Agnes Hahn

by RICHARD SATTERLIE

  A loud curse came through the back bedroom window. Probably a golfer. Please be a golfer. He rolled off the bed.

  The only window on the side wall facing the parking lot was a small, sliding bathroom window, more than five feet above the tub/shower. He stepped up on the edges of the tub and growled. Too early to put weight on the toe. His balance was awkward, making time inch. The parking lot was deserted except for two cars—his and his upstairs neighbor’s.

  Jason stayed on the tub until a cramp in the arch of the already traumatized foot redoubled his limp. What should he do now? No answer came. Lie low? Wait? He slinked back into the rear bedroom and slid onto the bed. His mind swirled on alert, further slowing the clock.

  The sun burned directly through the bedroom window, low in the sky, sliced into parallel beams by the nearly closed mini-blinds. Jason rolled away on the bed, but then bolted upright. Can’t stay here. Especially after dark.

  He grunted as he slipped his shoe over his sore toe and gathered his keys, jacket, and laptop before he realized he didn’t have a destination. Where was safe? At work? Not a good idea. Mendocino? At the police station? That might be expected.

  He closed the door behind him and keyed the dead bolt. An explosion of adrenaline accompanied the clunk of the lock. Just drive. Away from here.

  The sprint to the car was tempered by tightness from the shoe on his injured little toe. His pedal foot. The pain had settled into a dull, pulsing ache. Driving would ratchet it up. “Least of my problems,” he said to himself as he jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. The electric door locks calmed him like a pacifier plugged into a teething toddler.

  He selected a random path through the city, complete with U-turns and serpentine veers, all the while conducting a rearview scan for a trailing vehicle. It wouldn’t be the GTO. It was in the police impound lot in Mendocino. The more aggressive itinerary, compared to the night of his initial meeting with Lilin, required repeated, painful shifts between the gas and brake pedals, but the pain was less than expected. A raised glass to natural endorphins.

  Fifteen minutes of random turns and twists left Jason only a mile and a half from his apartment. A yellow light gave him time to think. Where to now? Only one thing was certain. He didn’t want to be alone. Even a loner like Mulvaney went out in company.

  The police. Go to the police. But could he positively identify the person as Lilin Hahn? No. So, what could they do? Take a report and send him on his way, no better protected than now. Bransome came into his thoughts again, but like before, the drive was rejected. Too dangerous if it was Lilin. Who else could help? The light turned green.

  He pulled his wallet from his pocket and fumbled in the bill compartment. An embossed card provided a business address and phone number but not a home address. He knew who to call to get the information, but he’d have to leave the safety of his car. In his haste, he forgot his cell phone in his apartment. Were there pay phones near the police station?

  The metal phone cord stretched tight across his neck, but he needed to keep his eyes on the street. The pay phone was a block down from the station, within sight, but barely. Every car that crawled by presented a challenge in the dimming light. He ignored the ones with more than one occupant. But most were drivers-only.

  He needed a miracle. And he got it. “Hey, big brother. I need a home address.” The information on the card should be enough.

  Two more single-occupant cars came by and decelerated. The phone was too close to the corner. A voice in the phone broke the tension.

  Jason realized he had a pen but no paper. He rested the pen on the back of his hand and circled it on his skin until it left ink. “Go ahead.”

  The condominiums were on the far side of the city, with cultured lawns and shrubs pruned to a millimeter tolerance. Dr. April Leahy lived three buildings in, near a swimming pool, hot tub, and exercise complex. Climbing to the second-floor condo, Jason suppressed a grunt. His toe throbbed with raw pain, topped by a dull ache in his ankle. He hoped the trip was worth it. Then again, maybe Dr. Leahy could lend some sense to his confusion. At the very least, she would be company.

  Jason paused at the door. What would he say? Hello. Lilin really exists, and she’s on my trail? Care to put up a condemned man? Should he leave her in the dark and pretend it was a social visit? Pretty lame all around.

  He took a deep breath and rapped on the door with the knuckles of his right hand. His left hand was embedded in his jeans pocket. He thought he heard shuffling inside, then the light in the peephole blinked. The doorknob turned.

  He forced a smile.

  The door flew open and a returned smile nearly filled the doorway. “Jason. What a surprise.”

  He stood motionless. Voice cracking like a teenager’s, he stammered, “You cut your hair.” His eyes drifted to the scoop neckline of the maroon blouse.

  April fingered the cut ends of her hair, now at jaw level. “Yes. I needed a change. I’m glad you stopped by. I was at your apartment earlier. No one answered.”

  Jason’s shoulders slumped. He thought his eye blink would last forever. “It was you.”

  “You were there? Why didn’t you answer?”

  “I’m embarrassed to say. Not to be forward, but maybe a beer would loosen my tongue.”

  April’s smile widened as she stepped aside.

  Jason flopped on the leather couch like he was in triple gravity just as April rounded the kitchen wall with a pair of long, narrow beer glasses. A slice of lime floated in each.

  “Mexican okay?”

  “Top choice.”

  She sat on the couch and turned to Jason, pulling her leg up so the knee touched the back cushion.

  His first drink drained the glass halfway. “So, what brought you to my place?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You first.”

  He drank until the lime hit his nose, leaving an inch of beer. His face burned. “You ready for this?” He raised the glass but stopped short of his mouth. “I looked out the peephole and I thought you were Lilin.”

  April’s face matched the hue of her blouse. Between them, the temperature in the room went up ten degrees. She adjusted her neckline upward and fingered the permanent crease on the leg of her slacks. “I don’t know how to take that.”

  Jason’s tongue preceded his mind. “Lilin was one of the most alluring women I’ve seen in a while. Even if she did try to kill me.” He leaned back slightly and looked down. “Sorry.”

  “You’re empty.” She stood. “Want another?”

  He held out his glass, glad for the interruption.

  April offered the full glass, with a fresh lime slice, and sat. Closer this time. Her knee nearly touched his thigh.

  He grinned. “Your turn now.”

  “Business.”

  He studied her expression, but came up blank. “What kind of business?”

  “Agnes Hahn business. She wants to give you power of attorney over her assets and her property.” April shifted on the couch and pointed across the room toward a large, rolltop desk.

  “She made the request through me, so I offered to deliver the paperwork.”

  “I thought there were couriers for that.”

  April’s face reddened again. “There are.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to see you again.” She turned back and her knee brushed his thigh. “I’m glad you came here.”

  He was torn. He wanted the flirting to continue, but he also wanted to take her off the hot seat. “Why me?”

  She laughed. “Why me, like in why did I want to see you again, or like in why did Agnes pick you?”

  He let a large mouthful of beer slide down his throat. He’d felt the initial tingle of the alcohol a few minutes ago. Now he had head-to-toe prickles. “The second one first.”

  “I’m not sure. She said you’re one of the good ones. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Yes. I’m hoping it’s the answer to both parts of your question.”

  She settled into
an awkward silence.

  Jason took a long drink. “What does Agnes have besides the house and what’s in it?”

  “I have a list in the folder.” She started to move.

  He put a hand on her knee. “Don’t get up. Just a summary.”

  “She has a heck of a lot of money in the bank. She wants to give some to the animal shelter. She also has some stocks. I think most of it came to her from Gert and Ella. And she wants to rent the house. She doesn’t want to sell it. She was very adamant about that.”

  “She expects to get out?” Jason removed his hand from her knee, and she looked down and frowned.

  “She could, you know. I don’t think she was in her body when she killed Eddie. I think it was Lilin, just like all of the others.”

  “But you can’t let Agnes out without letting Lilin out, too.”

  “With proper therapy, it could happen. I’ve volunteered to head up her treatment. Pro bono. I got her into Napa State Hospital.”

  “Imola?”

  April giggled. “What?”

  “Imola. Napa State Hospital.”

  “Why do you call it that?”

  “The address. Napa-Vallejo Highway and Imola Avenue. When I was young, everyone called it Imola. It meant the ‘nut house.’”

  “Agnes will be in their new annex just outside of Napa, in American Canyon.”

  “Still Imola to me.”

  “It fits. Anyway, I’ll work with her once a week. It’s a bit of a drive, but I can deduct it.”

  “I feel better now that I know you’re helping her.” Jason put his hand back on her knee. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. But it’s not totally altruistic. It’s an incredible case.”

  “She, not it.”

  April wrinkled her brow. “Sorry. She could give us tremendous insight into dissociative identity disorder. Like I said in Mendocino, some cases are actually therapy induced. Therapists get the patients to overcome their horrible memories of abuse by having them playact through a fictitious person. The patients are so impressionable the fictitious personalities become real to them. This isn’t the case with Agnes. Her alternate personality was spontaneous. It came directly from her abuse.” She looked into his eyes. “Sorry. I’m talking too much.”

  “So you think Agnes was abused?”

  “It had to be something really bad. Most cases of DID come from childhood sexual abuse.”

  “You think she’ll open up?”

  “It’ll be a tough one. I wish we knew more about the abuser.” April stood. “You’re empty again. Another?”

  “Not unless you want me to sleep on this couch tonight.”

  She hurried into the kitchen. Two more bottle caps whooshed.

  CHAPTER 40

  JASON’S HEAD SWIRLED. THE SPIN, AUGMENTED BY THE buzz of alcohol, blurred the artwork on the wall of April’s condo. His own apartment was safe after all, but it was the last place he wanted to be right now.

  His interaction with April had accelerated exponentially through the evening. Talking. Flirting. And kissing. But why was he holding back? With one foot on the boat and one foot on the dock, he’d have to make a decision soon. If he was right about her expectations, the boat was about to sail—the next step was down the hall.

  He stood, to a mild protest. “I’ll be right back.”

  “It’s down there, on the left.” She pointed.

  “No. Not that. I need to get something from my car.”

  April sat upright. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He limped down the steps and paused at the back of the Volvo. The alcohol spun his thoughts into loops instead of straight lines. He had noticed April’s raised eyebrow of interest as far back as the dinner after their first meeting. Their recent interactions at the Mendocino Police Station, and her visit to his apartment door cemented her intent in his mind. But could he really give her what she wanted, and could he get that someone else out of his mind long enough to see if she could give him what he needed? She provided the allure—intelligent, kind, pretty. But why did he see it as a temptation instead of a simple attraction?

  The trunk of the Volvo complained at being violated at such a late hour, but yielded. Jason rummaged in its depths and came out with a small, sealed package. He tore at it and a string of three wrapped condoms fell back into the trunk. He retrieved it, paused, and pocketed all three. The stairway to April’s door seemed like three flights instead of just one.

  He let himself in to find an empty couch in a dark room. The only light came from down the hall so he followed the glow.

  He braced himself in the doorway of the bedroom. April was in bed, the blanket pulled up under her bare breasts. Was she one of the good ones? He had to find out.

  He kicked off his shoes on the way in the room. His shirt hit the floor before he reached the bed and his pants followed within seconds. He bent, pulled the pant legs from his feet, and fished in the right pocket for the condoms. One tear separated one from the other two, another tear opened the sleeve. He rolled it on.

  April pushed up on an elbow. “You don’t need one of those.”

  He yanked the covers to the foot of the bed and she met him halfway to the mattress.

  Her touch was urgent but tender. Not like the buckle-your-seatbelts, you-must-be-this-tall-to-go-on-this-ride experiences he’d had with Uh huh. Pure lust was fun, but unfulfilling.

  That was something a guy would never acknowledge out loud, at least not to other males. But since he’d experienced the depth of a loving physical relationship and lost it, there was a void that lust alone couldn’t fill.

  He relaxed into the bed then reached out to feel. His quest was both simple and complex at the same time. It was rooted in the physical, but it went well beyond that. Even with the alcoholic haze, he craved the intimacy, the tenderness of an emotional touch.

  He slid his right hand down April’s side to her hip. Across her flat stomach. He wanted to take his time. Build the mutual tension. The nervous energy. The desire to please. He envisioned cooing exhalations wavering in his ear, a lip-nibble on his neck.

  A hand gripped his wrist, pulling it upward. April moved it off her tummy and wriggled her hips against his, pushing herself under him. Her other hand slipped past his navel and grabbed him.

  She guided him to her and, with a muffled grunt, inside.

  He listened to her exhalations. Waited for her nibbles. Hoped for this union to go beyond the physical.

  The afterglow was certified by a close, gentle snuggle. April turned away, pulling on his arm. He pressed into the spoon and exhaled. “That was nice, Ag—” He felt her tense.

  “Name’s April. Remember?” She sounded distant, like she was conversing with a passerby on the street.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Did you and Agnes—”

  “No. But I’ve been living and breathing her for the last several months.”

  “And you’re still thinking about her.”

  “She makes an impression.”

  “Seems that way.”

  He pulled away and moved to the edge of the bed.

  She spun around and caught his arm. “Don’t go. My ego’s wounded, but you’ll make it up to me. After we get Agnes out of your mind.” She fluffed her pillow against the headboard and sat semi-upright, covers pulled to her neck. “You mentioned a book about her. How’s it coming?”

  He kissed her cheek and leaned against the headboard next to her. “I’m up to the analysis of the Inverness grave site.”

  “Anything that I don’t know about?”

  “I’m sure you know the DNA evidence from the small corpse came back identical to Agnes’s.”

  April nodded.

  “The coroner referred the case to a forensic anthropologist. Did you hear about that?”

  She shook her head.

  “There were significant signs of physical abuse. Broken bones that were healed without setting, a fractured skull, nea
rly healed. There was no way to tell how she died, or if she had been sexually abused. Even though some of the soft tissue was mummified, it wasn’t possible to tell.”

  “Is there any doubt in your mind?” The voice from the pillow came back professional.

  “Not really. I e-mailed the anthropologist to see if I could get some photos, but he hasn’t responded.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

  “Reporters can breathe underwater. Didn’t you know that?”

  “And under the covers, too.”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t notice. I was busy.”

  She didn’t laugh. “I want to talk about Agnes now. Since I’m treating her, I want to know everything you know about her.”

  “Here? Now? Don’t you know a man is supposed to fall asleep right after? It’s a law.”

  “Break this one and maybe we can break some others later on.” A comical wink punctuated her giggle.

  “There isn’t much else. Officer Wilson found a way through the U-Store fence. There were a few cut rungs in the chain link at the extreme southern corner of the lot. He couldn’t fit through, but he said someone smaller could. He went around to the other side and found a couple of loose boards in Agnes’s wooden fence on the side up close to the house. The house was in just the right position to block the view from the stakeout site.” He snuggled close.

  She relaxed into him, then stiffened. “Next time, if you call me Lilin, I’ll play the part and do some slicing.”

  “Warning noted and filed.”

  April shifted upward against the headboard. Her breast peeked from under the blanket. She pulled the fabric upward. “You have anything at all on Eddie?”

  “He’s a real mystery man. Nothing comes up besides useless details of his existence.”

  “Any hints about what he may have done, and why? Anything here would go a long way for Agnes’s treatment. I need some hints to get her to open up about her time with Lilin. And with Eddie.”

  “Sorry. I can’t give you anything. I’ll keep checking, but the dead ends could fill a graveyard. My source is banging his head against a wall as well.” He slid to the edge of the bed.