by Joanna Wayne
“She showed up at the hospital this morning. I talked to her briefly.”
“She was here? Why didn’t someone tell me?”
“You were resting. And you’re supposed to be staying calm. If just talking about Ben’s death is hitting you this hard, imagine how difficult talking to his widow would be.”
“Stay calm? In the midst of this terror and chaos? You might as well tell me to gaze into a crystal ball and conjure up the name of the killer.” She kicked the blanket off her legs. Not that she was hot. She just needed to kick something.
“I should at least call Ben’s wife.”
“I wouldn’t,” Durk said. “Not yet.”
“She came to see me. She must want to talk.”
“You’ll just upset both of you if you try to talk about Ben’s death while you can’t even remember him. You should wait.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Durk leaned over the bed and rubbed her bruised arm, gingerly, as if he were comforting a small child or an aging aunt. But he was staring out the window and his mind was clearly grappling with more than whether she called Mary Nell now or later.
“Why do I think there’s more you’re not telling me?” she asked.
“Because you’re one of the most perceptive P.I.s in the business.”
“Then spill it.”
“I may as well. If I don’t, Detective Smart will. I’m the one who went to your office and found Ben’s body, Meghan.”
Confusion settled in again. “You found the body? How did that happen? You said you only ran into me at the hospital while you were checking on your aunt.”
“I did, but since I was the only person around who knew you, I was enlisted to provide pertinent information—like your name, age, address. But that was basically all I could give them.”
Meghan listened to Durk’s account of how he went to her office for information and found Ben’s body instead. Worrisome doubts crept into her mind when he came to the part about why his fingerprints were all over the pistol left near Ben’s body.
All she really knew of Durk Lambert was what he had told her. She had no way of knowing if any of it was true. He could be a conniving imposter.
He admitted that he hadn’t seen her in two years before last night. He claimed that they were once lovers but that it hadn’t worked out. He explained that running into her last night was purely coincidental.
And yet he was the first person she’d seen when she woke up in this room and he’d barely left her side since. She reached over and let her fingers trace the smooth lines of his hands. Not the rough skin of a man who worked with animals and ropes and saddles, but a rich man’s hands with clean nails and smooth knuckles. And the watch on his wrist was a Rolex.
Her instincts urged her to trust him. But why trust her instincts when her mental status was shaky at best?
She moved her hand away from his. A dozen questions plagued her mind. Before she could ask the first one, Detective Smart stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.
He set a green canvas messenger bag on the seat of an empty chair. Then he crossed the room, glared at Durk and introduced himself to Meghan. “I’m sorry to disturb your recovery,” Smart said as he flashed his ID, “but I know you want the person who did this to you apprehended as badly as I do.”
“Believe me, I don’t mind being questioned, but I don’t see how I can be much help.”
The detective slipped out of his navy-colored, slightly wrinkled sport coat. “Hope you don’t mind. Seems a little hot in here to me.”
“No, make yourself comfortable.”
He draped the coat over the back of the chair that held his canvas tote. “Dr. Levy said the attack left you with a concussion and that it was causing some memory problems.”
“Not just some memory problems,” Durk corrected. “She’s experiencing retrograde amnesia.”
Smart nodded and propped his foot on the rung of a chair while he held on to the back of it. Meghan had the feeling he was trying too hard to be nonchalant.
“From the little I understand about retrograde amnesia, it seems it’s an unpredictable condition. The memory loss can be spotty. Remember your name, but not your address. Remember the last time you went dancing, but not what you had for dinner last night. That type of thing.”
“That hasn’t been my experience to this point,” Meghan assured him. “My loss is far more pervasive than that.”
“If she says she doesn’t remember, she doesn’t remember,” Durk said. “Pressuring her won’t help, and I’m certain Dr. Levy told you that.”
“I’m not pressuring, Lambert. Meghan and I are just talking.”
The tension between the two men crackled like water on a hot skillet. She wondered if Smart actually considered Durk a suspect or if this was more of a macho power struggle between the two men. At any rate, she didn’t feel pressured by Smart. But he was definitely trying to manipulate her.
She decided to get everything out in the open. “I don’t remember anything about the attack or what happened prior to the attack. But Durk just told me about Ben Conroe. I’d think you’d be better off spending your time investigating the murder.”
“I’m investigating every angle of both,” Smart said. “Did Durk mention that his fingerprints are all over the murder weapon?”
“I explained to Meghan how that happened,” Durk said, “the same as I explained it to you.”
“I’m sure she agreed it was a good story.”
“Has it been verified that the pistol in question is in fact the murder weapon?” Meghan asked.
“Now you sound like a private investigator,” Smart said. “Either that or a defense attorney, almost like you’re working for Durk.”
She locked her gaze with Smart’s. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He dropped his hands from the back of the chair and stepped closer to the bed. “We don’t have a conclusive ballistics report as yet, but the bullet that killed Ben Conroe did come from the same caliber pistol as the one found at the crime scene.”
“Do you know who the gun was registered to?”
“We do. The gun was registered to you, Meghan.”
She tried to stay cool, but she winced at the news.
“The killer must have taken it from Meghan when she tried to defend herself with it,” Durk said. “Then he took it with him to her office and used it to kill Ben.”
Her gun was used to kill Ben Conroe. Things were getting worse by the second. “My contribution to Ben’s murder,” Meghan lamented.
“Don’t start blaming yourself for any of this,” Durk said.
“At least not until we know what really went down,” Smart added.
“Not ever,” Durk insisted. “Meghan’s the victim, not the villain. And for the record, I’m not the villain, either.”
“I’m aware of the facts in the case, Lambert.”
Everyone seemed to have a handle on the facts except her. “Did your investigation of the crime scene uncover any useful evidence other than the weapon?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss evidential findings with you at this point,” Smart said. He walked to the window, looked out for a second and then turned and leaned his tall frame against the sill. “What I need from you is a description of your attacker.”
“And you know I can’t give you that as long as the amnesia is blocking out my memory of that night.”
“Then perhaps this will jog your memory,” Smart said. “On the day you were attacked, a phone call was made to your office.”
“I can’t even remember where I live. How do you think I could possibly remember a phone call?”
“I doubt you ever heard this call, but you may recognize the voice.”
“Do you have the recording with you?” Durk asked.
“Yes, I do.”
Smart pulled the answering machine from the messenger bag and plugged it in. In seconds, a deep, smooth, downright seductive male voice filled t
he room. His words chilled Meghan to the bone.
“I can’t wait to meet you in person, Meghan. I’m captivated by your picture and enchanted by your sexy Texas drawl. I do hope you’re not just leading me on. I think I’m already falling in love with you. The hours will drag by until when we finally meet.”
Her stomach lurched. “I set up a date with a killer.”
“Possibly,” Smart said. “We don’t know for certain that the call and the crime are related. But it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve insinuated yourself as bait to catch a criminal,” the detective said, his tone coldly accusing.
“Meghan’s a private investigator,” Durk reminded him. “She does her job, just like you do.”
Smart ignored him. “I’ll leave you my card, Meghan. Call me on my cell phone immediately if you remember anything about the man who left the message or who attacked you. The longer this man goes free, the farther he may get from Dallas.”
A man she’d likely lured into Ben’s life as well as her own. Now Ben was dead. The guilt was suddenly crushing.
Detective Smart didn’t back off. “No games this time, Meghan. I expect your full cooperation. If I find that you know something you’re not sharing with me or that your amnesia is only a ruse, I promise I will prosecute you for interfering with a police investigation.”
His intimidation attempt was over the top. “I was attacked. My associate was murdered. Why would you think I would lie to you?”
“Past history, Meghan.”
Durk stood and walked over to the door. “You’ve said enough, Detective. I think it’s time you take the answering machine and your threats and bullying and concentrate on finding Ben’s killer.”
“I’m going,” Smart said. “But I’ll be back tomorrow and the next day and the next day—until either the perp is behind bars or Meghan regains her memory.”
Smart unplugged his machine and repacked it. “Nothing personal, Meghan. I’m just doing my job.”
Right, nothing personal except her past history, a history she couldn’t remember.
The door closed behind Smart. Meghan took his card, looked at it for a second and then tossed it on the table next to her bed. “I certainly hope that wasn’t the good cop.”
“Smart’s just trying to intimidate you.”
“He’s good at it. I don’t think he cares much for either of us.”
“The feeling is mutual, at least on my part.”
“Same here, but I must have quite a reputation as a smart and talented P.I. if Smart thinks I could fake the amnesia.”
“I don’t think anyone who knows you would doubt that.”
She stared Durk down. “Don’t tell me you think I’m faking.”
“I didn’t say that. But I do think you’re capable of pulling it off if you wanted to.”
“Because of my past history?”
“Partly.”
“You’re absolutely right. If I were faking, Durk Lambert, I wouldn’t admit it.” She might as well keep the cowboy on his toes. “I wonder if the killer is still in the Dallas area,” she said, changing the subject.
“He probably skipped town quick if he thinks you can identify him or if he’s the one who left the message on your office phone.”
“Now that I think about that, why would anyone be stupid enough to leave a message like that if they were planning to attack me? It sounds more like someone was being set up.”
“That’s a definite possibility,” Durk agreed. “It would be nice if we had a motive for that.”
“Do you know if I have security cameras either inside or outside my office or condo?”
“You definitely have them at your condo complex,” Durk said. “I didn’t notice any at your office, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.”
“I’m sure Smart has checked it out,” she said. “He didn’t mention my computer or cell phone, though. I wonder if my attacker made off with them.”
“It seems unlikely since your neighbor indicated the attacker made a hurried exit. You have Smart’s phone number. Give him a call.”
“I have a better idea. I should pay a visit to my condo. If anything is going to jog my memory about the attack, the scene of the crime should.”
“Now you sound like the pre-attack Meghan.”
“Then why the scowl? Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“Not necessarily in this situation. Not if you like staying alive.”
“I do.” But she had a strong suspicion that while ignorance might be bliss, knowledge and knowing whom to trust were the secrets of survival.
She didn’t dare trust anyone yet. So when she left the hospital tomorrow morning, she’d be flying solo. Unfortunately, she had no safe place to land.
Chapter Eight
The hospital halls were deserted this time of night, though he could hear voices coming from the nurses’ station a few yards in front of him. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to pass it.
He slowed his pace to check the name on the door he was passing. The last name was Everett. He kept walking.
Head up. Shoulders straight. An easy, confident swagger, he reminded himself as he pushed up the sleeves of the freshly laundered lab coat. Swiping it from the locked supply room had been surprisingly easy, thanks to the small metal tool he’d purchased from a locksmith company.
No wonder there were so many break-ins in his neighborhood. Locks were a joke. Car locks. Condo locks. Nothing to it.
His pulse hiked and his hands grew clammy when he spotted a nurse walking toward him. Stay cool. He managed a smile when she stopped in front of him.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Sure. I’m still finding my way around this wing. I’m Tom Farmer, one of the residents recently assigned to the Trauma Unit. Dr. Levy sent me up to update Meghan Sinclair’s chart.”
“I bet he’s getting ready to move her to a new floor. I told him we’d likely need that bed for a new trauma patient by morning.”
It was amazing how helpful a hospital’s staff could be, especially if you approached them right. “You’re right,” he said. “Meghan will be gone soon.” The irony pleased him.
“Her full chart is at the nurses’ station. But the one the doctor probably wants updated is in the holder at the foot of her bed.”
“Which room is that?”
“It’s 305, just down the hall.”
“I’ll try not to wake her.”
“I doubt she’s asleep. I don’t think her boyfriend has gone home yet.”
Damn. Not what he needed. “I can’t believe she has company this late. It’s almost midnight. Don’t you follow visitor’s hours in this unit?”
“It all depends on the patient and the doctor. Meghan Sinclair is experiencing a serious form of retrograde amnesia following a concussion. Dr. Levy thinks that having someone she knows stay with her might speed up the memory recovery process.”
“Does she have company around the clock?”
“She did last night, but that was just after she was admitted. I expect her visitor to go home tonight, but I’m not her nurse. Angela Drake is. She probably knows more about what’s going on.”
“Thanks.” He started to walk away.
The nurse continued to block his path. “I’m surprised Dr. Levy didn’t call and let us know he was planning to move Meghan out of this unit. He usually does.”
“It’s been crazy in the E.R. tonight. He’ll probably call when he finds time. Meghan’s case sounds interesting,” he said, changing the subject.
“It’s the worst case of memory loss stemming from a concussion that I’ve ever seen,” the nurse admitted. “Meghan doesn’t remember anything prior to regaining consciousness in the hospital.”
“So she has no idea who attacked her?”
“Not a clue. The doctor did finally let a detective from the DPD in to see her this afternoon, but she couldn’t have told him anything useful.”
“But it’s just a temporary memory loss, right?”
/>
“Right. It should run its course soon, unless there are emotional factors involved. But if you have to be out of it, you can’t beat having Durk Lambert around to hold your hand.”
“Durk Lambert as in Lambert Inc.?”
“Yes. He’s been with her almost constantly. We’re all envious of Angela for getting to see so much of him.”
He couldn’t care less about Durk Lambert, but having another person in the room would make finishing the job much more difficult. All he needed was a few minutes alone with Meghan. Suffocation was easy, quick and silent.
It was his method of choice, though this would be the first time he’d killed a woman in a hospital.
The shame was he couldn’t kill her torturously slow so that he could get his kicks. Now it would be a pillow over the face until her lungs gave up the struggle for oxygen.
It was sad that it had to end this way for such a beautiful woman. But she had brought it all on herself.
Now he just had to find a place he could hang around unseen until the boyfriend went home. It would be a glorious ending to the chapter.
The book would go on. The setting would change to another town, perhaps even another state. He would miss Texas.
Chapter Nine
A frigid mist was falling. The icy crystals clung to Meghan’s skin, stinging like a thousand bumblebees. She pulled the light jacket tighter. It was almost dark. She should be home by now, locked safely inside.
She searched for her house, but even the street no longer looked familiar. The houses had bolted doors and dark windows. They had yards, but no grass—only weeds and flowers that had turned a rusty brown. She was lost. She had to get back to her own street.
She tried to run, but the roots of a spiny tree reached out to trip her. Her feet entangled in the spiky clumps and she fell face-first into the mud.
Laughter filled the night, but when she looked up, she saw nothing. The people who mocked her were hiding behind the dark windows. They were safe. She was the only one left out in the cold.
Wind gusted through the trees with such force that she had to grab on to the trunk of a towering tree to keep from being blown backward. Thunder rumbled. She had to find her way home before it was too late.
