Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“I finished the autopsy on Melissa Palmtree, and I found suspicious lesions in her brain matter. I’ve sent samples to the lab in Seattle.” He sneezed. “Excuse me. Allergies. I’m emailing you my findings right now.”
Her inbox dinged. “Thank you.” It was nice to find such a professional and one she trusted.
“You bet. I have to run. I’ll call when I hear from the lab.” He clicked off.
So, no surprises from Melissa’s death. A single slip on the stairs in a crowded bar was plausible, and there had been no reason to question the cause of death initially. Yet those lesions had been found on her brain as well. She’d used the detective as a go-between with Mark Bitterson. Why? If she’d given him money, what had he given her? Did this have anything to do with the yew stand he’d been found dead in, or was that just a bizarre coincidence?
Laurel didn’t believe in coincidences.
Nester rushed out of his room, down the hall, and into the conference room. His posture and facial expression indicated urgency. He carried a laptop and placed it directly in front of her without greeting. “Laurel. I have the bar footage from when Melissa Palmtree fell down the stairs.”
Laurel moved her notebook to the side and turned her attention to the screen. “Was there difficulty obtaining it?”
“Yes. The system was proprietary and time stamp locked. I finally received clearance through a cooperating tech from the city’s cyber unit.”
Her breath quickened. “Has it been verified?”
“I ran hash integrity. No alterations. Time stamps align with Melissa Palmtree’s time of death. It’s legitimate.” He opened the video file. Laurel adjusted her chair so the screen sat directly in her line of sight. Nester stepped back but remained behind the chair.
The footage displayed the interior of a moderately crowded bar in Seattle. The time stamp read just after ten at night. Laurel recognized the layout: two exits, and a hallway leading to the rear. The lighting was moderate, but the noise level was high—conversations bounced between tables and spilled out from the bar. Patrons appeared relaxed, and the atmosphere was consistent with a typical weekend night.
At 10:19, Tyler Griggs entered the frame.
Laurel gasped. What in the world was Tyler Griggs doing at the bar where Melissa had died?
Tyler did not scan the room. He walked with direct purpose to the far end of the bar, selected a stool, and checked his watch. He remained seated, made brief eye contact with the bartender, and ordered a drink that the bartender soon slid in front of him. Something with two straws and a lime.
At 10:20, Melissa Palmtree appeared. She paused just inside the entrance, performed a scan of the space, located Griggs, and walked directly to him. There was no hesitation in her approach. She did not look around the room for alternatives. She did not fumble with a bag or her coat. Her body language indicated she was focused and likely under stress, though not disoriented.
“So, that was planned,” Nester mused.
Laurel nodded. Finally. The answer that tied Tyler to the lab. When Melissa reached him, she initiated conversation.
Griggs looked up and acknowledged her. His facial expression changed subtly—from drawn brows to open ones. From suspicion to surprise? When Melissa reached into her pocket and handed him something small, he took it without hesitation and concealed it beneath his jacket. The object was too small and dark to be identified on the footage, but was likely a flash drive or small folded document.
Melissa leaned closer to Tyler and spoke rapidly. Her hands began to shake, and she looked behind her twice in less than ten seconds. Griggs did not interrupt her. He absorbed what she said, then shifted slightly in his seat and looked toward the rear hallway.
At 10:23, Melissa touched the underside of her nose. Blood appeared almost instantly. She recoiled from the bar, her expression visibly shifting from urgency to fear. She said something to Tyler, possibly one or two words, and then turned and exited the frame at a fast speed.
Laurel waited.
A second camera picked her up in the rear hallway.
Melissa moved quickly. Her steps were uneven, and she collided with another patron without acknowledging the impact. She reached the top of the stairs, grabbed the railing with one hand, and then lost her footing. She fell forward, hit the first landing, and tumbled the rest of the way down.
The footage froze.
Laurel looked at the time stamp. The total time between her entrance and her death was under five minutes. “She sought Tyler out.”
“Yes,” Nester replied. “He arrived and checked his watch. They intended to meet.”
“Can you zero in on whatever she passed to him?”
Nester grimaced. “Doubtful. The bar is dark and it was quick. He died, what? A night or two later?”
Laurel nodded. “We need to tie all of this together. Obviously she gave Tyler information. He was investigating so many conspiracies, so I don’t want to assume anything. Could you conduct research concentrated on dementia treatments and the yew tree?” She thought through Tyler’s warnings. “Also look for possible bioweapons that could be made with any extract.” Tyler’s warning of an attack wouldn’t leave her mind.