Page 57

Today, he had yet to get out of bed. I knocked on his door, carrying a steaming cup of black coffee. He invited me in with a grumble. I found him sitting on his bed, dressed in Dockers and a golf shirt, staring out the window with his socks in his hand.

“Thanks,” he said, gesturing to the coffee. I put it on his nightstand.

“Everything okay?”

He raised a brow in response. “What do you think?”

I realized then that it was Wednesday. Tomorrow morning at ten, we had an appointment for his driving assessment.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I said. “No matter what happens.”

I suppose it was a stupid thing to say. An easy thing for me to say. But I had to believe it was true, just like he did. I decided the better strategy was to just change the subject for now.

“I have a Zoom call with Dr. Glassman this morning. She’s a psychologist and she’s written a book on Derrek Sidney. The one Dr. Pollack suggested. It turns out she actually interviewed Derrek Sidney for the FBI. Do you want to sit in on it? If so, we need to get going. I don’t trust the Wi-Fi out here. I’d rather set up the call at the office.”

“Go without me,” he said. “If I feel the need to leave the island, I’ll call Kobe or Lloyd.”

I leaned against the doorjamb. “You sure? I figured you’d be interested in what the woman has to say.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at his socks.

“I can reschedule,” I said, though it was the last thing I wanted to do. Mac Henderson’s deputies had hit a dead end on Geneva’s vandalism and menacing case. I tried a couple of spaghetti-at-the-wall calls to Dan Holland again. Maybe if I could convince him Geneva was telling the truth about her stalker, he might be willing to work with me. So far, everything went straight to voicemail.

“Go,” Dad said. “Let an old man brood about his life in peace.”

There was a hint of a smile on Dad’s face, but I knew he was covering. For now, I decided not to push him. I figured I’d have enough of a challenge getting him to his appointment tomorrow. One battle at a time.

I walked over to the bed and put my arms around him. “I love you, Dad.”

He stiffened at first, then put a hand up, patting my arm. “Love you too, kiddo. You can fill me in on what the shrink says when you get back tonight. I’ll make a roast.”

“Sounds great.” Dad was good at making exactly three dinner meals. Pot roast, meatloaf, and chicken ziti. Though his repertoire was limited, he made up for it in quality. I never needed a knife when eating his roast, he made it so tender.

As much as I hated doing it, I left him there staring at his socks, then headed down to the dock.

By the time I got across the bay, handed the ropes to Kobe and jogged to the office, I had only two minutes to set up my laptop.

I checked my hair and makeup in my camera, then set up the Zoom meeting room. Dr. Andrea Glassman popped into view at exactly nine o’clock.

She had a mass of wiry silver hair and wore thick, round tortoiseshell glasses that covered half her face. But she had a pleasant smile and was instantly eager to get to the topic at hand.

“Have you had a chance to look through the letters Dr. Pollack sent you?” I asked after we made our introductions.

“I have,” she said. “I’ve also looked through a copy of that awful book Dr. Pollack says is referenced in them. The letters themselves are fascinating. I think you’re right that these dozen or so letters could be from the same person. I also think you’re right that Sidney may have replied to them.”

I knew Pollack had explained the connection to The Traveler’s Guide novel, but even he didn’t know the significance of the butchered Latin phrase, Atrō te benedicto.

“I understand the FBI spent a lot of time trying to figure out who Sidney’s accomplice might have been during his escape. Do you have any theories?”

She sat back in her chair. “You know I spent several hours interviewing Sidney. He was always guarded. Thought he was smarter than anyone else in the room. Most of the time, he was right. But he never spoke about what happened at Deadwater Lake to me or anyone else as far as I know.”

“That’s the consensus, yes,” I said. “Do you think there’s a chance he was protecting someone?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he seemed eager to gloat about his other known murders. Felt he’d elevated killing to an art form. But if he did it, the Deadwater Lake killings would have been his single most deadly act.”

“If he did it?” Glassman asked. “Do you have some theory that he didn’t? The evidence was pretty overwhelming. I’ll be honest, I personally have zero doubt about it.”