poured Madeline a cup of coffee and gestured for her to have a seat on one of the buttery-soft caramel leather tub chairs in the room.
There were three other identical tub chairs, casually situated around the two matching leather couches. Sure, the room also had some high-tech equipment, but it wasn’t center stage. There was no point in making the place look like an interrogation room. Living rooms were far more relaxing, and leant themselves to calmer clients who were open and honest about their reasons for being here.
Madeline politely accepted the cup of coffee and gingerly sat down. Casey noted that she swiveled her tub chair ever so slightly away from Marc and kept her gaze fixed on Casey.
Those weren’t acts of anger. They were unconscious acts of emotional protection.
“I don’t know where to start,” Madeline said.
“Start wherever you’re most comfortable.” Casey sat back, ostensibly relaxed, but reading every tell that Madeline displayed. Ryan had run a preliminary background check on her, as he did on all their prospective clients. But nothing beat an in-person assessment. And, in this case, there was an additional—and very personal—nuance to observe.
“We’ll ask questions as we need to.” From Casey’s peripheral vision, she noticed that Marc had opened his portfolio and was ready to take notes. Business as usual. Marc preferred to go at it by hand, and then transfer his conclusions into the computer. It also wasn’t a shock that he hadn’t done more than a cursory read of Ryan’s report. He liked to go into a first meeting with just the facts and a clear mind.
Evidently, that method had backfired this time.
“Do you mind if we record this conversation?” Casey asked. “It helps us refocus on any details that might become important later on.”
“Not at all,” Madeline replied. “Just as long as everything remains confidential.”
“Absolutely.” Casey nodded. “I assume you received the confidentiality agreement that I messengered to you?”
“I did. And I reviewed it with my attorney.” Tentatively, Madeline leaned down, reached into her purse and extracted a folded document. “Here’s the fully executed original,” she said, unfolding the page and handing it to Casey. “I kept a copy for my records.”
“Good. Then let’s begin.” Casey sipped at her coffee, then called out, “Yoda, please turn on Inspector Gadget.”
Ryan grinned, proud of yet another of his accomplishments. Inspector Gadget was the iPhone hack he’d programmed into each team member’s iPhone, which turned the cell phones into secret listening devices. With Yoda in control, the iPhone microphone and cameras could be activated, streaming audio and video over the best available network, for live viewing and/or recording by the team.
“Inspector Gadget activated,” Yoda announced.
“Go, go, Gadget,” Ryan muttered under his breath with a quiet chuckle.
Madeline was looking around, her eyes wide and puzzled.
“Yoda is our artificial intelligence system,” Casey explained. “Ryan built him, so he’s smart but safe.”
A tentative nod. “Okay.” Madeline still looked bewildered. Then again, everyone did the first time they heard Yoda.
“Go ahead and tell us your situation,” Casey said.
Madeline cleared her throat. “Someone is trying to kill me,” she said bluntly. “I have no witnesses and no tangible proof, so the police can’t help me. Can you?”
“Who would be trying to kill you and why?” Marc spoke up for the first time, his demeanor all business.
“I have no idea.” Madeline couldn’t meet his eyes. “That’s the problem. But my apartment was broken into a few weeks ago. Yes, items were stolen, but the way the place was trashed so violently, I don’t believe that robbery was the reason for the break-in. And then three days ago...” Madeline touched the bruise on her forehead. “Someone tried to run me down when I was crossing the street. It wasn’t a drunk driver. It was very deliberate and very professional. I’d just stepped into the road when the SUV came at me. I literally had to fling myself back on the sidewalk to avoid getting killed. I have broken ribs and a concussion as souvenirs.”
Patrick’s forehead creased in thought. “If that’s the case, then whoever’s behind these attacks is convinced that you not only have something, but that you know something,” he said. “Otherwise, they’d just be going after your possessions, not you.”
“So you believe me?” Madeline’s voice was weak with relief.
“We have no reason not to,” Casey replied. “You make a solid argument.”
“But the police...”
“The police have to operate by a certain set of criteria that we don’t have to.” Casey kept it short and sweet. “So let’s move on to the obvious questions. What’s changed in your life recently? New relationships? New job? New routine?”
“None of the above.”
“Then let’s start close to home. Tell us about your husband.”
“Ex-husband,” Madeline corrected. Almost inadvertently, she darted a quick glance at Marc, then looked away. “Conrad’s and my divorce was final last month. But we were separated for six months before that. It’s hardly new.”
“Tell us about him, anyway,” Claire asked.
Madeline sighed, not a sigh of anger, but one of weariness and resignation.
“Conrad is a brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon—one of the top three in the country. He was...is...the head of the cardio unit at Manhattan Memorial Hospital. He’s also a very complex man.”
“How so?”
“He’s bigger than life. Always striving for perfection. He not only needs to excel and to surpass others, but to surpass himself. And when all the pieces fall into place, he’s unstoppable. But when they don’t...” A helpless shake of her head. “He’s his own worst enemy.”
“Did you say he was or he is the head of the cardiothoracic surgical unit?” Casey asked, having not missed Madeline’s hesitation over the past or present tense.
“Is. He’s just taken a leave of absence.”
Something about the way Madeline said that gave Casey pause. “When you say ‘a leave of absence,’ do you mean an extended vacation, or a sabbatical to go abroad and study some new aspect of his craft?”
“Neither.” Madeline looked down at the floor for a moment, then met Casey’s gaze. “This isn’t common knowledge, but Conrad has been staying at Crest Haven Residential Treatment Center. It’s a private facility in Connecticut.”
“I’ve heard of it. It’s a top-notch mental health facility.”
Madeline nodded. “This has been a devastating time for Conrad. Three months ago, he lost a dear friend who he’d just operated on. He’s
