that morning. It’d been forty-eight hours since the body of Catherine Lamb had been discovered, and her captain, Royce Bright, ascribed an almost mystical significance to that number. When a murder wasn’t resolved within forty-eight hours, he called the assigned detectives to a meeting. The dreaded forty-eight-hours meeting could take up to two hours, thus morphing the already terrible forty-eight to fifty. It was typically a mess of suggestions, threats, and the occasional story about the old days.
She could do without it. She wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever, but she hoped to have a tangible lead before he cornered her. And it seemed likely that Patrick Carpenter held that lead.
Marching into Mount Sinai Hospital, she saw that Agent Gray and Zoe Bentley were already waiting for her in the lobby. She checked the time—five minutes past nine. Gotta hand it to the feds: they were punctual.
“Sorry I’m late.” She walked over. “Traffic.”
“No worries,” Tatum said. “You said on the phone that Patrick Carpenter wanted to meet us here?”
“His wife is here.” O’Donnell led them to the elevators. “He asked if we could meet him here so she wouldn’t be alone for long. I thought it might make him more cooperative.”
It was more than likely that he hadn’t told his wife about Catherine’s murder to avoid unsettling her. If that were the case, he’d want to get rid of them as soon as possible, and the best way to do that would be to answer their questions. Hopefully giving them some names in the process.
“Wasn’t he cooperative when you talked to him before?” Zoe asked.
“He was, until I began asking about congregation members.” O’Donnell entered the elevator, the others following her. “Then he began talking about invasion of privacy and breach of trust. I hoped your fancy federal badges would make him a bit more helpful.”
The elevator door opened into a long hallway, a nurse’s station just to their right. A plump nurse with a large mole on her chin stapled multiple pages with zeal.
O’Donnell approached the nurse. “Excuse me, we’re looking for Mrs. Carpenter’s room?”
The nurse didn’t raise her eyes. She stacked half a dozen pages, positioned them under the stapler, and slammed her hand on it, as if smashing a bug. She examined the result and nodded to herself approvingly. “Are you family?”
“We need to talk to her husband.” O’Donnell flashed her badge.
The nurse didn’t seem impressed. She got another stack of pages and put them on the counter. O’Donnell found herself flinching as the nurse’s meaty hand came down on the stapler. This was a clear case of stationery abuse, but that was outside the Chicago Police Department’s jurisdiction.
“Room 309.” The nurse began to prepare her next stack.
O’Donnell hurried away, another slam echoing in her wake.
The door to room 309 was open, but O’Donnell knocked on it politely.
“Yes?” A cheerful feminine voice came from inside.
“Mrs. Carpenter?” O’Donnell peeked into the room. “Hi. We were hoping to talk to your husband, Patrick.”
“Oh, Patrick will be here in a few minutes,” the woman said. “Please come in.”
“We can wait for him in the hall,” O’Donnell said, uncomfortable.
“Nonsense. There are no chairs in the hall, and I have some cookies here. Please, come in—I insist.”
The three of them shuffled into the room and sat down on chairs by Mrs. Carpenter’s bed.
Mrs. Carpenter was a rosy-cheeked woman with long smooth chestnut hair. Despite being in a hospital bed, she was dressed in a bright-green shirt, which bulged over her pregnant belly. The hospital’s blanket was draped over her feet. When they came in, she put down her book, Praying for Your Unborn Child, and smiled warmly at them.
“Do you work with the church?” she asked.
O’Donnell fumbled for an answer. “Not on a regular basis, but we have an interest in some of the congregation members.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” Mrs. Carpenter said, who obviously misinterpreted the “interest” the three of them had. It was equally obvious that O’Donnell’s earlier hunch was correct. Patrick hadn’t told his wife about Catherine.
“My name is Leonor.”
“I’m Holly,” O’Donnell said hesitantly. “And this is Zoe and . . . Tatum. Nice to meet you. Any idea how long until Patrick returns?”
“He’s on his way, but I delayed him because I needed some things from home,” Leonor said. “I’ve been here for almost a week now, and you can imagine how many back-and-forth trips Patrick had to do for me. And it’s not just to our house. I send him to my parents to do the laundry.