The Silence That Speaks (Forensic Instincts Book 4) Read online

  “You bitch.” His grip didn’t loosen. “You’ve been coming on to me for weeks. Now you take me to this sexy club and wear a dress that makes every guy in the place get hard. But you wore it for me. I’m just taking what you offered.”

  He pulled her against him, kissing her with wet, drunken lips and groping at her breast with his free hand.

  Fortunately, he missed her transmitter by about two inches.

  Emma was about to slam her knee into his groin when a familiar voice interrupted her.

  “Emma? Hey.” Ryan stopped beside them, a leashed Hero sitting obediently beside him. “Sorry to break this up, but I’ve been calling you for weeks. Too busy to meet with an old friend?” He winked at her.

  “Ryan.” Emma moved away from Roger—whose hand had dropped and who looked totally stupefied—and stepped closer to Ryan. “You know I’m never too busy for you.” She gave him a suggestive, intimate smile. “Work and school have just been crazy. This is my first night out in ages.”

  She squatted down and stroked Hero’s head. “How are you, boy?” she murmured. “Have you and your daddy been playing tug-of-war with that stuffed snake I got you?”

  “Nonstop,” Ryan assured her. “He won’t put it down.” Another wink. “I know the feeling.”

  Emma turned to Roger, whose face was bright red now—either with embarrassment or anger, Emma wasn’t sure. Nor did she care.

  “Roger, you and I are finished here, anyway,” she informed him in an icy voice. “I’m going to take off with my friend. See you at work.”

  She linked her arm through Ryan’s and, without a backward glance, walked away with him and Hero.

  “Thanks,” she muttered. “I appreciate the reinforcements. Although I was kind of looking forward to kneeing his balls through his nose.”

  Ryan grinned. “An interesting image. Think I’ll erase it.” He gave her that big-brotherly glance. “You okay?”

  “Other than the fact that I can’t wait to take a shower and wash his slimy hands and mouth off me, yes.” She leaned over to pat Hero again. “You did a great job, Hero. You and Ryan probably kept me out of jail for assault charges.”

  “That’s a plus. By the way, I’d suggest you come back to the office with me and change your clothes,” Ryan said. “Riding the subway in that outfit? Not a good idea.”

  “Agreed.” Emma sighed. “I hope Casey’s not pissed, but my romance with Loser is over.”

  “She won’t be pissed. You strung Roger along for more than enough time. We’re now into diminishing marginal returns. It’s not worth putting you through this charade any longer. Now he can go home and puke up his LIT.”

  30

  IT WAS THE middle of the night.

  Janet was standing like a sentry at her window, watching the traffic thin down to near-nothing and the sidewalks become empty of pedestrians.

  She checked her watch—again: 2:05 a.m.

  It was time.

  She turned away from the window and went to gather her things. She’d prepped in every way she could. She’d stopped at Nuthouse Hardware on her way home from Lusardi’s to pick up what she needed. Fortunately, she’d driven her car to the restaurant. She didn’t like riding subways at night. She’d rather deal with traffic and pay for parking. Besides, she was already on the East Side, so it wasn’t a major hassle.

  As luck would have it, she didn’t have to pay a dime or go to a parking garage when she reached home. There was an unoccupied parking space on the street diagonally across from her apartment.

  Janet had parked her sedan and carried everything up to her apartment. There’d be no leaving her purchases in the car. It was way too risky. Plus, everything needed repacking—in the unlikely event that someone saw her in her travels.

  Upstairs in her apartment, she’d placed all her purchases in a proper tote bag that she’d sling over her arm.

  And then, she’d begun waiting.

  Twice, she’d unfolded the sheet of paper Casey had given her and read the encryption key she’d jotted down at the top of the page. A shiver had run up her spine. Oh, she could crack this all right. And she knew what she’d find. But that obstacle would have to wait till later. Tonight a more urgent situation required her attention.

  She’d tucked the paper away.

  Now she took the essentials out of her purse—her wallet, key ring and cell phone—and slipped them in the front pocket of her tote bag. Then she hooked the bag over her shoulder and hurried out of the apartment, locking the door behind her.

  It was a very long drive. She had to be back in time to shower, change and be at her desk at 9:00 a.m. She’d make it. She’d take care of everything.

  She always did.

  * * *

  Roger was still shaking as he paced around his apartment. He was totally devastated. How could Emma do this to him? Lead him on, then break his heart? She was just like all the other girls—fake, superficial and shallow.

  Why had he fallen for it, thought she was truly interested in him, opened himself up? For what? Rejection as usual. No girls ever wanted him for anything more than fixing their computers. He was just a techie to them, only good for servicing their needs, and then they dismissed him like the loser he was. He was going to die alone, surrounded by the comic books and collectible figurines he found on eBay.

  Time passed. Self-deprecation and depression slowly turned to anger. This wasn’t his fault. It was Emma’s. She was the two-faced bitch who left him the minute a better option came up. What did she see in that arrogant prick—Ryan—anyway? He was just a typical juicer, a glorified superhero wannabe. Totally plastic. And clearly not new-in-box, not with that kind of charm. This guy had had more women than Steven Tyler. And Emma had fallen for it like a goddamn brainwashed Barbie doll. More plastic.

  What a slut.

  As always, when real life let him down—which was often—Roger turned to his virtual world. Powering up his gaming station, he waited for the familiar green Sims logo to appear on his twenty-seven-inch LED HD monitor. Here he could do anything and everything he wanted.

  And what he wanted to do now was put that bitch in her place.

  Selecting the story of Roger Lewis, created around the avatar in his likeness, he zoomed into his Sims house. Unlike Roger’s own shit hole, this house was huge and totally pimped out. He’d spent quite a bit of his paycheck on SimPoints to get the latest and greatest content for his avatar’s lifestyle. He might as well be a baller in the Sims world since he’d always be a loser in real life.

  Roger’s Sim ate a snack, then hit up the cell phone of Emma’s Sim. He’d created her the day he met the real Emma. She was totally perfect: blonde and thin with huge boobs, a tight dress and heels—every bit the woman of his dreams.

  And this Emma always listened to him. Over the past few weeks, he’d been courting her. In the Sims world, they hung out and watched TV at his place, took long walks together and met up for dinner. When they’d finished dinner last night, she’d let him hold her hand. It was the best part of his day. His Sim had gone home totally love struck, with a little heart icon marking his thumbnail on the toolbar.

  He was in love.

  But now all that was ruined. Roger furiously clicked on his computer mouse. Emma was destroying him and she had to pay. Sim Emma picked up her cell and agreed to come over to his place. Roger waited. His anger was escalating. When Emma’s Sim walked through the door, she gave him a big hug.

  Liar. Liar. Liar.

  The word kept pounding through Roger’s head. Time to get forceful.

  Roger walked his Sim up to hers and gave her a kiss on the lips. Just like the real Emma, her Sim shook him off, and their Relationship Bar dropped. The whole relationship he’d built was spiraling downward, fast.

  In a last-ditch attempt to repair the damage, Roger had his S
im grab Emma’s and plant another huge kiss on her lips. This time, she struggled free and slapped him across the face. She was good at that.

  Rage exploded through Roger’s head, adrenaline kicking in.

  How dare she?

  After all the courting he’d done, she had the nerve to reject him—and in the most insulting way possible. Well, now she’d learn some consequences.

  With the click of a few mouse buttons, Roger compelled his Sim to angrily poke Emma’s Sim in the chest, screaming at her and rocking her back with the violent motion. In return, she started waving her hands in the air and yelling back.

  Their Relationship Bar dropped again. It was red now, in the negatives. Roger had nothing to lose. He started shoving her, getting in her face and raging with all the anger he’d been holding inside. She tried to protest, but he was done with her excuses. He started hitting her, over and over. Before she could defend herself, Roger started beating Emma, engaging in a fight.

  His superior strength—at least in the Sims world—was no match for hers. He destroyed her.

  Slapping Emma one more time, Roger felt some of his anger dissipate. His heart was racing. He’d certainly taught her a lesson. He was not someone to be toyed with. Now she knew better.

  Emma’s Sim called a cab and crawled off in defeat. Good. The bitch had gotten what she deserved. And who knew? Maybe tomorrow night he’d start courting her again, repair their relationship, only to smack her around once more. He’d lead her on, just to crush her...the same way she’d done to him. This could give him hours of entertainment.

  That gave Roger an idea. His heart started pumping with more adrenaline, and his mind started racing. It would be a shame if Emma’s Sims house burned to the ground. Grease fires were so lethal...an oven could go up in smoke in mere minutes. And if he took away the windows and doors, she would have no escape. She’d be totally helpless, dependent on him to save her very life.

  The very princess he’d rescued would meet destruction by his hands. Well, that’s what happened to plastic people.

  They melted.

  Ironically, the Sims world wasn’t that different from real life.

  * * *

  Thinking about the task at hand, Janet pressed down on the gas pedal and accelerated a bit. Most New Yorkers hated driving. Not her. Under normal conditions, she actually enjoyed driving her Lincoln Town Car. When Dr. Safron had offered to sell it to her at a bargain price, she’d jumped at the opportunity. It was more luxurious than she could have afforded new, and she loved the way it floated on the highway. She also enjoyed the respect it commanded from onlookers, who assumed she was a person of some means.

  If only they knew the truth.

  She’d been driving for over an hour and a half when she pulled off the thruway at Exit 19, Kingston. Normally she would have used her E-ZPass, but tonight she pulled a ticket upon entering the thruway and paid cash upon leaving. She headed west on Onteora Trail toward the Ashokan Reservoir and Belleayre Ski Center.

  Another twenty minutes and she’d be there.

  * * *

  Janet arrived at the tiny ski lodge cabin at 3:45 a.m.

  She turned off her headlights and drove all the way down the gravel driveway until her car was no longer visible from the dirt road. The closest neighbor was twenty acres away, so no one would see her.

  She took her tote bag and let herself in through the back door.

  The same warm, fuzzy feeling as always greeted Janet as she came in. She loved this place. It might be owned by a corporation, but in all ways that mattered, it was hers.

  Given how long it had been since someone had lived here, the place should smell musty. It didn’t. Janet prided herself on her biweekly visits, when she scrubbed the cabin from top to bottom, left it smelling fresh as pine trees, after which she spent one nostalgic night in the master bed.

  Alone with her memories.

  Now she shut the back door behind her, put down her tote and flipped on the low light over the kitchen stove. The cabin went from blackness to twilight. There was something very fitting about the aura it created—a melancholy ache that permeated the few small rooms. A galley kitchen, a cozy den with a fireplace and a bathroom between two bedrooms.

  Janet walked around the cabin, looking at each room and remembering. She ran her hand over the rustic wooden furniture in the kitchen and den. She stood in the doorway of the smaller bedroom—taking in all the pinks and whites she remembered so well, with stuffed animals still sitting on the bed.

  Then she turned to the master bedroom, hovering in the doorway and gazing at the bed.

  Waves of memory flooded her.

  Weekends of passionate lovemaking with Ronald. The final months of pregnancy living here all alone. The joy of giving birth to Diana within these very walls, assisted only by a local midwife. The mania of being a new mother. The joy of watching Diana grow from an infant into a little girl. Occasional ski weekends when Diana would sleep over at one of Janet’s local friends—just so the ski weekend could be only her and Ronald. Promises that Ronald made and never kept. Janet’s loneliness without companionship. Diana’s desperate need for a father that she never knew.

  It was time to bring this chapter of their lives to a close—before Forensic Instincts closed it for them.

  Returning to the kitchen, Janet opened her tote bag and removed the purchases she’d made at Nuthouse Hardware.

  First, she placed the large cast-iron skillet on the propane stove and lit the burner. She waited until the pan was blazing hot. Then she removed the bacon from its package and dropped it into the skillet. The meat and fat hissed angrily in the skillet as it started to smoke. She reached up, opened a nearby cabinet and took out the bottle of Jack Daniel’s she kept there. Unscrewing the cap, she carelessly spilled the whiskey all over the counter, stove and skillet.

  Instantly the amber liquid exploded in flames, quickly engulfing the counter and the nearby oven mitts. The flames traveled up the greasy backsplash and licked at the wooden cabinets. Rapidly the fire spread to adjacent walls, then to the ceiling.

  Tears rolled down Janet’s cheeks as her eyes were accosted by the smoke. But the sobs escaping her were not caused by the smoke. This was emotional agony in its basest sense.

  Squeezing her eyes shut to block out the scene, she turned, walked to the back door and opened it. The rush of fresh air added a burst of energy to the raging inferno behind her. She walked outside numbly, turning only when she reached her car.

  Taking one last look, she saw sparks flying everywhere as the roof collapsed into the fiery pile of wood that was once her home.

  31

  ROGER WAS IN a crappy mood when he went to work the next day. Not only had he been humiliated, degraded and dumped, he’d spent half the night puking up those Long Island–whatevers that he’d stupidly drunk. Now he had a massive headache that seemed to engulf his entire brain.

  He was back in the real and ugly world. The world where he was a total loser. There was no Sims avatar to pump him up. There was just Emma, somewhere in the hospital laughing at him as she told her coworkers about last night.

  Flushed at the thought of his actions being gossiped about throughout the hospital, Roger headed into the IT department and went straight to his desk. Maybe he’d hide there for a week, doing nothing but waiting for his embarrassment to go away.

  Well, that was not to be. He looked at today’s list from the lawyers and grimaced. This was even more detailed than usual. It would take the entire day—another very long day—one he’d wanted to be over quickly and was instead going to drag on forever. He was beginning to feel like the modern-day version of a “gofer”—go fer this, go fer that—only his retrieval tasks were electronic.

  Mentally he retreated into his safe zone as he readied himself for the first computer command of the day. In that safe
zone, he could convince himself that he was doing something important. That his heroic efforts would save Manhattan Memorial from the clutches of the evil witch Nancy Lexington. That King Jacob would reward his efforts with a worthy prize—running the IT departments of the combined hospitals.

  Today’s first task, courtesy of Manhattan Memorial’s attorneys and the insurance company defending Conrad Westfield, together with Nancy Lexington attorneys, was to dig up any electronic records that Conrad Westfield had kept of Ronald Lexington’s surgery.

  Fine. Roger would hunt down the files.

  Still locked away in his safe zone, he punched the keys skillfully, entering the search using Ronald’s patient number, and waited for the systems to respond.

  His walk down Fantasy Lane was interrupted by the message on his screen: File Not Found.

  What? He lurched up in his seat. How could it be not found?

  He double-and triple-checked the command he’d entered.

  No keystroking errors.

  He moved on, trying to search for different files on the same storage array. The list of files quickly populated the screen. How could these files be there but the one he was looking for missing? That answer would have to wait until he had more time. Time to restore the missing file from the off-site electronic backup the hospital maintained.

  Roger typed in the URL in his Chrome browser window, entered his login credentials and waited for the authentication process to complete. Next, he went to the matching cloud-based backup drive for the storage array he was interested in, clicked on the directory he was seeking and looked for the date that would cover the operating room video of Ronald’s surgery. Many surgeons recorded some of their procedures, either for teaching purposes or for their own edification. Evidently, Conrad recorded all of his surgeries, often critiquing them personally as a way to perfect his craft. Well, good for him, and in this case, good for Manhattan Memorial.

  Roger’s hands stopped in midair. There was an entire day missing from the sequence. And not just a random day—the day of Ronald Lexington’s surgery. Someone had intentionally deleted the video of that surgery, the original and the backup copies, as well.