rippled through her, and she phoned Walter, the maintenance man, and asked him to replace her lock.
“You think someone broke in?” he asked.
“It looks that way. I’ll report it to Fred, but I need a new lock tonight.”
Although if the intruder had broken one lock, what would keep him from breaking a second?
While she waited for him to show, she pulled out a notepad. For five years now, she’d wondered what had gone wrong with Gloria Inman that night.
She scratched her head and began to jot down the names of each person she’d seen in the ER along with everyone who’d treated or worked on the woman.
The police had questioned them all back then.
But someone was hiding something. And the only way to clear her name was to figure out who was setting her up.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Liam drove to Bill Packard’s law office. Bill had represented Inman in the wrongful death lawsuit against the hospital.
Packard was late forties, silver at the temples, and dressed in a gray pin-striped suit. His secretary offered Liam coffee, and he accepted a cup, then joined Packard in his office. A state-of-the-art computer system occupied one corner in the sophisticated office which screamed money.
Liam flashed his credentials.
Packard steepled his hands on top of his cherrywood desk. “I don’t understand. When you phoned, you told my secretary you wanted to discuss the Inman lawsuit. But that was settled five years ago.”
“I’m aware of that,” Liam said. “But as I’m sure you know, police never made an arrest regarding the arson at the hospital. Mr. Inman was a person of interest.”
The attorney rubbed manicured fingers over his tie. “Yes, I know. Sheriff Maverick contacted me numerous times to ask if I knew Mr. Inman’s whereabouts, but I told him I did not. And that is the truth.”
“While you might not have been complicit in his disappearance, I still need to ask you some questions.”
“I’ve been over this before with the sheriff,” Mr. Packard said. “I don’t have new information, so what is the point?”
“The point is that we found Mr. Inman and he’s in custody.” Liam fought irritation. “And I want to know who set the fire that killed my father and took multiple lives. So do the residents of Whistler.”
Packard’s jaw tightened. “If you’re asking me to break attorney-client privilege, you understand that I can’t, or I could be disbarred.”
Liam expected as much. “Tell me this, Mr. Packard. Do you believe Mr. Inman started the fire?”
The attorney stood. “I can’t answer that, and you know it. Now, are we done?”
Liam shook his head. “Not yet. According to the files, the judge threw out the case stating there was insufficient evidence. It also appears that you chose not to appeal or pursue the case. That tells me that you believed Mr. Inman’s claims were unfounded.”
“That doesn’t tell you anything, except that there was insufficient evidence to pursue the case further.” Packard sighed. “Now, you should go, Agent Maverick.”
Liam stood, body tense. He believed in the system, but the attorney-client privilege aspect meant the lawyer could be covering for a murderer. And as a man of justice, that didn’t sit well in his gut.
Travis Ames, the prosecutor for the case would no doubt pull the same argument. He needed to talk to someone who wasn’t bound by the law.
According to Dr. Butler’s deposition, the hospital had investigated and there was no wrongdoing on the part of the staff. But HIPAA laws prevented the man from divulging details of Mrs. Inman’s medical treatment. And the fire had destroyed the files detailing her treatment in the ER.
* * *
PEYTON PACED HER KITCHEN while her coffee brewed. Last night, long after Fred installed a new lock on the sliding glass doors to her back patio and left her with a pole jammed at the bottom for her own sense of security, Peyton lay awake in the dark.
She had asked Fred to check around her mother’s cottage during the night, then listened for sounds that her intruder had returned. Outside, the wind had howled off the mountains, and a tree branch scraped the windowpane.
She’d gotten up more than once to check to make sure someone hadn’t broken in again.
Each time she closed her eyes, images of the night Gloria Inman died returned. The husband’s fear. The chaos as the doctors worked to save her. The resident, Jody Plummer, who’d stepped in to assist. Herbert Brantley, the med tech who’d done the EKG. Herself, grabbing the medication from the tray