Lost Identity (23 page)

“I’m glad you’re both here,” he said as he gave them a nod of greeting. “It’s a relief to know you’re taking this thing seriously, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, I’m taking it seriously,” he assured Andrew. “I’ve checked out Officer Baxley’s report. It seems pretty comprehensive. We’ll wait to see if we get anything unexpected on the fingerprints.”

Unexpected?
The word spoke volumes. They didn’t believe that anyone else had been in the house. They weren’t expecting anyone’s but Trish’s.

“There’s not much more that we can do,” Baxley said as if they’d taken care of everything.

“That’s it?” Andrew said in a calm voice that belied the surge of raw anger building inside. It was all he could do to keep from lashing out at them for even considering that the suicide note was valid. Trish had been set up. Couldn’t these two policemen see that the whole deadly incident was contrived?

“At the moment, yes,” O’Donnel answered without looking directly at Andrew.

“If the killer didn’t leave fingerprints, what then?”

O’Donnel ignored his question. “After our telephone conversation, I made a few calls this morning. It seems that Ms. Radcliffe left the party in her honor rather abruptly last night. She was about to head home when I got there, wasn’t she? Do you know what that was all about? Was there some kind of precipitating incident that I should know about? A quarrel with someone?”

“No, she left because she couldn’t take the pressure of people gawking at her, asking her a hundred times if she remembered them.”

“Then she was in a despondent mood? Feeling kind of harassed?”

“If you mean was her mood suicidal, no.”

O’Donnel paused, as if trying to decide whether or not to elicit more details about the night that she had spent with Andrew. “Did you have a lovers’ quarrel, perhaps?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

Baxley smirked in a knowing way, but O’Donnel looked as if he had already decided that nothing Andrew said could be taken at face value.

“We’ll look at this whole thing in light of what we already know about Ms. Radcliffe,” he said flatly, putting an end to the discussion.

The lieutenant didn’t have to spell it out for Andrew. He knew exactly what he meant—O’Donnel was talking about the Perry Reynold’s murder. The suicide note could be one more piece of evidence in the case. Trish’s purse on the boat had already provided opportunity in Perry Reynold’s murder. Now she was a suspect whose emotional and mental health was in question. The suicide attempt and note, however bogus, supported his case. Why look for a dif
ferent killer when someone was handing Trish to him on a silver platter?

O’Donnel must have seen the fury rising in Andrew because he quickly assured him, “We’re looking into all aspects of Perry Reynolds’s death. We’ve got a court order to examine all the books at Atlantis Enterprises. Maybe something will come to light that will clarify this whole situation.”

Andrew didn’t trust himself to answer. He knew what O’Donnel was looking for—evidence that would give him the motive he needed to charge Trish with first-degree murder.

F
ROM THE MOMENT THAT
Trish entered Dr. Duboise’s office, she knew that this wasn’t going to be one of their usual sessions. Normally he eased into their time together with some friendly banter, and asked some superficial questions about her well-being. He had always seemed willing to let the session develop without any apparent structure, but that was not the case this time. He was more purposeful about leading the conversation, as if he had an intended goal in mind.

Her guard went up, and because she felt she was being manipulated toward some end that she didn’t understand, she was hesitant about volunteering anything. Was he laying the groundwork for keeping her at Havengate more than just a day or two?

“You had a harrowing experience.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something about his body language that didn’t match.

His pretended lack of concern made her voice sharp. “Andrew told you what happened, didn’t he?”

He nodded. “Don’t you want to tell me about it?”

“Not really,” she said, with a slightly pugnacious attitude.

“You smelled gas when you first woke up? That must have been scary.”

She made him pull every bit of the story out of her, piece by piece. “There was a gas leak…a pipe in the kitchen. I could hear it.”

There were long pauses when she didn’t say anything, and she sensed that the doctor was fighting some kind of impatience of his own. Usually his hands rested on the arm of his chair, but there was a hidden restlessness in his long slender fingers that moved slightly as he waited for her to speak.

“When I couldn’t get the front door open, I knew I had to break a window.” She shivered as the remembered sensation of suffocation sweeping over her.

“Because you wanted to save your life.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Of course I wanted to save my life. What kind of a question is that?” A quiver of suspicion took root that he was questioning everything that she had said.

“It’s just a question,” he soothed.

What was going on? Her temper flared. “You don’t believe what I’m telling you.”

“Yes, I believe you, Trish.” His eyes firmly locked with hers. “But I’m afraid that there are some disquieting aspects about what happened that you don’t know about.”

She stared at him, her mouth suddenly parched. Her posture rigid and defensive as she demanded, “What is it that I know about, Dr. Duboise?”

In a very even voice, he told her that it wasn’t a leaking gas pipe that had filled the house with gas.
“All of the vents on the stove had been deliberately turned on.”

The way he was looking at her made her gasp. “But you don’t think…you can’t think that I…”

“You tried to kill yourself?” he finished for her.

Even as he waited for her response, the truth came to her as clear as crystal. “Someone tried to kill me, didn’t they?”

A weird kind of validation flowed through her. She had been right all along. The insidious apprehension and fear that had tormented her had not been her imagination. Her nightmares had risen from a deep knowledge that she was in danger.

He shifted the glasses resting on his nose. “There was a suicide note.”

“A suicide note?” she echoed in disbelief.

He leaned forward. “You need to be prepared to handle the stress of the police asking you some questions, Trish.”

Was this for real? Was she having another nightmare? Suddenly she was furious with Andrew. Why had he kept all of this from her? Why make her wait to hear the truth from Dr. Duboise? She’d tried to get him to share his thoughts with her, and he dodged her questions. He hadn’t lied to her, but he hadn’t been truthful either. Wasn’t there anyone that she could trust?

The doctor said gently, “I know this is a lot for you to take in. Is there any way we can make the situation easier for you?”

She shook her head and only half-listened to him when he suggested that they talk later, after she’d had a chance to think things through.

“Yes, thank you, Dr. Duboise.” She walked out of
his office in a hurry to get somewhere—if she could just remember where.

A
NDREW WAS WAITING FOR
her in the lounge when she came out of the elevator and headed purposefully toward the front door. He had to hurry to catch up with her just outside the building.

“Trish, wait up!”

As she swung around to face him, she didn’t say anything, but just looked at Andrew as if he were someone who had no business trying to pretend that everything was friendly and cozy between them.

The cold look in her eyes was a total shock to Andrew. Certainly, he had expected her to be shaken by the realization that someone had tried to kill her. In fact, he had been prepared to find her in a tearful, shattered state, in need of his comforting and reassurance. What he had not expected was her removed, distant composure. She was a stranger, and he floundered trying to decide what to do and say. As he reached to touch her arm, she drew back.

“No,” she said, firmly. “Leave me alone. I can handle this.”

“But, Trish, please, let me help you.”

“Help me? How? By lying to me? By being a coward?”

He stiffened. “Wait a minute. Let’s get something straight. I was trying to protect you by letting Dr. Duboise tell you everything. I thought he could handle things better.” He softened his voice. “Darling, I know this has been a shock.”

“You mean, I should be surprised that someone is trying to harm me?” She gave a false laugh. “If you want to know the truth, it’s a relief to know that my
paranoid feelings have been validated. I can handle a threat upon my life better than living with the horrible doubts that I was losing my sanity along with my memory. Now, you don’t have to feel sorry for me anymore.”

“Stop it, Trish! You know me better than that.”

“Do I? Anyway, I can take it from here. I’m going to trust myself from now on, and I’m not going to be a sitting duck for anyone.”

“Good.” Even though this belligerent, forceful Trish was something of a shock, Andrew couldn’t help but silently applaud her declaration of independence.

“I’m checking myself out of here,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Are you sure that’s wise? I mean you’re safe here.”

“Are you suggesting that I spend the rest of my life hiding out at Havengate?” she flared.

“No, of course not, but Trish, be reasonable. Whoever is afraid that you may recover your memory will be ready to strike again.”

“And I’m supposed to cower like a frightened rabbit until O’Donnel finds enough circumstantial evidence to convict me? Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather spend my time finding some answers myself.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Andrew asked, entertaining a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t going to like her answer.

“I’m going back to the apartment.”

“And?”

“Janelle tried to work with me on the computer in the library, but I got confused and quit. I need to spend some time looking over the files. Maybe there’s some kind of a trail that would lead me to some answers.
Whatever happened to Perry could be related to business.”

“Or to his extramarital love life,” Andrew offered.

She nodded. “Maybe if I start asking questions instead of struggling to answer so many of them myself, I won’t have to depend on someone else finding out the truth.”

“I don’t suppose you could use a volunteer computer analyst to help you dig through the files?”

She was tempted to flatly refuse his help, but if anyone could untangle the computer files, he could. “A business arrangement?”

“Absolutely.”

She hesitated. Could she trust him to be honest with her? Would he try to keep things from her? Would she be putting herself in a vulnerable position again? And what if he found some incriminating evidence that implicated her or someone else? His determination to protect her could work against her need to hold on to her independence.

“You can set the ground rules,” he assured her.

“Both in professional and personal areas?”

He nodded. “The ball is in your court.”

He was giving her some space, and she was grateful for it. “All right, I’d appreciate your help.”

“Fine. I guess you don’t mind if I move into the apartment. Janelle offered the guest room, remember?” He was relieved that she had given him an excuse to stay around her. Without letting her know the truth, he’d be her bodyguard until O’Donnel realized he needed to assign someone to protect her.

T
HEY CHECKED
T
RISH OUT
of the hospital, and she had little to say on the drive into the city. When they ar
rived at her apartment, Sasha told them that Janelle had gone back to her own place.

Good,
thought Trish. Although Janelle meant well, her hovering manner could wear on the nerves. At the moment, the last thing she needed was someone clucking over her like a mother hen.

“I haven’t any idea how much time this is going to take,” she told Andrew as they walked to the library. “I don’t want you to get behind on your own work.”

“No problem. I’m waiting on approval for the next step in my program, anyway. Let’s see how it goes.” He smiled at her. “We’ll have to go on a fishing expedition first, since we really don’t know what we’re looking for.”

He settled down at the desk, and in a few minutes was so completely engrossed that she could have been miles away instead of looking over his shoulder at files that made no earthly sense to her. Not wanting to burden him with questions, she decided to leave him alone, and quietly left the room.

She was about to head to the kitchen for a cup of tea when Sasha told her she had a visitor.

“Who is it?” Trish asked, her chest suddenly tight. She knew that sooner or later the police would come. The protection that Dr. Duboise had offered her at Havengate was gone. When Sasha told her it was Curtis, she gave a sigh of relief and reluctantly walked stiffly into the living room.

“Hello, Curtis,” she said in a guarded voice.

He reached for her. “Honey, I just got back in town and heard. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, putting her hands on his chest and trying to push away.

He tightened his arms around her, and she stiffened
as the whiff of his hair tonic touched her nostrils. It was the same scent that had triggered the faint memory of someone with her in Central Park. Curtis. He was the one who had embraced her in front of the statue. A strange sense of relief poured through her because somewhere in the corners of her mind had been a fear that it had been Perry.

“You can’t keep running away from me. We’ve always meant too much to each other.” He tightened his embrace.

She sensed that he’d held her close like this before, but she knew with every fiber of her being that she’d never felt desire for Curtis that she felt for Andrew.

“I’m so sorry, darling. You don’t deserve all of this.” He seemed about ready to lower his head and kiss her.

She deliberately turned her face away. “Please, Curtis, don’t—” For whatever reason she’d broken their engagement it must have been a valid one, and this knowledge gave her a strange reassurance.