The Secret Friend

20

Tim Bryson answered the question. 'It's part of our investigation.'

Hale's gaze never left Darby. 'Why did you want access to my daughter's home, Dr McCormick?'

'I've recently been assigned to your daughter's case,' Darby said. 'I wanted to get a feel for her, to try and get to know her.'

'Mr Marsh paged my answering service. When I spoke to my assistant, she said you were rather adamant in wanting to get inside Emma's place. There was talk of a court order.'

'I wanted to investigate a new lead.'

'Which is?'

'It's part of our ongoing investigation.'

'See, this is the problem I have with you people.' Hale's tone remained courteous. 'Every time you come here you expect me to answer your questions but you refuse to answer any of mine. Take this religious statue you found inside my daughter's pocket. I've asked you what it is and you won't tell me. Why?'

'I don't blame you for your frustration, but we need -'

'My daughter's home was released back to me. I allowed you access. I think I have a right to know why.'

'We're not the enemy, Mr Hale. We're after the same goal.'

Hale went to take another sip of his drink, realized the glass was empty and looked around for the bottle.

'I noticed that you haven't cleaned out any of Emma's things,' Darby said.

Hale put the glass down on the table, leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

'It's rather difficult to explain,' he said after a moment. He cleared his throat several times as he brushed lint off his pants. 'Emma's house, the way she left things… it's all I have left of her. I know this is going to sound irrational, but when I'm in there, looking at her things, the way she left them, I feel… I can still feel her. It's like she's still alive.'

Bryson said, 'When was the last time you were inside Emma's place?'

'Last week,' Hale said, standing.

'Have you hired a private investigator to look into your daughter's death?'

'I wouldn't call him that.' Hale walked to the corner of the room, picked up a bottle of Maker's Mark bourbon from the small bar and refilled his glass. 'Dr Karim is a forensic consultant.'

'Ali Karim?' Darby asked.

'Yes,' Hale said as he sat back in the chair. 'Do you know him?'

She knew the name. Ali Karim, a former pathologist for the city of New York and, without a doubt, one of the best in the field, now ran his own consulting firm. Karim had been hired as an expert witness on a number of prominent criminal cases, most of which were in the media. He had written several bestselling books and was a staple on the talk-show circuit.

'Why did you hire Dr Karim?' Darby asked.

'I wanted someone to tell me the truth,' Hale said.

'I don't understand.'

'My daughter was shot in the back of the head with a twenty-two calibre weapon. Detective Bryson told me she died instantly. That's not exactly true. The way the bullet entered her skull, Emma was alive for several minutes. My daughter suffered. Horribly.'

Bryson spoke up. 'Mr Hale -'

'I understand why you said it, and I don't blame you.' Hale sipped his drink. 'I didn't know about your daughter, Detective Bryson.'

'Excuse me?'

'I was told your daughter died. From leukaemia.'

'Your point, Mr Hale?'

'You know what it's like to lose a child. You know that kind of pain. And while I appreciate your intentions to spare me the details of my daughter's death, I've asked you, repeatedly, for information. I've asked you to tell me the truth. I want to know how she died, what this person did to her – I want to know every detail. That's why I hired Dr Karim. They're looking at this case from a fresh perspective.'

'They?'

'Karim has recommended the names of several investigators to review the evidence.'

'What are the names of the investigators you've hired?'

'I haven't hired anyone yet.'

'Have you met these people?'

'No.'

'How did you find Dr Karim?'

'I've seen him on talk shows over the years. He has experience in these types of homicides, so I decided to call him and he agreed to review Emma's autopsy. He supported all of the medical examiner's findings, by the way.'

There was a knock on the door. When it opened, the housekeeper poked in her head and in broken English said, 'Mr Hale, police are on the phone. They said it emergency.'

Hale excused himself and picked up the phone from his desk. He listened for several minutes, then said 'Thank you' and hung up.

'I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut this meeting short,' Hale said. 'One of my buildings has been burglarized. Is there anything else I can help you with?'

'Yes,' Bryson said. 'Mr Marsh told us that backup copies of the building's security tapes are stored at your Newton office.'

Hale nodded. 'The tapes are burned onto DVD. It saves on storage space.'

'I'd like to look at them.'

'I don't suppose you'll tell me why.'

'We're pursuing a theory.'

'Of course,' Hale said, sighing. 'You might as well follow me to Newton. That's where I'm going. It appears someone broke into the building.'

'What's the address?'

Hale wrote it down on a sheet of paper. 'I'll meet you there,' he said, ripping the sheet off the pad and handing it to Bryson. 'If you'll excuse me, I need to make some phone calls.'

Darby placed her business card on his desk. 'If this man approaches you, or if you think of anything else, you can call me or Detective Bryson. Thank you for your time, Mr Hale. I'm sorry for your loss. I truly mean that.'