Cold Conviction by Gerber Daryl Wood

Author:Gerber, Daryl Wood [Gerber, Daryl Wood]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Psychological thriller, cold case, thriller, Mystery, Revenge, puzzle box, bay area, blackmail, Suspense, lake tahoe, Family
ISBN: 9781950461806
Goodreads: 55599760
Publisher: Beyond the Page
Published: 2020-10-27T07:00:00+00:00

• • •

Herman Hoek lived in an ivy-covered duplex in Palo Alto. His unit, the lower level, had a ramp entrance. Hoek answered the door and peered up at me from his wheelchair. “You’re pretty,” he said matter-of-factly. I’d called before heading over. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” I’d changed into a thigh-length red sweater, black leggings, and Uggs.

Though he was confined to his chair, nothing about the man said weak. He was as solid as a rock. Broad shoulders. Square jaw. Incredibly green eyes that didn’t waver. “Follow me.” Deftly, he spun his wheelchair around and led me through his living room. “I’ve got a half hour before the physical therapist comes,” he said over his shoulder. When he grinned, his mouth curved up on one side. “Coffee?”

“A glass of water, please.”

His apartment was white and gray and everything was in its place. Huge tomes on world history filled the bottom two levels of a gray ladder-style bookshelf. The hefty black flower vase on the level above the books held a lavender bouquet. An acoustic guitar stood in a stand beyond the bookshelf. Instrumental guitar music was playing through a speaker.

“Say hello to Lulu.” He hooked his thumb at a blue-gray iguana in a six-foot cage beyond the couch. “She’s eight, going on nine. My sister gave her to me. Gave me the flowers, too.”

“That’s sweet,” I said idly. “The music is nice.”

“All mine.” He ran his hand along the top of his crewcut. “I write country songs.”

“I thought you were a programmer.”

“Used to be. Actually, I was a hacker. Like Viraj. A white hat hacker, but a hacker nonetheless. I got tired of it.”

I glimpsed his bedroom on the way to the kitchen. The bed featured a white sheet and gray blanket, finished with military-style corners.

Hoek trundled into the kitchen and hitched his chin at the small oak table. “Sit.” He poured me a glass of water and wheeled into position opposite me.

I sipped the water and set the glass aside. “Mr. Hoek, I’ll get right to the point. Viraj Patel—”

“Is dead. I know. Sad. He was looking forward to the next phase of his life. But you don’t want to hear about that. You’re here to ask me about my witness statement. I now know that he faked his alibi by using me to corroborate his story. I didn’t know that at the time. I swear. Viraj called me Friday and confessed to what he’d done.” Hoek brushed a finger under his broad nose. “Didn’t make me happy, but I understood. He was scared. We’ve all been scared.”

“You’re not mad?” I asked, wondering if he had killed Patel.

“Nah. Viraj was trying to do the right thing. Protect his fiancée’s virtue. I get it. Now the guy’s dead. I won’t hold a grudge.” He studied a thumbnail and returned his gaze to me. “I may have been a Marine, but I’m no saint, ma’am. I’ve made mistakes. Given my situation”—he rubbed the arm of his wheelchair—“being confined to this beauty, with only virtual buddies as friends, I can be an easy mark.

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