by Judi Lind
The lawyer was obviously amused by their amateur efforts at detection. Folding his left arm across his stomach, he tapped his lip with his right index finger, doing a poor impression of Jack Benny. “Well…Let me see. Where was I on the night of my client’s death? Why, I was at a dinner party, I do believe. With about five hundred of the mayor’s closest friends.”
He slapped his hand on the end table. “This is an insult. To my professionalism, my humanity and my intellect. Don’t you think I was questioned by the police about this affair? All of Jay’s friends, business associates and casual acquaintances were checked out. The police even questioned his barber. Now that Jay’s death has been ruled a homicide, the police will find the killer!”
Storm cocked his head. “Why is it you don’t seem to want Elisa to clear herself? Maybe if she’s arrested the police will stop delving into his business affairs. Is that what you’re hoping, Counselor?”
Shaking his head, David pointed an accusing finger at Storm. “You self-serving jerk! I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, Delaney, but my business dealings will withstand any scrutiny.”
“Then why are you so opposed to Elisa searching for the truth?”
David laughed dryly. “What arrogance! To think you can uncover the truth about Jay Morrow’s death, when the entire New York City police department couldn’t.”
Storm hesitated, considering the attorney’s words. If Welton had an ironclad alibi for the night Jay died, that let him off the hook. So why was he so defensive and angry? Because he thought they were casting aspersions on his reputation? Or because he had something to hide and thought they were getting too close to his secret?
Deciding to let the matter rest for now, Storm rose to his feet. “The NYPD may have the greatest force on earth, for all I know. They certainly have awesome support—computers, manpower and forensic facilities. Elisa and I have one small advantage, though.”
Storm paused, and stared unrelentingly at the lawyer. “The New York police also had some eight million possible suspects to sift through. But there are only a handful of people on this island right now, and one of them is guilty.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Well, that was sure a waste of time,” Elisa commented. She leaned back against the bucket seat. “No one was so overcome with guilt that he sobbed out a confession. Nor were any of them were wearing black tennis shoes with orange grommets.”
Storm swerved around another pothole. Glancing at her, he arched an eyebrow. “Not giving up already, are you?”
“No. but—”
The four-wheel-drive vehicle bounced as it cleared a wrist-thick tree limb. Storm kept his gaze fastened on the rutted lane. “But what?”
Elisa twisted toward him as much as her seat belt would allow. “But what if we’re just chasing our own tails? What if Heather somehow acted alone, or Jay really committed suicide? If he had been pilfering money from client accounts, maybe Heather wanted to pick up where he left off. Maybe she thought that disk would tell her where the funds were hidden.”
Storm hesitated for a long moment. “Those are some good points, but…still, I think we were on the right track. Heather said she was computerphobic. Was that true?”
“Don’t know,” Elisa shrugged. “She had a PC on her desk at the office, but I only remember her typing on her IBM Selectric. Jay used to tease her that the Smithsonian kept asking for it. A relic of times past, that kind of thing.”
“Let me play the devil’s advocate,” Storm said, as he turned onto the narrow trail that led to his home. “What if that was all a cover-up, so no one would suspect her?”
“Possible,” Elisa admitted. “But she still could have been acting alone.”
Stopping in the graveled parking area, he turned off the engine and yanked up the parking brake. He swung around and faced her. “I know you want to believe that, ’Leese, so you can feel safe again. But someone chased you through that swamp.”
Her brief hope visibly deflated, she climbed out of the Jeep. He hated that he couldn’t ease her fears, instead of adding to them. Right now, though, her feelings had to be sacrificed, if they were to stand a chance of apprehending the murderer. Because if he still considered her a threat, this evening might be his final opportunity to quash Elisa’s returning memories. Forever.
Inside the cabin she kicked off her sandals and flopped down on the sofa. If her brain didn’t stop spinning in this vicious, endless circle, she was going to lose her mind. She needed to think about springtime. About practicing at the barre. About succulent Dove chocolates. Anything but this terrible, indecipherable puzzle.
Storm took the opposite end and pulled her bare feet onto his lap. At his touch, her thoughts ran off in an entirely different direction.
“Seems to me that we keep hammering away and not making much progress,” he said.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you in the Jeep,” she grumbled. “You said we had a lot more information than when we started.”
“We do. For instance, now we know definitely that we’re looking for a man. That eliminates Miriam and Betty. We know he had on black running shoes with orange grommets—”
“And he knows I still have the computer disk,” she said, interrupting him. “So what does all this ’knowledge’ do for us?”
Ignoring her cynicism, he trailed an aimless fingertip along the top of her foot. “We know we need more data.”
She sucked in a breath, as he began to slowly knead her foot. “And…and…where do you propose to find this data?”
“From you.”
“Me?” she squeaked, lifting her head to glare at him.
“I’ve told you everything I know, and that amounts to zilch.”
“You know more,” he insisted.
She shook her head in disbelief. “Are you calling me a liar?”
He grinned and flicked her big toe. “Why do you always assume the worst? I was referring to those memories you can’t access yet.”
“What’s left to try? Brain surgery?”
“Not tonight,” he chuckled. “Actually, I was thinking more of hypnosis. Did the doctors try any hypnotherapy while you were in the hospital?”
“You mean like levitating me off the bed?”
“I’ll take that as a negative response. Are you game to let me try?”
Instinctively Elisa edged away from him. Let him inside her brain? To question and probe her innermost thoughts without her even being aware of it? Absolutely not. She’d seen a hypnotist on television once. He’d made some of his victims think they were chickens, and they’d clucked across the stage. She’d been embarrassed and humiliated on their behalf.
How could Storm ask her to give him that kind of power over her mind? The very idea was unthinkable.
“No,” she whispered.
“I understand,” he hastened to reassure her. “You’re thinking about those entertainment hypnotists that make women jump into strange men’s laps, and old people take out their teeth in public. Aren’t you?”
She nodded mutely.
“Therapeutic hypnotism is nothing like that. You’ll be completely protected and, trust me, no one can make you do anything against your will.”
“Then how did that guy make those people flap their arms like wings?”
He laughed—a dry, mirthless sound. “The chicken cluckers? They wanted to be on that stage. They wanted the attention, the notoriety. He didn’t make them do it, he just planted the thought and they volunteered.”
“But how can I be sure?”
Slowly, patiently, Storm explained how he helped his patients through hypnosis. It was a particularly effective tool in recalling lost and repressed memories. On some level, Elisa would be aware of everything that went on around her. If an emergency were to occur, she would instantly awaken. And to further reassure her, Storm crossed to his desk in the corner and brought back a small tape recorder.
“I’ll turn this on when we start, and keep it recording until you
come out of the trance. You can play it back and listen to every single word.”
She was still wary of the hocus-pocus nature of this experiment. But Storm was an expert, a professional therapist. Earlier today, she’d made up her mind to place her trust in him. The way he never waffled, firmly believing in her innocence. Now was the time to prove to him, and to herself, that she could loosen the stranglehold of control. Now was the time to show her faith in him.
“Okay, let’s go for it.”
“You might be more comfortable in the bedroom.”
A flip retort came to her mind, about his true motivation being a desire to get between her and her knickers. But somehow, the flippant remark died on her tongue as she silently led the way into the guest room.
Leaving the overhead light off, he tested the recorder and flipped on a small lamp on the dresser. The soft glow was comforting, tranquilizing. Elisa lowered onto the bed and closed her eyes. He put a pillow behind his back and sat against the headboard, keeping his body several inches from hers.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
She could feel the warmth of his body radiating across the small space between them. “Mmm…Very.”
“Okay, now, I want you to let your mind go blank.”
His slow, soothing voice poured over her, like cool rainwater on a hot summer afternoon.
“Focus on the gray nothingness that fills the empty space.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw a viscous gray haze that whirled and circled through her synapses. Calming grayness. Relaxing.
“Concentrate on each tiny molecule that makes up that gray void….”
But she couldn’t concentrate on anything. Her mind had drifted into some plane of existence she couldn’t quite see. She was vaguely aware of Storm’s voice, droning in her ear. Like the peaceful buzzing of a fly.
She could hear herself answer his questions, but the sound didn’t seem to come from her throat. Nor did the answers come from her consciousness.
“Okay, that’s fine. You just stepped into Jay’s office. What do you see?”
“Papers. Blowing everywhere. The window is open. There used to be a safety grid, but it’s not there now.”
“Go on.”
“Jay’s not on the phone. Heather said he was but he isn’t. Jay? Where are you? Why don’t you answer?”
“You’re doing just fine. What did you do when you saw the office was empty?”
“I went to the window. It was July, but the air was cold. So cold.” She crossed her arms and shivered. “Someone should close that window before all Jay’s papers fly out. I tried, but it seemed stuck. A piece of material, fabric, was caught on something. Then I looked down and…and saw him.”
“You saw Jay?”
“I didn’t know it was him at first. It was awful. Gruesome. He was a long way down, and there was a lot of blood But the more I stared, I started to pick out things. The dead man had the same color hair, and was wearing a suit just like Jay’s. The gray one. And he had on a red tie. Jay always wore a red necktie. I knew it was him. I felt it.”
“You’re doing just fine, Elisa. What happened next?”
“I heard a noise and spun around The office wasn’t empty! Someone was hiding behind the filing cabinet. I screamed and he jumped out at me. I was so scared “
“He can’t hurt you now. There’s no need to be frightened. Did you see his face?”
“N-no. It was too fast. Too scary. I just ran. He was so close. I could almost feel his hands on my neck. I managed to reach Jay’s door a few feet ahead of him and slammed it behind me. It locked automatically. It—it took him a while to figure out how to open it, I guess, because I ran down the hall. The elevator! I pushed the button, but it didn’t come. Jay’s door just opened Come on, come on! But no matter how many times I punched the button, the elevator didn’t come.”
“Shhh. Take it easy. Let’s rest for a moment.” Storm could see her heart pumping wildly beneath her thin cotton T-shirt. Taking her hand, he probed her wrist for her pulse rate. It was too fast. Erratic.
Elisa was no longer remembering. She’d stepped back into her own past to relive the torment of that night. If there was any way to access those memories without subjecting her to this anguish, he’d do it. But there was no other way.
Gently stroking her damp forehead, he said, “Just relax. Think about the gray space, the soft, safe gray space. The man can’t hurt you now. He’s in the past. You’re just remembering, that’s all.”
When her pulse rate slowed to near normal, he continued. “You’re safe, Elisa. But let’s remember that night again. You were waiting for the elevator, and he came out of Jay’s office, is that right?”
“He’s playing with me. Somehow he knows the elevator won’t come. He must have jammed it or something. Because he’s walking so slowly. Like a cat stalking a wounded bird.”
“Can you see him yet?”
“No. Too many shadows. But he’s getting closer. God, what am I going to do? Where’s the damned elevator! He’s in front of the next office. There’s still a light under their door. Maybe if I screamed. But my mouth is so dry. His shoes! I can see his black shoes, with orange thingies around the laces. But his face is still in shadows. Run. I’ve got to run! The emergency stairs!”
“Shhh. Take it easy. You’re getting away from him now. Is he still following?”
“Yes! I hear him clumping down the metal stairs, but I’m faster. Two flights. I can hear him breathing. He’s not in good shape. I can run forever. The tenth-floor landing. Ninth. He won’t give up. But he’s panting now. Eighth floor. Seventh. Sixth. Is the guard still in the lobby, or should I go to the parking garage and try to reach my car? He’s way behind now. Gasping for breath. Fifth floor. Fourth. Third. I’m running out of steam. I danced last night, and my legs are aching. Second floor. Lobby. Should I hope for the guard? No! He might be on his rounds. I can make it to the garage. He’s not following. He’s resting. I can do it!”
“You can, Elisa, you’re going to get away. Have you reached your car yet?”
“No. My feet are echoing like thunder on the concrete. He can follow the sound, he doesn’t have to run. My keys! I have to be ready. Damn this purse! Why didn’t I clean it out? Wait—I feel them. There’s my car! Ten more yards. Got ’em. Eight yards. Oh, oh, the door just clanged open. He’s here!”
“But you’re far away, Elisa. He can’t catch you. Open your car door. Lock yourself inside.”
“Yes. Hurry, hurry. Key won’t fit. Come on, come on. He’s standing by the doorway, looking around. Thank God! I’m inside. The motor won’t start, it’s cold He hears me. He’s coming this way! Hurry. Hurry. Start!”
“You’re safe, Elisa. The car door’s locked. Isn’t it?”
“No! It locks automatically when I put it in gear. I forgot. How do I do this? Oh, dear heaven, he’s only a few feet away. Click. It’s locked. Try the engine again. I have to get away. He might have a gun. Start, oh, please, start.”
“Calm down. You’re going to make it. I promise.”
“Ohhh, thank God! It started Calm down. Slow down. Take it out of gear. Ease off the brake. What’s he doing? He’s standing right in front of the car! I’ll have to run over him to get past. I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Keep driving toward him. He’ll move. You can’t stop, you can’t let him win. He killed Jay, remember?”
“He’ll move. He has to. Three feet. Two. Why doesn’t he—Oh! He jumped out of the way. I’m safe. But I have to drive slowly, I’m too scared My hands and knees are shaking and I don’t want to hit anything. He might catch me. He’s still following the car. He just stepped under a light.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No. Just his hair shining under the security lamp. There’s the exit! I’ll have to open the window to put my pass in the slot. He knows it. He’s running again. Up the ramp, right behind me. Okay, the pass is in the slot, the gate is supposed to open! Hurry. Why won’t he give up?”
The terror was starting to build in her voice again. Obviously, she had made her escape. And she had never seen the killer’s face. There was no point in torturing her any longer. “Look, Elisa—the gate’s lifting. You’re pulling out now. He can’t chase you any longer. You’re safe.”
“Safe.” Her numb voice echoed his.
With infinite slowness and care, Storm brought her out of the trance and pulled her damp, exhausted and shivering body into his arms. He’d been so certain that hypnosis would cure her memory lapses. So arrogantly sure that he’d put her through that hellish experience all over again. And for what? They’d learned nothing new.
The killer had no way of knowing that Elisa had never seen his face that night. She’d turned and looked at him a half-dozen times. Yet luck had been on his side that night. But he didn’t know it, and he was determined to silence her before her lost recollections resurfaced.
But who was he? David Welton, Mark Bowman or Carey Howard? Or, God forbid, someone they’d overlooked. Heather’s partner could be holed up in a shack right now on the far side of the island. He could be a complete stranger to Storm and Elisa. Someone they’d never suspect. Hell, it could be Hank Danziger, for all they knew. That rustic, good-ol’-boy facade would be a perfect camouflage.
Heather had known almost every local resident.
Any of them could be the murderer.
WHILE the first hypnotherapy session failed to clear Elisa’s blurry memory, it did seem cleansing, in a way. Immediately after Storm brought her out of the trance, she fell into a deeply luxurious sleep. When she awoke, she felt better than she had since the accident. Alive. Rested. Filled with energy and determination.
Of course, her spirits were buoyed when she opened her eyes to see Storm intently watching her. “How do you feel?” he asked softly.
She cocked her head, considering. Relaxed, rested, somehow lighter. As if she’d laid down most of the heavy load she’d been shouldering for weeks. Even her mind felt…clearer. As if the murky charcoal cloud were slowly fading away. Raising her eyes in surprise, she smiled “I feel fine—great, actually.”
