The Silence That Speaks (Forensic Instincts 4)

Marc nodded. “Anything else before I take off?”

“Hmm?” Casey’s wheels were still turning. “No, you go catch some sleep. I have some strategizing to do. Dr. Sharon Gilding is still bugging me.”

“Yeah, well, that neurosurgeon is a bitch. There’s also something going on beneath the surface. I sense it, too.”

“I have to decide which member of the FI team can get the most information out of her. I’m thinking Claire. She’s the softest and least threatening of us. Plus, she a woman. I don’t think Bitch Doctor likes men.”

“Particularly her chief competitor.”

“Conrad.”

Marc nodded. “My thoughts exactly. I don’t care what she says, Gilding resents the hell out of him for being Ronald’s and Casper’s first choice to be chief of surgery—a job she thinks rightfully belongs to her.”

“Maybe Claire can zero in on how deep that anger and resentment go if she’s with Gilding one-on-one, without the distractions she had to deal with at the dedication ceremony.”

“What ‘in’ would Claire use to set up a meeting with Gilding?”

Casey arched a brow. “She’d appeal to Bitch Doctor’s ego. She’d tell her that all she heard at the dedication ceremony was that Gilding was the best neurosurgeon ever. She’d ask for a half hour of her time to better understand the human brain. It would help her get a grip on her psychic abilities, to understand whether or not they’re real or even plausible.”

Marc chuckled. “I can hardly wait to hear Claire’s reaction to that.”

“She’ll hate it. But if it helps solve the case, she’ll do it. The plan needs fine-tuning to make it convincing. That’s what I’ll be doing while you’re sleeping and Ryan is enjoying his ‘plans.’” She paused. “And in the morning, I’ll be calling ‘Information Central.’”

“Janet Moss.”

“Uh-huh. It’s time that she and I set up a firm lunch date.”

* * *

Fonextricity or “Trix”—the nickname chosen by the MixMast

ers, an online group of hard-core audiophiles—refilled a goblet with zinfandel to ease the daily stress away. The first glass had taken the edge off. The next one would do the trick.

For the past month, Trix had been asking for advice about synthesizers from fellow MixMasters. A decision about which one to purchase had been made, and Trix was vibrating from excitement at the thought of using the Roland Jupiter-80 synthesizer that had just been delivered. The Sam Ash salesman had promised that this was a big step up from the Juno that Trix was currently using. The online advice and reviews were compelling. The eager salesman threw in a one-year warranty on the gently used Jupiter. So, it was bye-bye, Juno, hello, Jupiter.

The question was: What song to try on the new Roland?

The wine helped the answer surface. A perfect choice. The first track to be laid down would be the violins...the most important instrumental voices in the whole endeavor.

Beginning the process, Trix’s left hand glided over the keys to get a feel for the new synthesizer. Right hand unplugged the USB drive from the MacBook Pro. A frown. The drive looked funny—a white cable paired with a black drive. Looked like a mutant black rat with a white tail. Well, waste not, want not. Might as well reuse the drive even if the color scheme didn’t match. The damned thing hadn’t contained the desired information, anyway.

Pivoting around on the swivel chair, Trix reached for the masking tape and a black Sharpie in the desk drawer, and then swiveled back. Ripping off a two-inch piece of tape, Trix slapped it on the small drive, clicked the retractable Sharpie and wrote in bold block letters “November 5, 2014—Pachelbel.”

14

CASEY TOSSED AND turned all night.

She felt as if she and her team were running down a dozen labyrinthine paths, but there was no central focus to their investigation.

Someone wanted Madeline and Conrad dead. It could be for information, but that wouldn’t apply if the killers were Nancy and/or her children. Their motive would be revenge, in which case, the hard drive would be superfluous. Or would it? Had they trashed Conrad’s and Madeline’s apartments and stolen the hard drive looking for evidence—evidence that documented Conrad’s guilt, whether accidental or premeditated, in Ronald’s death? Which begged the question: Why the hell would Conrad deliberately kill his best friend—over a potential merger that would offer him a prestigious position and lots of money?

It didn’t fit. Even if it did, how could Conrad intentionally screw up a surgery without one of his crackerjack surgical team members spotting it? Further, if they did notice it, how did Conrad keep them quiet? Pay them off to keep their mouths shut?

With a disgusted sound, Casey threw off the covers and got up. It was five in the morning and still dark outside. A November wind was blowing piles of leaves around, leaving shadows on the windowpane and a chill in the air. It was the perfect time to snuggle back under the covers and doze.

Not happening. Casey was already reaching for her robe.

Hero’s head popped up in surprise.