Midnight Disclosures

by Rita Herron

  “Were you in the service with my father?”

  Mark nodded, nearly choked. “Yes, he was my best friend.”

  “We missed you at the memorial service,” Marie said in a low voice.

  “Tell me about my dad,” Kevin said, wide-eyed. “Was he a hero like they said?”

  Mark didn’t hesitate. “Yes, he definitely was a hero.” Mark glanced at Marie’s hopeful expression. It encouraged him, so he described how they’d met, how they sat around the fire at night and shared stories about their families, how proud Abe was of his son, how much he’d wanted to go to that Braves game with him. Kevin and Marie listened, tears sliding down Marie’s cheeks occasionally, Kevin’s eyes were red-rimmed as well, but also exhilarated by hearing details about his father.

  Where were the accusations he had expected?

  “He wrote us about you,” Marie said. “And the other men in the platoon. You were all such good friends to him.”

  Mark nodded. “I have something for you,” Mark finally said. He reached into his pocket and drew out the dog tags. They jangled as he handed them to Kevin. “Your father wanted you to have these.”

  Kevin’s hand shook slightly as he accepted them, his face etched in awe as he slid the chain around his neck. Mark knew he had done right in coming to visit.

  “You were with him when…at the end?” Marie asked in a thick voice, a voice desperate for any word from the man she’d loved.

  He nodded, emotions clogging his throat as he looked down at Abe’s son. “The last thing he said was to tell you both that he loved you.” He rubbed Kevin’s hair, silently vowing to make sure he saw that baseball game. “He was so proud of you, he couldn’t wait to come home to you both.”

  Marie covered her mouth with a soft cry, and pulled Kevin to her. Then Kevin reached out to hug him. Mark dragged the boy into his arms and patted his back, taking Marie’s hand in his as the three of them grieved for her husband.

  “I’m so glad you were with him,” Marie said quietly.

  He nodded, wanting to apologize. “I wish I could have saved him.”

  She squeezed his hand. “You were there at the end, that’s all that matters, that he wasn’t alone.”

  “No,” Mark said gruffly. “He wasn’t alone. He had the two of you with him in his heart.”

  “And he always will,” Marie

  Kevin rubbed his father’s dog tags in reply.

  FINALLY, after making Marie and Kevin promise that if they needed anything, they’d call him, Mark composed himself enough to return to Claire’s. He couldn’t bring back their baby, but he could help Claire fight to get her life back.

  Tension stretched between them as he entered the kitchen. He poured himself some coffee to occupy his hands and went straight to the point. “I’m sorry for leaving you like that.”

  “I understand.”

  Did she? He wasn’t sure he did.

  Then again, Claire had always been intuitive. But this wasn’t about him or alleviating his guilt, it was about helping her. “Have you seen any specialists about your sight, Claire?”

  She turned away from him. “I don’t want to discuss it, Mark.”

  He gripped her arm. “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve accepted my condition. Anyone who wants to be my friend has to accept me the way I am, too.”

  “We’re hardly just friends, Claire.”

  He traced a finger over her chin. “And it’s not that I can’t accept your vision loss.” He thought of Abe and his wife and son and all they had lost. How short life was. How they had to grab every moment and hang on. “But if there’s a chance someone can help you, don’t you want to try?”

  “I told you, Mark, I’m fine now. I won’t see any more doctors.”

  She darted into the shower, ending the discussion, and making Mark feel as if she’d cut him out of her life once again.

  He heard the water running and stared at the rumpled covers in the bedroom, unable to believe that just last night and then again in the wee hours of the morning, he and Claire had been making love, forging a new bond that he’d hoped would last forever.

  But too much had happened between them.

  He wanted to tell her he could accept things the way they were. But if there was a chance she could see again, he wasn’t sure he could accept her giving up. The Claire he’d known had been a fighter.

  But he couldn’t force her to love him. There was only one thing left to do now. Find the killer. Then let Claire get on with her life.

  When she entered the kitchen, her hair was still damp, dangling in soft ringlets around her shoulders. She had dressed in another suit, a dark green one this time, that flattered her curves but looked professional.

  In spite of the tension between them, his body reacted to the memory of those curves, naked and supple in his hands, and he hardened instantly, aching for her again.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  She nodded and walked to the coffeepot. He frowned at the sight of her trembling hands as she filled her cup. She looked exhausted, the strain of the morning and the caller wearon her. Still, he was amazed at her strength and how self-sufficient she’d become without her sight. But simple tasks like pouring coffee took more concentration for her, another reminder of what she’d lost.

  He wouldn’t let the killer get to her again.

  “Claire, who else did you tell about the miscarriage?”

  A pained look tightened her mouth. “No one.”

  “No one?”

  “Paulette.”

  “Who else?”

  “Just the doctors and nurses who treated me after the accident.”

  “There has to be someone else.” Mark sighed in frustration. “Or how else would the Midnight Murderer know you’d lost a child?”

  “I’VE BEEN ASKING myself the same question over and over again.” She sat down at the table and hugged her cup with her hands, hoping to warm herself. Although she desperately wanted to slide back into Mark’s embrace, to turn back the clock to the night before when he’d lain entwined with her and she’d felt optimistic about their relationship, everything had changed. Now he knew the truth; about their child, about her vision impairment, about her imperfections.

  He must blame her for their child’s loss. And if she couldn’t forgive herself, how could she expect him to?

  “Did you tell Dr. Lassiter? Ian Hall? Dr. Ferguson?”

  She shook her head no.

  “What about your patients?”

  “I never disclose personal information to a patient.” She hesitated. “And as far as Joel Sanger, he was admitted to the psychiatric ward last night and is under heavy medication, so that rules him out.”

  “Could someone have hacked into your medical records?” he asked.

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  Mark drummed his fingers on the table. “You seemed so sure about the doctors who treated you when you first had the accident. Maybe I should investigate—”

  “But the doctor who treated me when I was admitted was female. When I came to CIRP for rehab therapy, my therapist was also female.” A sudden memory broke through the haze of ones she’d tried to forget. “Although…”

  “Although what, Claire?”

  She pressed a hand to her mouth. She’d tried to block out most of those first few months after the accident. The pain had been so intense, one day had bled into another.

  “What is it? Even the smallest detail might prove helpful.”

  “I went to a support group for a while,” she said in a low voice.

  A heavy sigh escaped him. Pity probably.

  “It was led by a male doctor?”

  “No. But there was a man in the group who tried to befriend me. I’d forgotten about him.”

  “Go on.”

  “I…I can’t remember his name. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I was too wrapped up in my own problems. But he asked me to go out for coffee a couple of times.”

  “Wh
at did you tell him?”

  “I said no, Mark. I wasn’t looking for another romance.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “But that was so long ago. I doubt he’d bother me now. I haven’t heard from him in months.” She stood and paced to the window. “In fact, I don’t even know where he is.”

  “Were all the members of the group suffering from vision problems?”

  “No.” Claire strained to remember the various situations. “There were four women, three men. One of the men was in his eighties, he’d recently lost his wife. Another was a teenager, he accidentally killed his best friend in a DUI related automobile accident.”

  “And the man who approached you?”

  “He was probably in his early thirties.” She hesitated, remembering how lonely he’d sounded. “An ex-military man. I believe he fought in Desert Storm. He was suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder.” She hesitated, knowing Mark could relate.

  “Think hard, Claire, do you remember his name?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t pay much attention to him. Then I dropped out of the group. I don’t even know what happened to him.”

  “Can you get me a list of the people who attended?”

  She nodded. “But Mark, I really don’t think this guy is a killer.”

  “Maybe not, but we’ve hit dead ends so far. We have to check it out.”

  She set her coffee cup in the sink. “All right, then let’s go. I have an appointment with a patient first thing.” She refrained from telling him that her patient was Richard Wheaton. Wheaton had once worked for a computer company. If anyone could hack into her files, it would be him.

  And he definitely fit the profile of the killer.

  MEMORIES OF Mark’s own stint in Desert Storm surfaced.

  In the aftermath of a surprise bombing attack, he’d been trapped in the rubble of an explosion with three other guys. He’d finally been able to free himself, then help the others escape. Only one poor guy had begged to be left to die.

  Mark shuddered at the memory. Apparently, the man thought he was going to be paralyzed, and had believed a life without legs wasn’t worth living. He’d cursed Mark for setting him free, claiming he’d taken him from one hell to the next.

  But Mark hadn’t been able to leave a man to die.

  Bse wasn’t about him. The killer was someone who’d obviously become obsessed with Claire.

  As soon as they arrived at her office, she phoned the counselor in charge of the support group and explained the circumstances, then handed Mark a list of the people who’d attended. Claire even balked at that, worried she was breaking doctor’s privilege, but he agreed to use discretion. Only one name on the list was of interest, though. Al Hogan, the man who’d expressed interest in Claire.

  Mark phoned Devlin and explained the most recent turn of events. “Listen, Devlin, I have two names I want you to run. Al Hogan and Richard Wheaton. Hogan was in a support group Claire attended and is a war vet. He was interested in Claire, but she refused his advances.”

  “Got it,” Devlin said. “Who’s the other man, Wheaton?”

  “A patient of Claire’s. Let me know what you find.”

  “I will. Where are you now?”

  “On my way to talk to one of the women in the support group. I’m going to see if Hogan approached any of the other females, find out what their impressions of him were.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Mark hung up, his nerves tight. The fact that the killer had attacked Claire, then phoned her at home proved he was taking chances. He was also growing more dangerous. Mark had to find him before he killed again.

  Before he returned for Claire.

  AT THE OFFICE, Claire learned Richard Wheaton had phoned in to reschedule his appointment, so she’d dropped by the psychiatric wing and visited Joel Sanger. Just as she’d expected, he had been medicated during the night and was still incoherent. Dr. Ferguson had ordered a complete battery of tests to eliminate the possibility of a brain tumor or some other physical reason for his condition. They were also testing the odd rash on his arms.

  Then she checked with Dr. Ferguson and with the medical hospital in Atlanta to verify that her personal files and medical history hadn’t been confiscated. Both places assured her that they had had no inquiries, although they couldn’t be positive that someone hadn’t hacked into the system. They did have special security codes to avoid such hacking, but an expert, especially someone with knowledge of medical software, might have found a way around the system.

  Not a comforting thought.

  Richard Wheaton had not only been a computer programmer, but he’d once worked for a large pharmaceutical company. He had knowledge of medical software and knew how to circumvent various security systems.

  She should share this information with Mark, but she still felt uncomfortable disclosing details pertaining to her patients. If Wheaton wasn’t the killer, then she would stir up problems for him that would ruin their professional relationship, problems which might set Wheaton back years in the recovery process.

  She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if that happened.

  Yet, how could she let him kill again, if he was

  The phone rang, and she was surprised to find her Atlanta physician back on the line. “I know we just talked,” he said, “but one of my nurses informed me that someone from the FBI had accessed your file. I don’t know why they’d be interested, Claire, but I thought you should know.”

  Claire grew livid. Mark had been prying into her personal files again? Looking for information about her condition? He had no right…

  And now, he most likely knew that the doctors believed her blindness to be psychosomatic. He must think she was crazy. Maybe he’d even made love to her out of sympathy, and some misguided hope of helping her regain her sight.

  She hung up, but by the time Wheaton arrived her nerves were splintered. She had to finish this case and get Mark out of her life. She’d accepted her blindness, her limitations. She didn’t need him making her question herself, or her sanity.

  A knock sounded, and she jerked back to the present as her patient entered.

  “Hello, Richard.”

  “Dr. Kos.”

  So, he was the adult man today. She never knew which personality to expect. But she needed to access Richie, the angry adolescent.

  She inhaled, searching for the odor she related to the killer, but detected the faint scent of salt and sweat instead. “How are you feeling today?”

  He settled onto the couch. “Tired.”

  “Did you have a rough night?”

  “Yes.” His voice sounded agitated.

  “Is that the reason you rescheduled your appointment?”

  “Yes.” He hesitated and she waited patiently, silently encouraging him to offer more. “I woke up on the beach this morning. I…” his voice broke. “I can’t remember how I got there.”

  She struggled not to react to that fact, knowing that all of the victims were found on the beach. “Do you go to the beach a lot?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You’ve had these blackouts before?”

  “Blackouts?”

  “Yes, times when you’ve woken up, and you haven’t remembered how you got somewhere?”

  “Yes.” His breathing rippled out in short little puffs, as if he was growing distressed.

  “Do you always wake up on the beach?”

  “Yeah. Richard likes it there, especially the cliffs.”

  “What are you doing when you wake up?” she asked.

  He took a long time answering. “I’ve been sweating like I’d been running. And twice, I …my fingers had blood on them.”

  Claire froze, then reminded herself that he could see her reactions. Was he watching? Taunting her to guess his identity?

  Or was she wrong to suspect him as the killer?

  “Perhaps Richie knows,” she finally said in a low soothing
voice. “Can I talk to him? Maybe he can tell us what Richard’s been doing on the beach.”

  An eerie quiet descended over the room. Wheaton’s clothing rustled as he shifted, then his breathing changed more dramatically. Finally he stood, paced to the window, his steps hurried and clipped. “Richie?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Hi, I was hoping you’d visit me today.”

  “Why?” His voice taunted her. “You like me the best, Dr. Kos?”

  “I want to help all of you,” Claire said, choosing her words carefully.

  “But you like Richie ’cause he’s got guts. He takes care of his women, don’t he? Women want men to take care of them.”

  Claire wasn’t sure how he interpreted the word “care” so she let the comment slide. “Tell me, Richie, did you take care of your mother?”

  A nasty laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I took care of her. She ain’t no bad girl anymore.”

  His tone sent a chill through Claire all the way to her bones. Was it the same voice she’d heard the night before on the phone? Last night, it had sounded muffled. “Did you kill your mother, Richie?”

  He grunted. “Someone had to stop her.”

  “What about those other women? Do you make them pay for what your mother did?”

  “The women Richard dates?” He drummed his fingernails on the window sill. “Sometimes, they have to be punished.”

  “How do you punish them?”

  “Richard will kill me if I tell,” Richie replied. “He doesn’t want to get in trouble.”

  “In trouble with the police, you mean?”

  “Yeah.” The nasty laugh rippled out again. “But those bad women get what they deserve.”

  Claire inhaled. “Does Richard have a girlfriend now?”

  “Of course, Doc. He’s hung up on you.” Another laugh. “Or are you too blind to see it?”

  Claire’s heartbeat drummed faster. Richard Wheaton had never insinuated he had personal feelings for her, not even once. But she hadn’t been able to see him. He could have been looking at her with interest for months, and she hadn’t detected it. “Tell me about the beach and what Richard does at night. Does he take women there?”