Amnesia

by Beverly Barton

  Rubbing his palm across his face, he grunted, then leaned over and looked at himself in the interior rearview mirror. Other than his hair being slightly disheveled, he didn’t look any worse for wear. But he had a damn crick in his neck. As he massaged the back of his neck, he twisted his head from one side to the other.

  Quinn checked his watch. Seven fifty-two. Damn, he’d been out over an hour and a half. After spearing his fingers through his hair, he turned the ignition key, started the Porsche and exited the parking lot. Realizing he was only a few miles from his destination, he wondered why he’d stopped here instead of trying to make it to Kendall’s house. He must have been really out of it when he left the flow of traffic.

  With the late afternoon rush hour over and the streets not as congested as they had been earlier, it shouldn’t take him long to get to Kendall’s. He backed up his car and headed toward the main thoroughfare. His head hurt like hell. When he arrived at Kendall’s, he’d get a couple of aspirin.

  Less than ten minutes later, when he turned onto the street where Kendall lived, he saw the whirling lights of an ambulance and patrol cars. A tight knot formed in the pit of his belly. Whatever’s going on, it’s not at Kendall’s house, he told himself. Don’t expect the worst, don’t think something’s wrong with Kendall just because you were the one who discovered Lulu’s body.

  He slowed the Porsche to a crawl as he drew nearer the emergency vehicles, which were parked in a row along the street in front of Kendall’s house. A small group of neighbors were huddled together in the street on both sides of Kendall’s place, curiosity and concern fostering their vigil.

  God, not again! This can’t be happening. Please, let Kendall be all right. She can’t be hurt. She can’t be dead.

  Quinn drove by slowly, going several houses down from Kendall’s before he pulled his Porsche over to the curb and parked. After killing the engine, he sat there for a couple of minutes, willing himself under control. Although his gut was telling him he could now expect the worst, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the possibility that something bad had happened to Kendall. Filled with dread, Quinn got out of his car and walked up the street. When he drew closer, he saw a patrolman manning the perimeter, keeping curiosity seekers and nosy neighbors at bay. He made it halfway to the front door when the young, freckle-faced officer stopped him.

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stop.”

  “What’s wrong?” Quinn asked. “I know the lady who lives here. Kendall Wells. She’s my lawyer and a good friend.”

  “I’m sorry.” The officer’s cheeks flushed. “I can’t give you any information at this time.”

  Just as the paramedics came out of the house via the front door, a black Chevy Trailblazer pulled up behind one of the patrol cars parked on the street. Quinn immediately recognized the man who emerged. Memphis’s medical examiner, Udell White.

  Quinn’s heart sank. Somebody inside Kendall’s house was dead. If not Kendall, then who? As the ME came closer, he glanced at Quinn and apparently recognized him immediately.

  “Did this guy find the body?” the ME asked the young officer.

  “No, sir. He just showed up. The victim’s ex-husband actually discovered the body. He’s inside with—”

  “Kendall’s dead.” Quinn felt sick. “How…who…?”

  “Cortez, you’d probably better wait around,” Udell White said. “I’m sure Norton and George are on their way. They’re bound to have a few questions to ask you.”

  “How did she die?” Quinn asked. “Did her ex-husband kill her? Was it an accident? Did an intruder—?”

  “Keep him out here,” the ME told the young policeman, indicating Quinn with a hitch of his thumb in Quinn’s direction as he headed straight for the front door.

  “Sir, if you’ll just stay out of the way and wait here, I’d appreciate it,” the policeman said to Quinn.

  With his head pounding and his stomach churning, Quinn nodded, then turned and walked to the curb. Disregarding his surroundings and the murmurs of the small crowd nearby, Quinn sat down on the curb, hung his head and dropped his clasped hands between his knees. How was it possible that in the span of seventy-two hours, two of his lovers had died?

  Annabelle found herself enjoying Chad George’s company a great deal. Since being seated and ordering dinner at Pat O’Brien’s, located two blocks south of the Peabody on Beale Street, they hadn’t mentioned Lulu or anything connected to her murder. Chad had relayed basic personal facts and she’d done the same. He was nearly thirty, never married, his mother was a widow who taught English at Memphis State, his uncle was a congressman and his older sister was a pediatric nurse who lived with her husband and one daughter in Horn Lake, Mississippi, which was pretty much considered a suburb of Memphis.

  The waiter had just brought their after-dinner coffee when Chad’s beeper went off.

  He glanced at the number displayed, frowned and said, “Sorry, but I need to call in about this.”

  “Certainly. Go right ahead.” Annabelle lifted the cup to her lips, tasted the hot coffee and sighed. Delicious.

  Using his cell phone, Chad made the call. When he groaned, Annabelle glanced at him and noted his furrowed brow.

  “Say again.” Chad’s features hardened. “Yeah, I heard you. Have you contacted Norton? Okay. I’m on my way. I’ll meet him there.”

  “What’s wrong?” Annabelle asked.

  “I’m afraid I have to leave now. There’s been a murder in the South Bluff area. I have to go, but I’ll drop you back by your hotel.”

  “Yes, of course, but I assumed you were off duty.”

  Chad stood. “I am, but this murder—this possible murder— well, it might be connected to another case my partner and I are working on.”

  Annabelle’s stomach muscles tightened. “Lulu’s case?”

  When she stood, Chad placed his hand on the small of her back. “The victim—the deceased—is Kendall Wells,” he whispered, for her ears only.

  Annabelle gasped. “Quinn Cortez’s lawyer has been murdered?”

  Chad grasped her elbow and led her through the restaurant and out to the street. “I don’t know any details, except that Ms. Wells is dead and the ME has been called. But, yeah, it looks like foul play, according to the first officers on the scene.”

  “Don’t waste time taking me back to the hotel,” Annabelle told him. “I’ll go with you.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “I’ll stay in the car and out of the way. I promise. But if Kendall Wells was murdered and her death is in any way connected to Lulu’s, then I want to know. I need to know.”

  “I shouldn’t take you along,” Chad said as he led her to his parked car, but when she gazed at him pleadingly, he gave in without putting up much of a fight. “You stay in the car, out of sight and keep quiet.”

  “I will. I promise.” She reached out and grasped Chad’s hand, then smiled appreciatively at him as she twined her fingers with his and squeezed. “Thank you.”

  When Jim Norton arrived on the scene and saw Quinn Cortez sitting on the curb outside Kendall Well’s house, a jolt of déjà vu hit him.

  Jim nodded toward Quinn. “What’s he doing here?” Jim asked freckle-faced Officer Vickers. “Don’t tell me he found the body.” Just the fact that Cortez’s lawyer was dead, probably murdered, was peculiar enough, but if Cortez had discovered the body, what were the odds anyone would believe he hadn’t murdered her? After all, he was already a prime suspect in Lulu Vanderley’s murder.

  “No sir, he’s just a friend and client who showed up a few minutes ago,” Officer Vickers said. “Ms. Wells’s ex-husband, Dr. Jonathan Miles, is the one who discovered the body. He told us that he stopped by to see her occasionally, that their divorce, which isn’t official yet, was an amicable one and they were still friends. When he arrived, he noticed the side door was wide open, so he went in and called out to Ms. Wells. When she didn’t answer, he went through the house searching for her
and found her in her bedroom.”

  “How did she die?” Jim asked. “Was she shot, stabbed—”

  “No visible wounds of any kind, except…” Vickers swallowed. “Her right index finger had been cut off. And there was a pillow lying over her face, so we figured she’d been smothered.”

  “Goddamn,” Jim grumbled. “Is Udell White in there now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The guy over there sitting by the curb…” Jim indicated Quinn. “How much did you tell him about what happened here?”

  “Nothing. I swear. I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “He wasn’t told that you suspect Ms. Wells was suffocated? Or that her index finger had been cut off?”

  Vickers shook his head. “No, sir. I’d never…I mean I know what to do and what not to do. I’m not exactly a rookie. I’ve been on the force for over a year now.”

  Jim patted the guy on the back. “I’m sure you handled things just fine. It’s just that the man over there on the curb is Quinn Cortez. He’s a possible suspect in a recent murder and—”

  “That’s Quinn Cortez, huh? I thought he looked familiar. Strange isn’t it that his lawyer’s dead now, only a few days after his girlfriend was murdered. You think there’s a connection?”

  “It’s possible. But since we don’t have any of the facts in Kendall Wells’s death yet, it’s a little too soon for suppositions,” Jim said, although he figured that with this killer’s MO appearing to be identical to Lulu’s killer’s MO, it was more than coincidence. “I’m going inside to speak to the ME. When my partner shows up, let me know.” Jim walked away, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “Keep an eye on Cortez, will you? I might want to question him later.”

  Jim showed the officer inside Kendall Wells’s house his ID, then glanced at the middle-aged man sitting at the kitchen table, tears streaming down his pale face. The ex-husband, Jim surmised, then headed up the hall. When he reached the bedroom, the door stood wide open. He surveyed the area and noted that nothing appeared to be out of place. The bed was still made, but the spread was wrinkled beneath the body as if Kendall Wells had wriggled around on it. Or had struggled against an attacker. She lay there perfectly still, a towel still partially wrapped around her head, a few tendrils of dark hair poking out against her forehead. The silk robe she wore was belted, but spread slightly apart so that one long, slender thigh showed plainly and the inner curve of each breast was visible.

  And her right hand rested at her side, the index finger missing. A small spot of dark blood stained the spread beneath her hand.

  “What can you tell me?” Jim asked when Udell White turned and looked right at him.

  “I’d say there’s a good chance that either we’ve got a serial killer on our hands or this is a copycat murder. She was probably smothered with the pillow.” Udell indicated the large pillow lying at the foot of the bed. “It was over her face. There are signs of a minor struggle, as if she tried to fight her attacker, but he overpowered her. No outward signs of sexual assault. And as you can see, her killer removed her right index finger.” Udell shook his head, making a silent comment.

  “This seems very similar to the Lulu Vanderley murder,” Jim said.

  Udell nodded. “Just like with the Vanderley woman, it’s as if she knew her killer. There’s no indication that she ran from him or fought him at all until he had her down on the bed.”

  “Time of death?”

  “A couple of hours, at the very most.”

  Something didn’t sit quite right with Jim about this whole thing. If Quinn Cortez killed Lulu Vanderley in a fit of rage because she was pregnant and demanding marriage, then who killed Kendall Wells and why? Even with a strong motive, Cortez would have to be an idiot to kill a second time and in exactly the same manner. Either an idiot or a psychopath. He didn’t think the man was either.

  Chad parked behind a line of other cars, cautioned Annabelle to stay put and then got out and spoke to the policeman standing outside the house. Annabelle had met Kendall Wells several times, always with her client, Quinn Cortez. It seemed odd to think that the woman was dead. Had she been murdered, as Lulu had been? It would be unbelievable if she’d been murdered, wouldn’t it, considering her close connection to Quinn.

  Slightly uneasy, her mind filled with questions, Annabelle glanced out the windows, scanning the area in every direction. This was a lovely neighborhood, upscale and modern. People were gathered in the streets. Neighbors, no doubt. Police vehicles, cars and SUVs lined the street and driveway. Was this what it had looked like at Lulu’s house the night she was killed? A shiver tingled through Annabelle’s body.

  Suddenly, her gaze paused on a lone man sitting by the curb, his head bowed, his hands resting on either side of his head. Illumination from a nearby streetlight shined directly on the man. Annabelle’s heart skipped a beat. No, it couldn’t be. What would he be doing here? But when the man dropped his hands down between his knees and turned his head to one side, Annabelle gasped.

  Quinn Cortez!

  What was he doing here? Had he discovered Kendall’s body as he had Lulu’s? Did the police believe he had killed his own lawyer? Surely, if the police suspected him of murdering Kendall Wells, they would have arrested him, not left him sitting alone on the curb. When Annabelle caught a glimpse of his face, she fought the tender sympathy that overwhelmed her. He looked like a lost soul, a man in mourning.

  Quinn was not a murderer. She felt it deep inside her, at a gut level. Of its own volition, her hand reached for the door handle and before she realized what she was doing, she stood outside Chad George’s car. As if drawn to him by some unknown and overwhelming force, Annabelle moved past the car and walked up the street toward Quinn. Then without warning Chad came marching toward Quinn from the other direction. Annabelle stopped and held her breath.

  “Cortez!” Chad bellowed the name.

  Quinn glanced behind him, saw Chad and shot up off the ground. When Chad was within two feet of Quinn, he paused and the two men glared at each other.

  “Did you kill her?” Chad asked, his voice loud but calm.

  “Sergeant George, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jim Norton called from the open front door.

  Annabelle’s gaze darted from Quinn and Chad to Lieutenant Norton, who came out of the house and headed toward the other two men.

  “Then she really is…dead,” Quinn said, a catch in his voice.

  “Yeah, she’s dead,” Chad replied. “Quite a coincidence, don’t you think—first your latest lover and then your lawyer. Both women murdered. And Kendall Wells was one of your lovers, too, wasn’t she?”

  “Damn,” Jim Norton cursed under his breath as he approached the two men. “Mr. Cortez, we’ll probably have a few questions for you tomorrow, but for now, why don’t you go on home. I’ll contact you in the morning.”

  Quinn nodded. “Was she—was Kendall murdered?”

  “You know damn well she was,” Chad said. “What is it with you, Cortez? Do you get off on killing your lovers?”

  “That’s enough!” Lieutenant Norton told Chad as he walked between the two men.

  Quinn snarled. Annabelle noted the rage in his black eyes, the way his nostrils flared and his jaw tightened. Acting on instinct, she ran toward them and when she reached Quinn’s side, she put her arm through his. His muscles were so tight they felt like stone. “I need a ride back to the hotel,” she said. “Would you mind driving me to the Peabody, Mr. Cortez?”

  “Annabelle, no—” Chad held out a restraining hand toward her.

  Jim Norton grabbed Chad’s arm and said, “We’ve got work to do. I don’t know how Ms. Vanderley got here or why she’s here, but I think it’s a good idea for Mr. Cortez to take her home.”

  “It’s all right, Chad,” she told him. “We’ll talk later. Tomorrow or whenever you’re free.” She turned to Quinn. “I’m ready to leave now, if you are.”

  Quinn didn’t respond verbally; instead he nodd
ed, and then led her down the street. When they reached his silver Porsche, he opened the passenger door. After she slid into the seat, he rounded the hood and got in on the driver’s side. Once inside, he sat there for several minutes, staring at Kendall Wells’s house.

  “Aren’t you afraid to be alone with me?” he asked, bitterness in his voice.

  “Should I be?”

  He faced her then and something purely feminine and nurturing inside her reacted. She reached out and touched his cheek. “You cared about Ms. Wells. You’re in pain right now, mourning her death.”

  He stared deeply into her eyes and for a split second she thought he was going to open up to her, to share his sorrow. But he jerked away abruptly, as if her touch had burned him.

  “Why did you do that?” He inserted the key into the ignition and started the car.

  “Why did I do what?”

  “Come to Sergeant George’s rescue. You knew I was on the verge of hitting him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I sensed that you might do something foolish—like hit Chad.”

  “Chad, huh? You two have become very chummy. Did you come here with him tonight?”

  “Yes, I did. We were having dinner when he got the call about Ms. Wells.”

  Quinn laughed, the sound harsh. Anguished.

  “Why do you automatically assume that it was Chad I was trying to protect?” she asked.

  He cut his eyes in her direction, his gaze puzzled.

  “Maybe I came to your rescue. Did you ever think of that?” she asked. “If you’d hit a police officer, you’d have been in a great deal of trouble. Don’t you think you have enough problems as it is?”

  “Are you saying you whisked me away from there to save me, not to protect Chad George?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you that I felt I needed to save you from yourself?”

  Chapter 13

  Jace Morgan met her at the door. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “What’s it to you?” Marcy knocked into him as she shoved him aside to enter the house.