One of Those Faces (103)

“Not for another week.” I glanced at Danny. “I’ll be back in a few months. I’m going to visit regularly.”

She followed my eyes. “Well, we’re glad to hear it.” She did that. Acted like Danny was in on the conversation. Maybe he was. Maybe he could tell I was abandoning him again.

“How are you doing?” I asked her, walking around the bed and sitting in the chair beside her.

The smile cracked for a moment. “I’m making it.” The days when the police had looked into Danny’s accident had been especially hard on her. And for nothing. She believed them too. But I knew they were missing something. “Danny’s dad and sister are coming up again this weekend for a visit.”

I leaned toward the bed. “I’m going to be here for a while. Why don’t you take some time off?” It was already late in the day. She had a habit of skipping most meals on her full days at the hospital.

She wrapped her hand around mine. “I’m going to miss having you here, Harper.”

Another stab in the heart.

She released my hand and stood from the chair. “Carlos and Will said they were going to stop by after work today.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye out for them.” Danny had been in good company. He was well known and well liked by everyone he’d ever come in contact with. I’d met more people spending a few hours in the hospital room with him than I’d met in all my time in the city.

Cindy pulled her coat over her arms. “I’m going to run a couple of errands, and I’ll be right back.”

I smiled at her. “There’s no rush. Get some dinner, and maybe take a nap . . . please.”

She laughed. “I must be looking a little rough today. You’re the third person to tell me that.”

I gestured to Danny. “He’s in good hands.”

She patted my shoulder gingerly before leaning in for a hug.

I froze but settled my hands on her back in a limp return. It was easy to see where Danny got his openness from. His mom just went for it.

She straightened. “Okay, I’ll leave you two to talk.” She looked over her shoulder at Danny as she left the room.

I rested forward in my seat and grabbed his hand in both of mine. “This doesn’t let you off the hook, you know,” I said quietly. “You still have to wake up.”





CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX


I turned on the TV and sat next to Leo on the sofa. “An inquisition into the death of a thirty-eight-year-old Chicago homicide detective suspected of stalking and attempted murder of a witness is still underway.” My body tensed. I switched the channel. In addition to Danny’s, Erin’s case was one more that had no conclusion. Not for me, at least. The rehab facility had confirmed that she’d been checked out of rehab by a man. Detective Dowdy could share no further information with me, and I suspected Erin’s father had something to do with that.

Everyone, police included, suggested Erin had sneaked out to party the night she died. But to me, it was just one more bad deed Wilder would get away with, although I couldn’t understand why. Erin had never even met him. Why would he want her dead? But he was the only one who would have had the means to get into the facility without raising suspicion.

I walked into the closet and grabbed a clean DePaul sweatshirt from one of the hangers before pulling it over my thin T-shirt. I bent down and looked for my jeans. I tugged them on, one of the legs catching under Iann’s shoe rack. The jeans dislodged but sent several pairs of shoes tumbling onto the floor. As I picked up one of the stray sneakers, something rattled. I dropped the jeans from my other hand and dug inside the shoe. My fingers closed around the familiar feel of plastic and paper. I stared blankly at the pill bottle in my hand.

Alprazolam. Martin, Christopher. Advocate Illinois Masonic Medical Center.

I trained my eyes on the small black letters. I picked up the matching shoe and dug inside, pulling out another bottle.

Lorazepam. Wendt, Margaret Ann.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and dropped both bottles, then knelt and grabbed at the next pair of cast-aside shoes.

Clonazepam. Marshall, Samantha.

Clonazepam. Pham, Nancy.

Alprazolam. Bascom, Holly.

Alprazolam. Braughton, Erin Marie.

Each bottle was completely full except one, with only two pills rattling in the orange plastic. I left the bottles in a heap beside me and dove through the shoes remaining on the rack. They were empty.

I sat back on my heels, my pulse only growing more rapid. Was Iann taking all these pills? I took a deep breath.

You’re a hypocrite. Look what you’ve done.

There was a difference between snagging a few pills from a friend to sleep and stealing complete prescriptions from patients. Wasn’t there?

I thought about Erin’s pill bottle under my bed. About the night I’d seen Jeremy handing her a bottle. I remembered the night I’d followed Jeremy back to Advocate. When Wilder had told me about Jeremy forging prescriptions for Holly, it had made sense due to his grad work at the medical center.

I examined the label in my hands. It made a certain sense that Iann might have these, too, didn’t it?

You’re overreacting.

I picked up each bottle and carefully slipped them back into random shoes before reorganizing the rack. My hand brushed against something underneath the shoe rack.