Page 28 of Accidental Murder
He nodded glumly. “She committed suicide by jumping off Crestview Bridge.”
Kayla’s insides wrenched. She’d never dreamed Sara was struggling. Never imagined she would kill herself. “I’m so sorry. Did she leave a?—”
“Note? No. Only a voicemail saying she was sorry.”
Why, Sara, why?
“When is the funeral?” Kayla asked.
“I’m not sure. The police . . . red tape . . . ” Simmons waved a hand. “I would have stayed home today, but when I snapped at my daughter, my mother-in-law insisted I leave. It hurts Cici to see me this way.”
At Kayla’s and Sara’s last session, Sara had laughed and joked, the same as always. What had possessed her to take her life? Had she learned something disturbing about her health or her work?
“Sara was special,” she murmured.
“Excuse me?”
“My sister said your wife was special,” she revised. “And she said she adored your daughter Cici.”
Simmons brushed a finger along the top of the picture frame facing him. Awkward silence followed.
“I heard Sara worked as a bioethicist,” Kayla said.
“Yes.” Simmons attempted a smile. “Sara was a woman of conscience. She set the moral standard.” He lifted the frame and displayed it to Kayla. Cici, around six years old, stood between Sara and her husband. They were each holding a tube of cotton candy and grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t know what our daughter is going to do without her mommy.” Simmons set the frame down, his gaze desolate.
Kayla wished she could comfort him. She knew how the pain of losing her sister was eating a hole in her heart. He had to be devastated by the loss of his soulmate. He nudged the cigar case to the side and aligned the edges of the spreadsheets. Neat, efficient . . . lost. He caught Kayla staring at him and folded his hands in his lap.
A bizarre notion struck Kayla. Could Ashley’s murder and Sara’s suicide be related? Had Sara known the truth about Ashley’s murder? Had she been unable to live with the knowledge?
No. Sara died first.
New theories scudded through Kayla’s mind. What if Sara hadn’t committed suicide? What if she’d been murdered, as well?
“Sir, in my sister’s client notes, she wrote that she worked on the basics of your wife’s computer, clearing up data storage, interfacing the printer, and the like. Nothing internal.”
“Your point?”
“If somebody murdered my sister because of her work, then I have to consider the work she did for clients important.”
Total bewilderment consumed his face. “Do you know your sister’s death was work-related?”
“A computer was smashed. Another disabled.” Kayla conjured up Sara’s last message. She’d said she was sending something to Kayla. A document, Kayla presumed, but she hadn’t received it. “Your wife investigated a number of questionable experiments. She rattled a lot of cages. What if my sister ascertained something from your wife’s work which put her at risk?” Kayla hadn’t. Or at least not that she knew yet.
“My wife was the most honest and daring woman I have ever known. Every day she risked her life. And she was trustworthy. She never would have revealed something confidential.”
“Of course not, but maybe she conveyed something to my sister because they were friends.”
“I’m sorry.” Simmons wagged a hand. “To my knowledge, all your sister did was fix the dinosaur of a computer my wife used at work. I told Sara to buy an up-to-date laptop, but she was frugal to a fault. She was . . .” Tears trickled down his face. He brushed them aside. “Good day,” he said, and rose to face the window, ending any further discussion.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kayla drovein silence for a long time. If only she’d been able to sense something was wrong with Sara. When she accepted the fact she wasn’t omniscient and couldn’t save everyone, she returned her focus to her own problem. She needed to recover the hard drives for her computers. Scanning them for activity would be a lengthy process and wouldn’t guarantee results, but she had to try.
She parked at the far end of her street and stole in the shadows to her townhouse. When she was certain the path was clear, she mounted the steps. The yellowPolice Line – Do Not Crosstape across the archway was forbidding but manageable. She ducked under it and tried the doorknob. Locked.
The door across the street squeaked open. Kayla flattened herself against the inside of the arch.
Mrs. Tennyson emerged with her hairless dog. “Go, Trixie,” she ordered, then blew a whistle hanging on the chain around her neck. While the dog scampered to a nearby tree and did its business, Mrs. Tennyson waved to Kayla and hustled to her.
