She heard Rook scoff behind her and knew he was thinking exactly what she was thinking: that Perkins must be feeling better, because he was parsing his words again. Put him in a suit, put him in an open-backed hospital johnny, he’d still lay down a smoke screen. She had to figure a way through it. “Fine, you didn’t say you didn’t have it; you pretended you didn’t. Has it occurred to you this may not be a time to mince words?”
The editor didn’t answer. He rested his head back on the starched pillow.
“We know what was in your briefcase. We found the cover page. And we know the rest of the manuscript isn’t there now.” She let that register and decided to make her move. “Whoever did this is still out there. So far, we have useless descriptions to go on, so what we need is anything that can point to a motive.” She hated to beat on a guy with a concussion, a broken leg, and three cracked ribs, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t. Nikki turned the top card from her deck. It was the fear card. “Now, do you want to help, or do you want to take a chance this person will try something again—when you’re not there and your wife may not be so lucky.”
He didn’t have to think too long. “I’ll call my office and have them messenger you a copy of the manuscript right away.”
“We’ll send someone to get it, if that’s OK.”
“Whatever you want. You know, I was carrying it with me because I was this close to giving it to you on my way in. This close.” The editor’s brow clouded briefly. “Could have saved us all this, if only . . .” He let his admission trail off, then shifted uncomfortably, trying to sit up more so he could face her. “You have to believe me when I tell you this, because I would understand if you were skeptical, given our . . . transactional history. But it’s the God’s truth.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t have the final chapter. I don’t. The material I have from her is incomplete. It only covers the backstory of Reed Wakefield’s life and the months before his death. Cassidy was holding back the last chapter. She said it was the one that reveals the details of the people responsible for his death.”
Rook said, “Wait a minute, that was ruled an accidental overdose. I thought Reed Wakefield died alone.”
Perkins shook his head. “Not according to Cassidy Towne.”
Of course none of this squared with either the coroner’s official findings or the information Nikki had gathered from her recent checks on the Dragonfly House with all the interviewees, including both managers, Derek Snow, and the housekeeper who found the body. Everything pointed to a drug user who accidentally overmedicated and died quietly and alone in his sleep, and who had no visitors the night before, or morning of, his discovery. “Mr. Perkins, did Cassidy Towne say what she meant by ‘people responsible’?” asked Heat.
“No.”
“Because that could mean a lot of different things if it’s true. Like it’s whoever sold him the drugs or handed him a prescription bottle.”
“Or,” said Rook, “if he wasn’t alone and the party in his room got out of hand. But that would mean nobody called the cops, nobody called an ambulance, that they just walked away and left him. That’s worth covering up.”
Heat said, “And Derek Snow worked at that hotel. Was he part of the cover-up? Or an unlucky eyewitness?”
“Or at the party,” speculated Rook.
“Unfortunately, we may never know,” said the editor. “She never turned in that last chapter.”
“Was it because, possibly, she didn’t know all of it?” asked the detective.
“No,” said Rook. “Knowing Cassidy Towne, she knew what she had and was holding it for ransom.”
“Exactly right,” Perkins agreed. “She had it all buttoned up in a sensational chapter that she said would reveal everything. And when she delivered the partial manuscript, she said she wanted to reopen negotiations on her deal. You wouldn’t believe what she was asking for. The woman was trying to kill us.”