“Can you come by the station?” Alvarez asked. “I’d like some more information.”
“Maybe later. I’m at St. Bart’s, checking on a patient. I have to go to my clinic. I’ll call later and think about this. I just wanted to let you know.”
She clicked off and Pescoli repeated, “Microphones?”
“She sounds pretty rattled.” Alvarez went very still, then motioned to the computer screen where images of the recent victims were displayed. “She kind of looks like them.”
“Doesn’t everybody,” Pescoli said on a groan.
“No. But there’s a connection.”
Joelle’s voice rang out: “If you want to make a snowman, I’ll help you make it, one, two, three. If you want to take a sleigh ride, whee! The ride’s on me.”
Pescoli covered her eyes with her hands and groaned, and Joelle’s voice said suddenly, “Would you look at that snow!”
Both Pescoli and Alvarez glanced out the window and watched the flakes fall relentlessly from the sky. Then Alvarez picked up the receiver and put a call in to Trace O’Halleran’s cell phone.
Kacey tucked her cell phone back in her purse. Now that she’d started that ball rolling, she felt half embarrassed, second-guessing herself. She wasn’t planning on telling the police everything; she didn’t want them getting in the way of her own personal discoveries.
But the microphones . . . She wanted them out of her house as soon as possible, and she wanted the police to do it.
Shaking off another frisson down her back, she headed to Eli’s room. Sticking her head inside, she saw that he was sound asleep. She quietly walked in and pulled his chart from the folder at the foot of his bed, then watched his even breathing a moment. Tiptoeing out, she went in search of the floor nurse, who nodded when Kacey said, “Eli O’Halleran’s temperature’s down, and he’s breathing easier.”
“He’s feeling much better,” the nurse agreed.
Kacey was relieved. “Good. His father will be here soon, and we’ll get him released.”
“This flu gets bad fast. We’ve got a few other cases that haven’t turned around as quickly.”
Kacey commiserated with her for a moment while she wondered if she should stick around and wait for Trace. But with Eli on the mend and her worries about him abated, Kacey decided to head to the clinic. She had a plan formulating inside her head, and she was determined to leave work early today if she possibly could to put it into play. Everything just depended on her afternoon appointment schedule, which had been light the last she’d checked. She hoped that was still the case.
She called Trace on his cell phone and was sent straight to voice mail; he was probably still doing his chores. Quickly, she gave him Eli’s update and then said she had called the police and told them about the microphones.
That done, she drove to the clinic, whose parking lot was thick with new snow. Stepping outside, she heard the scrunch, scrunch, scrunch of her boots as she stomped through the thick white powder to the front door. Inside, she met up with Heather, who was brushing snow off the shoulders of her jacket.
“It’s snowing like a son of a gun out there,” Heather said, wrinkling her nose.
“I’m going to try to leave early,” Kacey said. “Would you check the afternoon schedule? I don’t think I have much, and maybe I can move some people around.”
“Because it’s snowing?” Heather asked as she sat down at the reception desk and turned on her computer. “It’s supposed to quit before the afternoon.”
Not even close, Kacey thought, but said only, “I’ve got some issues to take care of.”
“Well, you’ve got Herbert Long with a possible sinus infection. His wife said he’d leave work early to come by. Around four, maybe. He didn’t want to come at all.”
Kacey inwardly groaned. “Maybe Martin can take him.”
“Maybe. That’s the only appointment holding you up.”
“Let me know when Martin gets in.”
Kacey headed into her office. She wanted to confront Gerald Johnson as soon as possible, and that meant a trip to Missoula, which was a quick trip in good weather, a little longer with the white stuff accumulating outside.
Her mind jumped to the vision of Trace returning to her house from his foray with Bonzi, snow melting in his hair. She recognized something was happening between them, something that could lead to something more.... The idea both thrilled and alarmed her. The man was up to his eyeballs with the look-alikes. Was she an idiot to trust him? Was that what the other victims had done?
She didn’t believe it. Not for a minute. She trusted her instincts enough to trust Trace, but even so, as she settled into work, she kept running Trace’s involvement with several of the victims through her mind on an endless loop.
“So you don’t know where your wife is?” the taller detective asked Trace, her eyes never leaving his face. An imposing woman with reddish hair clipped away from her face, she sat on the opposite side of the small, battered table in the small interrogation room at the sheriff’s department. Her expression gave nothing away, but her gaze kept traveling to her watch.