Page 123 of The Session

Mark sighed. “So you used a doctor that works for us to cover it up.”

“Yes,” Morris replied.

“What if there was foul play? What if he was murdered? Would this Dr. Moss have noticed that?”

“He’s a trained medical examiner. I’m sure he would have called that to our attention, especially given our relationship with him.”

“I’d like to speak with him,” Mark said.

“We can arrange that.”

“How about now?”

“I believe he’s back in the United States for the next month, but we could probably arrange a video call.”

Mark looked down at the kayak, then to the jetty. Everything they’d said made sense. But it was the packaging that bothered him. Were they in such a hurry to cover up a drug overdose that they’d missed the fact that Kevin was murdered?

“We should head back,” Morris said.

“Why don’t you send the car back for me. I’ll meet you back at the campus later,” Mark told him.

“We have a lot of arrangements to make before the executive conference. Things have to be put into motion.”

“I understand. I just need to process this,” Mark said.

“Okay,” said Morris. “See you back at the ranch.”

Inquisition

Governor’s Harbor Police Station was a small lime-green building next door to a gift shop and across the street from a Shell gas station. When Mark walked inside, Constable Rolle was the only one there. He sat at his desk, typing on a laptop.

“Mr. Greenley, didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Sorry to bother you. I just have a couple more questions,” Mark told him.

“I figured as much. Go on, then.”

“I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but I do think I’m a pretty good judge of character. At least I thought I was,” Mark admitted.

“I feel the same way,” Rolle agreed.

“Was Inspector Pinder actually in court today?” Mark asked.

“If he was, he made it back in record time to the Spanish Wells Police Station at the north end of the island,” Rolle admitted.

“Yeah,” Mark muttered.

“Have a seat,” Rolle offered.

Mark sat down and looked around the small office. There were corkboards everywhere, covered in flyers and notices. There was one other desk and filing cabinets showing signs of corrosion from the salt air. At the end of the hallway, he could see a security door.

“I don’t know if I’m being worked because I’m crazy and they’re just trying to placate me, or if I’m being worked because there’s something else going on.”

“I know the feeling,” Rolle replied.

“Did you grow up here?”

“I was born here, but I went to middle school and high school in Canada, then moved back to Nassau,” Rolle explained.