilling his guts—confessing what he wanted, why he went after Bob, who else was in on it. “
Nervous
people
can
be
cruel
to
children.”

She heard her name and looked up again. The preacher had addressed her, but she didn’t know what he’d said. She tried to pretend that she’d heard every word.

Later, as they stood at the grave site, she watched Zach standing back, away from the well-wishers. Finally, he went back to the van and sat there alone. Maybe she shouldn’t have made him come. Maybe she should have let him stay in his room with his covers pulled over his head. Maybe that’s what she should have done too.

She suffered through another hour of mourners’ hugs and friends telling stories about Bob that she’d never heard before. Abe sat on a bench among his cousins on Bob’s side who had arrived that morning. He seemed okay. But Zach never got back out of the van.

Finally, when she could appropriately get away, she took Abe’s hand and they went to the van. They sat on the backseat together, the three silent as Jay got behind the wheel. Jackson sat quietly on the seat in front of them, probably remembering his mother’s funeral.

Because other cars were blocking them, Jay idled the engine, watching for a chance to pull out.

“Finally that’s over,” Zach said. “I don’t know why they do this. I think it’s stupid.”

“Why they do what?” Abe asked.

“Why they come all dressed up and tell funny stories and laugh.”

“They didn’t laugh that much,” Abe muttered.

“The fact that they laughed at all is ridiculous,” Zach said. “I didn’t want to laugh today.”

“It’s okay,” Juliet said. “I didn’t want to, either.”

“And they want to talk to you and hug you and drool all over you and tell you stuff that you don’t want to hear.” His chin was stiff with anger. “Dad would’ve hated it.”

“Yes, he would have,” Juliet said. “Your dad always did hate funerals.”

He turned his face to look out the window. She knew he didn’t want her to see his tears.

“They put him in the ground like he’s nothing,” he said.

Abe sucked in a sobbing breath, and Juliet took his hand.

“Honey, it’s not like that,” she told Zach. “You’re upsetting your brother.”

“It is like that,” Zach said, pointing back toward the tent where his father’s coffin lay. “As soon as we leave, they’re going to put him in the ground.”

“Are they, Mom?” Abe demanded.

She squeezed Abe’s hand. “Honey, we bury the bodies, but your dad isn’t in there. He’s in heaven now. His body is just . . .” Her voice gave out, and she took a breath and tried again. “It’s a shell.”

“How do you even know that he’s in heaven?” Zach asked.

The question was like a splash of ice water in her face. She tried to modulate her voice. “Because I believe your dad understood what Jesus did for him on the cross. He wiped away your dad’s sins. That’s how.”

Zach looked out the window. “How do you know that’s true?”

Juliet’s mouth fell open. “I thought you believed that.”

“I don’t know what I believe,” he said. “I’d never believe my dad would be shot, or that my family would be doing this.”

Juliet glanced at Abe. He gaped at his older brother, his mouth hanging open as tears stained his face. “Zach, we’ll talk about this later, okay?” She pulled Abe close. “Abe, don’t listen to him.”

“Don’t listen to me?” Zach repeated. “My opinion doesn’t matter?”

“It does!” Juliet bit out. “But you’re not the only one in this car who’s grieving today.”

Jay looked back from the front seat. “Come on, buddy. Give your mom a break. Be mad at the guy who did this, not at your mother.”

Juliet wanted to thank her brother, but instead she studied Zach’s face, wishing she knew what he needed from her right now.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they pulled away.

“Our house. People are coming over and bringing food. After it’s over, we’ll go back to Jay’s.”

“Bringing food? Like a party?” Zach asked. “Why?”

She sighed. “They’re coming to serve our family. It’s traditional.”

Now his face turned crimson, as if his skin couldn’t contain his anger. “The funeral wasn’t enough, but now we’ve got to have a party with them?”

“Just for a little while.”

“I’m not doing it,” Zach said. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Me too,” Abe said. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s okay. If that’s what you want.”

When Jay pulled into the garage, Zach burst out of the van. Right behind him went Abe, wiping his tears on his sleeve.

Juliet just sat, shaken. Jay cut the car off and looked back over the seat. “You okay, Sis?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I know. Been there.”

As Jackson got out of his seat belt, Abe came running back. “Mom, something’s wrong. Somebody’s been in the house!”

Fear coursed through her again.
“What?”
She got out of the van. “How do you know?”

“The back door is broken and open, and everything’s a mess.”

Her heart jolted. “Zach!” she called. “Get out of there!”

Zach came out, his face white. “Mom, call the police.”

She turned back to Jay. He was already calling. “Stay here, both of you,” she told the boys. She went to the door and stood at the threshold, looking in. The house had been ransacked. Bookshelves were turned over, couches slashed open, bar stools toppled onto the floor, drawer contents spilled out.

Nausea rose in her throat, and she stumbled to the mud sink in the garage and threw up. She could hardly breathe
as she straightened. By now, Cathy, Michael, and Holly had arrived, and others were pulling up out front and getting out with casserole dishes in their hands.

She saw that Jay was telling her sisters what had happened, the phone still held to his ear. Then Cathy and Holly rushed out to the street to turn the mourners away. They wouldn’t be taking meals today.

Juliet got a lawn chair that had been on a hook in the garage and sat down, her head hanging. These people . . . these killers . . . had broken into her house. It wasn’t just Jerome Henderson. There were others, and they wanted something. But what?

Two police cars arrived and soon after, Max and Forbes drove up. Juliet went upstairs with them, assessing the damage.

The boys’ rooms had been ransacked too. How could they violate her children’s lives this way? What did they want in her house?

And what if she and the boys had been home?

Sheetrock was smashed in; insulation spilled out. Every bedroom was torn apart. Bedding on the floor, mattresses toppled, holes in the walls, mirrors broken, light fixtures pulled down and smashed on the floor.

“They were clearly looking for something,” Max said. “But this is also a warning.”

Juliet stared at him. “What kind of warning?”

“I’m not sure. But whatever they were looking for couldn’t be found by breaking a mirror or the light fixtures. They were sending you a message.”

She felt that nausea rising up again. “They said in the voice mail that nervous people can be brutal to children. But I have no idea what they want.”

“They left the electronics—televisions, stereo,” Cathy said. “The holes in the walls don’t even make sense. It looks so random.”

“Like a vandalizing mission,” Michael said. “They may have been looking for something, but I think their main goal was to terrorize you. Maybe they didn’t find what they wanted, so they want you to be scared into helping them find it. I’d be willing to bet they’ll contact you soon.”

She shivered and looked around. She suddenly felt so tired. When would this be over? If they were trying to terrorize her, it had worked. This crime ring knew what they were doing.

CHAPTER 14

H
ours later, Juliet sat once again at the police station with Cathy and Michael, waiting to get information—
any
information—from Max. Jay had taken the boys to his house while the police finished photographing the mess and dusting for prints.

Max came in and sat down, his expression grim. “Juliet, we’re trying to figure out what prompted this break-in, and we do think it was connected to Bob’s murder. We’ve been tracing some of Bob’s activities over the last few months. He was out of the office a lot, took a lot of trips.”

Juliet felt a vice closing over her chest. “They were business trips. Medical conventions, speaking engagements, drug studies.”

“The destinations were often out of the country.”

Juliet straightened. “Wait a minute. You’re making my husband out to be the bad guy, when he was the victim? That
man walked up and shot him. I saw it. Why don’t you ask
him
what they want?”

“We have. We’ve been interviewing Henderson with his attorney, and we monitored a call he made to Caleb Harper—one of the three brothers who may have made that first call. They were talking practically in code, pretty suspicious. But Caleb told him there were rumors that Bob owed a lot of money for some kind of shipment. That appears to be why he was executed.”

“What?” Juliet shook her head. “No. That can’t be. Caleb’s probably the one who left the phone message! Why don’t you arrest him?”

“I’ve already sent someone to bring him in for questioning. But we don’t have grounds for arresting him yet.”

Juliet shifted. “Did they say what kind of shipment? Shipment of what?”

Max met Michael’s eyes, and Michael leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking at the floor.

“Juliet,” Max said in a softer voice, “Jerome Henderson is a junkie who supports his habit by dealing drugs. He’s been arrested multiple times for armed robbery and drug distribution.”

“Then why was he out on the street?”

“He was out on probation after serving three years. Drugs are his main focus. He lives in a rat hole. Yet he was able to hire one of the top attorneys in the area.”

“How is he paying him?”

“That’s just it. I think there are people behind him who are footing the bill. Taking care of him.”

“So . . . you think someone paid him to kill Bob? Why?”

He shifted uncomfortably, as if he didn’t want to tell her more.

“Max, tell me!” Juliet said.

He sighed. “Today I got a call from the Drug Enforcement Agency. I hate telling you this.”

Juliet felt sick. “Just say it.”

“The DEA has an open investigation on your husband. They’ve been watching him for a few months. They have reason to believe he was involved in drug trafficking.”

She sprang to her feet. “
What?
No! That’s not true. He was a prominent, well-respected surgeon. Patients came to him from all over. He was . . . he was a good man . . . a good father and husband. He would never do that!”

Cathy stood beside her. “Max, this is too much.”

Max looked at Juliet. “You told us you wanted the truth.”

“I do,” Juliet said. “But this isn’t the truth.”

“We’re not accusing him of anything yet, but the DEA agents have turned this over to the FBI. The FBI agents want to talk to you.”

Juliet’s head was beginning to throb. She brought her hands to her forehead. “Look, I don’t know what’s happening. All I know is that I trusted my husband. I know there are some things that aren’t quite adding up, like that Denver medical conference he was supposed to be at. I don’t understand it, but I believe in him. He would never be involved in the drug trade. Maybe some of his patients abused their medication and got addicted. That wasn’t his fault. But you can’t blow that out of proportion. He was a good doctor.”

Max looked down at his hands. “Juliet, did you know about any bank accounts that Bob had, other than the one you paid your bills from?”

She hesitated. “We had a savings account at the same bank as our checking account. Stocks, bonds, a money market account, a 401K.”

“The DEA has been tracking some other accounts with
quite a lot of money in them. They checked his paychecks against the deposits, and they don’t match.”

“What does that mean?” Cathy asked.

“The deposits were millions higher than his income from the practice. And we think there may have been more.”

Juliet brought her hand to her chest. “Millions? Well . . . maybe he had investments that I didn’t know about. I didn’t keep up with that sort of thing.”

“So you weren’t aware of any other source of income?”

“No. I mean . . . he made a lot of money. And he got paid a good bit for speaking now and then. At medical conferences . . . about different procedures he had worked on. But he declared all of that on his tax returns. We always had more than enough, but I never really got involved with the record keeping.” She shook her head hard. “I can’t believe this. My husband’s been murdered and here I am on the defensive?”

“We’re not trying to put you on the defensive, Juliet. We just have to get to the truth.”

She tried to think. “Well, do I have access to those accounts? Was I the beneficiary? If I was, maybe I should just hand those accounts over to these people so they’ll leave me and my kids alone.”