Until Proven Innocent

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"Anything in particular that you're looking for?" she asks.
"No idea. All I know is that he's continued to be dishonest with me from the beginning. I don't know what it is exactly that he's lying about, so we have a wide base to cover."
She nods and gets to work.

The screen opens to reveal a mundane screensaver. Files and documents lined perfectly down the side of the desktop. She begins clicking through each of the files, looking for anything that stands out. It's mostly work files, we soon learn. Patient files, x-ray scans, receipts and tax information. There's a folder titled Emerald filled with hundreds upon hundreds of photos. We quickly scan through them even though they all look the same to me. Then again, I'm not a parent.

"Here, let me see," I say, taking the laptop from her and placing it in front of me. I want to navigate it myself.
"I'm going to get a coffee," she stands. "Want anything?"
"I'm good, thanks."
"Let me know if you need me to get through anything else."
"Will do."

Younger leaves her office and I continue going through the folders on the desktop. When that proves fruitless, I open up the internet browser. Emails. That would be the ideal place to check.

Upon entering his email account, which he leaves logged in, I scan through the inbox. There's nothing too interesting that stands out, mostly just back-and-forth emails with clients and employees at the practice. Other than that, his emails don't extend much beyond subscriptions and emails to Cordelia. Is Weston Waters' life truly that uninteresting? What does the man do for fun? Who does he associate himself with? These questions remain a mystery.

The mouse hovers over the trash folder. Perhaps I'll have better luck in there. I click the button and the screen fills with multiple emails, most of them junk. But there are two emails that stand out amongst the rest, solely because they are from the same sender: Rhoden Lakes. The most recent email is dated from five days ago. I open it and see that it's only one sentence:

It would be respectful if you'd at least take my calls.

So perhaps this is not junk-mail after all? Although I wouldn't consider it a formal email either. No, "Dear Mr. Waters" or "Yours Truly." It's very straight to the point. Could it have possibly been sent by mistake? But then I remember there's another email from the same sender. I click back to the junk folder and find it, dated from just over a week ago on May ninth.

Finnick's? Regular time.

That's it – another one liner. What does this mean and what is Finnick's? I pull up another tab and Google it. Ah, it's that bar down on Cheyanne Avenue. I've passed by there a few times.

I can conclude two things from these emails. The first is that they are not junk-mail. Whoever this Rhoden Lakes person is must know Weston personally. The second thing I can gauge from these emails is that Weston is clearly hiding something – or someone. Why else would they be asking him to meet, and why else would he delete the emails?

Could this be the golden ticket I've been searching for?

I grab my phone and dial his number. "Mr. Waters, where are you?" I ask once he answers.
"I'm just out grabbing dinner. Why?"
"I need to speak with you immediately. Can you come down to the station?"
"Is everything alright? Have you found her?"
"No, I'm afraid we haven't."
"Then what is this regarding?"
"You and I need to have a little chat."
It's quiet for a moment. The finally, he speaks. "Sure. I'm not too far from there, actually. I can be there in ten minutes."