Page 107 of Bad Blood

It’s not Kline.

It’s another unknown number from the hospital.

I close my eyes, willing the voicemail to pick up. I don’t want to talk to anyone with Hudson around.

“Is it him?” he asks, breaking me from my mental plea. He leans over the desk as I shield the phone from his prying eyes. He gives me a lopsided grin and scoots closer as he tries to glance at the screen. “It’s late. Could be important.”

The phone stops vibrating, and I deliberately change the topic as I slide it into the center desk drawer. “It’s not.”

The remaining pile of books and charts beside the door is daunting. I give it a quick glance and Hudson notices. If he’s going to be a means to my procrastination, I’m all for it, as long as he stops asking questions. I haven’t come up with anything new from the other charts since I started looking. And my brain needs a break.

“Do you think he’s involved?”

My head flies up at his question. “I don’t know.” That’s the problem. Before Kline’s comment about the timing of the murders and malpractice, I would have said no. But now, I’m not sure. I swallow the extra saliva that’s filled my mouth and hope he doesn’t take this movement as me trying to be evasive.

“We still haven’t figured out what’s going on with the pin Carrie had in her hand. It means something, but I don’t know what. And”—he hesitates, running a hand over his face—“there was one found at the park too.”

“On Jessie?”

“Pinned to a running pack she had around her waist.”

“I told you we all have them.”

“It seemed out of place. I shouldn’t be telling you this.” He analyzes my face, his eyes searching for answers he’s never going to find. “Let me restate the question. Do you think he had anything to do with the murder of Dr. Pendegrass?”

“No.” I don’t hesitate because the idea of his involvement was too much for my mind to handle—until tonight when Kline mentioned it. And I wish I could take my answer back. I wouldn’t have had any qualms about holding my stance, but things changed the second his hand wrapped around my ankle. “Maybe.”

“Has he been acting strange?” He perks up, giving me a confident smile.

“Yes.”

“The ex? The other women? What can you tell me about his relationship with the victims?”

“He’s going through a divorce, and he has been dating a lot.” I leave out that I’m curious about his connection to the victims too. I’ve already said too much.

“Not exactly an ex, yet. Got it.”

“And I don’t know about his relationships. What happens after he leaves this building is none of my business.”

“He hasn’t mentioned them?”

I swallow, rubbing my clammy hands on my jeans. “Maybe?” He mentioned meeting Carrie, but it was news to me. “We don’t spend a lot of time briefing each other on our personal lives.”

Hudson rolls his wrist over, checking the time. “That’s a yes or no question,” he says, standing from the desk.

“He didn’t know both of them.” Very well. This is so far from the truth that it’s almost funny.

But not really.

Shock spreads across Hudson’s face. A V deepens between his brow. “Are you sure?”

“The recent one—Jessie.” This half-truth is a means to an end because I need more time. A nurse mentioned he only saw her outside of work once or twice.

“Are you sure about that? He never mentioned her? They never dated? That blows the case wide open. Shit.” He wipes a hand down his face, scrubbing at the scruff on his chin.

I pull my fingers to my mouth, nibbling on the cuticle of my right pointer finger, and look toward the ceiling. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know how much Hudson knows. And I don’t want to be caught in a lie.

Is this a good idea? Am I sure about this? What’s the charge for perjury? Will this give me any more time to figure things out?

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