“Probably Monday. I’ll fire up my phone and laptop. We’ll find Chloe, I promise.”
“Well, the cops are looking for your shooter, Marce.”
“I don’t doubt that. Just give me a name, Michael. Don’t let the cops beat me to him.”
“We both know it was Reno. But you stay the hell away, Marce.”
“No worry. I won’t be shooting back for at least a month, I’m told.”
“I’m calling to check on you, but I’m also calling about Verona. Something has come up and I’ve got to go to Saint Petersburg.”
“Florida or Russia?”
“Russia. She’s been arrested. They’re talking terrorism.”
Long pause. Then, “Now I’ve heard everything. FSB, I’m sure. Those sons-of-bitches. They’re holding her because she’s American. I can guarantee it.”
“Evidently. So I’m leaving at five o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll be checking on you every day. And you can call me if you need me.”
“Now I’m worried,” he said.
“I didn’t call you to worry you. You’re not involved in Verona’s troubles. You just go home to Chicago and get well. I’ve got the FSB covered.”
“No, you don’t. I know those people from my days at Interpol. You need me in on this.”
“Please, Marcel. I’m going to hang up now. You do as the docs say. And don’t start back in on Chloe until I give the go-ahead. You’re officially out to pasture on all cases. Let’s get you well first, then we can talk.”
“That sounds official, the boss to his employee.”
“Consider it exactly that, Marcel. I need you put back together and healthy. Then we can talk about what comes next.”
“Okay, boss. Message received.”
“Good. I’m hanging up now.”
“Later, boss.”
I hung up and almost immediately the feelings about Verona and Marcel mixed together in a loneliness cocktail that threatened to take me down. But I fought it off. Nobody needed a wimpy little Michael Gresham. They needed me standing upright and fighting back.
So be it.
Chapter 20: Chloe Constance
Chloe had talked to everyone about the car wreck that almost killed her. She had tried to answer all the questions the police could think to ask her. In particular, they wanted to know whether she was running from something when she went off the road and rolled over. She couldn’t dredge up any memory. She couldn’t tell them that Maddy was driving—it would make no sense to anyone. So they moved on.
Dr. Wilfred Franks was her vocational rehabilitation doctor. He was short, but fit, for a gentleman in his fifties. He was a marathon runner, he told her, and she wondered if she was also into fitness. She was slim enough, but that could have been the loss of weight after the accident.
One evening Dr. Franks explained to her that a man had come forth saying she was his wife. So the Placement Board held a meeting to let the man make his case. They worked to place patients who could not place themselves. These patients were newborns, but sometimes, like today, it might also be a person with dementia or a person with amnesia, like her. They wanted only to ensure best-case placement upon discharge.
Dr. Franks showed her the file photo of the man. Did she recognize him? Hey, she said, she recognized nobody most days. This guy was nobody she knew. Dr. Franks then handed her some papers. When she looked at him with a quizzical expression, he told her this was the transcript of the Placement Board Meeting. Did she remember submitting to a physical exam during the meeting? She remembered the exam, but hadn’t known what it was for. He would let her read the report. She was astonished since she so often felt like a mushroom, isolated and grown in the dark. But Dr. Franks was shining a light into her life.
So, she read carefully, digesting every line:
Placement Board Meeting re Jane Doe
Present:
Esley Risson, Hospital Attorney
Annette Metopoli, Detective, Missing Persons
Dr. Wilfred Franks, Vocational Rehabilitation
Cecil Despain RN, Nursing Staff Supervisor
Father Francis O’Grady, Hospital Priest
“I know him,” she said, pointing at the priest’s name. “And I don’t like him one goddamn bit.”
Dr. Franks smiled and continued to bring her up to speed. He said to her, “The attorney and the detective are both women. A court stenographer was present to take statements.”
Meeting called to order by Chief Legal Counsel Risson. Particulars given: car accident, coma thirty-some days, extensive surgeries and rehabilitation services over approximate two-month stay at the hospital.
Petitioner: Arnold Soulé
Picture of Jane Doe provided. Petitioner showed a positive reaction: huge smile. Stated she had changed dramatically.
Petitioner Demeanor: Confident
Petitioner Opening Statement: My name is Arnold Soulé, and I have at last found my wife, Chloe. It fills my heart with gratitude for the care you’ve given her.
Please let me update you. Chloe and I were living in St. Louis when she left one day to shop at Macy’s. For some unknown reason, she crossed the river into Illinois. I have been told there was an automobile accident, and they brought her to your hospital.
We married March third, twenty-twelve. This is important as it’s my first of proof of knowledge. If you look inside her wedding ring, engraved there is 3 March 2012 Forever. Those are the numerals and words I had engraved to commemorate our wedding and to celebrate we were both making lifetime commitments. She made that commitment, and I know if she were her same old self, she would still want to honor that commitment.
You should also know I can tell you that on the inside of my wife’s left breast there’s a red mole. It has been there ever since I met Chloe and she has said more than once she plans to have it removed.
My third proof—if you check out her inner left ankle, you will see a small green rose tattoo. She had it put there in deference to her Irish father. This is what I know about Chloe as far as identifying characteristics, but I’m also hoping I can answer all questions you might have for me. Here is a copy of our marriage license.
[license attached]
Petitioner Excused for Board Discussion.
Jane Doe envelope of personal effects opened. Ring engraved on inner band with 3 March 2012 Forever.
Patient Jane Doe brought to the boardroom for examination: small, discreet green rose tattoo on inner left ankle. After draping patient, left breast examined; engorged, red mole was prominent.
Patient escorted from the room.
Petitioner returned to boardroom, further discussion
Detective Metopoli: Very impressed you are who you say you are and she is who you say she is. Your identification also checked out. We have no further questions.
Mr. Soulé: Thank you, Detective. I do I have one last piece of the puzzle I can provide in case anyone is still holding out a single doubt. If you open my wife’s general health chart, you find that her blood type is AB-negative, found in less than one percent of all Caucasians.
Chloe paused in her reading and pondered for a moment. “Wait, Dr. Franks, I’m getting back a memory! I’ve always donated blood. I got woozy twice and drank juice from those little paper cups they give you. When I was in college—yes, I must have gone to college—I even sold my plasma to help with living costs. He could have gotten my blood type from any of those donation records.”
Dr. Franks understood. “I wondered if it could be something like that myself. I must admit I gasped when Soulé told us your blood type. But then I conferred with my co-members. I told them AB-negative was the correct answer, but he may have known this from some other source. The problem with that thinking, however, is we had zero proof that might be the case. Hospital policy is that we consider only the evidence before us. We’re not supposed to consider possibilities. Only evidence. So we settled it—we had to decide that Soulé was your husband.”
What did she thin
k about this meeting? She told Dr. Franks she wanted to meet her husband. And that she would like Dr. Franks to be nearby because it scared her she wouldn’t measure up. What if he didn’t like the new her? What if he found her annoying? Would he still take her home or would he leave her here?
Dr. Franks looked at her. “All things considered, your husband was in that room.”
Final Disposition: Mr. Arnold Soulé has proven to this board’s satisfaction he is the husband of Chloe Soulé. Board to discharge the patient to his care without delay.
Chapter 21: Chloe Constance
She didn’t need to worry so much. For openers, her husband—Reno, posing as Arnold Soulé—brought her flowers. Two dozen red roses, sporting a card with a name written on it she didn’t recognize. Sitting in her hospital bed, she lifted the flowers to her nose and inhaled. She smiled. She nodded. Sunshine streamed in through the window blinds, creating parallel bars of light and shade on the floor.
Dr. Gorski couldn’t make it, but at least Maddy was there. She stood with her arms crossed; she was frowning. Maddy frowned a lot, her brows pinching together because she was what a person would call cynical. Having her nearby helped, but just now her message was clear: Maddy disapproved.
Sitting in her visitor’s chair was Father Francis O’Grady with his wavy silver hair and strong jawline. While she had zero use for the man, the hospital wanted a witness present.
Hospital volunteers had provided her with a small suitcase. Father O’Grady balanced it on his lap. His folded hands lay clamped on top of the leatherette cover while his eyes studied Arnold.
Nice, said the priest’s smiling face.
Arnold looked to be a handsome man, but she didn’t have memories of men overall, so she had nothing to compare him to.
He was tall and slender with broad shoulders, but his upper arms—what she could make out through his leather bomber’s coat—didn’t appear to be all muscled and taking over his sleeves with bulges. She realized at that moment she liked her men slender.
Arnold put his eyes on her. He studied her body. His forehead was wide and fit his face since his eyes were wide, too, a watery blue, and there was a goatee raked through with streaks of gray that told time through his black whiskers. All of it was a complete package. She compared him to the Ralph Lauren models in her magazines, though Arnold was older than those men-children. His eyes kept returning to her while he made small talk with Father O’Grady, and his attention made her feel special.
At one point, he laughed and told the priest her name was Chloe. Then they chatted more.
Father O’Grady meant the flowers when he said, “Tell your husband ‘thank you,’ Chloe,” as if she had no sense of her own. She couldn’t stand the man. And it wasn’t just him; she liked none of these God people roaming the halls for someone to pray over. They weren’t her thing, and she found herself revolted by them.
Embarrassed by the Father’s condescension, she replied, “I will, Father O’Grady. I only have trouble with my memory, not with my manners.” There was ice in her voice she hadn’t heard before, but Reno seemed pleased with her, a small knowing smirk on her lips.
When Arnold burst into laughter, Father O’Grady had the decency to look sheepish.
She had to admit the flowers from Arnold had touched her and invited her across yet another mental bridge in her mind. She felt herself drawing nearer to what her mind projected as a castle with a man inside. But she still hadn’t crossed the moat. That would require certainty that could only arise from memory. She wasn’t sure that would ever happen, but the Placement Board said she was to leave and go home with this man. She was substituting their judgment for her lack of memory. Dr. Maggie had counseled her to accept that just because she felt nothing toward the man didn’t mean he wasn’t her husband. They had told her her feelings would return. He loved her; he had been searching high and low for her and had admitted to spending more than $10,000 for investigators who had tried to track her down after she went missing.
“Father,” Arnold said, “can you give us a few minutes alone before we leave?”
The priest crept from the room.
“Well,” said Reno, taking Father O’Grady’s seat. “Here we are, at last, my darling wife.”
She stared at the man, searching his features for a clue, even one clue that would help. But there was no clue—which, according to her counselors, was not worrisome.
“Are you my husband?” she asked.
“Please, call me Reno, my middle name. Or Arnold—your pet name for me back in the day. And yes, I’m your husband for some four years now. I think the more you get to know me, the happier you will be as you learn how much I’ve always loved you. Chloe, let me say it. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Goodness,” she said, “I didn’t expect that. And my name is Chloe?”
“Yes, your name is Chloe.”
“I didn’t expect that, either.”
“Well, get ready for the unexpected, because I want nothing more than to take you in my arms and kiss away your doubts.”
“Well…”
“But that’s getting the cart way before the horse.”
“Yes.”
“For now, let’s get reacquainted. Can we do that for the next little while? Just exchange histories as we get to know each other again? And don’t worry about the rest. I have a separate bedroom made up for you until you feel safe with me.”
“That’s nice.”
“I thought you’d appreciate that. And you’re still recovering from your injuries. Nothing too physical for you right now, anyway. We can talk more about our physical relationship down the road. But I want you to know for now I am renewing my vow to love, honor, and cherish you always. To respect you and put your needs before my own. And to always be faithful.”
“Well…”
“I know, I know. Don’t respond just now. We’ll talk later. For now, let’s be together. Together at long last.”
“We should spend time just talking. I’d like that the best.”
“May I sit beside you? I have something to show you.”
“Okay.” She patted the bed beside her. Reno came around and sat down. It was almost natural they were touching at the knees. But they didn’t touch at the hips. He was careful about that.
He had brought along a photograph album he opened. “I wanted you to see what you looked like before the accident, Chloe. Your looks have changed, which is fine—I don’t mind. But in case you’re wondering what you looked like before, let me show you a few photos.”
She reached down and opened the album. She was very interested. The photographs were the first interesting faces she’d seen in months because they came with the hope she would recognize them. But, she did not.
“Here we are sharing our wedding cake,” he said, and it greeted her with a picture of a younger couple sharing a wedge of wedding cake cut from three-tiers. Her back was to the camera, and the cake obscured Reno’s face as she traditionally forced the cake into his mouth.
“And there are other pictures of you in your wedding dress.”
She turned two pages and inspected the bride passing before her eyes. Chloe admired her dress, her hairstyle, and was pierced by her obvious joy at marrying her true love. The pictures didn’t look much like her now, she thought, but then reminded herself of the plastic surgery. The photos were formal but heartfelt, featuring his great smile and sparkling eyes. She felt a hint of warmth inside, the first time she’d had a real feeling about another person since awakening. She relaxed on the bed where they were sitting and allowed her knee to rest against his knee.
“Chloe Soulé,” she murmured. “So that’s who I am! Do I have children? Are there children in this book?”
“No children. You preferred career to children.”
“What did I do?”
“You worked as a legal secretary.”
“Who did I work for?”
“Do you remember Richard Charney
on LaSalle Street? You worked with Richard for several years before he passed on. He was in private practice alone, so his office has been closed for about a year now. You were thinking of finding another position when you had your accident.”
“A legal secretary in St. Louis? Was I any good at it?”
“Did I say LaSalle Street?” His charm slipped for a moment, as did his plastered smile, and he fumbled the next words. “I meant Market Street. That’s where you worked in St. Louis.”
“I remember nothing about law. I feel like I should, but I don’t. It makes me feel sad.”
He smiled and touched her knee. “It will come back. The doctors say you’ll get much of it back. But it will take time, that’s all.”
“Time is what I have,” she told him and smiled at him for the first time since he’d given her the roses. She didn’t mind at all when he put his hand on her knee and left it there. She felt connected, like she was part of something that existed outside the hospital, outside in the real world, and it felt hopeful. She did not move away from his touch.
He turned the page. “Look, here you are on your mountain bike.”
“I’m wearing a helmet, but she doesn’t look much like me.”
He shook his head. When he spoke, it was halting and broken as if he was fighting back some raw emotion. “You’ve changed, Chloe. The plastic surgeries on your face have changed you.”
“But you still find me attractive?”
“Attractive? I do! You are just as beautiful as ever. You’re just different, that’s all. But inside you’re still the same wonderful Chloe.”
“I am? That sounds hopeful. Thank you for saying that, Reno.”
“Reno. I always loved it when you called me that. Only my mother called me that before you.”
“Where is your mother?”
“She passed away five years ago, New Year’s Eve. She was eating dinner when she stood up and died of a massive aneurysm.”
“Goodness, so many people in my life have died. Mr. Charney, your mother. Is there anyone I’ll get to meet?”
The Fifth Justice (Michael Gresham Legal Thrillers Book 10) Page 9
