by T. R. Ragan
“Okay, fine. I’m just not sure I have time for this. I’ve spent the last ten years going over and over Sophie’s last day. I was there when they were doing ground searches in a vast field not too far from here, uniformed officers and volunteers poking long sticks into rock and terrain. I was more afraid of finding her dead than not finding her at all.”
Thinking about her sister always brought her back to that empty spot inside of her—a lonely, dark cave filled with sorrow.
“And later?” Ben asked.
“When the searches stopped and the cameras disappeared,” she continued, “I felt differently. Sophie, it seemed, had vanished into thin air. I was heartbroken and numb, but also more determined than ever to find her. I became obsessed to the point that it was all I ever thought about. Year after year I continued the search. Eventually the trauma and stress from getting nowhere began to take their toll. And only recently did I realize my obsession was also affecting Olivia.” She took a breath. “Every day I was inadvertently reminding my niece that she’d been abandoned. Not only by her mother but by me. I think that’s why she no longer refers to Sophie as her mother.” As she stared out the window, she added, “I finally decided to start focusing on Olivia and her needs. I began to believe that maybe Olivia and I could find a way to move forward together. And then you popped into our lives, and here we go again, taking another ride on an endless train to nowhere.”
He said nothing.
“And it doesn’t help,” she said, now that she’d opened the floodgates, “that I have no idea who you are or what your true agenda is. In fact, I can’t help but wonder if your amnesia is something you hide behind. A convenient wall you can use to conceal your ugliest secrets or any part of yourself you might be uncomfortable with.”
“What are you basing this on?”
“Everybody and their cousin is hiding something,” she blurted, unable to rein in her frustration. “Parker Koontz, a seemingly outstanding citizen, shoots blanks at me. Why? Leanne Baxter might have been withholding information for ten years. Why? Then you come along, a crime reporter with amnesia, convince her to talk, and the timing just seems a little too convenient.” She studied his profile while he drove. “I can’t help but wonder if you’re hiding something, too.”
After a long bout of silence, he said, “You’re the first person who’s ever accused me of being a fraud. My amnesia is real. I have no memories of my parents, who passed away when I was a teen. My older sister, the person one would think might have known me best, won’t have anything to do with me. She told me we were never close, and it was better for her if she kept her distance. I would do anything to have a wall where I could simply reach over and pluck the memories back at random.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessie said, sensing genuine sincerity. “That wasn’t fair of me to accuse you of deceit.”
His shoulders relaxed. “You’re not a trusting person. I could see that during our first meeting. And yet you came with me anyway.”
He was right. He’d called, and she’d jumped. Maybe that was how it would always be. Sophie first. Everything else second.
“You’re right about one thing,” he said after a while. “This is about me. Seeing your sister’s image on television and feeling . . . knowing we had met before did something to me. It made me realize that there was hope and that maybe my memories would begin to return after all these years.” He released a long breath. “But this is about you, too. When I watched that show, I heard the desperation in your voice when you talked about what it was like to have a family member disappear—the not knowing, always wondering. Imagining the worst does something to a person. And in that moment I hoped maybe we could help each other.”
TWENTY-ONE
Jessie and Ben exited the car and then walked side by side toward the entrance of the Wild West. The place was well hidden, not far from trails for hiking and horseback riding amid foothills and waterfalls. The building looked like an old Western saloon with a wide boardwalk that flanked the dusty, unpaved parking area. A couple of hitching posts completed the look.
The Wild West was known for its whiskey and loud music. The regulars wore cowboy boots and wide-brim hats. It was past four when they pushed through the swing doors and walked inside. The wood floors creaked under their feet. Chairs were made from wine barrels, and the tables were mostly warped and scarred.
There were a few customers scattered about, since they served hot soup and sandwiches during the day.
Ben introduced himself to the bartender and asked if Leanne Baxter was around. The bartender disappeared inside the back room, and a minute later Leanne appeared. Leanne looked the same—round face, sky-blue eyes, and curly blonde hair that stopped at her shoulders. She wore a plaid shirt, jeans, and a pair of distressed leather boots with a Western stitch. Her cheeks reddened when she spotted Jessie. Then her gaze settled on Ben, and she stopped in her tracks, looking momentarily taken aback.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
Her blonde curls bobbed when she shook her head. “Have we met before?”
Ben shook his head. “We talked on the phone earlier about Sophie Cole.” He gestured toward Jessie. “I believe you’ve met Jessie Cole. I figured you wouldn’t mind if she came along to hear what you had to say.”
“Sure,” she muttered without bothering to look Jessie’s way. “Did you take care of the rent?”
“I did.”
Leanne gestured toward the back of the room. “Why don’t we sit over there?”
They followed her across the room to the booth with cracked leather seats. Jessie slid in first. Ben took a seat next to her, leaving Leanne to sit across from them.
The bartender brought them a round of waters, then disappeared.
Ben pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, then complimented Leanne on her bolo tie, which made her face brighten. And then he got right to it. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you told us everything you remember about the same night ten years ago.”
“I don’t remember much,” she said before clearing her throat. “If you’ve ever been here in the evening, you would know the lights are kept dim, which makes it hard to see clearly.”
It didn’t take much to make Jessie’s ire grow. Leanne was being vague and seemed to be throwing out a few disclaimers for good measure. The woman hadn’t changed one bit.
Ben must have sensed Jessie’s frustrations because he leaned forward. “Don’t worry about getting everything right,” he told Leanne. “We’re not here to judge you, and everything you say is off the record.”
Leanne visibly relaxed. “The night in question wasn’t the first night I’d seen her here.”
Jessie clenched her teeth and remained silent.
“Sophie was beautiful,” Leanne continued. “Men adored her, and women wanted to be her. Heads turned when she walked through a door. But all the adoration stopped the minute she opened her mouth.”
“Why is that?” Ben asked.
“She was mean, bordering on cruel. The words that came out of her mouth were usually spiteful or condescending.”
Jessie stiffened. “My sister was one of the most compassionate, caring people I’ve ever known.”
Leanne lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just telling you what I saw. Should I go on or not?”
Ben looked at Jessie. “Do you want to take a look around while I finish this?”
He wanted to get rid of her. Too bad. She was staying. “No. I’d like to hear what she has to say.”
“All right then,” he said, turning back to face Leanne. He propped his elbows on the table in front of him, fingers entwined. “So what was Sophie doing on the night you saw her last?”
“She was dancing with Frank.”
“Frank?” he asked.
The name meant nothing to Jessie.
Leanne nodded. “Frank was my fiancé at that time.”
“I take it you didn’t appreciate another woman dancing with your fiancé.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I weaved my way through the crowded dance floor, pried her hands off Frank, and told her to back the fuck off.”
Ben kept his gaze on Leanne. “And what happened after that?”
Leanne shrugged. “She found someone else to dance with.”
“Who?”
“A scraggly-looking guy with bad teeth and wearing gaudy jewelry.”
Ben scribbled on his notepad. “A gold chain?”
“No,” Leanne said. “Rings. One on each of his middle fingers. One of them reminded me of the ring Johnny Depp wore when he played the pirate.”
“Jack Sparrow in the Pirates of the Caribbean?” Ben asked.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” She drank some water. “When we get busy around here, I usually end up helping the bartender. The guy was sitting at the bar that night, twirling his rings. The skull ring on one hand and a gold band with a purple stone on the other.”
Jessie felt Ben stiffen next to her.
Eyes squeezed shut, he pressed his fingers to his temples.
“What’s wrong with him?” Leanne asked.
“I don’t know.” Jessie touched his shoulder. “Ben. Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Migraine.” He slid out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”
They watched him go.
“He’s a big man—isn’t he?” Leanne asked. “What’s with the limp and all the scars?”
Jessie hadn’t noticed a limp, but Leanne was right. He definitely had an uneven gait. “He was in a car accident.”
Leanne nodded as she glanced at her phone. “I’m on duty in ten minutes.”
Jessie needed to keep her talking. If Leanne was telling the truth, then this could be her best chance of finally getting information about Sophie’s last day. “How long would you guess Sophie danced with the man wearing the skull ring?”
“Not long. If you ask me, he wasn’t her type. It took her less than a minute to find someone better-looking—a tall, decent-looking guy with broad shoulders. About the same height as your partner, Ben.”
Jessie didn’t bother correcting her. “And then what? Did they dance?”
“This is where things get a little hazy,” Leanne explained. “I don’t think he was interested in dancing. Instead they sat at the bar talking. I remember thinking she looked frustrated with him. It must have been an hour later when I saw Sophie leave. I know this because I wanted to make sure Frank didn’t follow her. He didn’t, but the guy wearing the skull ring did.”
“He followed Sophie out the front door?”
Leanne nodded. “Next thing you know, I see the tall man leave, too. That’s when I figured there was going to be trouble.”
“Why?”
“Two men who’ve been drinking whiskey and a pretty lady equals trouble. Anyway, I ran to the kitchen”—she pointed that way—“slipped out the back door, and crept around the side of the building so I could see what was going on.”
Leanne had Jessie’s full attention. Her stomach tightened. “And what did you see?”
Ben returned before Leanne could answer.
After Jessie filled him in, telling him everything Leanne had told her, Leanne stood, and they followed her through the kitchen and out the back door. Everything looked the same as the last time Jessie had visited—an unpaved area with a dumpster and stacks of boxes and crates.
Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked to the side of the building. Leanne stopped and then pointed toward the parking lot. “See the truck over there? The charcoal truck next to the blue Honda? That’s about how far away Sophie and the two men were by the time I got out here. It looked to me as if the guy wearing the rings was making a move on Sophie.”
Jessie frowned. “Did he touch her?”
“He grabbed her from behind, his arms circling her waist.” Leanne made the motions, her arms wrapping around air. “That’s when the tall guy pulled him off her and punched him in the face. Skull Ring Man fell to the ground, and I hoped that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t.”
Jessie and Ben didn’t say a word. They just listened.
“Sophie smashed the bottle of beer she’d been holding against one of those concrete parking blocks over there. The music was loud that night, but not loud enough to cover the sound of shattering glass. Next thing I knew, she was on top of Skull Ring Man.”
Leanne’s voice hitched, and she was trembling, which made it difficult not to believe her.
Ben rested a hand on Leanne’s shoulder and told her it was okay.
“I’m sorry,” Leanne said, “but the sound he made when she jammed that broken bottle into his chest, or maybe his neck—I’m not sure—was a sound I will never forget for as long as I live.”
Jessie thought she might be sick. “Are you suggesting that Sophie might have seriously hurt the guy?”
Ben lifted a hand to stop Jessie from saying anything else. “So what did you do next?” he asked Leanne.
“I ran back through the kitchen to get help, but the cook had cut off half his finger.” She shook her head. “I’m not shitting you. There was nothing but chaos that night. But I had to do something, so I ran around the place like a fucking idiot until I found Frank.” She anchored her hair behind her ears. “Guess where I found him?”
Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Where?”
“In the boss’s office, happy as a clam, getting blown by the new girl.”
Jessie felt heat rise through her body. Every time she’d talked to the woman in the past, Leanne had either said she’d never seen Sophie in her life, she didn’t remember the night in question, or she’d left early. Now suddenly she could clearly recount everything that happened in detail.
Jessie knew Sophie had been a partier and a bit of a wild thing, but she couldn’t imagine her sister ever hurting anyone. That was what she’d been telling people all her life. But if Sophie had been threatened in some way, then of course she would defend herself. Besides, why would Leanne lie, especially after all this time?
“Everything went to shit after that,” Leanne said, her gaze on Ben. “By the time I got my wits back and remembered why I’d been searching for Frank in the first place, I grabbed a flashlight and headed back outside. And guess what?”
“What did you see?” Ben asked.
Leanne shook her head in wonder. “There was nothing there. I didn’t sleep well that night. The next day, even though I was off work, I stopped by to take a look at the place where I’d seen it all go down. I found a few pieces of broken glass, but it could have been from another time—who knows?”
“No blood?” Ben asked.
Leanne shook her head. “Nothing.”
“And you never thought to call the police?” Jessie asked.
“Why would I? There was nothing there. No proof at all of what I’d seen.”
“At the very least,” Jessie said, “you could have told me what you saw. I talked to you three times.”
“Frank didn’t want me to say anything to anyone,” she shot back. “He’d been in and out of jail and didn’t want the cops, let alone the FBI, hanging around asking questions.”
Jessie rubbed her forehead. “The last time we spoke, you told me you left early that night. Why should we believe you now?”
Leanne looked at Ben. “You promised nobody would judge me or point fingers.” She looked around. “I need to get to work. I think we’re done here.”
“You’ve been a big help,” Ben assured her, “but I have one more question before we go.”
“What is it?”
“Did you happen to see what kind of car Sophie or either of the men were driving that night? Color, model, anything at all?”
Leanne shook her head.
“And you never heard either of the men’s names?”
“Nope. That’s all I got.”
After watching Leanne walk off, Jessie turned around and headed for Ben’s car. She felt sick to her stomach, and she wanted to get away
from this place.
Awkward silence filled the car as they drove home. Ten minutes passed before Ben broke it. “Why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m pissed. I asked Leanne Baxter the same damn questions more than once, and I got nothing. And now suddenly she not only remembers Sophie but also the men she danced with. Her story is a little over the top—don’t you think?”
“People change. You heard her. She was scared. And Frank told her not to talk.”
“I wasn’t a cop,” Jessie said.
“To Leanne you were worse than a cop. You were her sister. I’m not saying she was right to keep quiet, but she’d obviously been holding on to some guilt for not telling someone sooner. Maybe she was still with Frank the last time you talked to her.”
Jessie’s arms were tightly drawn over her chest. She tried to relax, but she couldn’t get the image of Sophie stabbing a man with a broken bottle out of her head.
“Might I suggest,” Ben said, keeping his eyes on the road, “that next time you interview someone, you attempt to warm them up first. Compliment them, ask questions about their life, questions that have nothing to do with the case you’re working on. It’s easier to get people to open up if you gain their trust first.”
“You’re right. I’m a fucking amateur.” God. Not only was she pissed; she was feeling sorry for herself. Damn.
“I’ve researched a few of your cases,” Ben said. “You’re no amateur.”
“Colin, a close friend of mine, has always told me that I’m too close to the case. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better if I take a step back and stay out of your way. That was a shit show back there. I’m too close, too involved, and for the first time since Sophie disappeared, I’m beginning to wonder if I can look at things objectively.”
“That’s exactly why I need you,” Ben said. “You know details about this case and about your sister that I need, data that would take me months to gather. You might not like her, but Leanne is all we’ve got at this point. She says there were two men with Sophie when she left the Wild West. Skull Ring Man and another guy.”