All She Ever Wanted - Barbara Freethy [73]
"His publisher must know who he is. His agent?"
"All of his business correspondence was sent to a post office box. His phone is being picked up by an answering machine. The copyright for the book is held in the name of a corporation with a tax ID number. I'm unraveling that trail as we speak, but it's clear that this guy set out to hide his true identity. There's no question about that."
Of course he had. Malone had plotted this scenario out carefully, even going so far as to disguise himself. As much as Cole wanted to forget Natalie's suggestion that Dylan was involved, Cole had to admit that the whole thing had a Dylan flair to it. Not that he could imagine any reason why Dylan would write such a book. Unless Dylan held Natalie responsible for Emily's death. Had he written the book to punish her for a crime he felt she'd gotten away with?
"Malone is a slippery bastard, but I'll find him," Jack continued, drawing Cole's attention back to the problem at hand. "In the meantime, I did some checking on that other name you gave me last night." He referred to his notes. "Drew McKinney." He paused and looked at Cole. "He's come a long way from his trailer park roots in Modesto. His father has a history of gambling. His mother is a hairdresser. They don't live well, but McKinney does. He's a successful, ambitious lawyer who married into a good family."
"I know all that. What I don't know is what he's been doing for the last year."
"Traveling a great deal. He's in Los Angeles now."
"Where Malone supposedly is," Cole said with a nod, remembering Natalie's conversation with Laura the evening before. "Try to find out if any of his other business trips coincided with Malone appearances."
"Already on it. I'll be in touch when I have more answers. Anyone else you want me to look into?"
Cole hesitated, wondering if he should mention Dylan; then he shook his head. Dylan was his best friend. If there was any investigating to be done, he would do it himself.
"Okay, then." Jack got to his feet. "You know, Emily was a great kid. I remember her sitting at your father's desk drawing pictures. It's a tragedy what happened to her. I'll do anything to help make this right for your family."
"Thanks, I appreciate that." As Jack left the room, Cole's cell phone rang. A chill ran through him as he saw the number. He did not want to take this call, but he knew he'd only be postponing the inevitable. "Hello, Dad? Are you home?"
"No, I'm at the hospital," his father said. "We were mobbed by reporters at the house. your mother collapsed when they asked her about Emily's ... murder." Richard Parish's voice shook with grief and rage. "I thought I told you to take care of this before we got back."
"I'm trying," Cole said, but he knew the answer wasn't good enough for either of them.
"Try harder." His father hung up on him before he could ask which hospital.
Cole hoped to God it wasn't St. Timothy's.
* * *
Natalie sat in her car in the hospital parking lot for a good five minutes. Part of her wanted to return to the ER and persuade Rita to let her work out her shift. Being a doctor was what she did best. The hospital was her refuge, her safe haven—a haven that had just been invaded by the press. Where on earth had they all come from? What had happened between last night and this morning to alert the media? Maybe Cole had some idea. He was the media. Which made her wonder—had any of those reporters been from the Tribune? Surely Cole wouldn't cover the story, would he?
But wouldn't he have to? He was a news man, running the biggest newspaper in town. More than anyone, she knew he took his duty to family and the family business seriously. If it came to a choice between the family and her, there was no doubt in her mind which way he'd go.
Starting her car, she pulled out of the parking lot. She