and it made no sense to beat him up over the realities of our jobs. It got me nowhere to complain. “You’re right, of course. Anything new I should know about the scene? Did they find anything else that might help?”
“Just from the photo album,” Max said. “I brought it along and lined up the shots. What we speculated appears true. That photo of Lauren nursing the baby?”
“I know the one,” I confirmed.
“It had to have been taken through the window. To do that, Carl had to be high up, off the ground. Our guess is that he climbed one of the trees near the barn.”
“Do any match the perspective in the photo?” I asked.
“We think so,” he answered. “I finally chased away those blasted vultures. The oak they perched in has a scar from a branch that’s been cut off. Right now, the whole tree’s bare. But when it’s covered with leaves, it’s probably pretty full. Looks like a good place to hide, and removing the branch opened up a hole in the foliage big enough to aim a telephoto through to get a shot inside the nursery.”
“Take a photo of the tree, a close-up of the gap,” I said. “Text it to me. It might come in handy.”
“You’ve got it,” he said.
The hospital wasn’t much by Dallas standards either, but it was all we had in our area—four stories high, redbrick with a portico out front. I parked my Suburban in the lot closest to the ER. The triage nurse behind the desk gave my muddy clothes a once-over and frowned. I should have made it a point to circle back to my room to shower and change into a uniform, but it had been a busy morning.
“Police Chief Clara Jefferies from Alber.” I flipped my wallet open to show her my ID. “I’m here to check on a patient brought in by ambulance, Jacob Johansson.”
The woman skimmed my photo and appeared to read the fine print as if she didn’t quite believe it. “You don’t look like your picture,” she said.
“Not the best photo, but maybe this will help,” I said, and I smiled.
“Well, I guess,” she said. “Let me look for his room number.”
Minutes later, I departed the elevator on the second floor and sought out the surgery department. I thought perhaps that meant that they had Jacob in an operating room repairing his severed trachea. Instead, I followed the signs to his room number, which also led to the ICU. I stopped at the nurses’ station, where I again had to pull out my ID to introduce myself. From there, I passed through double glass doors into the intensive care unit.
“Mr. Johansson!” I called out when I saw Jacob’s dad, Michael, walking down the hall. He glanced at me, and I thought I saw him mentally debating whether to turn and walk away. Instead, he frowned and waited.
“How’s Jacob?” I asked.
He shrugged, as if he wasn’t sure, but said nothing.
When I was growing up in Alber, Michael Johansson was among our small town’s elite, high up in the church hierarchy as bishop of one of Alber’s three wards. As such, he knew the rules, including the prophet’s decree that those in good standing should shun, should not even talk to those like me, apostates who left the faith. Still, Michael, despite the way I was dressed, also undoubtedly knew that I was Alber PD’s chief and the lead on the investigation into the tragedy his family had suffered.
The old man’s eyes were bloodshot, the only color in his long face and thin white hair. He grimaced slightly and chewed on his lower lip. Then, I guessed this was a time when it didn’t take him long to decide that secular laws and personal heartbreak overrode religious dictates.
“Clara, I mean… Chief Jefferies,” he said with an emotional catch in his voice. “It’s good of you to…”
He stopped, I figured not sure what to say. “Michael, it’s okay. It’s never good to see a cop when this is the situation,” I said. “I’m incredibly sorry for you and your family.”
At that, the old man’s head drooped and he took a long, shuddering breath. He pulled a white cotton handkerchief out of his pocket and covered his eyes. I spied a bank of four chairs across the hall. I put my hand on his arm and suggested, “Let’s go over there and sit down.” He followed me, and I gave him a few minutes to wrestle back his