Page 54 of The Girl and the Lies

“Ander, this is Agent Griffin,” I tell him.

“If you’re calling about what happened at the hospital…”

“I’m not,” I say, cutting him off. “That is what it is. I’m calling because I have a question for you. Gideon’s computer had an unfinished email to Tracy Ellis about something going on in the company. There aren’t any details, but it’s obvious he knew something about a colleague and was going to expose it to her. I asked Tracy about it, and she told me that those kinds of reports are commonplace within the company.”

“They are,” Ander confirms. “It’s part of proving your dedication to the ministry. And if Tracy finds out that you knew something was happening and didn’t bring it to her attention, there can be consequences.”

“Have you made any kind of report like that recently?” I ask.

“No,” he tells me without hesitation. “I haven’t turned anyone in for anything in a couple of years. I don’t have the opportunity to interact with the other people in the company very much, so I don’t get any information like that.”

“So it isn’t a matter of staying out of people’s business, it’s just that you don’t personally know about these things,” I say.

“If that’s how you want to see it,” he says. “But either way, I can’t think of anyone whom I could have possibly offended enough to make them willing to kill my wife. Or anything I could have done. Other than just continuing to work for Tracy.”

“Have you considered quitting now?” I ask.

“Of course I have. Being stubborn and keeping this job cost me my wife. I have started looking for something else, but I can’t just quit. It’s not like Sabrina and I had a ton of savings that I can live off of.”

“I understand,” I say. “Do you know anything about the email that Gideon was sending?”

“No, he didn’t talk to me about anything like that,” Ander says.

“All right, thank you. Try to get some rest.”

“That’s not going to be easy. If Marshall dies…”

“He’s alive, Ander. I know he went through a lot, but he’s alive. We just need to keep focusing on finding out who is responsible.”

I end the call with a knot in my chest. Something is off about everything that happened tonight. I feel unsettled as I pull out of the parking space to start back to the house. I’ve barely gotten on the road when my phone rings again. I put it on speaker so I can answer it while driving.

“Agent Griffin,” I say.

“It’s Carla.” Her voice is a tight whisper, but it sounds almost as panicked as when she called me earlier. “There’s someone in my house.”

“Carla? What do you mean there’s someone in your house?” I ask.

“There’s someone here,” she says. “I heard them come inside.”

“Where are you now?” I ask.

“I’m barricaded in the bedroom. I’m so scared,” she says.

“Call the police,” I tell her. “I’m on my way.”

Feeling an intense sense of déjà vu, I change directions and head for the Powell house. The police haven’t gotten there by the time I arrive, and I take my gun out of the holster at my hip before climbing out of the car. Looking around carefully, I try to see into the shadowy areas around the house so I can see if anyone has come out or is lurking there being a lookout. I don’t see anyone, and I race up the steps to the front door. It’s locked, and I pound on it, then ring the bell.

“Carla!” I shout through it. “It’s Agent Griffin.”

There’s no reply, and I run around the side of the house. I immediately notice a side door standing partially open, and I go inside. The door leads to a mudroom and then a laundry area before going out into the main house. I run inside, my gun still poised, calling out for Carla.

“Agent Griffin?” I finally hear her shout from upstairs.

“It’s me,” I reply, running up the stairs toward her voice.

I see the broken door of the master bedroom to one side and the bloodstained white carpet beyond it, so I turn down the hallway and find a closed door. I knock on it, and Carla opens it just as I hear sirens coming down the street. She’s shaking as she cautiously steps out into the hallway. I put my arm around her and walk with her back down the stairs and into the living room.

The police knock on the front door, and I open it with my shield already out. I introduce myself and bring them into the room with Carla. She’s curled up in a chair, her knees tucked close to her chest as she rocks slightly, tears falling silently down her face. I crouch down beside her.

---