She needed to get out of there, but she felt the photographs could tell her something. They had led her to the toxin, which was already one coincidence too many for her liking.
She decided, in order to narrow things down and make the search go faster, she’d focus only on the excursions that featured prominently in Ledbetter’s mythology: the framed photos on display in her office hallway. Those were obviously the moments she was most proud of, the ones she wanted to be remembered for. Every client who entered her business would be led past the pictures, and if they wanted to make a good impression, or she did, the photos were on display to be remarked upon.
She told this to George, who assessed her with a shrewd look.
“You should be a detective. Thirty minutes here, you’ve discovered more than the entire team of police did last night.”
“Well, being a medical examiner is more than just cutting open bodies. You sometimes need to look deeper, and know what kinds of questions to ask.”
That wasn’t a completely bald-faced lie, but close to it; she wasn’t an investigator, legally or otherwise. Her job was to lay bare the secrets of the dead using the evidence she collected from their bodies, nothing more. The relationship she had with the police in Nashville was a special one; not all medical examiners were utilized in the way she had been, as a congruent mind in their trickier investigations.
It was nice to be needed this way again.
Her text chimed. It was Fletcher, also in code. She had to think about it for a second before she realized he’d sent her flight information. Her plane left in exactly ninety minutes. She wasn’t going to have time to do the photos after all.
“George, this is unfortunate timing, and I hate to be so incredibly rude, but I have to leave. Is there any chance you could put the photos we’re talking about on a jump drive for me?”
“If you need to leave now, no. That will take too long—they’re all high resolution.” He studied her thoughtfully, his arms crossed on his chest. “Dr. Owens, please be honest with me. Do you think Dr. Ledbetter was killed? That she wasn’t just a victim of the attacks yesterday, but maybe a target? And Marc Conlon might have been, too?”
She had nothing to lose by telling him the truth. He was a sharp young man, one that Sam liked already.
“I’m starting to suspect that, George, yes.”
He nodded, then turned to the side table and grabbed a Post-it note. He wrote a few things on it, then handed it to her.
“This is the password to her account on Fotki, that’s where she uploads all of her private photos. Everything—every excursion, every excavation, every event she does is in there, dated and explained. It’s better than a diary.” He thought for another moment, then his face brightened. “Oh, hold on.”
He rushed from the room and she heard him next door, rummaging.
He came back with two books. “Here. These are the texts she uses for SOC 102. One is pretty standard for that type of class. The other one she wrote herself.”
“Wow. She’s an author, too?”
“Absolutely. This book in particular is a bit of a memoir. She uses her experiences to explain how to do ethnographic research. It might give you a place to start looking for suspects.”
She must have looked confused, because George tapped the cover of the book.
“That class, SOC 102, deals with her time off the grid, living for a year with a group of homegrown survivalists out in the woods. Doomsday preppers. The end of the world guys.”
Sam felt all the blood rush to her head. Conlon’s status update.
Operation TEOTWAWKI is under way.
It’s the end of the world as we know it.
“George, if you ever decide you want to move on, please call me. I’ll hire you in a second.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Owens. That is quite a compliment.”
*
Traffic to the airport was terrible, and Sam ended up having to run from security to the gate in the hopes of catching the flight. She barely made it; they were getting ready to shut the door to the gate when she rolled up, panting. She handed them the boarding pass, and the gate agent glanced at it.
“We’re oversold. All of the coach seats are full. There’s one seat left, and it’s in first class. Will that work for you?”
“My lucky day.”
“Here you go, then. Have a nice trip.”
Sam thanked the attendant and glanced at the new boarding pass he’d generated.
1A.
Nice. A first-class window? She could handle that.
She scurried down the Jetway and into the 747, took her seat and tucked her bag under the chair for takeoff. The flight attendant was a handsome twentysomething man who gave her a bright smile.
“Want a drink?”
She nodded. “Orange juice is fine, thank you.”
“Why don’t I put a tiny bit of champagne in that for you? You look like you need to unwind a bit, and it is after five.”