Meanwhile, Landy was poking through the FBI’s database. Casey was snooping around Braxton for any gossip on certain hospital employees. And Spade was dragging his feet finding a suitable hacker.
On the first Saturday in June, Simon packed his camping gear and left town. He stopped at a country store and bought canned meat, crackers, beef jerky, and a pint of whiskey, things he didn’t mind carrying on his back. He picked up the Blue Ridge Parkway and enjoyed a slow, lovely drive south for ninety minutes. He entered the Shenandoah National Park and stopped at a rest area with a dozen other vehicles. It took a few minutes to adjust the backpack and get it as comfortable as possible, then he was off on a five-mile hike that would take two hours. Hawksbill Mountain rose four thousand feet above the valley and was the highest peak in the park. He had hiked it for years and loved the views, and the solitude.
On a clear day a hiker could see for fifty miles. Everyone stopped at the peak for a rest, a photo, lunch, a nap, maybe even to sketch or paint. Danger signs were conspicuous. According to a guidebook, at least seven people had taken one step too many since the hike was opened in 1936. Three of the bodies were not found until months later, after the snow had melted and the coyotes were finished. Two of the dead people had left notes behind.
With less than ninety days to go, Simon was thinking of his future, grim as it was. Assuming his efforts to clear his name went nowhere, the direction they seemed to be headed, he would take command of his final matters here at the peak of Hawksbill Mountain. He would leave notes in his car, take a shot or two of bourbon, trot to the edge of the rock, and launch himself into the air.
He sat on a bench, sipped water, breathed the clear air, absorbed the panorama, and was at peace with his decision. The more he envisioned his flight, the more he wanted it.
Chapter 56
As usual, Simon was refusing all calls from unknown numbers. If they deemed themselves important, the callers left voicemails. Occasionally, he was interested enough to return one. A voice said: “Simon, Spade told me to call.” Female, slow, precise, with a slightly husky tone.
He immediately called back and said, “This is Simon Latch.”
“Hello Simon. I’m Zander. A pleasure.”
A woman of few words. “So you know Spade?” he asked.
“Oh yes. We were once close. A long story. He wants me to meet you and get some background.”
Since she was a complete stranger, and since she existed somewhere in Spade’s orbit, Simon told himself to be careful on the phone. Someone was probably listening. Then again, what the hell? What could the authorities possibly do to him that they had not already done?
“Where would you like to meet?” he asked.
“I assume you’re keeping a low profile these days.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“There’s a tea shop near the college on Kitt Street. Meet there in an hour?”
“See ya.”
Herbal teas were not the rage in rural Virginia. The shop was tiny, only six small round tables, and there were no other customers at ten-thirty in the morning. Zander was seated in a corner and gave him a half-hearted wave, as if she was being forced to indulge him. But for the bright-teal spiked hair, collection of facial piercings, and rampant mascara, she might have been attractive. Indeterminate age, probably between eighteen and thirty-five. Simon’s first thought was: I’m trusting my fate to a flake like this?
He sat down without shaking hands, not that she offered one. He nodded and said, “Nice to meet you, Zander.”
“And nice to meet you as well.” He wasn’t wrong about the slow, sultry voice. It almost made up for her initial appearance.
“How do you know Spade?”
She smiled. Beautiful teeth. No metal stud through her tongue.
“My mother is one of his ex-wives and we lived in the same house for a short period of time, back when I was sixteen or so.” She made it sound like a long time ago. “Then they split and we moved out. But I’ve always liked Spade. He inspired me to find nontraditional work.”
Simon was not about to open that door.
She asked, “Would you like some tea?”
Her cup was almost empty. “Do they have coffee?” he asked, looking for a menu on a wall.
“Sure. Anything special?”
“No, just black.”
She said loudly, “Lois, a black coffee and another mint tea.”
From somewhere on the other side of a curtain behind the counter, Lois either grunted or passed gas. Either way, the order was acknowledged.
“So, you know something about the darker side of the web.”
She smiled again and said, “How much has Spade told you?”
“Nothing.”
“Sounds like him. I’ve read about your case, still reading actually. There’s quite a lot of stuff buzzing around. Do you keep up with it?”
“Oh no. I’ve sworn off social media and all that crap for the time being. Too depressing.”
“I live online. Twenty-four seven. It’s all I do. My boyfriend and I made some serious dough a few years back, shut down the entire department of transportation of a certain Midwestern state. They paid the ransom.”
“You’re still in business?”
“Sort of. Laying low. We got caught doing the next job. He took the fall and he’s serving time. Gets out in four months and I guess we have some decisions to make.”
Lois appeared through the curtain, put two cups on the table without saying a word, and vanished.
Simon ignored his and said, “I’m trying to find the killer. Maybe it’s someone who works for the local hospital. I need personnel records, everything in their files. Of course it’s confidential.”
“Everything’s confidential, Simon. Unless you know how to penetrate confidential files.”
“And you can find it?”
“Sure. This is easy. Hospitals only think they’re secure. Patients’ rights and all that crap. The problem with hospitals is that too many people have access. And now you have all this see-a-doc online, Zoom consultations, teletherapy. They make it easy for pros to wiggle in and have a look.”
“I’m interested in ten people who work there.”
“No problem, but I’m not sure what you expect to find. I mean, look, if someone, say an orderly, likes to poison people, there probably won’t be anything about it in his or her personnel file.”
“Got it.”
“I mean, like, it’s just common sense, you know.”
“Maybe so, but I have to start somewhere. I have a list of the ten names.”
“Hard copy, nothing online, nothing in your computer. Everything leaves a trail, Simon, and I can find it.”
Simon handed her a folded sheet of paper with the ten names. She took it, laid it on the table, then ignored it.
“How long will this take?” he asked.