Page 41 of Missing Justice
She had more experience with that then he did, but it still made his skin crawl. “That’s a horrible suggestion. Do you have a reason I don’t know about from your investigation that suggests Walt and Felicity weren’t happily married?”
“No. Which is why I’m asking. Everything I have indicates they were happy. No mistresses, no boy toys. Just an up-and-coming power couple about to have a baby. These two were the modern day Kennedys. Everyone loved them.”
“And that makes you suspicious?”
“Is anyone’s lifethatperfect? He did remarry as soon as he could have her declared legally dead. Maybe Ann was waiting in the wings the entire time.”
She had a point there. But he didn’t want to believe the Jarvis’s marriage had been fucked up enough that Walt would hire someone to get rid of her and sell their child. “It seemed too perfect to me, too, at first. When I couldn’t find any fucking around, I switched to the possibility of abuse.”
“And?”
“Nothing. I went through bank records, credit card receipts, medical visits, everything. If either one of them was spending money trying to cover an affair or spousal abuse, I couldn’t find it.”
“Neither did Grey when he originally worked the case. I’ve reviewed all those avenues as well and found nothing suspicious.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a thin manila folder. She flipped open the file and studied something inside. “According to Felicity’s OB, her mother never went with her, and with Walt’s schedule, he missed a lot of her prenatal appointments. We should probably talk to her doctor and any nurses who were on staff at that time.”
“Good thought, but been there, done that. I spoke with her OB last year. He said Felicity went to the appointments with Walt or alone. She liked her privacy. From what I’ve heard, if she ever got bad news, she didn’t want anyone else hearing it. She was worried about tabloids.”
“Oh, Lord. It wasn’t as ifPeoplemagazine was banging down their door.”
“Whatever, Taylor. Her husband was a public figure. She wanted her privacy.”
Matt pulled into the hospital parking garage, grabbed the first available space and they made their way through the maze of security that would allow them onto the obstetrics floor. The various elevators and multiple entries with crisscrossing hallways should have scared off would-be criminals. A guy needed a damned map for the place.
“Now that we’re here,” Taylor said, “I remember how tight security is.”
St. Mary’s was a private hospital smack-dab in the middle of DC that catered to politicians, high-ranking White House officials, big shot CEOs, you name it. If they had pull in this town, St. Mary’s Hospital was the place to go. It took private to another level.
The first time Matt had come here, he’d been shut down cold. Didn’t even make it past the first security gate. Walt Jarvis had rectified that right quick by taking care of the necessary HIPPA forms that would give Matt access to his wife’s files.
Taylor stepped off the elevator with him and was greeted by another security guard in front of the giant wooden doors leading into the OB unit. No commercial grade doors here. After a quick check of IDs, the guard pushed a button and the doors swung open.
“Nurse’s station is on the left,” he said.
“Thank you.” Taylor hooked her badge on her waistband and adjusted it so anyone within three feet would see it. She knew the drill and Matt was equal parts turned on and envious.
Not so much the FBI part, but the badge. So much of his life had been spent around law enforcement that the badge had become a part of him. At least until the homicide rate in DC spiked and the emotional toll wore on him.
Still, he missed it. The ability to serve.
He followed Taylor to the nurse’s station, a series of oversized counters and desks that formed a large circle in the center of the ward. An older woman, Marge, according to her nametag, in a pair of purple scrubs sat entering something into one of the computers.
“Good morning.”
Taylor forced a smile, but the fatigue in her eyes, the puffiness, told a different story. The dead on her feet kind.
“I’m Special Agent Taylor Sinclair.” She slid the badge from her waistband and let the nurse take a good long look. “This is Matt Stephens.”
No badge for Matt, but Taylor wasn’t stupid. Alerting the nurse he wasn’t a fed would mess up a potentially good opportunity for fact gathering.
“How can I help you?”
“We’re investigating the Felicity Jarvis case.”
“Oh, that poor woman. I saw they found her remains. What a tragedy.”
Taylor nodded. “We’re re-interviewing anyone who may have had contact with her. I know it was a long time ago, but is there anyone here who might remember her?”
“Me,” Marge said. “I’ve been here fifteen years.”
