Chapter 80 Starting with the doctor
Sage's POV
"We'll find the killer." Jaxon's voice was firm and confident in a way that made me want to believe him even though doubt was eating me alive. "Martinez is our first lead and we're going to squeeze every piece of information out of him that we can get, and if he's hiding something we'll know it."
"And if he's not the killer? If he doesn't know anything useful about who was threatening Dad or blackmailing him into that contract with Diego?" I hated how defeated I sounded but the weight of everything that had happened was crushing me under its impossible burden. "What do we do then?"
"Then we move on to the next name on the list and we keep investigating until we find answers, no matter how long it takes or how many people we have to question." Ryder pulled me against his chest and I let myself lean into his strength for just a moment, drawing comfort from his solid presence. "But we're not giving up and we're not letting Dante or Diego win this sick game they're playing with your life and your future."
Jaxon's phone buzzed with a response from whoever he'd texted earlier. "Martinez says he can see us at three o'clock. That gives us a couple hours to prepare our questions and figure out exactly what we want to know from him and how we're going to approach the conversation."
I pulled away from Ryder and grabbed a notebook from Jaxon's desk so I could start writing down everything I wanted to ask Martinez, organizing my thoughts so we wouldn't miss anything important. The first question was about my dad's state of mind in his final weeks and whether he seemed paranoid or scared of something specific that Martinez noticed during their appointments. The second question was about any unusual requests he might have made regarding medications or treatments that seemed out of character for him. The third question was where Martinez was the night my father died and whether he had an alibi that could be verified by witnesses or surveillance footage.
"We need to be careful about how we phrase these questions so he doesn't realize we're building a case against him and start getting defensive or refusing to answer." Jaxon looked over my shoulder at the list I was making and nodded his approval. "Start with the emotional stuff about Dad's mental state and then ease into the more specific questions about his whereabouts and activities so it seems like a natural progression of the conversation."
"What if he refuses to answer or gets defensive when we start asking about his alibi for the night of the murder?" I looked between Jaxon and Ryder with concern. "Do we push harder or do we back off and come at it from a different angle so we don't spook him into clamming up completely?"
"We read his body language and adjust our approach based on how he's reacting to our questions and the direction the conversation is taking." Ryder moved to stand beside me again, his presence reassuring. "If he gets nervous or starts sweating or can't maintain eye contact, that tells us something important even if he's giving us perfectly reasonable answers that sound plausible on the surface."
The next two hours crawled by with excruciating slowness while we prepared for the meeting and went over every possible scenario we could think of, planning our strategy like we were going into battle. By the time we pulled into the parking lot of Martinez's clinic in Ryder's truck, my nerves were stretched so tight I thought I might snap if anyone looked at me wrong or said the wrong thing.
The clinic was small and neat with a waiting room that had worn out chairs and old magazines scattered across a coffee table that had seen better days. Dr. Martinez came out to greet us personally with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and a handshake that felt too firm, like he was trying to prove something or compensate for nervousness.
"Sage, Jaxon, Ryder. I can't say it's good to see you all, though I wish it were under better circumstances." He led us down a hallway lined with examination rooms and into a space that was more comfortable than clinical, with leather chairs and warm lighting that was probably meant to put patients at ease. "Come on back to my office where we can talk privately without being interrupted by staff or other patients."
I sat down across from his desk and tried to ignore the way my hands were shaking as I prepared to ask questions that might reveal whether this man I'd known my entire life was responsible for my father's murder and had been lying to my face for months.
Martinez settled into his chair behind the desk and folded his hands on the surface in front of him in a gesture that was probably meant to look calm and professional. "Jaxon mentioned you're struggling with grief and need some closure about your father's final weeks. I'm happy to help however I can because Vincent was a good friend and a valued patient."
"Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice when I'm sure you have other patients who need your attention." I forced my voice to stay steady even though everything inside me was screaming with tension and fear of what we might discover. "I've been having trouble sleeping because I keep wondering what Dad was going through before he died and whether there were signs I should have noticed if I'd been paying more attention instead of being wrapped up in my own life in New York."
"Vincent was dealing with a lot of stress in those final months, but that wasn't unusual for him given the pressures of running the club and managing all the various business interests he was involved in." Martinez's expression was sympathetic and professional in a way that seemed practiced. "He came to see me several times complaining of headaches and insomnia, which I attributed to stress and the normal wear and tear of his lifestyle, and I prescribed some mild sleep aids to help him get proper rest."
"Did he seem paranoid or scared of anything specific during those visits?" Jaxon leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Like maybe he thought someone was threatening him or watching him or planning something against him?"
Martinez's eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite identify before his professional mask slipped back into place and his expression became carefully neutral. "Well, I already told you before that he was cooperating with the feds and providing information about club activities. But now that you mention it, he did seem more on edge than usual during his last few visits, looking over his shoulder and jumping at small sounds. He kept asking me questions about untraceable poisons and whether certain medications could be used to incapacitate someone without leaving evidence that could be detected in an autopsy."
My heart started pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears and feel it in my throat. "What did you tell him when he asked about that?"
"I refused to provide that kind of information because it crossed ethical lines I wasn't willing to cross, and I told him that if he was worried about someone trying to poison him, he should go to the police instead of asking his doctor how to commit the perfect murder or avoid being murdered." Martinez shifted uncomfortably in his chair and I saw sweat beginning to form on his forehead. "He got very angry with me and said I didn't understand the situation he was in or the kind of danger he was facing. That was our last real conversation before he died."
"Where were you the night he was killed?" Ryder's voice was casual but his eyes were sharp and focused on Martinez's face, watching for any tell-tale signs of deception.
The doctor's expression changed dramatically and suddenly he looked nervous in a way that made my instincts scream that he was hiding something important, something that could change everything we thought we knew about my father's death.