Now that he knew more, he really did believe that Katrina could be in danger. There were too many dead people connected to her and her family for his comfort level.

  He’d mostly ruled out the accidental or purposeful overdose scenario for Victoria and decided it would be an unlikely coincidence that both she and Simon would have a bad reaction to the sex drug after experimenting with it independently. He kept coming back to the fact that someone shot Simon after he was already dead, and it was most likely the same person who shoved pills down Victoria’s throat.

  Although maybe those two acts aren’t mutually exclusive. Someone could have come in later and done one or both of those acts, with a different motive but the same intended outcome.

  It wasn’t a novel idea to stage a death scene to confuse investigators. At Sharon Tate’s house in Benedict Canyon, for example, detectives found patches of her blood in places other than where her body was ultimately positioned. Her body was also smeared with dried blood, indicating that she’d been dragged inside from the front porch. Later, Charles Manson privately admitted that he’d come to the house later that night to rearrange the crime scene, because he thought his “children” had caused too much of a mess when they brutally stabbed, shot, and mutilated Tate and the four other victims in a ritualistic fashion.

  Goode searched through the files London had uploaded to the CAIR system, hoping to find the drug log from Simon’s surgery office. He found some scanned invoices of various medications, but nothing to show how much had been used, discarded, or was still in inventory. He would have to track down Simon Fontaine’s nurse, who logged controlled substances in and out.

  Calling the surgery office, he asked Regina Russell if the nurse had come in since they’d served the warrant Monday.

  “No, Esperanza’s still out sick. She was close to Dr. Fontaine and his daughter, so I know she’s devastated,” Regina said. “We had to cancel all the surgeries this week. We don’t have a backup nurse, and Simon and my dad never trusted temps.”

  “Did you ask her about the drug log?”

  “Yes, I did. She said she usually keeps a handwritten log in her desk, but she took it home Friday to put it into a digital format.”

  That’s an oddly convenient coincidence.

  “When did she decide to do that?”

  “She said she was out running an errand Friday morning, when Dr. Fontaine texted her that the surgery got cancelled and she didn’t need to come back. When her afternoon freed up, she stopped in to take the log home with her.”

  Plausible, but still a little too neat.

  “I see. Well, we need it for our investigation, so if you can give me her home address, I’ll go pick it up.”

  “Okay, let me call her and—”

  “No, please don’t, and that’s not a request. I’ve already tried calling her, and she’s not responding. The log is important evidence that’s been removed from your office at a critical juncture. I don’t want to give her any reason to destroy it.”

  “Oh, she would never do that. She’s a kind, wonderful person.”

  “We have two dead victims, Ms. Russell. Why don’t you give me the address, and let me do my job. We let you keep your computer so you didn’t have to close your office. I’m asking you to do this now for me.”

  Regina was quiet for a moment. “Yes, of course. You’re right. But I still don’t believe Esperanza had anything to do with this.”

  “Did you see her in the office Friday morning?”

  “No, I wasn’t here. I have Fridays off.”

  “If she came by later for the log, no one would know that either, correct? I didn’t see any security cameras.”

  “Yes, that’s true. No one was here. My dad and Simon alternated days off so Simon could be at Vitaleron when he wasn’t in surgery. They were able to get in some golf during the week that way, just not with each other.”

  After he hung up, Goode went searching for the paperwork he needed.

  “Hey, Byron,” he said to his teammate. “You type up the report yet on the drug inventory from Dr. Fontaine’s narcotics locker and cold storage?”

  “Put it in your inbox last night, as requested,” Byron replied. “Emailed it to you as well.”

  Goode saw the manila file folder, labeled and waiting for him in his metal inbox. “Yes, you did. Thanks. I’m glad someone is doing their job. Foster, how about your inventory list from the Vitaleron lab?” Goode called over the partition to the other detective.

  “Still working on it,” Foster said.

  “Hurry up, I need it yesterday.”

  Opening Byron’s paper file, Goode scanned the list of drugs but wasn’t familiar with any of them. His undercover narcotics gig dovetailed with his surfer lifestyle, which allowed him to wear his hair long and to drive his much-loved VW van for work. But his knowledge of street drugs didn’t spill into controlled substances used in surgical procedures, other than fentanyl, which had been gaining ground and taking lives via deadly street trades.

  He’d also learned quite a bit from the Kristin Rossum case. In 2001, fentanyl wasn’t found much outside hospitals or pharmacies, so the ME’s office didn’t include it in their routine tox screens. That’s why the drug, which is one hundred times stronger than morphine, went undetected in the blood of Rossum’s husband, Greg de Villers, who was found dead in their apartment near UCSD, covered with red rose petals.

  Rossum, a toxicologist in Artie’s office, claimed de Villers had killed himself by mixing sedatives and cough medicine because he was depressed she was leaving him for her married boss, Michael Robertson, with whom she’d been having an affair. The ME’s office only learned that de Villers had died of acute fentanyl intoxication after his blood was sent to a private lab due to ethical and procedural lapses within the agency.

  Rossum had access to recreational and prescription drugs collected at death scenes by investigators like Artie, as well as a 10 mg vial of fentanyl citrate—enough to kill a roomful of people—that her boss had obtained to start testing for fentanyl. A subsequent police audit found that the vial was empty, and fifteen fentanyl patches, typically used by cancer patients, were missing. This audit helped convict Rossum of poisoning her husband with fentanyl. They couldn’t prove exactly how he was involved, but they charged Robertson with conspiracy, an allegation he denied.

  That’s the kind of smoking gun I need: an empty vial, a discrepancy on the log-in sheet, some kind of proof that a drug was missing from Fontaine’s surgery office or the Vitaleron lab.

  Chapter 35

  Katrina

  Wednesday

  Parked in the Vitaleron lot, Katrina took a deep breath as she punched Vincent’s number into her phone.

  “Do you have news for me?” he asked hopefully.

  Sometimes I really hate caller ID.

  “No, I don’t. I’m calling—again—to reconfirm that I can’t help you find Alex, or do any other work that falls outside of my job as—”

  “Listen, missy,” Vincent interrupted. “I don’t know why you think you have a choice in this. You still work for me. Are you trying to get yourself sent to the El Centro bureau?”

  Knowing this was a metaphor for Siberia, Katrina felt a wave of indignation sweep through her. “If you want to fire me, then you can go through the proper channels. I was hired to be an investigative reporter for the Sun-Dispatch, not your personal investigator,” she said firmly. “Do you want me to call the Poynter Institute and the Advocate and tell them you’re trying to force me into an unethical conflict of interest?”

  “Don’t you threaten me—”

  “I’ve got to go before I say something I regret. I hope you find Alex before the police do, Vincent.”

  She heard silence, followed by a deep sigh on the other end of the line. Was Vincent finally accepting he was powerless to stop her?

  He paused. “You’ll still tell me what’s going on, though, won’t you?” he asked with a hint of sadness and desperation.

  I’m not going to say anything more until I know what’s going on. I’ll be damned if I’m duped by this man. Even if I did see him crying after I left the other night.

  Katrina’s voice softened. “I may call you later for a comment for the story I’m writing today,” she said. “But I’ve got to go now.”

  She wished she could prove that he’d tried to hire her to limit or keep tabs on the information she was gathering, or that he was genuinely interested in finding his son.

  Landing an interview with Michael Battrelle was much easier than Katrina had expected. Darla Johansen, the blond at the reception desk, immediately called back to the new CFO to announce Katrina’s presence in the lobby.

  “Katrina Chopin is here to see you,” she said, pausing. “Okay, I’ll send her in.”

  It’s almost as if they were expecting me.

  As Katrina stood in Michael’s doorway, she caught him straightening his purple tie and smoothing his dark hair before coming over to shake her hand. He didn’t look as trim or handsome as his brother and certainly not as flashy or confident.

  “My father just called and told me you fired him,” he said, chuckling. “We had a feeling you might show up, and here you are. He said he was getting you pulled off the story, but I guess not.”

  “Not yet, anyway,” she said, smiling nervously.

  Is he toying with me?

  “I admire you for standing up to him,” he said. “I’ve never been very good at that. Maybe you can give me some tips.”

  Katrina started to laugh but squelched the urge.

  “My father also forbade me from talking to you, but I’m going to take your cue and start asserting myself. So, what can I do for you, Ms. Chopin?”

  “You can call me Katrina. Was this Victoria’s office? I figured you would take over her desk when you got her job.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that weird for you?”

  Michael shook his head and frowned, confused.

  “I mean, is it painful, or awkward?”

  Nodding, as if he understood now, he said, “Yes, to be honest, it is. But it also makes me feel closer to her somehow. The police were here first thing Monday, then I had to go to that news conference, so I’ve barely gotten anything done this week. Because I’m the ‘boyfriend,’ the police seem to think I’m a prime suspect.”

  “Really?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, as you know, they served search warrants here, and when I talked to Detective Goode, he seemed awfully suspicious. Then, as he was leaving, he turned and asked me, kind of accusatorily, if I owned a gun, which I thought was strange, because I don’t. But then I read your story the next day and saw that a gun was found next to Simon’s body. Anyway, that’s why I’m going to tell you some things I didn’t tell the police.”

  “I’m all ears,” Katrina said, pulling out her notebook.

  “First, I want people to know I would never hurt Victoria,” he said, maintaining eye contact with her, a sign that he was either telling the truth or was a very good liar.

  It’s hard to know which one, with Vincent, the master manipulator, as his teacher.

  “Or Simon either, for that matter. He was like a mentor to me. I haven’t even told my father any of this yet, because it was supposed to be a surprise, but things have gone too far to stay silent any longer. I don’t care what he says; I’m CFO of Vitaleron now and we can’t afford to have me viewed as a murder suspect.”

  After letting out a long sigh, Michael continued. “My brother, Alex, is an addict and has been half-assed trying to get clean for years,” he said. “A year ago, he learned he’d gotten Victoria pregnant, then spontaneously asked her to marry him, but she turned him down flat. She called him ‘pathetic,’ said that she couldn’t marry him as long as he was still using, and that she’d already aborted their baby.”

  Katrina nodded, noting the added layers to William’s account.

  “Over the next few months, I’d never seen my brother crash so hard,” he said. “He said he felt like he’d caused the death of his own child.”

  Before the pregnancy, he said, Alex had thought Victoria would always be there for him. “But the abortion changed him. He finally got serious about his recovery. When he came to me six months ago and asked me to help him to get clean, for real this time, I couldn’t say no.”

  Katrina nodded knowingly.

  They decided not to tell Vincent in case Alex failed as he had so many times before. “He never said he was doing it for Victoria; he said he wanted a new life for himself.”

  So, Alex cloistered himself in the family’s cabin in Ramona, away from the temptations of his usual party crowd. “I stayed with him the first week to help him through the withdrawal,” Michael said.

  After detoxing, Alex kept life simple: He did “financial consulting business” on his laptop, worked in the garden, rode his motorcycle around the mountains, and ate apple pie in Julian.

  “Not knowing what Alex’s long-term plans were, I started seeing Victoria. I didn’t mention it to him because she refused to be exclusive. When she took off for a weekend without me, like the Vitaleron retreat in Hawaii, I didn’t ask questions.”

  “Why didn’t you go? You’re a board member.”

  “Because she made it clear she needed space,” he said.

  In the meantime, Michael said, he and Alex talked weekly. “He sounded healthier than I’d heard him in years. But that’s when things got complicated. Alex started talking about getting back with Victoria, which apparently had been his plan all along. Of course, he’d never told me that, and I didn’t have the courage to tell him that I was in love with her.

  “I dreaded the day he might take her from me, especially after watching him mess with her over the years. All those times they would hook up for a week, then he would run off with another woman or go on another binge.

  “Maybe I was being naïve, but I thought I could get her to fall in love with me if I had enough time to show her what it was like to be truly cared for. I actually felt like the wall was cracking.”

  Looking embarrassed, Michael wiped away a tear. “So, I was pretty surprised when she called Friday and said she was breaking up with me, that there was someone else. I wasn’t ready to let her go, but if Alex was my competition, I also knew I couldn’t change history.”

  Michael stopped talking, but he looked like he wasn’t done yet.

  “Go on,” Katrina nudged.

  “But I was also concerned because she didn’t sound well on Friday. At the time, I wondered if Alex had relapsed and persuaded her to do drugs with him, and that’s why she was pushing me away, because she knew I’d take her back to rehab. You know that’s where they met, right?”

  “Yes, years ago. Your father told me the whole story. My brother was in that same program.”

  “That’s right. I always liked Franny. I should have said this earlier, but I’m so sorry for your losses, Katrina.”

  “Thank you,” she said, impatient to hear the rest of the reveal. “Finish your story.”

  “Well, that’s just it. I never connected with her again, and then she was gone.”

  “How did you hear about it?”

  “On the news, like everyone else, that Victoria and Simon were found dead after a neighbor heard gunshots Friday night and called it in. When the police came, they thought it was a double suicide.”

  It was an anonymous 911 call. Why did he say it was a neighbor? And the police have never said it was a double suicide. Where is this coming from?

  Seeing her expression, he quickly added, “At least that’s what Darren told me when he called Saturday afternoon. He said we had to protect the public face of the company to ward off any suspicion that we’re in financial trouble. The drug trials had to keep moving forward before investors started yanking funding. And my dad agreed with him.”

  Recalling the photo of Darren McMurphy with Congressman Winchester and the female federal drug official, Katrina wanted to ask about the campaign donations, but not until he’d finished with Friday’s events. “What happened after you talked to Victoria?”

  “She didn’t respond to my calls or texts, so I called Alex later that day, and he sounded excitable. He said, ‘I need to get out of town. I can’t be here right now. Don’t tell anyone where I am.’”

  “Do you think he was on drugs again?”

  “I’m not sure. He could’ve been high, or he might have just been upset. I know I was. Darren hit me up about changing the corporate leadership as soon as Victoria’s and Simon’s deaths hit the news, demanding we call an emergency board meeting.”

  “Did you?” Katrina asked.

  “No. I told him he was being disrespectful and hung up on him. So, he went around me and called all the other board members, full-on campaigning to be voted in as chairman over my father, who would have been the natural successor as vice chairman. This is off the record, but the guy has a heart of stone, if he has one at all. Sometimes I wonder if he was the one on drugs.”

  “Really?” Katrina asked, jotting down a note to ask Darren’s ex, Daisy, about that. “Victoria never told you she was pregnant?”

  “No. That was a huge shock, and even worse that I had to hear it from the police—in public in front of TV cameras. It raises a whole lot more questions, doesn’t it?”

  Katrina nodded sympathetically. “How did you end up taking over for Victoria as CFO?”

  Michael explained that although he and his father both had law degrees and MBAs, the board said they’d rather have Michael at the helm.

  “My dad can be a bully,” he said. “I’m sure the board thinks I’ll be easier to control. They’re probably right, but I’m not a pushover either.”

  “So, your dad still doesn’t know that Alex was in Ramona all that time?” she asked.

  “No, and now even I don’t know where Alex is. He never said where he was going.”

  As an objective reporter, Katrina knew she wasn’t supposed to feel sympathy for a witness or suspect in a death investigation, but she couldn’t help it. Michael seemed much more genuine than his father.