Paradox

by Catherine Coulter

  Sala was staring straight ahead, sitting very still, like if he moved, he’d shatter. She opened her mouth but shut it. I saw this too many times in Afghanistan.

  When he saw the construction truck sitting in the middle of the road, had he been thrown back into his horrific experiences there with ambushes? He’d reacted immediately. On top of what he’d gone through in Afghanistan, then being tied up and left to die in the closet at Gatewood, no wonder his mind went to the worst-case scenario. Was it automatic? Was it a form of PTSD?

  The rain came down heavier, and Ty slowed her Silverado to a crawl. They drove through Willicott, deserted, very few lights on. She said, “Sorry, I didn’t even ask you if you would prefer to stay at your place in Washington.”

  He didn’t look at her, simply kept staring out the windshield. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Good. You want to know why I’m glad you’re with me? I like having you at my cottage to share my morning coffee, to eat my grilled cheese sandwiches with me at midnight. And when we’re lying in the dark waiting for sleep, I like talking with you about the important stuff and unimportant stuff, it doesn’t matter.

  “You could have easily saved our lives tonight, Sala. The thick rain, the dark night, the huge truck in the middle of the road, it could have been an ambush. So it was a simple breakdown tonight, who cares? You took action, no dithering about, no questioning yourself. You acted. It was your vigilance in Afghanistan that saved your life. It could have saved our lives tonight.”

  “I should have questioned myself. The whole thing was nuts—an ambush on a road in Willicott, Maryland? Not likely.”

  “Do you forget we’re closing in on a murderer?”

  He shrugged. At least he was talking. She wanted to tell him again she admired his brain, the way he could analyze another person quickly, come to a conclusion that was usually spot-on.

  She flip-flopped her hand. “Believe me, what happened tonight was better than an ambush, but, Sala, if it had been the murderer out to kill us, you saved our bacon. You’re a hero.”

  He shrugged.

  She turned into her driveway, turned off the engine, and twisted in the front seat to look at him. “Sala, I’m no doctor, but it seems pretty obvious to me after what you went through in Afghanistan and then being left to die at Gatewood, what happened tonight is perfectly logical.”

  “No, you’re not a doctor.”

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. The rain poured down, a gray curtain enclosing them. “I guess what I’m saying is I’m very glad you were with me tonight.” She grabbed her umbrella. “You’re going to have to run, it’s the only one I have,” and she dashed out of the truck to her front porch, unlocked the door, and ran inside, Sala on her heels.

  She could help him simply by being with him, sharing with him, distracting him, keeping him completely involved, which he was. She turned to him at the front door of her cottage and said simply, “I want you to stay with me for as long as you want.”

  He started, then smiled down at her. “Thank you. Do you know, until you mentioned it, I hadn’t even thought about my place in Washington. I think my coffee might be as good as Savich’s, which means it’s lots better than yours. If you let me, I’ll prove it to you tomorrow morning.”

  She laughed. “Okay, my Turkish sludge isn’t for everyone. You wait until you taste my hot chocolate this winter.”

  This winter. That made her blink, but she realized she meant it.

  She gave a momentary thought to his sleeping in the guest bedroom. She wasn’t about to tell him she wanted to keep an eye on him, that she worried about nightmares. Without discussion, they pulled the guest bedroom mattress into the middle of the living room and sheeted it. Because the rain had cooled the temperature, Ty got a couple of blankets. She changed into pajama boxers and a T-shirt with ONLY THE PITIFUL LIE TO A COP emblazoned on the front. Sala stripped down to a black T-shirt and his black boxer shorts. Before adjourning to the mattress, they went into the kitchen and stood staring out the window at the fog-shrouded lake and the flat black sky, like two old married people at the end of the day, with their jammies on, winding down in the dark night. And like two old married people, they set their cells into a charger, climbed under the covers on the mattress, and settled in. The sound of the rain was steady, soothing.

  Sala said, “Tell me about your deputies.”

  “Paula and Doug are both older, been on the force for over ten years, both mainly still on the job to make ends meet. They’re good with the locals since everyone knows them, and they get along with most. Knowing the two of them, they’re having a blast, even though the ending with the truck driver drinking a beer is anticlimactic. I know it’s hard to believe, but until now, Willicott hasn’t been what you’d call a big crime center.”

  He laughed. “And Charlie Corsica?”

  “He’s young and he’s not a dummy. Actually, he’s bright but needs a lot of work. He plans on being police chief one day. I forgot—hold still.” She came up on her knees, turned on a lamp, and examined the small bandage on his head. It had survived the pounding rain. “I’ll change the bandage to a Band-Aid tomorrow, put more antibiotic on the stitches.” She leaned back on her heels, gave him the once-over. “Now what we both need is a good night’s sleep.”

  She gave a big yawn and settled in.

  “Ty?”

  “Yes?”

  “About tonight. What happened—I saw that construction truck and felt a surge of fear. It was overwhelming, sent me immediately into combat mode, made me jump to conclusions.”

  “Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

  He snorted out a laugh and fell silent. “You’re not going to let me point out what I did was crazy, an overreaction, are you?”

  “Nope. You did the right thing. If you want to keep beating yourself up, do it on your own time. I think you should call the forensic anthropologist at Quantico tomorrow, see if he’s harvested DNA off any of the bones yet. It’s probably too early, but worth the call. What do you think?”

  “I’ll make the call. We’ll see.”

  It was a start. She’d keep distracting him. Ty turned on her side to face him. “I haven’t told you, Charlie did a standard background check on each of the Sparrows, found nothing to raise any red flags.”

  She was pleased when he said, “We should go deeper. I’ll call Dillon, ask him to put MAX on it.”

  She said, “The brothers are so different from each other. Landry is suave, the crown prince in a three-piece bespoke suit, and Eric a good-looking brawler if I ever saw one. Both have degrees in business from good schools, both raised by loving parents.” She paused. “Now, Susan is different. I read her bio. She was born Susan Ann Humphries, Nashville, Tennessee, orphaned when she was a kid and raised by her aunt and uncle, both dead now. She took their name—Hadden. Went to school there, eventually moved to Haggersville. Nothing yet about her parents. Oh, shoot me, I’m trying to dissect every shadow I see. Sala, do you think Eric regards Susan as more than a sister-in-law, that he’d like to see his brother go away?”

  “Not that I could tell,” Sala said, and she was pleased to hear he sounded sleepy, “but family dynamics aren’t ever straightforward. They’re always a drama unfolding. Those brothers, though, I think they’re close, they care about each other a great deal. And Susan? She’s maybe the dark horse, isn’t that what you’re thinking?”

  “Or maybe I’m only making myself crazier.” Ty fell silent, listening to Sala’s breathing as it slowed into sleep. Maybe he’d be able to sleep through the night for once without Octavia’s death creeping in to stir up another nightmare and bring it all back. Add the unexpected incident tonight—no, he’d dealt with it fine. It was unfortunate you couldn’t control what you dished up to yourself to terrify you out of your wits at night. Without thought, she leaned over and whispered, “You’re a good man, Sala. I hope you have good dreams. Good night.”

  63

  * * *

  HAGGERSVILLE COMMUN
ITY HOSPITAL

  THURSDAY MORNING

  Ty and Sala introduced themselves to Officer Romero’s replacement, an older grizzled man named Gene Fuller, sitting in the hallway outside Leigh’s door on the surgical floor, where she’d been transferred, a hunting magazine on his lap. He showed them in so they wouldn’t startle his partner, a female deputy dressed in a brown uniform sitting in a chair, her back to the single window. They weren’t surprised to see Lulie Saks standing beside Leigh’s bed. She’d probably slept here the previous night.

  Lulie smiled at them as they walked in. “Good morning, Agent, Chief. Andrew had meetings back in Washington he couldn’t miss. As for my beautiful daughter here, Leigh’s feeling better, and she’s excited about getting hypnotized.” She turned back to her daughter, patted her hand.

  Leigh gave them a little wave. She no longer had a white turban wrapped around her head. She patted the smaller bandage. “Now this looks more discreet, don’t you think. They shaved off hair from the back of my head for surgery, but who cares? I’ve got enough hair left to cover it so people won’t gawk.”

  Sala saw Lulie blink, still not used to this bright, articulate woman who was her daughter.

  Leigh nodded toward the female deputy. “This is Officer Adele McGowan. She won a shooting championship in Kingsburg, Maryland, two years ago. I’ve known her forever. Hey, Adele, believe me, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Adele McGowan stared a moment at Leigh, still a bit disbelieving, Ty supposed. She gave them a small salute, exchanged introductions, and continued watchful.

  Sala said to Leigh, “Glad to hear you have no problem letting Dr. Hicks rummage through your memories with you.”

  Leigh laughed, then frowned a bit at a lick of pain. She waited, and the pain eased. “What a way to put it, Agent Porto. No, like Mom said, I welcome it. Will he be here soon?”

  “Anytime now,” Sala said.

  Ty said, “I saw you wince, Leigh. How do you really feel this morning?”

  “Honest, I’m fine. Have you learned anything?”

  Sala said, “Yes, we’ve been busy. We have a lot to nail down before we make any announcements.”

  She understood immediately and nodded. “Fair enough. There are ears everywhere, everyone would know everything.”

  They heard voices, turned as the door opened again. “Ah, here’s Dr. Hicks,” Sala said, “and Agents Savich and Sherlock.”

  Leigh looked up at a tall man with beautiful dark eyes, kind eyes, eyes that saw a great deal. She said to him, “When Agent Savich called me a little while ago, he told me you impersonate Elvis and you’re really good.”

  “That I do, Ms. Saks.” He studied her face as he shook her hand, careful of the IV in her wrist. “For someone who had surgery such a short time ago, you look fit as my guitar.”

  “As fit as a 1956 Gibson J-200?”

  Dr. Hicks grinned like a schoolboy. “Actually, a Martin D-18 is my preference. Did you know Elvis purchased that same fine instrument in Memphis in ’55?”

  “I didn’t know that. Will you send me tickets to your next performance?”

  “You can be sure I will. Are you ready to proceed, Ms. Saks? It’s painless, I promise you.”

  “Please, Dr. Hicks, call me Leigh, particularly if you’re going to go dumpster-diving in my brain.”

  He was charmed. “I’ve never heard what I do described in quite that way before. But you don’t seem at all worried, and let me reiterate you don’t need to be. I know you still have some pain, Leigh—”

  She waved that off. “Only a bit, Dr. Hicks. The meds help dial it down if I need them.”

  “Very well. I can help you with that later myself. I understand, Leigh, you’ve been through a great deal. Agent Savich has filled me in. You understand your surgeon, Dr. Ellis, thinks you had a seizure disorder for a very long time, and it’s under control now? Does that worry you?”

  “Yes, both Dr. Ellis and Mom told me. All I really know is I’m different now, Dr. Hicks, but I’m very happy about it. Ecstatic, really, and no, I’m not worried at all. I know I’ll keep my new self.”

  Dr. Hicks looked into her very pretty eyes and saw intelligence shine out at him. And humor. The truth was, he didn’t know if Dr. Ellis was right about the seizures. He rather would like to believe her transformation was a miracle. He believed in miracles. He smiled at her. “I can’t wait to see what’s inside your head.”

  “I think a lot of folk would also like to know that. Onward, Dr. Hicks.”

  “Very well. What I want you to do, Leigh, is simply relax that busy mind of yours, and then Agent Savich will ask you some questions.” Dr. Hicks pulled out the shiny gold watch that had belonged to his grandfather. “Look at the watch, nothing more, and relax. All you have to do is listen to my voice and look at the watch. Let your mind empty and float away, into my voice, all right?”

  “I’ll try, but it might take a while. My brain is so full, so many ideas, so many questions.”

  He only nodded. Leigh began to follow the movement of the swinging gold watch, wanting to laugh at the silly thing that was supposed to empty her brain into the ether. Then, without warning, she began to feel warmer. The world became smaller until it was only the gold watch swinging in front of her and there was only her and Dr. Hicks. She yielded herself to it.

  Dr. Hicks nodded to Lulie and said to Savich, “She’s under and very quickly, too. I find creative people are a treat to hypnotize.” He looked back at Leigh’s mother. “Does she sing or paint? Something like that?”

  Lulie slowly shook her head. “No, but she always loved books, all kinds of books in the house, even though I knew she never understood much. Still, she’d go cover to cover. Maybe it was the words themselves that fascinated her. Not the pictures, most of the books didn’t have pictures. I read to her every night.” She shook her head. “And she knew about Elvis’s guitars? I remember I went through an Elvis phase, had all sorts of books about him around the house. She was very small, but I’d see her turning each page slowly, studying them. There were pictures, so that’s what I thought she was looking at.”

  Leigh must have taken in a lot of those words, and now, perhaps, she had a deep reservoir of knowledge to draw on. Hicks said, “Tell me, Leigh, do you remember when you first read about Elvis and his guitars?”

  “Elvis,” she repeated slowly. “I was a little girl. Mama was humming one of his songs, ‘Heartbreak Hotel,’ I think, and we were dancing. She had lots of books about Elvis. I remember I read all of them—well, looked at all of them.”

  “You obviously did more than look. Now, our first order of business—you will have no more pain in your head.”

  She looked perplexed, then in the next moment, she looked quite pleased. “No, there’s no more pain. Thank you. It’s very nice. It’s tough being brave, but I hated seeing Mama so scared for me.”

  “You don’t have to be brave anymore, Leigh. Your mother’s not scared now.” Dr. Hicks nodded to Savich.

  Savich leaned close. “I’m glad you feel good now, Leigh.”

  “I feel better than good, Agent Savich.”

  “I would like you to go back five years and revisit Henry LaRoque, the day you took a birthday cake to him.”

  “All right.”

  “When you walk into his study, you’re going to see more, hear more, observe more. You’re very alert now. You’re seeing yourself. Are you in his study now?”

  64

  * * *

  “Yes,” Leigh said. She paused, shook her head. “How odd. I always thought Mr. Henry’s study was so grand, so big and imposing, but it’s not. It’s a nice room, sure, with dark woodwork and lots of bookshelves built in, but it’s not Versailles. All right, there’s Mr. Henry, and he’s welcoming me, admiring Mama’s beautiful cake. She knew he was a chocoholic, knew her cake would please him.

  “Oh my, it’s all so clear now. I realize Mr. Henry feels sorry for me, and that’s why he’s so very kind and gentle with me, like an uncle w
ith a small child.” She added without irony, “I see how he considers it a reward for the poor, simple girl to see his prized possession, the Star of David belt buckle, all gold and shiny.”

  “Does he say anything you haven’t already told everyone?”

  She frowned. “No, I’ve already told you all exactly what he said to me. But it’s how he acts, the way he holds the belt buckle, keeps running his fingers and hands over it. I see it makes him remember wonderful things. It’s his treasure, his valued prize. He’s not sure if showing me the belt buckle is smart, but he wants to show it off, to brag, even if it’s only to me. He watches me closely until he’s convinced I’ll keep his secret. He’s not worrying much now.”

  “He never gave any indication of where he got the belt buckle?”

  “No, but the belt buckle, it’s everything to him.”

  Savich nodded to Ty and she stepped forward. “Leigh, Chief Christie here. Do you think the belt buckle was a trophy for some competition he’d won?”

  Leigh said, “Perhaps. It’s certainly a prize to him, a special treasure.”

  Savich said, “Is there anything else you see or feel?”

  She thought about this, shook her head.

  “Now let’s come forward five years, to Tuesday. Are you with me, Leigh?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Savich saw she looked completely relaxed, her expression untroubled, not a hint of pain, thanks to Dr. Hicks. “Leigh, before we go back to the alley, tell us why you decided to call the hotline.”

  “Gunny was so afraid of breaking a promise because she should never do that, but she—well, I—knew something was badly wrong, knew Mr. Henry’s belt buckle shouldn’t have been at the bottom of Lake Massey with all those bones. He was cremated, so what was the explanation? I told Mama, but she was stressed with work. And the last thing she needed was for me to keep piling on and worry her even more. I did think about asking Mrs. Sparrow, too. I had worked for her at the crematorium and I really liked her. If anyone could explain why the belt buckle ended up in the lake and not cremated with his body, she would know, wouldn’t she? I mean, had he been wearing the belt when they scooted him into the oven? But what if he hadn’t, then where did the belt buckle come from? My brain went round and round until I thought of calling the hotline myself. I thought they would tell me what to do.”