Ill Will (43 page)

“So, shall we order those pizzas? Or would you prefer something organic?” Rafe asked.

I tried to look at Cordelia without being obvious.

“Maybe we should—” I started.

At the same time, she said, “Go ahead. If I get nauseous, I can go to a different room.”

Rafe looked at her. “Are you not feeling well?” he asked.

Does it show?
I wondered. I glanced at her, trying to see her as a stranger would. Shallow skin, some of it loose, the dark circles under her eyes, her hair lank and thin, the lost patches making it look like she’d had a haircut from a psychopath.

Anyone who was a trained observer would know she wasn’t well. I didn’t want them staring at her, judging her.

But she was willing to face them. “I’m undergoing chemo,” she stated simply. “Sometimes certain foods don’t agree with me.”

Rafe shot me a look.

“No,” I said. “Just no.”

He nodded and backed off. “Seven people, how many pizzas?”

They settled on three, one cheese, one veggie, and one with meat. Gem was relegated to the logistics.

“What’s your info?” I asked.

“Maddeningly vague,” he admitted. “‘We do it tomorrow.’ But it was late last night, so tomorrow as tomorrow or tomorrow as today? And ‘it’ is just about as vague as you can get.”

“Best guess?” I asked.

“His pattern is to set up several enterprises and suck in as much money as he can. When it gets to the point that he needs to put some money out, he disappears, leaving his confederates paying the bills, at best.”

“What’s at worst?”

“Some have disappeared. On an island somewhere or at the bottom of the sea is anyone’s guess. A few witnesses had unfortunate accidents.”

“Like a robbery gone wrong?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Why do you ask?”

I took a breath and said, “I think I have two cases colliding. One started out to find two medical patients who got lost in the system.”

“As a favor to me,” Cordelia interjected.

“One of them claimed she hadn’t been seen recently—but her records indicted she had. The second…wasn’t doing so well. When I knocked on his door, he was in bad shape and didn’t live. He had bottles of both NBG and The Cure. A second client was worried that a relative was being taken advantage of by the NBG salesman and wanted me to get info to disprove it. Which is how we met”—with a nod at Rafe—“at the sales meeting.

“One of the cars at the place in the east—the dark SUV. I saw a similar vehicle very close to when Lydia was killed and again when I borrowed”—here an apologetic look at Cordelia—“a set of keys to check out the files. There was a red car, too, but it wasn’t the same as the one in the east.” I had to backtrack and explain Lydia—who she was and why she was killed.

“Who did you borrow the key from?” Cordelia asked, knowing the answer. She crossed her arms.

“Someone I hope will forgive me for my transgressions,” I said. “We know Walters is involved with The Cure—he met Debbie there. He’s involved with NBG. I had assumed that the second patient, the one who died, had just stumbled over The Cure. But what if he hadn’t? What if whoever is committing the fraud is also steering patients there as well?”

“That’s monstrous,” Cordelia said. “No one in health care should do anything like that. No one…that…”

No one that I know and work with
, I silently finished for her.

Rafe looked at the two of us.

I explained, “Cordelia is a doctor and was taken on by this group on a temporary basis to cover for someone on maternity leave.”

“Medical providers aren’t any more perfect than anyone else; they might justify insurance fraud as not really stealing, just working a dysfunctional system,” Cordelia said. “But knowingly sending people to a sham cure? That could kill someone.”

Indeed, it had. I didn’t remind her of Reginald Banks. “It might not be a doctor. It could be anyone with enough cunning and willingness to take the risks,” I said.

“Grant Walters is good at exploiting people,” Rafe said. “Good at making them think what they’re doing isn’t so bad, or that they won’t get caught.”

“What do you know about Grant? Who does he know? How can he be connected? How long has he been here?”

The older woman opened a large satchel and took out a folder. She handed it to Rafe.

He opened the file. “Let’s see, he moved here about a year ago, from the L.A. area where he was hunkering down after his games in Dallas. We lost him for a while; he seemed to move around a lot until he came here.”

“How’d he get involved with NBG?” I asked.

“Legit, as far as we can tell,” Rafe answered. “Applied for a franchise and was awarded this area.”

Joe added, “As legit as he could be. We assume that he faked his background and references.”

“He plunked a chunk of money on the bank when he came here,” Rafe said. “A couple of hundred thousand. Plus buying his house in cash.”

“Where’s he live?” I asked.

Rafe read off an address. I couldn’t place it, but it sounded familiar.

I jumped up, went to Cordelia’s home office, and grabbed her laptop, turning it on as I walked back into the room.

The pizzas arrived as I was waiting for it to boot up. Cordelia did hostess duties, finding plates and napkins.

Grant lived out in Old Metairie, on a very well-to-do street. Right next door to Dudley Etherton Senior.

“Fuck!” I said so loudly everyone stopped eating to look at me.

Prejean had claimed that he hadn’t sent Dudley after me. But he was such a slimeball I didn’t believe him. Dudley had never gotten close enough to explain exactly which case he wanted me off. I had jumped to the conclusion it had to be related to Prejean. But Walters might have worried that a private eye looking into things could stumble over the fraud. Exactly as I had.

Everyone was looking at me, so I explained. Grant could have hired Dudley to go after me by chatting over the backyard fence.

“Holy fuckballs,” Gem summed up for all of us.

“But that doesn’t connect him to our practice,” Cordelia pointed out.

“There is a connection,” I said. “We just don’t know who yet. Lydia got too close. That’s why they killed her.”

“Once we get Walters, that’ll be uncovered. The big question is, does he know that Micky Knight is Debbie Perkins?” Rafe asked. He put down his plate to take the computer from me and look at the map himself.

“It’s possible,” I conceded. “All he had to do was look up my name and find a picture to go with it.”

“But he shouldn’t know much about you,” Cordelia interjected. “I mean, I don’t know that I referred to you as anything other than my partner Micky. We didn’t officially hire you; there is no paperwork, they only contacted you through me.”

“He knew enough to sic Dudley on me,” I said.

“But he probably hasn’t considered that a tough lesbian PI could also be pretty-in-pink Deborah Perkins. If he knew you were Debbie, he wouldn’t be playing with you like he is,” Rafe said. He handed back the laptop to me, then took a big bite of pizza as if that could help him think.

“Yeah, you’d be dead,” Joe added, not even putting his slice down to say it.

Cordelia looked disconcerted. She put her pizza down. She had taken a small plain slice, but only managed a few bites.

“He tried with Dudley and didn’t succeed,” I said.

“Bet it never occurred to him that two private dicks could be on his tail,” Rafe surmised. “He copped to me, but I’d bet my last beer that he didn’t spot you. Plus he probably never figured that you might have a whole other case that could cross paths with him.”

“Jeez, this is confusing,” Gem said.

“Eyes on the prize,” Rafe cut in. “If he’s on to you, it’s way risky tonight. If he’s not, we can proceed as before.”

“How?” I asked. “We’re still minus a sister with cancer.”

“That could be me,” Cordelia said.

“No, absolutely not,” I rejoined.
Damn
, I cursed myself,
I should have picked another disease.
I had conveniently used Cordelia, never expecting that my lie might turn into the truth.

“All I need to do is be who I am—a woman with cancer,” she replied.

“No, you need to be someone who is trained in law enforcement and security. These men have proven themselves to be killers. It’s too risky,” I argued.

“Can we talk privately?” she asked me.

I nodded agreement and followed her back to the bedroom. She took her plate with her, leaving it by the sink, a clear indication that she wasn’t going to eat any more.

The second the door closed, I said, “Look, Cordelia, we’re trying to catch someone who will do anything not to be caught. We don’t know for sure that he hasn’t figured out that Debbie and her sister don’t exist. This could be very risky.”

“So you should go instead of me?”

“I carry a gun and I’m trained in how to use it. I’m also a brown belt in karate. And I’ve been in situations like this before.”

She looked away, then down, finally said, “If something happens, it would be better if it happened to be me. You’re healthy, you have—”

“No!” I cut in. “If…I have to, maybe I can bear it—eventually—if it’s the brutal randomness of fate. But if you’re hurt—or killed—because I got you involved, I’ll never be able to live with that.”

She put her arms around me. “I’m not going to work as a doctor…at least for a while. And…maybe never again. This might be my one last chance to save a few more lives. If I’ve got to have this ugly disease, please let me at least use it to save others.”

“I can’t; I’m too scared for you.”

“Please,” she whispered in my ear. “I need this. I need to be as alive and useful as I can be.”

The die had been cast. She could do this despite me. Rafe would welcome her and nothing I could say would stop them. I desperately wanted to keep her safe, as if protecting her now could save her later.

“If you get killed, I’ll never forgive you,” I said, trying to hide the catch in my voice, trying to make this as okay as I could, a joke instead of a sob.

Her arms tightened around me. “I’ll be okay,” she murmured in my ear. “We’ll catch some bad guys together.”

“Would you carry a gun?” I asked.

“Micky, I don’t know how to use one.”

“You point it at the bad guys and pull the trigger.”

“Plus they’d probably notice. I’ll carry a purse with a nail file.”

I kissed her hard, my arms tightly around her.

I abruptly let her go. “Let’s do this.” I couldn’t think about everything that could go wrong. I couldn’t think about that even if everything went right, she still might be gone.

She seemed to understand, squeezing my hand. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

We rejoined the others. They looked at us expectantly.

“So, do you think we can pass as sisters?” I said.

Rafe openly smiled.

Madeline, the older woman, spoke first. “Yes. You have an ease and intimacy with each other. It’s noticeable when it’s not there. You clearly know each other and have known each other for a while. Like sisters.”

Rafe added, “Plus you’re both tall, both have dark hair. The rest can be called genetic differences.”

“AKA the milkman,” Gem added.

Then it was just waiting until it was time to go.

Cordelia chose to rest, taking a nap. Rafe, his team and I went over the logistics. I would be Debbie and wear the watch wire—it might be suspicious if we both showed up with the same watch, and evidently they didn’t make ladies’ watches with wires in them in multiple styles.

I would also carry a gun. It would be night. The day was cloudy sliding into rain, perfect jacket weather. They hadn’t patted me down before; I would have to hope they wouldn’t this time. If they did, it might be a sign that they were on to me. I insisted if that seemed to be the case, we were out of there. We’d walk away if we could—if not, Rafe and his team would descend. They’d be listening to every word.

While Cordelia slept, I did a quick run to my office to get the watch and Debbie’s wardrobe. It would have to be the rhinestone jeans yet again. With that, the pink T-shirt and a black jean jacket that was more my wardrobe than Debbie’s.

Our goal was to see enough that we could bring in the cops. Cordelia, as a doctor, would be a credible witness that they were engaging in medical fraud. I told myself,
All she has to do is have them hand her The Cure. That ties them to medical fraud, including fraud that might have caused Reginald Banks to die.
If we could tie that to someone at her practice sending people there, that could be probable cause for searching the records, reopening Lydia’s murder as something other than a robbery, and all the pieces would fall prettily into place.

If everything went well.

When Cordelia woke up, we had to choose her clothing. Lucky for her, she had a more professionally female wardrobe than I did. She found a well-worn pair of gray slacks that were showing their age. I vetoed a blue shirt—it could bring out her blue eyes and we were supposed to be sisters. Instead she found an old elephant green one and a brown cardigan the cats loved to curl up in. As a final touch, she tied a dark green kerchief around her head to hide the chemo hair. It just missed matching her shirt, like she had tried to pair them, but didn’t have the money or the fashion sense to pull it off.