“No, but let me go back inside and show her my cellphone album. Maybe that’ll jar something loose.”
He hurried back inside. When he reached for the TV remote and clicked off Eric Clapton, she turned to him and snapped, “I was watching that!”
“Please, Chloe. I need to show you something.”
She crossed her arms. “What is it?”
The first snap of their son, Andrew Junior when he was a newborn, flashed onto the screen. Andrew held it up to her.
“Whose baby?”
“Your baby—our baby.”
“What’s his name?”
“Andrew—we call him Andrew J.”
“No, Andrew J is Reno’s baby, and I want him. Are you going to bring him to us?”
“Us?”
“Me and Reno. We want our son.”
He ignored this as best he could. He finger-flipped through another ten photos to find a recent one of Andrew J. “How about this?” he asked.
“Don’t know him.”
“It’s Andrew J! Look at him now!”
“He’s much older. Much older. How long are you planning on keeping him from us?”
“Please, Chloe. You and I are raising Andrew together. He lives in our house with us,” he said, flipping his finger back and forth between them to show a connection.
But she looked away. Then, “Do I have any others?”
“You have Denise. She’s your daughter. Want to see her pictures?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell you when.”
“All right.”
“Please turn the sound on again.”
“I will if you’ll answer one question for me.”
“Okay.”
“Would you be willing to come home with me and say hello to your kids? They miss you.”
“I must think about that. I’ll see what Reno says about that.”
“When will Reno be here?”
“First thing in the morning. You should go now. Don’t come back until tomorrow afternoon. I can tell you then.”
He knew better than to argue. He was going nowhere if he did. But he would make a call to Dr. Thomas on his way out.
At the nurse’s station, Andrew stopped to talk to Nurse Carrie. He explained he wanted to talk to Dr. Thomas and asked for his phone number.
“Doctor who? We gave you all the names.”
“Chloe says her doctor is Dr. Thomas. Can I get his number from you?”
“You could if there was a Dr. Thomas involved in her care, but there isn’t.”
“No Dr. Thomas?”
“No. You have to be sure of what she’s telling you, Mr. Constance. Our Chloe sees people nobody else sees. I think I’ve heard her talk about Dr. Thomas before, but there’s nobody with hospital privileges named Thomas. I would know. This is my ward.”
“I know what she told me,” he retorted. “She said Dr. Thomas.”
Carrie looked away and bit her lip. She checked her monitor and looked back. “Her treating physician makes rounds at seven in the morning. Please be here then.”
“Her doctor’s name?”
“Judi Gorski. She’s a St. Louis U grad. Great doctor. Please be here.”
Andrew could only agree as it shook him through and through. None of this was adding up; Chloe was making no sense at all. She’d had her moments before, he admitted, but nothing like this.
“I’ll be in the room when Dr. Gorski arrives.”
Chapter 42: Andrew Constance
Dr. Gorski called his cell while he was dozing in his hotel room. She would see him in the morning.
It was still dark outside when Andrew took his morning shower. He and Marcel ate a light breakfast. He wasn’t hungry and just picked at his food. The realization he was losing his wife for a second time hung over him like a cloud. It saddened him, and it was frightening. As the mother, she could make a play for custody of the kids if she divorced him. Not just Andrew J, but Denise, too. The idea caused his pulse to race and a cloying hand to tighten around his throat. He became nauseous and pushed his cereal away. Marcel understood. He pushed his plate away, stood, and they headed for the hospital.
Just before seven a.m., a doctor breezed into Chloe’s room. She was wearing a starched lab coat with stitching across the breast pocket that identified her as Judi Gorski, M.D. She approached her patient and checked her chart. She was busy reading for several minutes but then, at last, turned to Andrew.
“Mr. Constance?” Her voice was hushed since Chloe was still sleeping.
“Yes,” he said.
“Judi Gorski.” The doctor stepped forward and shook Andrew’s hand. “I’ve been Chloe’s treating psychiatrist for some time now. Can we step into the hallway and chat?”
They exited, and the door closed behind them.
“How’s she doing?”
“We think she’s making progress. It’s slow, but we can see improvement.”
“Thank God.”
“How are your interactions with Chloe, Mr. Constance? Does she relate to you?”
“She wants nothing to do with me. She’s very attached to this Reno Rivera, the man convicted of raping her several years ago. Does Reno come around to the hospital?”
Dr. Gorski grimaced. “That’s one of our issues with Chloe. She talks about this Reno person a lot, but he has been nowhere near the hospital if he’s even her husband.”
“You will not believe this, but that’s a huge relief,” he told the doctor.
“Because you thought the injuries involved her with her rapist?”
“I did. She tells me she wants to go home with him. She doesn’t want to see her children. I must do everything with his approval. Where is all of this coming from?”
Dr. Gorski placed her hands on her hips and shut her eyes. She nodded, then looked at Andrew, studying his face. “Chloe has suffered a profound personality injury. Much of what she is thinking is not reality based.”
“We’ve been—I knew she—”
“I’m sure you saw evidence, unexplained things, before.”
“What can we do? Is there something more that I should do? Did I not do the right things before?”
“We think a long-term care facility is crucial since we’ve stabilized her meds.”
“Could that be in Chicago? That’s where we live.”
“Sure, why not?”
“I can take her there?”
She shook her head and gave him an appraising look that said he was missing something here; he wasn’t getting it.
“She couldn’t go with you, Mr. Constance. She’ll need ambulance transport, and she would need to be taken against her will. But you’re her husband, so you do have the final say-so.”
“Yesterday, they told me she had to agree to going with me. She can be forced?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t ever do that.”
“You’re saying I don’t want to because it would retard her progress?”
“Something like that, yes. While Chloe is battling her way toward clearer thinking, her life and living conditions need to be well-known to her. So if you take her away from the hospital without the proper foundation being laid by our staff, you’re likely to set her back.”
“Meaning I might do whatever it is I want but in tandem with your staff.”
“That’s right.”
Just then a portly nurse with glasses entered the room. Gorski and Andrew followed her back inside. It was Nurse Carrie from last night. She adjusted Chloe’s covers and took her vitals. Chloe blinked awake and stretched. She looked at Andrew then over at Dr. Gorski, who took Chloe’s hand in her own.
“How’s my girl?” the doctor asked her.
“Vitals are good,” Nurse Carrie answered, “so there’s that.”
“I’m good,” Chloe says. She looked at Andrew a second time. Her mouth twisted. “Why are you here?”
“Chloe, this is Andrew. He’s your husband,” Dr. Gorski said.
“Reno is my husband. He’ll be here soon, and you
don’t want to be here and get in his way, Andrew.”
Andrew nodded in acknowledgment.
“Andrew drove all the way from Chicago here to see you. Wasn’t that sweet of him, Chloe?”
Chloe looked at him without feeling. “Yes, that’s nice of him.”
“Andrew wanted to know if you’re feeling better. Can you tell him about that?”
Again, she looked at him. “I’m feeling better,” she said, but there was a flatness to her voice that betrayed her. He thought she wouldn’t know feeling better from feeling worse if it bit her. It was frustrating, and he was angry that more wasn’t being done. Maybe he was too passive. So he took a shot.
“Chloe,” he said, “I would like you to come home to Chicago with me and see your children. Would you do that for me?”
She rocked her head. “Not without Reno, I won’t! Reno says where I go.”
Dr. Gorski reached out and touched his forearm. “I’d leave it right there, Mr. Constance.”
A young Middle Eastern man entered and encouraged Chloe to blow into a tube. She obliged him with a smile and viewed the ball dancing that showed her respiratory health.
“How is she, Hameen?” Dr. Gorski asked.
Hameen turned. “Full volume. She’s doing great,” he said and left them there.
“Well, Mr. Constance, any more questions for me right now?”
He looked perplexed, he knew, but he couldn’t come up with any question that might bring Chloe home. This was not the time to press it.
They walked over by the door, and he lowered his voice. “So what do I do, return to Chicago? Stay around? How much time are we talking before she goes into a long-term care facility?”
“Weeks. I’d go home to my kids and job. I’ll be in touch with you when it’s time.”
“And you’re sure this Reno isn’t coming around?”
“Reno’s coming?” Chloe pushed herself upright.
“No Reno, Chloe,” said her doctor.
Chloe looked at Andrew. “Please leave so Reno can come. You’re scaring him.”
“All right,” he said. He was ready to throw in the towel. The mission looked impossible.
But then Chloe said, “I know you! You’re Andrew Constance!”
And his heart just melted. He scurried up close, leaned across the bed, and kissed his wife on the mouth. She didn’t pull away but neither did she show she liked his kiss.
“When’s breakfast?” she said. “I want potatoes, please, Dr. Gorski. Will you tell them it’s okay?”
“Chloe,” Andrew said on his way out, “will you come say hello to your kids?”
“Maybe,” she replied.
He backed out of the hospital room. He looked like hell when he went, but Chloe didn’t appear to care.
It was spitting snow when Andrew and Marcel located the Mercedes. The flakes whipped across their faces. Andrew’s eyes made tears—he told himself it was the wind.
What was another lie, anyway?
Chapter 43: Chloe Constance
The day passed as Chloe ruminated on her plan. Then she was snuggling down under the light blanket housekeeping brought her at night. It was time to drop off to sleep while Jimmy Fallon did his show.
Andrew wanted her to go straight back to Chicago with him. But she had to deal with Reno first. There was always another knife for him. So Chicago was out. Andrew had showed Chloe pictures on his phone. She was introduced to her little boy, Andrew J, this way. He told her the little boy was growing like a weed. From someplace deep inside, Chloe missed him terribly. She had fought back the tears, hiding her feelings from Andrew.
A memory hit her and she came alert. She had watched Reno’s keyboard one night as he accessed a Swiss UBS bank. The username and password were all she needed to gain access. The memory provided a username and password she found herself compelled to try.
Chloe kept the laptop under the covers of her bed; she browsed to the Swiss UBS bank’s login page.
She entered the username and password and waited. Then the account balance floated up. $95,456 and change. It was less than she was hoping for, but it would get her started. She opened a new account with Bank of America and funded it with $95,456 from UBS.
Chloe the lawyer, the brilliant tactician, was back.
Chloe swung her feet out of bed and pulled her walker to her. It was a struggle, and painful, but she could ambulate with the device. She walked out of her room and back toward the nurses’ station. The night nurse was reading and didn’t look up, only nodded and grunted. Chloe knew where the supply cabinet was located and how to get in. When no one was looking, she rushed inside and took a set of scrubs. Then she snuck into the nurses’ dressing room and helped herself to a winter coat.
The next morning, she dressed in the stolen scrubs and coat. Chloe waited, timing it right, and snuck out as if attached to a group of doctors and medical students making their rounds. She was using a walker, and it was excruciating, but she was behind them, and no one noticed as she looked like a disabled student.
Downstairs in the main lobby, she timed the automatic door and scuttled right on through. The walker was less of a hindrance than she had expected, and soon she was quite at home with it. She caught a bus and headed for a pawn shop she’d located online.
She was at the pawn shop thirty minutes before it opened. She was early, so she plunked down on the bus bench with her purse, clothes bag, walker, and laptop. With the laptop stashed inside the hospital clothes bag, and her bedraggled purse hanging from the walker, she knew she was a sight to behold, but couldn’t care less how she looked. She was making her first movements as a free woman since the kidnapping. She was much wiser now and abler to take care of herself. Chloe had thought she had street smarts as a lawyer, but it was nothing compared to what she had after surviving Reno. What she had now went way beyond mere street smarts. Now she could survive anything, and she was feeling more confident by the minute.
With the use of her laptop and a nearby—free—WIFI, Chloe located a Bank of America on the bus route. Then she waited for the pawn shop to open.
At 9:01 a.m., the steel accordion fence across the pawn broker’s front door slid away and the main door unlocked. Chloe loaded up and crabbed her way to the entrance. She opened the door and shuffled up to the counter and removed the laptop from its bag.
“How much?” Chloe asked. “It’s got the latest version of Windows and Microsoft Office.”
“I can go fifty,” the man said, squeezing the tip of his bulbous nose and trying not to look the least bit interested.
“Bullshit,” she protested, “this thing isn’t a month old. Give me at least a hundred.”
“Sixty-five.” He clicked the machine on and satisfied himself that it was working. The latest version of Windows appeared on-screen. Now he was interested.
“Eighty-five,” Chloe demanded.
“Seventy, and that’s it.”
“Seventy-five, and we’re done here. I’ll even throw in the laundry bag.”
“The one with the hospital stamp on it? Gee, lady, thanks.”
“Give me the money. Tens, please.”
Moments later, the proprietor had peeled seven tens and a five from his roll and slid it across the glass counter.
“You drive a hard bargain, lady.”
Chloe had been looking in the glass display case. “How much are the guns?”
“For you, I’ll make the price work. Which one are you looking at.”
“The silver one.”
“That’s a Smith .357. FBI favorite. You want to hold it?”
“I do.”
He pulled the gun out of the case and passed it over the counter.
“It’s heavy.”
“That gun will stop a V-8 cold.”
“I don’t want to shoot a V-8. I want to shoot a man.”
“Lady, I can’t sell you the gun if you’re serious about that.”
“Just kidding. It’s just for self-defense. Can I put down f
ifty bucks to hold it until I get done at the bank?”
“That’ll work.”
She passed five tens back across the counter. She spelled her name and gave a fake address. He would hold it five days.
Chloe rapped the glass with her knuckles. “You won’t regret this. It’s a great laptop. And I’m getting a gun that can stop cars.”
“Sign here that the laptop’s not stolen.”
She turned away. “You sign and say it’s my signature. Bye now.”
Back on the bus, up a half mile, off the bus at the Bank of America.
The BOA business associate took just a few minutes to key a temporary debit card and withdraw five thousand dollars out of the cashier’s drawer. He presented the money and card to her, and she smiled and thanked him. If Chloe could have, she would have tipped him.
Back outside, where Chloe flagged a taxi. She climbed in, folded her walker, and dragged it across her lap. She laid it on the passenger seat.
“Take me to a used car lot.”
“I will, but there’s a minimum charge. Miller’s Wheels is only three blocks.” He was waiting to see whether she’d pay the minimum.
“Oh, hell,” said Chloe, “I’ll spring for the minimum. Let’s hit it.”
One hour later, the dealer signed over a Chevrolet Caprice to Chloe. The deal went down for cash, Chloe using her debit card, which had no limit except for the account limit—Chloe’s demand at the bank.
It exhausted her. As she piled into the driver’s seat, she said, “You drive, Justin,”
“Where to, boss?”
“I don’t know. This is as far as I got in my head. We’re looking for Reno. Let’s start at the hotel.”
Justin keyed the address Chloe gave him into the dashboard GPS; then they were off. They hooked a left onto Washington Street and shot north. She had guided them back to the Holiday Inn Express where Reno had kept her captive. “Wait here, please,” she told Justin and shuffled inside with her walker. At the front desk, she waited her turn behind two other patrons.
“My husband and I stayed here a month or two ago,” she told the blonde at the counter, a young, heavyset woman whose name tag read M Andrew - Ames, Iowa.
M Andrew gave her a dumb stare. “You need the date? Is that it?”
The Fifth Justice (Michael Gresham Legal Thrillers Book 10) Page 16
