Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Jesus.”
“It’s going to be fine, I know it is, but there’s just a lot I’m trying to figure out. If you can tell me about this Gerald Gibson, it would help.”
If he doesn’t exist, then Jericho was lying and I have to be ready for that. If he does, and he owns a white van, then I have to be ready for that. Especially if Julia was somehow involved. Either way, I lose, but I have to know the truth.
“Listen, if this guy exists, you need to stay away from him. Just tell me if he is real or not and where he lives.”
“And if he owns a white van.”
I nod.
“All right. I’ll see what I can dig up. I’m guessing you won’t be visiting the café anytime soon.”
“I doubt it.”
“It’s okay. I’ll come back and see you. His brother let me in, but do you think Jericho would?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know what, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out,” she says and gets to her feet. I get up too. “What else can I do for you?”
“Just that. That’s enough for now. Thank you, Megs.”
She nods, comes to hug me. “I wish I could stay longer but I have school pick up.”
“No worries. I’m so glad you came.”
She pulls back, looks down at me. “At least eat the cake. You need to put on weight if you’ve got a baby in there.” She hesitates for a moment. “Isabelle?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want the baby?”
“I do. I didn’t at first, when I found out, but I do.”
“Okay. And one other thing,” she says, just before releasing me. “I almost forgot because Julia’s so fucking cryptic. She told me to tell you that you have a friend in the woods. I don’t know what the hell that means, but there it is. It was just weird enough that I remembered, and I had to say it exactly that way.” She studies me, eyes shifting between mine. “And you clearly understand what she meant. I guess that’s good.”
I nod, because yes, I do understand. The smoker I thought was out there. The one who didn’t answer when I called out. He’s real.
“Don’t tell her I asked you about Gerald Gibson, okay?”
“I won’t tell her anything. She may be worried about you, but it doesn’t change how my hackles go up anytime she’s around. There’s something not right about her.”
I don’t answer that but when she leaves, I go out to the patio and sit in the cool, fall air. I’ll wait for someone to come and escort me back to my cell as I search the woods for the red light of a cigarette, not sure if he’s friend or foe.
40
Jericho
“Are you sure? There can be no doubt,” I repeat.
Dr. Rosseau sighs. “There is no doubt. This evidence will stand up in any court of law, including The Tribunal.”
I find I can’t quite smile at this news although it is good news. Exactly what I was hoping to find. But there’s also bad news.
“And on the DNA?”
“That’s not my area of expertise, as you know, but I trust my team and have used them multiple times. The boy is Carlton Bishop’s son.” And the rightful heir.
I nod, eyes on the autopsy report. “The previous coroner was quick to rule it as cardiac arrest. Why?”
“Unless he knew to search for specific traces of any number of poisons, he wouldn’t find it. And that’s one of the beauties of Oleander. It’s as undetectable as it is deadly. The makings for a perfect crime.”
I look up at him. Santiago referred me to Dr. Rosseau. He is a specialist in poisons and a member of The Society. He saved Santiago’s life a few years back. And this evidence will destroy Julia Bishop.
“Although considering Carlton Bishop was in excellent health, it should have raised some flags.”
“Are you suggesting he was incentivized to draw the cause of death as quickly as he did?”
“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. I wouldn’t, of course. But knowing what we know, it’s a question.”
“And the miscarriages Bishop’s wives suffered, is there any way to know if they weren’t purely natural occurrences?” I ask. I know I’m pushing.
“That I can’t tell you.” He sits back, studies me. “But you should have enough evidence to draw Ms. Bishop to the negotiating table at least.”
“I won’t be negotiating,” I say, standing. I check my watch. “The files?”
“All in your inbox but you’re welcome to take these as well. They’re yours,” Dr. Rosseau says, standing. He tugs at the sleeve of his shirt. He’s dressed elegantly with diamond cuff links, a Rolex watch, a custom-made suit. His office is opulent, lavish, as is the rest of his home.
“Thank you, Dr. Rosseau,” I say, collecting the folders and extending my hand.
He shakes it. “You’re welcome, Mr. St. James. And I’ll of course be available should Hildebrand or any of the Councilors need my testimony.”