A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(63)

“I find it logical.”

“Knives were the murder weapons in both,” Truman pointed out. “And did you know one of Christian Lake’s employees, Rob Murray, was found murdered yesterday morning? Guess what the weapon was? It wasn’t as orchestrated as the other two deaths, but there are enough similarities that it can’t be ignored.”

The reporter’s eyes widened. “No one told me.” His brows came together in deep concentration.

“Now he decides to change it up and shoot you? What other kind of trouble did you stir up around here?”

“I want him to think I’m dead. It’ll make him comfortable, and perhaps he’ll screw up or get cocky. The detective asked the hospital to notify them if anyone calls and asks about a shooting victim from the park. And the Bend Police Department is keeping it quiet. There’s still an investigation at the scene, but the cops have been ordered to share no information with curious gawkers. Not even to say if someone died or survived.”

Brody closed his eyes, suddenly looking pale. “Fucking room is spinning.”

Truman cast around for . . . anything and grabbed an empty water pitcher. “I’ve got you covered if you’re gonna puke.”

Brody took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and attempted to focus on Truman. “I made a dozen phone calls in the hours before I was shot. I gave a list of the calls to the Bend detectives this morning. You can get the numbers from my phone—fuck. I keep forgetting that my phone was stolen.”

“Along with your wallet and truck.”

“Right . . . but they found those. Right before you came in I was told my truck turned up in the Walmart parking lot with the wallet on the seat. Of course, the cash and credit cards were missing. The police didn’t know to look for my vehicle until I told them.”

“One positive thing.”

“I’m still breathing. I’d also call that a positive. Although by the way my wife reacted when I talked to her today, you’d think I’d be better off dead.”

“A little upset?”

“Furious.” He grinned. “Jaime’s always claimed I’m going to piss off the wrong person and get shot one day.”

“Smart lady. Now who did you call yesterday?”

He closed his eyes again and recited, “I called Ava, I called the Bend FBI office, the Portland Police Department, Detective Bolton at Deschutes County, the Bend state police office, and Judge Lake’s assistant in Portland. I called Brenda Lake and tried to reach Gabriel Lake—”

“What did you get out of Brenda Lake?”

“She told me to stop calling or she’d call her lawyer.”

“Who I assume is Gabriel Lake.”

“Most likely.”

“But nothing came out of those phone calls that you think would make someone want to shoot you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then perhaps you were the victim of a robbery, since your cash and cards are gone. We can’t rule that out.”

“Too reasonable,” muttered Michael. “I don’t like it.”

“It doesn’t seem likely, but I can’t disregard the possibility. Why were you at the park?”

“I have no idea.”

“What?”

Michael grimaced and shifted his legs under the hospital blanket. “I don’t remember going there. The last thing I remember is driving in town.” He pointed at the wrap on his head. “I suspect this has something to do with my short-term memory loss. I’m stunned that I can remember every phone call from yesterday but can’t remember anything I did past four o’clock.”

“So the identity of your shooter might be buried in your brain.”

“They say I was shot from the back, so maybe I didn’t see him.”

“Or her.”

“Or her,” Michael agreed. “Apparently I have a hard skull. Tough enough to deflect a bullet . . . a poorly aimed bullet.”

“Something to brag to your wife about.”

“I think she already knows. The doctor said even though the bullet didn’t crack the bone, the deflected impact was enough to cause swelling inside my skull. Hopefully after the swelling goes down, I’ll get that chunk of memory back.”

“How much pain are you in?”

“A lot. And my ear is constantly ringing, and each time I turn my head, fireworks go off in my brain. You try getting shot in the head.”

“I’ve had my share of near-death experiences.”

“That’s right. I remember reading your history.”

“Try to remember who shot you.”

An annoyed glare was his answer.

Questions ricocheted in Truman’s brain. Is Michael’s shooting related? Did he rattle the Lake and Sabin killer? The whole situation made him very uncomfortable, and he knew the FBI would want to know as soon as possible.

“Are you okay with me notifying Mercy, Ava, and Jeff now? I’ll give them your reasons for keeping it quiet.”

“Yes, let them know. I think it was our murderer trying to add one more victim to his list.”



Who would shoot the reporter?

Mercy understood how Michael Brody could annoy a lot of people, but enough to kill him? As she drove back from Christian’s home, her mind attempted to process why their killer would shoot Michael. According to the phone call she’d just had with Truman, Michael believed he pushed someone’s buttons with his investigation of the deaths.