by Jeff Abbott
“Did she mention having me committed to a facility?” Her mother, yesterday, coolly saying how better off she’d be in a hospital.
“Just generally. To keep you off the streets and to get you into intensive therapy.”
“And she paid you what for this service?”
A momentary biting of his own lip. His voice choked with shame. “Jane…”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand. I would not have done it if I had not desperately needed the money. And, more importantly, she said you desperately needed help.”
Jane stood up and began to pace the room.
“Jane.” He made his voice a soft cajole. “I truly want to help you. Your mother only wants to help you get your life back on course so you can be whole and happy.”
“But you were eager to take her money.”
“You know what school costs. My family came from nothing in Tanzania, I came to the UK and then here, but the accreditation…I had to have more schooling. The rents in Austin…the money would have gotten me established.”
“And you write a diagnosis of commitment, and she gets what she wants. Draw up the papers to have me involuntarily committed.”
“It would only be a recommendation…” His voice trailed off and then he cleared his throat. “And unnecessary if you would fully embrace treatment.”
“How do you report to her?”
“I text or e-mail her.”
“Text her. Tell her you must meet her. Face-to-face.”
He stared at her.
“Do it,” Jane said, “or I’ll sue you, and even if I don’t win, no one will hire you. And don’t you dare warn her that I know. I’ll go to the state licensing board.”
She knew how to scare a therapist. He stared at her and then got out his phone and wrote a text message.
Her own phone buzzed. Adam, texting her: A woman just went into Franklin’s office.
“You call me when you set up the meeting. I want to be there. Maybe I’ll have commitment papers drawn up for her.”
Kevin nodded, miserable. “I sincerely want to help you. So does your mother.”
“You have an odd way of showing it.” And now he looked stricken. She thought maybe he’d been played, too. Her mother, pretending yesterday at lunch that Kevin wasn’t qualified enough, being doubtful of his therapy, which of course would have made Jane take his side in reaction. Her mother really was sharper than anyone realized.
She walked out of the office and to the car, fighting down a surge of nausea.
Adam rolled down the window. “A woman went in. She knocked, then she dug a key out of her purse, and opened the door, and called in, like she wasn’t sure she could just walk in. Then she went inside. As you can see I was not staring at my phone.”
“So not a client,” Jane said. “Maybe a temp? He didn’t have a secretary on duty yesterday.”
“Well, I don’t know. A temp, I think. She seemed a little hesitant about just rushing inside.”
“I’m calling you and leaving my phone in my pocket. You listen in. I need to get into Franklin’s files and I might need a diversion.”
“Are you crazy?” He grabbed her arm.
“Let go, Adam.”
“Jane. Consider what you’re doing, this is breaking the law.”
“Kevin just told me my mom is working on having me committed to a facility. I really hope you’re not part of that.”
“I’m not. I swear.” His shock looked genuine, and he released her arm.
“Help me or don’t,” she said. She called his number and stood staring at him until he answered it. “Idiot Friends, Incorporated,” he said. “May we help you?”
She slipped the phone into her jacket. Then she touched Adam’s cheek for just a moment. He had been her only friend at times and she couldn’t lose him, no matter how aggravated she was with him. She went to Franklin’s door and walked straight in. The young woman—dark hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing a light blouse and a dark jacket—stood behind a desk, frowning, still holding her purse, as if unsure where to put it.
“Hi, I’m Mr. Franklin’s nine o’clock appointment,” Jane lied. She put a touch of panic in her voice, careful not to overdo it. “Are you his assistant? Is he here?”
“Um, no, I’m his temp for the day. He’s not here yet, I’m sorry. What’s your name?”
“My last name’s Hall,” she lied again. “I was here yesterday. I’m hiring him and really…”—she glanced back out the door—“the guy I want watched by Mr. Franklin, he’s here, he’s followed me here.”
The young woman paled. “Let me try to call Mr. Franklin.”
“I don’t want him to find me here.” She peeked out the thin window on one side of the door. “Oh, he’s going door to door. He must have seen me park here.” She clutched her hands together. “I cannot believe he’s turned into such a stalker.”
The young woman was in a panic. “Is he dangerous, should I call the police? I have pepper spray.”
“As long as he doesn’t see me, it’ll be fine. Can I hide in Randy’s office? Just for a second?”
The effort to make a decision warred on the girl’s face. Please, Adam, just play along. A knocking on the door.
“Yes,” the temp said.
Jane hurried past her and closed Randy Franklin’s office door. Then, gently, quietly, she locked it. Back corner. File cabinet. She’d noticed it yesterday.
He had a scanner on his credenza, along with a printer, and his computer on his desk. She panicked for a moment that files from a case two years old would be digitally archived instead of left in paper form. She’d try the file cabinet first. She broke the cheap lock with a letter opener she grabbed off his desk and slid the drawer marked “H–N” open. It was stuffed full of paper files.
“I’m looking for my girlfriend!” She heard Adam’s voice thunder. “Is she in with the investigator? I have NOT been stalking her. She doesn’t need to hire anyone. I love her SO MUCH.”
“Sir, you can’t just come in here. You’ll have to leave, or I’ll call the police.”
“BUT I LOVE HER. PLEASE.”
He’d for sure get pepper-sprayed at this rate. She found a folder marked “HALL, DAVID” and pulled the whole thing loose. She shoved it into her backpack. “N.” She looked. Surely nothing would be under her name. But there was a name. “NORTON, BRENT.” Her father. She tried not to scream out in shock, clapping a hand over her mouth. She took that file as well and shoved it into her backpack. She slid the drawer closed very quietly.
“She’s not here, sir. Please leave, or I will call the police.”
“Fine, then. BUT I STILL LOVE HER,” he vowed.
Jane moved to the door. She heard Adam leave, heard the temp lock the door behind him. She unlocked the office door. Just in time, because then the door flew open. “He is crazy!” the temp announced.
“I really need Mr. Franklin to follow him and record him stalking me.” She peered out the window, the temp leaning over her shoulder. “Oh, good, he’s leaving. I’ll go once he’s gone.”
And she did, hurrying back toward Kevin’s office. She was shaking and shivering. She walked past Kevin’s office, turning in to the side parking lot, out of sight of the office.
Adam pulled in his car at the edge of the parking lot and she got in.
“You have truly and completely lost your mind,” he said. “I’m not tiptoeing around it anymore, Jane.”
“You’re such a good actor,” she said. She clutched the backpack close to her chest.
“I hope that was worth it,” he said. His voice shook a little.
“No, not really. Although I’ll notify the Oscar committee of your performance.” She made herself shrug. “His files were, like, triple-locked. I couldn’t get in. Thanks for trying, though.”
“So you got nothing. After I go full Matt Damon.”
“Nothing,” she said.
He studied her and she thought, He doesn’t believe me, but what
does it matter? This is Adam. He’s not going to search my backpack.
Adam sighed. “Trevor is having a party tonight. At his dad’s place. I think you should go with me.”
“He didn’t invite me,” she said. Right now she just wanted to get away from Adam, not take these papers back to his room or her house. “Can you take me to Lakehaven Park?”
“Agree to go to the party,” he said.
“Adam. Stop. I cannot go to a Lakehaven party. You know that. I cannot.”
“So, you never go to another social gathering? You never get married? Have a career you want? Have kids? Are you going to deny yourself life out of guilt for the rest of your life?”
“I have too many problems to deal with to go to a party.”
Adam shook his head. “Do you think, for one second, David wanted this self-imposed exile for you?”
She put her hands over her face. “Please stop talking.”
He softened his tone. “Jane. You need some normalcy. You need to step up and move on. You know I care about you. C’mon.”
“Is Kamala going to be there?”
“So what if she is? It’s not going to be big or wild or anything. His grandmother will be there.”
“Oh, it’s not a college party without a grandmother.”
“This will be the most Trevor Blinn party ever. A party with training wheels, which is entirely your speed. We wouldn’t want you to strain yourself, you know, smiling or enjoying yourself.”
Her phone buzzed. A text from Kevin Ngota. The client we discussed will meet me tomorrow at 2 PM at her office. I assume I will see you then. I can prove to you we all have your best interests at heart. I hope you will come there with an open mind.
She was going to need more help tomorrow. This time she’d ask Trevor. It, like this morning with Adam, would be a test.
30
PERRI, COULD YOU please come in here?” Mike called out to her as soon as she reached her desk outside his office. He sounded grim. There wasn’t his usual smile. She walked into Mike’s office.
Maggie already sat in a chair, hands folded in lap, looking miserable.
Mike shut the door behind Perri. “We have an issue.”
“What’s the matter?”
“A man named Shiloh Rooke showed up here this morning. He said you had tried to ruin his life and he made a scene. Loudly in the lobby. In front of a pair of potential investors.”
“What? He came here? I’m so sorry.”
“It really set the tone to have a raving, yelling nutcase calling for my executive assistant. Exactly the image the investors were looking for from us.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. She had never seen him so furious.
“So, given the scene, I remembered you’d asked me for a recommendation to track someone on the Internet. So I asked Maggie what that was all about. She told me about your conversation and what she found. OK, that’s one thing. But she says these threats were posted from your computer.”
“I didn’t write them and if I did, I wouldn’t have asked Maggie to trace them, obviously.”
He didn’t seem impressed. “Why are you dragging my company into your vendetta?”
“‘Vendetta’ is hardly an apt description,” Perri managed to say.
“What word would you use to describe this? This guy worked your son’s car crash and now he says you ruined his life.”
Perri turned to Maggie. “Did you talk to Shiloh?”
“No, I was in my office. Building security escorted him out. But Mike asked me what this was about. I had to tell him.”
“It’s OK, Maggie,” Perri said. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, Maggie, that will be all,” Mike said, and Maggie, shooting a beseeching look at Perri, left.
“What are you doing to me? To us?” Mike leaned against the closed door.
Like this was about him, or what he thought they were going to be. She drew a calming breath. “Shiloh was a paramedic at David’s crash and he’s been targeted—so has the other paramedic, so have I. It’s Jane Norton. She ruined his engagement, she burned down this woman’s house, she defaced David’s grave…”
“Jane Norton is a homeless amnesiac, not a criminal mastermind.”
“I know this looks bad but…”
“Stop,” he said. “Please. I beg you, as a friend, as someone who cares deeply about you. David died in a car accident and you have to accept that. For your sake. Not for anyone else’s.”
“She killed him. There is more to it.”
“Are you ever going to leave Jane Norton alone?”
“What…”
“Maggie told me about these Faceplace postings. What if she or her mother sues you for this and it comes back to us because you’ve now involved my employee? You can’t even see how it looks.”
“I’m sorry Shiloh Rooke came here. But I’m an innocent party, Mike.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off,” he said. “Better yet, the week, and we’ll let all this furor calm down.”
He did not believe her. She was telling the truth and he did not believe her. The shock was like a physical force in her chest. She suddenly felt afraid for her job. “Mike…”
“I just can’t have this, Perri. Can’t have my company or my employees involved in your private mess. You need help. We’ll work this out, all right? But go, take the time off. It’s for the best.”
“All right.” Her voice was hoarse. “I think you’re right, a break is the right idea.” But she knew she wouldn’t come back here again, not to work for Mike. Never again. And for a moment she saw in his face something of the acid blame and dislike that Laurel Norton had gotten at volunteer meetings, at school, after the crash, and a cold knife twisted in her heart. She got up. She checked her e-mail, responded to a couple of requests, and then sent an e-mail to the office saying she was taking some personal time; she could be reached via cell phone if there was an emergency.
She refused to show how upset she felt. She fought down a tremble of her fingers as she typed. She thought Mike cared about her. He’d acted like he wanted to date her and now he acted like she was radioactive. In the back of her mind, once the divorce was done, she might have been interested in him, given time. Now she was the problem employee that he thought couldn’t let go of her grief.
She collected her purse and went out into the hallway. She loved this job and she told herself not to think about it. She walked into the ladies’ room.
Maggie stood before the mirror. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t lie once he asked, Perri.”
“Of course not. Did you find out anything on my laptop?”
“They’ve managed to hack your laptop using a method I can’t detect. And I can find nearly all methods.” She sighed. “Which suggests to me, both to install the hack and for the earlier postings, Liv had to have access. If not, then you’re dealing with someone with top-notch hacking resources.”
The key. Who knew it was where it had always been? Well, Cal, of course. And Laurel and Jane, because they had been neighbors and she’d never thought of moving the spare key after the crash. She had other things on her mind. Who else? David—which meant that Kamala might have known. Or Trevor Blinn. Or any of his other high school friends. David often forgot his key when he was a kid, before he was driving. Or Liv Danger was very, very good, and she was up against someone who could digitally destroy her life. She felt sick.
It had to be Laurel or Jane. It had to be.
She said, “Please believe me when I say I didn’t do this.” It mattered that someone believe her.
“OK, I believe you.”
It was more credit than Mike had given her.
“But you need to stay away from this Shiloh Rooke. This guy isn’t stable, Perri, please.” She took Perri’s shoulder, surprising her. “There was another posting from Liv Danger. I traced the IP address assigned at the time. It wasn’t your computer. It’s here in Lakehaven. On Old Travis, in an office park. They share a wireless
network provided by the management company, but I can’t tell for sure which office used it. I called the provider and they shared the address with me.” She pressed the paper into Perri’s hand.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Maggie, you’re the best.”
Maggie gave her an awkward hug and walked out. Perri went down to her car before she unfolded the paper. She recognized the address, knew where it was on Old Travis, just because she knew the addresses of other businesses along there and knew the office park of small, individual offices there. It was where Randy Franklin had his practice.
A man who had worked the accident investigation for them; a man tied to them. The posting had been done in the middle of the night. When she had no alibi.
She felt a little dizzy. She headed out of the office building, across the little sky bridge that linked it to the parking garage. She walked toward her car. Her phone buzzed.
“Mrs. Hall?”
“Yes.” She recognized the voice.
“Matteo Vasquez. I just received an interesting e-mail that I’d like to read to you and I wonder if you have a comment.”
“From whom?”
“Someone calling themselves Liv Danger. Does that ring a bell with you?”
31
Jane’s Book of Memory, written in the
days and weeks after the crash
Good news and bad news.
Good news: kids are getting bored with me. A girl I don’t remember says, “Memory back yet?” when I pass her in the hallway between third and fourth period and I cannot tell whether or not she is being mean, or is only interested enough to inquire once a day, or she’s just one of those people who don’t think how what they say affects you. I want to punch her in the face.
Bad news: I have to get rid of Kamala.
Because she is out to get me. I know I sound paranoid. That is not one of the mental conditions I presently have. Although I feel like the world is sometimes keeping a huge secret from me.
“I heard you remembered stuff,” she said to me as we walked to class.
“Who said and what stuff?” I had learned I was often discussed in group texts, studied for any suicidal tendencies or hint that my memories had returned. I guess everyone’s college applications were nearly done and the seniors had time to burn.
