Bruce was shaking his head. “It’ll be tough to collect from his estate. Alive, he could honor his commitment, but I’m not sure his executrix and the probate judge will go for it. Besides, you can’t exactly file a claim in court and expect it to go unnoticed.”

“That’s what I figured. Do you know much about the whistleblower statutes?”

“Me? I’m just a small-town bookseller.”

“I doubt that. I need some help. I can’t tell the entire story myself because I’m married to Ken Reed, the chief conspirator. I mean, there’s no law prohibiting one spouse from ratting out the other, but I just can’t do that.”

“Get a divorce,” Noelle said. “Sounds like you’re ready.”

“I plan to, but it’s complicated. Ken would not agree to it right now. He’s too paranoid and afraid of my lawyers digging through his dark world. Anyway, there’s a prenup in the way, one I signed practically under duress. I get a million bucks cash and nothing else. I could probably attack it based on his net worth, but that’s another huge lawsuit that would drag on for years. There’s also an element of fear involved here. These are dangerous people, obviously. I want to get out and get away.”

For the first time her voice cracked, but just slightly. Then she collected herself, offered them a lovely smile, and drank some more coffee.

Noelle asked, “How much is all this worth, this huge scam they’ve been running for, how many years?”

“At least twenty.”

“So, in the past twenty years, how much money has Grattin made off its vitamin E3?”

“Have you read Nelson’s novel?”

“Half of it.”

Bruce said, “He puts the number at two hundred million per year in extra Medicare payments.”

Dane smiled and nodded. “I’d say that’s close. Keep in mind that no one really knows because it’s impossible to know how long these patients will survive with the drug. One might get an extra six months, another might hang on for three years.”

“That’s four billion total,” Noelle said.

“Give or take. And there’s no one to complain. It’s a brilliant scheme, until it’s discovered. I have a hunch that Ken Reed might be ready to stop it. He’s made enough and he might feel some danger.”

“Because of Nelson’s book?” Bruce asked.

“That, and now a sample has gone missing. All he has to do is snap his fingers and the E3 disappears. No one will know about it. The staff has no idea what the drug is anyway. The patients will die but that’s what they’re supposed to do. Their poor families will be relieved. No one will ask questions.”

She glanced at her watch and seemed surprised that she had been there for almost two hours. “I need to go. My friends will be waiting. Can I make a suggestion?” She was opening her large purse. She withdrew two small boxes.

“These are cheap phones, burners, bought ’em at a Walmart in Houston. Let’s use them only for each other, okay?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. “When shall we talk again?”

“Soon. The walls are closing in and I want to get away from these people.”

She stood and everyone shook hands. Bruce escorted her to the door, closed it behind her, then fell onto the sofa. He rubbed his eyes, then closed them and threw an arm across his forehead. Noelle found a bottle of water in the minibar and poured two glasses.

She finally asked, “Do you ask yourself why you’re doing this? Couldn’t we just as easily go home and close this little chapter, let the police down there do their thing, or not, and just forget about Nelson? Why are we expected to solve the murder? As you like to say—he ain’t your brother.”

“Only about five times a day.” He sat up and said, “Look, Noelle, I don’t have to tell you that this is not sustainable. I can’t live with one eye in the rearview mirror. Can you believe that we’re going about our routines with the belief that someone is listening to our phone calls and reading our emails? I’m just not cut out for this. I’m tired of losing sleep and sick of worrying about who killed Nelson.”

“Can you walk away?”

“Of course not. I’m his literary executor and his novel will be published next year. I’ll be dealing with that and his backlist for years.”

“I get that. But no one appointed you as his private detective.”

“True, and it was a mistake to hire that firm in D.C. and get so involved.”

“But it’s done. So what’s next?”

“We’re going to D.C.”

11.

They left the Lowell in a cab headed for Penn Station, not LaGuardia. Their two seats on the flight would go unoccupied. Instead, they took the Acela Express and three hours later rolled into Washington’s Union Station where they hopped in a cab for the long haul to Dulles. Near the airport, they walked into the unmarked building just after 1:00 p.m. and Lindsey Wheat was waiting. Elaine Shelby joined them and they gathered in a conference room and kept things polite. Less than three weeks earlier, Bruce had stormed out of the building with Nick in tow.

Bruce handed over a document and said, “This is your termination letter, which I did not sign.”

“Excellent,” Lindsey said with a generous smile. “Nice to keep you as a client.”