by J. M. Barlog
“Uncertain. Jenny's memory is still a problem, and she's not saying much about their relationship.”
“So what else...”
“Bridget Sterling, Jenny's friend, intimated that the marriage was in trouble. A number of people commented that Jenny was different prior to the accident.”
“But you've still got nothing.”
“I suspect the husband is involved with another woman.”
“Proof?”
“None. Surveillance has drawn a blank.”
“So, the husband's standing in shit up to his ears and boinking somebody else. Thus, he decides to off the wife for the money and the freedom. Let's move on. Number two?”
Rick shifted his file quickly and clumsily to the next section. When Rawlings switched on his indifferent gaze, Rick knew he was in trouble.
“Kate Matheson, the partner, stood to collect a million in insurance and end up with control of the agency. One of the by-products of the articles was that if one partner died, the other got controlling interest automatically.”
“So? I don't see criminal intent.”
“Kate's embezzling to support a cocaine habit. Goes back more than a year. Maybe Jenny became suspicious. Kate's a tough businesswoman who likes to play in a man's world.”
“She like to swing something she ain't got,” Rawlings said, intimating her absence of the male organ.
“Maybe Kate figured she'd pop her partner before Jenny could uncover the impropriety.”
“Plausible...what's the numbers?”
“Sixty-two thousand to date.”
“How'd she do it?”
“Dummy companies.”
“So your theory is: she kills Jenny, erases the embezzlement and pockets a million. Hence, no more reason to steal.”
“Exactly. I can even go one better.”
“Oh?”
“Let's say Kate is Warren's lover. Together they plan to rig Jenny's car. Jenny dies. They get the money, the agency, and the freedom to boink each other's brains into oatmeal.”
“You have any tangibles to support that theory? Have you put the business partner and husband in bed together?”
“Not yet. But Kate used Jenny's car in their business. Therefore, Kate had access to the car any time she wanted. But she had no control of Jenny that Friday. I think that's where the husband comes in. His job was to get her to that restaurant after Kate had the car jimmied.”
Rawlings leaned back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling.
“So?” Rick asked. He knew the longer Rawlings deliberated, the less chance he had of winning.
“I like your theory. I can see where they might have planned the ultimate murder. But...”
“I just need some more time.”
“All right, you've got another week. But I want you to nail that sonofabitch and if you can't, we close it out.”
“Then give me more men.”
“If you asked to borrow my wife, you'd stand a better chance of getting her over more men assigned to this case.”
Rick laughed; so did Rawlings. The clock had been restarted.
“Next time we meet, show me the string tying this case together. No string, then we close this out as accidental and move on with our lives. Now that the little girl has regained consciousness and is out of danger, we’re getting less pressure from above,” Rawlings offered as his last words before he left the conference room.
At least something good had come out of this so far.
23
Rick stopped his Cavalier safely down the road from the Garrett house. The natural curve of the pavement kept him out of sight. He sat there for a long time, knowing what he had to do might become very painful for Jenny. But the fact was, he was out of options. Her memory loss became the one crucial factor he had failed to account for when he began his investigation. It is impossible to predict a person's reaction, Rick cautioned himself.
He pulled into the Garrett drive and parked behind Warren's Saab. This was the point of no return.
Rick just knew he had to go for it. In the back of his mind, he hoped there would be no one at home in the Garrett house—that would give him an out.
Warren, however, answered the door promptly.
“Morning, Detective,” Warren said, waving Rick inside. His cigarette clung to his lips as if it had been glued there.
“I'd like to speak with Jenny if I could.”
“Oh sure, I'm thinking about installing a revolving door. Upstairs. Pay no attention to the equipment in her room. It's nothing.”
Warren laughed maniacally as he followed Rick up the stairs.
“How is she feeling these days?”
“Better.”
Again Warren released an odd giggle.
Rick found Jenny sitting at the edge of her bed, staring blankly out the window. His eyes immediately caught Dwight's and held them.
“Am I intruding?”
“Oh no, Detective Walker. Come in. Dwight is just...”
“Ms. Garrett...”
“Jenny, remember.”
“Jenny, I'd like to ask you some follow-up questions about the night of your accident.”
“But I still...”
“And I was hoping to ask your indulgence in something that might help me.”
Rick paused for a moment.
Dwight got the message. He slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Warren stood just inside the room with his arms wrapped across his chest.
“I'd like you to return to the road...the scene of the accident.”
“Oh.”
Jenny eyes became uncertain; her skin paled at the very thought. She searched Rick's eyes. There was something in her look that ignited the detective's concern.
“It might help you recall that night.”
Jenny was silent as she weighed the ramifications of Rick's request. Did she want to know what happened?
“Did the little girl...die?”
“No. She’s out of the coma.”
“Then she’s going to be all right?”
“Looks that way.”
At least no one had died in her accident, Jenny thought to herself.
“I realize that doesn’t change your investigation, though.”
“That’s correct. Please, if you’ll just help me, Mrs. Garrett.”
Jenny looked to Warren.
“Why?” Warren asked.
“It might help her remember.”
Warren stumbled for an objection. He found none that he could vocalize on short notice.
Jenny stood up and went to the closet.
“I'll get my coat,” Warren injected.
“No, Mr. Garrett, I'll be taking Jenny alone. I think it might help us learn more about what happened that night.”
Rick saw a sudden raw fear welling up in Jenny's eyes. She hesitated at the closet as if she had been suddenly struck by panic.
“I'll get into warmer clothes then.”
“Sure, I'll be downstairs. I promise not to keep you long.”
“Jenny, you don't have to go. If you're not up to it,” Warren said. His tone turned cautionary.
“No, Warren, I want to go. Maybe it will help.”
“I don't like this. I think we should consult Dr. Rosenstein.”
Rick was sitting in the only comfortable chair in the living room—Warren's favorite—and paging through his notes when Warren came down the stairs.
Warren went right to the telephone.
“This is Warren Garrett. I must speak with Rosenstein now.”
Warren glanced back at Rick while he waited.
“Yes, it is imperative. No. Tell him it concerns Jenny.”
Warren rotated the mouthpiece away and turned to face Rick, who looked up in response.
“I think I should check with a lawyer before you do this.”
“You feel a need to have a lawyer present?” Rick asked suspiciously.
“Yes, damnit, it's an emergency,” Warren spat back into the phone.
After Warren said it, he realized he had said those same exact words before. Rosenstein must be thinking he, too, was turning into a nut case.
Rick listened while Warren explained his intent to the doctor. Rick watched Warren's face drop.
“He wants to speak with you.”
“Detective Walker,” Rick said, then listened while Rosenstein counseled him. All Rick understood after their brief exchange was that Jenny's condition was tenuous and that he mustn't force her to face too much this soon. Patience would yield greater results than rushing her beyond her ability to cope right now.
Rick agreed, promising to keep their excursion as passive and non-threatening to Jenny as possible.
Plainly said, Rosenstein told Rick to back off if Jenny showed any signs of extreme anxiety. Rick promised he would.
Warren's eyes burned into Rick.
“I'm still against this. I demand that I accompany her.”
Methinks the man doth protest too loudly, Rick thought. What was he afraid of? Something that Jenny might remember? Something that could lead Rick right to Warren? A sudden thought wormed its way to the front of his mind. Was Warren driving the car following Jenny that night? If he was, did he nudge her enough to send her out of control and over the guard rail? Might Jenny remember seeing Warren’s car in her rearview mirror that night?
“Mr. Garrett, Jenny must be free of outside influence during this process.”
“And if I refuse...”
“I don't think you want to do that. I think you want to just let me do my job, so we can get this whole investigation over with. Anything you do to obstruct this case would only reflect poorly upon yourself.”
Jenny descended the stairs on Dwight's arm.
Warren's face flamed over in anger.
“Warren, it's all right. I can handle it.”
Warren was quick to steal Jenny's arm from Dwight.
“Will you still be here when I get back?” she asked of Dwight.
“No. I’m going back to the university. I've left all the monitors set and ready. If for any reason I don't return tonight, I will see you early tomorrow morning.”
“I'm ready, Detective,” Jenny said, though inside she doubted she could ever really be ready to face what lie ahead.
Jenny remained quiet, as did Rick, the entire forty-minute drive to Diamante's. The road that led to the restaurant wound and turned like an asphalt snake had been wrapped around the bulging earth. The view on the summit was spectacular, which was why the restaurant had been perched there a decade earlier.
Rick approached the building using a back road, allowing Jenny to see that stretch of downhill pavement exactly same way it appeared to her that night.
The restaurant parking lot was empty when they arrived. Diamante's opened at four and only served dinner. Rick stopped the car just inside the lot, shifted into park and opened his notebook.
“You left here about nine forty-five.”
Jenny nodded, but looked away from him.
“Do you remember?”
“Do I remember that night? No.”
Rick slid the shifter down to drive, accelerated, and wheeled right to ease onto the road that led back down the hill. Like a tour guide, he described his every movement as if it were that night and Jenny was the one behind the wheel.
Ahead, the road rolled down to the right at a five-degree bank and disappeared.
“I'm at twenty miles an hour right now. I know from your driving record that you were prone to excessive speed. Do you feel anything, Jenny?”
As they rounded the curve, Rick saw the glistening new section of guard rail installed as a result of Jenny's accident.
Jenny suddenly lurched back in her seat, digging her nails into the padded dash. She gasped to get hold of a breath.
“What happened here?”
Rick coasted over to the shoulder and stopped.
“I don't know. I just felt...I don't know.” Jenny began to cry, burying her face in her hands.
“Jenny, tell me what happened here. You remember something, don't you?”
“I...don't know what happened. I don't know what I did. But I felt something when we came around that bend.”
“What did you feel?”
“Like I was out of control.”
Rick eased the car forward closer to the exact spot where Jenny collided with the oncoming car that night. There were still lingering tire marks and oil stains. However, the new section of guard rail reflected the sun like a mirror.
“Please, Jenny, I need you to look. I need you to try...”
Slowly, Jenny removed her hands from her face. It was there before her eyes. The place where she...
“Think hard, Jenny. Please. I need your help.”
“I'm sorry, Detective, I just can't remember. It doesn't exist for me. Can't you understand?”
Jenny's voice took on a quiver. Tears erupted from her eyes.
“Okay, Jenny. I understand. It's okay.”
Rick rolled back onto the pavement, accelerating to get down the winding road and away from the scene.
“I was just hoping you could help me, that's all.”
“But why? Wasn't it an accident? Why are you so driven to do this to me? What did I do?”
“Jenny, I have reason to believe that your crash may not have been an accident.”
“What?”
“Can you think of any reason why someone might want you dead?”
Rick found himself choking on the question.
Jenny's mouth hung open in disbelief. What was he saying?
“No! That's crazy. It had to be an accident.”
She thought she had done something terrible that night. She thought it was her fault. Now he implied something totally different.
Rick knew he had to stop. His words were overwhelming Jenny. She stared at him as if she were looking through him. He had to wait for his words to register inside her.
“What are you saying?”
“I have to look at your case from every possible angle. Even the possibility that someone tried to kill you that night.”
“I can't believe you could possibly think something like that. Who would have a reason to want me dead?”
“You're sure? Could there be something, anything, you can remember that might help us?”
“Don't you understand? I can't help you. I can't remember those days. I can't remember the night of the accident.”
“Jenny, we know your car had been tampered with mechanically. Someone rigged your car to fail on this road. What we don't know is who and why. Who else used your car?”
“Warren. Kate. Even my secretary used my car when I needed her to run an errand for me.”
“Who else? Anyone else?”
“I can't think of anyone else. Bridget might have borrowed my car.”
“When?”
“In August...early August. She had a remote shoot and her car was in the shop, so I let her use mine and I used Warren's.”
Rick shrugged. Whoever rigged Jenny's car to fail had to have done it just prior to that night. Most likely, the day of the accident or the day before.
“Did anything unusual happen during that week? Jenny, think hard. Try to remember.”
Jenny's grimace told Rick she could handle no more of his questions. She couldn't remember. And Rick had played his last card.
****
As Jenny slept that night, the voices kept replaying inside her head with growing voracity. Like knives furiously stabbing her again and again, the words tormented her. Twice she awoke drenched in sweat with her heart hammering out of control. She called out for Warren, but her words went unheard. Or he chose to ignore her cry. She knew not which.
Dwight failed to return from the university, and for the first time in a week of nights, Jenny was sleeping alone in the room. Yet even in abject solitude, there was no yearning inside her for Warren.
His patience surpassed a saint's. No other man would have endured Dwight a
nd those crazy machines for this long. So why could she not make love to Warren? Why did the very thought of intimacy send waves of fear through her?
In the darkness, she ran her hand along the sheet where Warren should have been. A tear emerged from her eye, felt but unseen in the night as it rolled down her cheek.
Jenny closed her eyes and attempted to find her way back into the soothing comfort of sleep.
But the voices returned. This time angry and snarling at each other.
Damn you, take care of the bag...
I can't get a pressure...where's the...
“Please leave me be!” she yelled at the quarreling monsters inside her head. She pulled her hair in frustration, wishing that could somehow force them out of her life.
They stopped for now. But Jenny knew they would return. They, too, slept—only to awaken again to torment her further.
****
By four o'clock that afternoon, Rick stood on aching knees, ready to abandon his search. It was cold, drizzling, and for the past five hours, fruitless. He and Dugan, along with six uniforms, had covered Diamante's parking lot nine times, and still they turned up nothing.
If the restaurant owner had his lot swept by a contract sweeper, they might have lost the single most important piece of evidence Rick could have hoped for in the Garrett case.
Even Dugan, the champion of the cause, was getting testy. He was an inside man who disliked being out in the elements more than he disliked his wife's bitter coffee. His smile had fled his face hours earlier, along with his enthusiasm and his faith that they would ever find what they sought.
“Come on, Duggie, one more pass,” Rick said, folding a stick of chewing gum into this mouth. A hot cup of coffee would have tasted better right now, but that had to wait until they called it a day. Of those involved in this detail, Rick was the one who had to stay with it. He needed to find that one piece of evidence. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
Two cars parked in the farthest corner of the lot, owned by restaurant employees inside, were the only barriers to a complete and thorough search. But one of the uniforms laid on his rain gear to search even those inaccessible places.
Diamante's was the kind of place where you went for only the finest foods and spirits. And don't forget to bring your platinum card, because you can't carry enough cash to eat there.
