Tingo raised his hands. He looked around and backed up to the visitor's chair and sat down, leaving Carr standing at the end of the bed.
"Let me see if I'm following you, Danny. You believe Emerich is actually your husband. Is the little boy, Mikey, your son with Emerich?"
"Maybe. I don't know. But now someone else has him, you said. Someone named Michael something. I want my son. Can you help me get my son?"
"First we need to make you safe before we can even think about Mikey. This Jana Emerich tried to kill you. He ran over you. We were following your car and lost sight of you. The next thing we know, you'd been run over. Do you remember any of that?"
I looked away. I let my hands knead the sheet that was drawn across my chest. I let them see that I needed some distance. I let them see that I needed to think. This was too much at once. They were asking me for more than I could give. Did I remember? I hesitated, unsure what to say. Then it came to me. What I had to do next came to me and I knew I had to comply.
"I don't remember anyone running over me," I said, not meeting Tingo's eyes as I spoke. Yet, my voice was strong and I appeared to believe what I was saying. Which was exactly what I wanted the two detectives to believe: that I didn't recall anything. It had happened before to me after the previous accident. It could happen again now.
"I want to speak to my husband."
"You don't mean Jana Emerich?"
"I mean the man who got me from the hospital last time and took me home."
"Hold on, Danny. Let's talk about one more thing. It appears to the doctors that you had been beaten. Does that ring a bell?"
I looked down at my hands. "Not at all. I don't remember a beating. And I sure would remember something like that.”
"Well—" Tingo was stymied. Then it came to him, what he felt he had to say. "We can't let you contact Emerich. It's not safe for you to be around him. That man will kill you if he can."
I laughed and waved my hand at Tingo.
"Don't be silly," I smiled. "I love my husband. I want to be with him. If you don't call him, I will."
"You have his number?"
"I do. Right here," I said, touching the side of my head.
"Well," Carr said, "I don't know how we can stop you, except—"
"What if we talk to a counselor before you call anyone? Would you agree to that?"
“Okay, grab a counselor and let's talk. Otherwise I'm not waiting. I'm calling my husband right now. "
"We'll get a counselor as soon as we can. Please wait. You owe me that for finding you and bringing you here to the hospital."
He was reaching, but it worked.
"All right. We'll talk to a counselor. But tomorrow I'm calling Jana. I need to see him."
"Please. Counselor first."
"And get me a laptop in here. I want to look up this Michael Gresham person and see if his picture jogs my memory."
"Now you're talking," said Tingo. "I'll talk to the nurses. I know they have laptops for patient use."
"That would be perfect," I said. "Now please let me get some sleep. I'm exhausted."
"Good night, Danny."
The laptop arrived a half hour later. I was on it in a flash.
43
Michael
After speaking with Danny, Tingo placed a call to me.
"Michael Gresham?" he said. "This is Detective Tingo with the Alton PD.”
“My God, tell me my wife’s not dead.”
“A woman has been run over in a crosswalk and brought to the hospital. I'm ninety-nine percent sure she's your wife, Mr. Gresham."
“Is she alive? Tell me!”
“She is. She’s alive and has been here quite some time. We’ve learned she’s probably the wife you’re looking for.”
It shot through me like a bolt of sunshine. Danny was found! After disappearing for almost a year, she had been found by the man I was speaking to! He actually knew where she was. This was monumental and I found myself trying to figure out what to take with me to get her and what else I might need so I could prove who I was. I was ecstatic and mentally started racing through the people I would call with this fantastic news.
"Can I come get her tonight?" I asked. In my mind, I was already calling Marcel to make the trip down to Alton with me. Just in case there was more to it than a simple disappearance—whatever in the hell a simple one was. Clearly somebody had kidnapped my wife and now she had been found. I couldn't head south to Alton fast enough.
"Well, that's the thing," the detective said. "She doesn't actually want you to come get her."
I was confused. "Why not?"
"She doesn't want to come home. At least not to you. Now I'm under the impression she's very confused. She had a very serious breakdown eight months ago. She spent months in a psychiatric hospital with no memory of you or anything else. I'm afraid there's still some of that present."
I am stunned and I’m not. There were problems; we had seen doctors. But a psychiatric hospital for months? She’d had problems before, especially with Mikey’s birth and the rape. It had been traumatic beyond what anyone should have to go through. But I never would have guessed it would take months. I had thought it was PTSD from the rape that could be treated, not some long-term psychiatric problem requiring a hospital.
“I’m having trouble believing she was in a psych ward all that time.”
“It was very serious. She believed she was in a regular hospital. She believed she had been in a devastating automobile crash—something about someone running her off the road. But she wasn’t. None of that was true. In fact, she had no injuries at all eight months ago. But this time she’s actually been run-over, so there’s all that. Surgeries and rehab. Even worse, mentally she’s really taken a nose-dive and I’m afraid she might not make it back to you.”
"Why do you say that?" I asked. I was suddenly frightened beyond anything I'd ever felt in my life.
"I say that because Danny wants to go back to Jana Emerich. She's saying that he's her real husband, not you."
Shock and disbelief aren't strong enough to describe my reaction. I felt a total annihilation of hope. I felt helpless. I was devastated and had no words to say to the detective. What do you say when your wife has chosen another man over you? Especially another man who has sexually assaulted her and has been plotting to kill her?
I said, "Then we need to call in the right doctors. Obviously her thinking is skewed. There's no way the Danny I know would ever choose Jana Emerich for anything except maybe death by a firing squad."
"I understand your feelings, Mr. Gresham. Now, here's our next step. I've got her to agree to talk to a counselor tomorrow before she goes running back to Emerich. Plus, we almost have enough on Emerich to arrest him for attempted murder. We're missing paint samples off of the vehicle he was driving, but when the samples are obtained we'll be going in for an arrest. In the meantime, I've stalled her with the counselor meeting. Whether or not that will change anything, I don't know."
"And if it doesn't change anything, what are your plans, detective? Just let her go back to the man who raped her?"
"You know what? There's no law against her doing that very thing, Mr. Gresham. Which makes it mandatory that we make an arrest in his case without delay. Circumstantial evidence tying his car or his helper's car to the paint samples found on Danny, that's—"
"What?" I exploded. "Please tell me you're not serious! Go back to him? That's ridiculous!"
"I'm afraid so. I've spoken to an assistant district attorney down here. It seems a woman who has been discharged from a hospital with a clean bill of health like your wife, can go and live with whoever she wants. I'm afraid you have no control, Mr. Gresham."
Words failed me. I simply didn't know what else to say.
Then it became clear to me in the next instant. I had to go to Alton and kidnap her back. Bring her back to her family and the home she loved and get her reestablished in her real life. If she was having memory problems, I had just the solution f
or her. Dania and Mikey would bring her back around almost on the spot. I needed them involved with her. Hell, I needed me involved with her, too.
"Where is she now, detective?"
"Hospital here in Alton."
"Name of hospital?"
Hesitation. Then, “I’d better not say. I think that's confidential."
"I'm her husband, sir. Please just give me the name."
"No, sir, I'm sorry. That is confidential. Patient's rights and all that. I'd better hang up now, Mr. Gresham."
"Wait! When can I talk to you again, Detective Tingo?"
"Tomorrow after the counselor meets with Danny. I'll talk to both of them and then I'll call you, Mr. Gresham."
"All right. You have my number?"
"I do. The same number I called tonight."
"Yes, that's my cell."
"Good night, Mr. Gresham. I'm really sorry for your problems, sir."
"I know you are, detective. Thanks so much for trying to help. Good night."
I was already dialing Marcel before the phone went dead. There was no time to waste. He picked up on the second ring. "We're going to Alton," I told him. We agreed to meet at a rest stop south of town. Closer for him than coming up north to my house. I went into my bedroom and found my Glock safe on the top shelf of my closet. I opened the small gun safe and removed the weapon. I worked the slide, checked the chamber, and locked it open. Then I inserted the magazine and released the slide. A round shot into the chamber and I was locked and loaded.
Ready to shoot Jana Emerich if he so much as tried to interfere with me getting my wife back. That wasn't going to happen. Not while I was above ground.
Nina Alvarez, our nanny, was sleeping in the guest room. I knocked on her door very lightly. Finally, she answered, wearing her robe and sticking her head out.
"I have to leave immediately," I told her. "I don't know when I'll be coming back, but the next few days, I'm sure."
"You've found Mrs. Gresham, Michael?"
"Maybe. I hope to God we have."
"Okay. Everything is fine here. I have the credit card, I'll get food from Peapod, the kids will know it's important and that you love them. But I won't mention their mother."
"Excellent. No need to get them all excited just now. It might be her and might not be her. But the police want me to come see. So I'm walking out right now, Nina."
"It's all good, Michael. All good."
She reached out and patted my chest and told me to hurry. And to bring Danny home.
Twenty miles south of Chicago I pulled into a rest area. Under the main floodlights I spotted Marcel waiting. He was walking toward me even before I could turn off the Mercedes' ignition. He came around to the driver's side and motioned me to change places. I climbed out, thanked him for coming, and hurried to the passenger side.
Then we were off, headed south for Alton, Illinois, and my wife.
My dear, sweet Danny, the love of my life.
It would be incredible to see her again and to have her back home.
The only question remaining was, would she come home?
You're damn right she would, even if I had to kidnap her. Can you kidnap your own wife? The lawyer inside of me was screaming yes, but the husband inside of me just didn't give a damn.
We were bringing her home.
44
Michael
I tell the woman at the nurse's station that I am Michael Gresham and I'm here to take my wife home. She demands ID from me—driver's license and bar card are not enough; they also require a certified copy of our marriage license and an affidavit from Judge Harris Stanley of Chicago, who knows us.
The woman jumps on her phone and dials a number. I'm ignored while we await an unknown individual who will have the final say-so. At last she appears, a woman dressed in a navy business suit with a red tie with white polka dots. She is all business and studies the documents, checking names and signatures on the nurse's station computer, and closely studying my driver's license and my driver's license photo. She takes my bar card and calls the Illinois Supreme Court Attorney Registration number line and asks a half-dozen questions. She eventually gets off the phone and asks me for my bar number. I give her the index number by which I'm known to the Supreme Court and the woman checks it against the number she has received from ARDC. She finally satisfies herself that all is well and, still keeping her eyes fixed on me, tells the nurse that I should be allowed to collect my wife and check her out.
The nurse leads me down the hallway, down to the very end, and we push through the door on the left. It swings open and I lay eyes on the person they say is my wife, for the first time in over a year.
Except I barely recognize this person.
Where Danny was bright-eyed and found it difficult not to smile non-stop, the Dania Gresham they say is my wife is dull, her skin is gray and membranous, and she neither smiles nor doesn't smile. Her look is neutral. At first, I don't think she knows me. The nurse tells the woman who I am and she nods.
"I've had surgeries," she says. "You probably don't recognize me anymore, Michael."
There's nothing I can do except agree. It's painfully obvious that I don't recognize her at all. Her features have changed, yes, but it's more than just that—it's her affect and her general health that are showing me. I look her over carefully. Her nose is the same and her eyes are the same and her mouth is—well, it is twisted in a constant scowl. The mouth doesn't smile at all. She's definitely changed and she hasn’t. But altogether I think I would even have to say the person is very different from who I knew.
"You have really changed and I'm a little surprised." Tears collect in my eyes. "But I can't even imagine what you've been through."
"No, you can't," she says.
She then picks up the TV remote off her bed and aims it at the TV mounted high on the wall facing her bed. She clicks it with her thumb several times.
"Time for Judge Judy,” she says, and sweeps her free hand up to indicate the TV. I smile and nod. I try to appear interested but inside I am shocked that Danny would even spend thirty seconds watching such a show. I'm sure Judge Judy is a fine show, but Danny's ever having any interest in it—or time for it—is more than I can fathom. My Danny wouldn't be caught dead watching it. She just wouldn't.
"Nurse," I whisper, as Danny is engrossed in the sudden appearance of Judge Judy’s judge, "what's the situation with her? I mean there are no surgeries, am I right?"
The nurse takes me by the wrist and pulls me away toward the door. She whispers.
"Danny has been severely traumatized. She can tell you all she's been through. It's took months before with her and here she is again with similar admitting complaints as before. That's the head injury returning after she was run over. Add to that her physical injuries from being run over and Danny's been to hell and back."
I eye the ID badge on the chain around her neck.
"Trang?" I say. "Nurse Trang?"
"Nguyen. Trang Nguyen."
"And Detective Tingo? Is he around the hospital tonight?"
"I think we have an orderly by that name. But I don't know a detective Tingo."
"You are stationed at the front desk?"
"I'm the shift Director of Nurses, yes. I can usually be found out front."
"So you know a lot of the people coming and going?"
"I do."
"And you're telling me you don't know a detective by the name of Tingo?"
"I don't, no. We're very careful who comes in and out on this wing, given the nature of our patients."
"What kind of wing is it?"
"Psych." She takes a step back. "Try to speak in low tones, Mr. Gresham. Your wife is easily upset."
"I've come to take her home. Is that possible?"
"Hmm. I'm sure I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"
"Fine."
"I need to get back out front. Press the red button if you need us. It's on your wife's pillow."
"All right. Thank you."
&n
bsp; An hour and a half later and we've watched Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, and some PBS program about Eric Clapton. Danny hasn't looked over at me even once since the roundelay began. I'm sitting in the visitor's chair, balancing a TV dinner of tacos and refried beans that Marcel scared up. It is glutinous, unseasoned, and unsatisfying. I could say the same thing about my meeting so far with my wife, but I'm too worried to notice the metaphor. Danny the person is someone I simply do not recognize. I have calls in to physicians identified for me by the nurses, but no one has gotten back. So, pretty much I'm in the dark. I conceive of taking Danny back to Chicago with me where she can meet with her own doctor. Maybe that would help her recovery.
"Danny, do you think you're ready to come home with me?"
She shoots me a sidewise look, keeping one eye on Clapton's Wonderful Tonight.
"Go home where?"
"To my—our—house in Chicago."
"Why would I go there? I want to be home with my husband."
"I am your husband, Michael."
She looks at me petulantly. "No, Jana is my husband. I don't know why you would even say that, Michael."
"How long have you been married to Jana?"
"Years."
I am stunned. Just the use of the word, "Jana"—the name of the man who raped her—is one word I would never have expected to hear my wife utter.
"How long have you known Jana?"
"A long time. Since before my bad accident."
"When was this bad accident?"
"I ran off the road. I was driving my VW."
"You own a VW?"
"Owned, Michael, owned. It was totaled and they won't give me a new one. If you really want to help me, help me get my car replaced."
"Actually, I really want to take you home. I can get you a new car when we're home."
"I'll be going home with Jana, my husband. He'll be here to get me."
"That's impossible. Have you forgotten that Jana sexually assaulted you?"
"He can get very angry at me sometimes. But I usually deserve it, Michael."
Voices In The Walls: A Psychological Thriller (Michael Gresham Series) Page 17
