Chapter 13 - THE MAN WHO DISAPPEARED FROM AN AMBULANCE
Peter Lang had worked for Emily’s father for fifteen years.
He had taught Emily to drive a golf cart at a company picnic when she was twelve.
He had sent flowers when her mother’s old dog died.
He had stood beside Diane at Arthur Hale’s funeral and cried into a white handkerchief.
Emily stared at his signature until anger became cleaner than grief.
“Find him.”
Matthew looked at Marcus.
Marcus nodded.
Rachel said, “Not like that.”
Emily turned.
“What?”
“You are not giving orders to a private security team to hunt down a potential witness in your father’s death.”
“I said find him.”
“And I am telling you how that will sound later.”
Emily bit down on the answer she wanted to give.
Rachel was right.
She hated it.
“What do we do?”
“Give the toxicology report to state police.”
“And wait?”
“Yes.”
Emily looked toward the river.
“No.”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose.
“I’m going to his house.”
“That is also a bad idea.”
“I’m not breaking in.”
“Still bad.”
Emily looked at Matthew.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You have a face.”
“So do you.”
Despite herself, she snorted.
Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Wonderful. Trauma flirting. My favorite legal category.”
Emily and Matthew both said, “We are not flirting.”
At the same time.
Rachel looked at them.
“Of course.”
Peter Lang lived in a modest brick house twenty minutes from downtown.
Not what Emily expected from a CFO.
His lawn needed cutting.
A plastic dinosaur lay on its side near the porch.
A child’s bicycle leaned against the garage.
Emily stopped at the gate.
“I didn’t know he had kids.”
Matthew said, “Two.”
She looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“I ran due diligence on Hale Systems.”
“Right.”
There it was again.
The reminder that he had investigated her family before he met her.
A woman opened the front door before they reached it.
She was barefoot and wearing an oversized college sweatshirt.
“Who are you?”
Emily recognized her from Christmas cards.
“Mrs. Lang?”
The woman stared at Emily’s bruised face.
“Oh my God.”
“My name is Emily Hale.”
“I know who you are.”
“Is Peter here?”
Mrs. Lang’s eyes filled immediately.
“No.”
“When did you last hear from him?”
“Seven this morning.”
“What did he say?”
The woman glanced at Matthew and Marcus.
“Who are they?”
Emily hesitated.
“Complicated.”
Matthew looked almost offended.
Good.
Mrs. Lang let Emily in but made the men wait outside.
The kitchen smelled like burned toast.
A little girl sat at the table coloring a horse purple.
Emily’s chest tightened.
She had walked into somebody else’s normal morning carrying murder questions.
Mrs. Lang lowered her voice.
“Peter said something bad was going to happen at work.”
“Did he say what?”
“No.”
“Did he mention my father?”
Mrs. Lang looked toward the child.
Then back.
“He talks about Arthur sometimes.”
“Good or bad?”
“Both.”
That answer felt true.
“He said your father saved his career once.”
“From what?”
“A mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I don’t know.”
Emily sat across from her.
“Mrs. Lang, I found a toxicology report saying my father had a dangerous level of heart medication in his blood.”
The woman’s face lost color.
“Peter signed an instruction not to release it.”
Mrs. Lang stood so fast the chair scraped.
“No.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Did Peter ever mention digoxin?”
The little girl looked up from her coloring page.
“Daddy’s heart pills?”
The room went silent.
Mrs. Lang turned slowly.
“What did you say, Lucy?”
The girl frowned.
“Daddy’s heart pills.”
She pointed toward a cabinet.
“The little white ones.”
Mrs. Lang opened it.
Inside was a prescription bottle.
DIGOXIN.
Peter Lang’s name was on the label.
Emily’s stomach turned.
Mrs. Lang covered her mouth.
“He has atrial fibrillation.”
Emily whispered, “Did he know my father?”
“What?”
“Did he see him the day he died?”
Mrs. Lang shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
The kitchen phone rang.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
Mrs. Lang answered.
“Hello?”
Her face changed.
“Peter?”
Emily stood.
Mrs. Lang pressed the speaker button with a trembling finger.
Static filled the kitchen.
Then Peter’s voice.
“Laura, listen to me.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t come home.”
“Peter—”
“I need you to take the girls and leave.”
Emily stepped closer.
“Peter.”
Silence.
Then, “Emily?”
“Yes.”
His breathing became ragged.
“You found the report.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t kill your father.”
Emily gripped the table.
“Then why did you hide it?”
Peter started crying.
“I thought I was protecting my family.”
“From who?”
A noise sounded on his end.
A door opening.
Peter whispered, “Oh God.”
“Peter?”
“Emily, your father knew Diane was stealing from the company.”
Emily went still.
“He confronted her the night he died.”
“What happened?”
Peter’s voice dropped.
“I gave Arthur my medication by mistake.”
Emily stared at the bottle.
“What?”
“I had both pill organizers in my bag after a flight. Arthur had a headache. He asked for aspirin. I handed him the wrong tablets.”
Emily could not speak.
“It was my fault,” Peter sobbed.
“I didn’t realize until after the crash.”
“Why hide it?”
“Because Diane knew.”
Emily’s blood went cold.
“She knew before he drove?”
“Yes.”
A hard sound came through the phone.
Peter gasped.
Then another man’s voice spoke near him.
“That’s enough.”
Emily recognized the voice.
May you like
Graham Ambrose.
The call ended.
