Chương 9
“Then canine.”
“At midnight?”
“Find one.”
I stood again.
The nurse had told me not to.
I did it anyway.
“If that unit was meant for us, then something inside it will tell you why Daniel drugged us.”
Shaw looked at me.
“Possibly.”
“And if it was not meant for us?”
His face became careful.
“Then someone wanted it to look that way.”
My phone rang on Noah’s tray table.
The sound made all four of us jump.
Noah picked it up.
“Aunt Rachel?”
I shook my head.
The screen showed Daniel’s name.
Pike moved first.
“Don’t answer.”
The phone rang again.
Noah stared at it.
“Dad’s in custody.”
“Yes,” Pike said.
“So who has his phone?”
No one moved.
The ringing stopped.
A second later, a text appeared.
I could read it from where I stood.
CLAIRE, DO NOT LET THEM OPEN 314.
Pike reached for the phone, but Noah pulled it closer to his chest.
“Wait.”
“Don’t touch anything else.”
“It’s my mom’s phone.”
“It may also be evidence.”
Noah looked at me.
I held out my hand.
He gave it to me.
The message remained on the screen.
Shaw leaned over my shoulder without touching the device.
“Does Daniel know your passcode?”
“Yes.”
“Could he access your cloud account?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever share passwords?”
“Some.”
Noah said, “Dad knows everything because Mom uses variations of the same three passwords.”
I looked at him.
“Not helping.”
“It’s true.”
Pike said, “Daniel’s personal phone is in an evidence bag at the station.”
“Then this isn’t his phone.”
“No.”
The screen lit again.
A second message arrived.
YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME ABOUT THIS ONE.
My stomach twisted.
Shaw said, “Don’t reply.”
I looked at him.
“Someone wants me to believe it’s Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“Or Daniel arranged this before he was arrested.”
“Possible.”
Pike said, “Scheduled messaging?”
Shaw shook his head.
“Could be.”
A third message appeared before either man finished speaking.
THEY WILL SAY IT IS EVIDENCE.
Noah whispered, “That’s creepy.”
Pike took a photograph of the screen with his department phone.
“Claire, is that how Daniel texts?”
I stared at the words.
Daniel used punctuation even when ordering pizza.
He wrote complete sentences.
He hated abbreviations and once told Noah that “u” was a letter, not a pronoun.
These messages were all capitals and blunt fragments.
“No.”
“Not at all?”
“Not really.”
Another message arrived.
IT IS NOT.
Shaw exhaled slowly.
“Whoever this is can see the conversation developing.”
I looked toward the door.
“You mean they’re watching us?”
“Not necessarily.”
“But maybe.”
He did not answer.
Pike stepped into the hallway and spoke quietly to an officer stationed outside.
Noah shifted on the bed.
“Can hospitals get hacked?”
Shaw looked at him.
“Anything connected can be attacked.”
“Awesome.”
“Noah.”
“What?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I’m tired of finding out every normal thing has a sinister version.”
That shut me up.
I sat beside him and put my hand on his knee.
The phone vibrated again.
This time the message contained an image.
Pike came back into the room before I opened it.
“Put it on the tray.”
I did.
He pulled on a pair of gloves from a wall dispenser, then tapped the attachment.
The photograph showed a metal storage unit door.
The number 314 was painted in black above the latch.
Someone had written on the door with a thick red marker.
CLAIRE KNOWS WHERE THE REST IS.
My throat tightened.
“I don’t.”
Shaw looked at me.
“I believe you.”
“You said that very fast.”
“Because if you knew, you would not be reacting like this.”
Pike said, “Or she’s good.”
I turned toward him.
“Do you want me to start screaming so you feel better?”
He held up one hand.
“No.”
“Because I can.”
Shaw said, “Pike.”
The detective looked away.
“Sorry.”
The apology surprised me.
He nodded toward the screen.
“Whoever sent this wants pressure on you.”
“Why?”
“That’s the question.”
Noah said, “What rest?”
Nobody answered.
I looked at the transfer pages again.
Four million dollars.
Three authorized names.
One dead man.
One missing woman now found alive.
My husband drugging us because someone had threatened our son.
“Maybe the money.”
Shaw said, “Maybe.”
I nearly snapped at him again, but he continued.
“Or records, account credentials, copies of whatever Erin took, anything that creates leverage.”
Noah said, “Could Dad have hidden it with Mom without telling her?”
I looked at him.
“How?”
He shrugged.
“Your laptop.”
Shaw turned to me.
“Does Daniel use it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Cloud storage?”
“Yes.”
“Shared family account?”
“For photos.”
“Documents?”
“Not intentionally.”
Pike said, “We need your devices.”
“No.”
The word left my mouth before I thought about it.
Both men looked at me.
I said, “You can look at what matters, but I’m not handing over every private thing my family owns because Daniel did something insane.”
Pike’s expression hardened.
Shaw was calmer.
“We can work with consent parameters initially.”
“What does that mean?”
“We identify relevant devices and preserve them.”
“That sounds like taking them.”
“It may.”
“No.”
Noah looked at me.
“Mom.”
I turned.
“If Dad used your laptop to hide something, keeping it private doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Why?”
I almost said because it contains my life.
Then I realized how childish that sounded compared with the situation.
My laptop contained medical bills, tax documents, a half-written resignation letter I had never sent, photos from my mother’s last Christmas, and years of messages I did not want strangers reading.
It also might contain whatever Daniel had believed was worth drugging us over.
“I don’t want them going through everything.”
Noah looked at Shaw.
“Can you not?”
Shaw said, “We can seek a targeted process.”
Pike opened his mouth.
Shaw cut him off with a glance.
Noah looked back at me.
“Then give them the laptop.”
I hated that he sounded more reasonable than I did.
“Fine.”
May you like
Pike wrote something in his notebook.
I said, “But I want a lawyer.”
