Part 27 (1/2)

”I didn't want her to let those bullies win. I was afraid if she gave up and ran away, it would damage her forever,” Mrs. Hamilton said quietly.

”No worries about that now, right?” Her husband's voice cut like a blade. ”She didn't care about any of that. She just wanted to get away from a bunch of nasty, spoiled b.i.t.c.hes getting a real charge out of making her miserable.”

His wife turned away from him without comment. Mrs. Hamilton drew her legs onto the sofa and curled them under her. ”Everyone else in town, including the police, was more focused on Lindsay's emotional problems. We kept telling them she didn't have any emotional problems until we moved here, but it didn't seem to matter.”

”I don't understand. That seems simple to me,” Grant said.

”She'd been treated by a psychiatrist and was taking medication for ADHD in California. So even though her emotional issues were new, she had a past history of being treated by a psychiatrist. Then her new doctor here prescribed an antidepressant. We didn't tell anyone. She asked us not to.” Mrs. Hamilton sighed. ”She seemed to be feeling a little better.”

Mr. Hamilton stirred. The set of his mouth disagreed with his wife. ”I didn't want her to take them. One of the warnings on the label said that the drug could cause an increase in suicidal thoughts. How the h.e.l.l can they make an antidepressant that causes suicidal thoughts? The doctor gave us a list of signs to watch for. It seems we missed them.”

Mrs. Hamilton s.h.i.+fted. ”That's the real reason no one will take the case. They said we held back critical information that could have changed the way the school and the arena management dealt with the situation.” Mrs. Hamilton interlaced her fingers and clenched her hands until her nails turned white. ”And that the medication, along with our misreading Lindsay's moods, could have been determining factors in her suicide. They also suggested she had an undiagnosed mental illness before moving here.”

Actually, the arguments sounded reasonable to Ellie, but she didn't say it. The Hamiltons were suffocating in guilt and blame. They didn't want to believe they were partially responsible for their daughter's death. That she could understand.

”You don't think that's possible?” Grant asked gently.

Mrs. Hamilton twisted her hands. ”She always seemed happy before we moved.”

”She was happy,” her husband snapped. ”We should have moved back, but you made her feel inadequate for wanting to give in to those bullies.”

Mrs. Hamilton recoiled as if he'd slapped her.

Her husband rose. ”I'm sorry.” He bolted through the French doors, crossed the back porch, and descended the wooden steps to the ground. He strode into the meadow toward the woods. His anger left an electric-like charge in the room.

Mrs. Hamilton watched him go with a dead eye. Then she turned to Grant. ”Your brother seemed particularly interested in copies of the threatening text messages Lindsay received, but I don't know why. The messages came from a burner phone, and the police couldn't prove who sent the calls. The phone never turned up. I've no doubt it was destroyed. Lindsay had received photos and video as well, but her phone was wiped out with a cell phone virus attached to one of the messages. Even the police experts weren't able to recover them. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a cell phone virus.” Mrs. Hamilton paused and picked at her fingernails. ”We were supposed to meet with your brother again the Monday following his death.”

Grant's torso tilted forward. ”Do you have copies of the texts?” When Mrs. Hamilton nodded, he asked. ”Would you mind letting me read them? I promise to bring them back.”

”I guess it doesn't matter now. It's not an open case. I'll make you a copy.” Mrs. Hamilton rose and left the room. She returned in a few minutes with a sheaf of papers in her hand. ”I don't know why you're doing this, but thank you. Since your brother died, we haven't been able to find another lawyer who will take the case.” She paused. ”That's not entirely true. We've actually had dozens of attorneys calling and knocking on the door, but none have been of the same caliber as Lee. We didn't want to damage our case by hiring someone disreputable. We wanted to be taken seriously.”

”I won't share these with anyone, and if I discover anything, I'll let you know.” Grant stood. ”Thank you for your time.”

Mrs. Hamilton showed them to the door, and they returned to the car.

”What do you think?” Ellie fastened her seat belt.

”They blame each other and themselves. He wanted to move back. She didn't want to give up. So he feels guilty for not fighting for his daughter, and she feels guilty for her decisions.”

”It's a toxic environment. I wonder how their marriage fared before Lindsay's death.”

”Who knows?” Grant turned the car around. ”Having your child commit suicide could break anyone, but then again, the fact that they couldn't really come to an agreement over their daughter's predicament tells me they likely had problems before it happened.”

Ellie's purse buzzed. She fished her phone out of the side pocket. Her nerves quivered. ”I don't know that number.”

”Is it the same number he used to threaten you before?”

”No.” Ellie pressed the message bubble.

”He's probably using a burner phone once and destroying it. That's what I would do.”

She read the message aloud. ”I didn't tell you to talk to the Hamiltons.”

Grant's gaze swept their surroundings. ”I don't see how anyone could know we were here.”

Ellie glanced behind them. ”Unless he was watching the Hamilton's house from the woods.”

”How would he know to do that?” At the end of the driveway, Grant stopped the car and got out.

”What?” Ellie followed him.

”How did he know where we were?” Grant circled the vehicle. ”Do you have a flashlight in the glove box?”

”Yes.” Ellie got it for him.

She rubbed her biceps against the breeze as he circled her car, running his hands under the b.u.mper and fenders. He dropped to the ground and shone the light across the vehicle's undercarriage.

”d.a.m.n it.” He pulled off a two-inch black box that had been duct-taped to the undercarriage of her minivan.

”What is it?”

”Looks like a GPS tracker.”

”Oh my G.o.d.” Ellie's jaw dropped. She put a hand over her mouth. ”He can track my movements with that?”

”Yes.”

”Will he know you took it off the car?”

”No, as long as it's still transmitting, he'll just a.s.sume your van is where the unit is located.” Grant got to his feet. ”I know I promised I wouldn't tell McNamara, but I think we should call him.”

”He said he'd hurt my family if I did that.” Fear gathered in Ellie's throat.

Grant held up the device. ”But we're no closer to delivering that file.”

Tears burned at the corners of Ellie's eyes. What should she do? Grant was right. His thirty-six-hour promise had expired, but he was asking, not forcing her to change her mind. She couldn't deliver what Hoodie Man wanted. But going against his instructions and involving the police felt dangerous.

”Look, I can't stand sitting back and letting this all play out without taking action. How about we go back to Lee's, we'll read through these texts, and we'll make a plan?”

Ellie's phone buzzed again. ”He sent another message.”

Get that file by tomorrow or your family is dead.

Chapter Thirty-One.

Grant looked up from the page of text messages on the desk. ”These are really nasty.”