Extreme Denial

by David Morrell

  Decker blinked repeatedly, groggy, as if hungover, trying to understand what was happening. His body ached. His arms and face stung. His muscles throbbed. He had the worst headache of his life. In the background, pale sunlight struggled past the edges of closed draperies.

  “Where ...?”

  “A motel outside Jersey City.”

  As Decker scanned the gloomy interior, he was reminded disturbingly of the motel where McKittrick had held Beth prisoner.

  “How long ...? What time is ...?”

  “Almost seven in the evening.” Beth, who sat next to him, her weight on her good leg, put the washcloth on his forehead. It had been soaked in steaming hot water. Decker instantly absorbed the heat.

  “This is the kind of place that doesn’t ask questions about people checking in,” Esperanza said. “The units are behind the office. The clerk can’t see who goes into the rooms.”

  Like the motel where McKittrick had held Beth prisoner, Decker thought again, uneasy.

  “We got here about six in the morning,” Beth said. “Counting time in the car, you’ve been sleeping almost thirteen hours. You had me scared that you wouldn’t wake up.”

  Esperanza pointed toward the bathroom. “I had a lot of trouble getting your clothes off and putting you into the tub. With hypothermia, the water has to be tepid to start with. I increased the temperature slowly. When your color was better, I pulled you out, dried you off, and put you in bed with all three blankets I found on the shelf. Beth managed to get out of her wet clothes, dried off, and got in bed next to you, helping to keep you warm. I poured hot coffee into you. Man, I’ve never seen anybody so exhausted.”

  Beth kept wiping Decker’s face. “Or so bruised and cut up. Your face won’t stop bleeding.”

  “I’ve had easier nights.” Decker’s mouth felt dry. “I could use ... a drink of water.”

  “It’ll have to be hot water,” Esperanza said. “Sorry, but I want to make sure you’ve got your body heat back.” He poured steaming water from a thermos into a Styrofoam cup and brought it to Decker’s lips. “Careful.”

  It tasted worse than Decker had expected. “Put a tea bag in it. Where’d you get...?” Decker pointed toward the thermos.

  “I’ve been busy. While you rested, I did some shopping. I’ve got food and clothes, crutches for Beth, and—”

  “You left us alone?” Decker asked in alarm.

  “Beth had your handgun. She’s in pain, but she was able to sit in that chair and watch the door. There didn’t seem a reason not to get what we needed.”

  Decker tried to sit up. “Renata. That’s your reason.”

  “She couldn’t possibly have followed us,” Esperanza said. “I was extra careful. Whenever I had the slightest doubt, I went around the block or down an alley. I would have noticed any headlights following us.”

  “We were able to follow McKittrick,” Decker said.

  “Because we had a homing device. Does it seem likely to you that McKittrick and Renata would have put a homing device in their own car? She didn’t even have a car to follow us.”

  “She could have stolen one.”

  “Assuming she knew that we weren’t on the roof any longer, that we’d stolen her car. Even then, by the time she hot-wired a vehicle, we’d have been long gone. She couldn’t have known which way we went. Relax, Decker. She’s not a threat.”

  “For the moment.”

  It wasn’t Decker who made the comment, but Beth.

  “She will be, though,” Beth added, somber.

  “Yes,” Decker said. “If Renata went to all this trouble to get even with me for killing two of her brothers, she won’t stop now. She’ll be all the more determined.”

  “Especially since we have the money,” Beth said.

  Decker was too confused to speak. He looked at Esperanza.

  “After we got to this motel,” Esperanza said, “while you and Beth were resting, I checked the Pontiac’s trunk. Along with enough explosives to blow up the Statue of Liberty, I found that.” Esperanza pointed toward a bulging flight bag on the floor by the bed. “The million dollars.”

  “Holy ...” Decker’s weariness made him dizzy again.

  “Stop trying to sit up,” Beth said. “You’re turning pale. Stay down.”

  “Renata will come looking for us.” As Decker closed his eyes, giving way to exhaustion, he reached to touch Beth, but his consciousness dimmed, and he didn’t feel his hand fall.

  2

  The next time he wakened, the room was totally dark. He continued to feel groggy. His body still ached. But he had to move—he needed to use the bathroom. Unfamiliar with the motel room, he bumped into a wall, banging his shoulder, before he oriented himself, entered the bathroom, shut the door, and only then turned on the light, not wanting to wake Beth. His image in the mirror was shocking, not just the bruises and scratches but the deep blue circles around his eyes and the gauntness of his beard-stubbled cheeks.

  After relieving himself, he hoped that the flushing of the toilet wouldn’t disturb Beth. But when he turned off the light and opened the door, he discovered that the main room’s lights were on. Beth was sitting up in the bed, where she had been sleeping next to him. Esperanza was propped up against a pillow in another bed.

  “Sorry,” Decker said.

  “You didn’t wake us,” Esperanza said.

  “We’ve been waiting for you to get up,” Beth said. “How do you feel?”

  “The way I look.” Decker limped toward Beth. “How about you? How do you feel?”

  Beth shifted her position and winced. “My leg is swollen. It throbs. But the wound doesn’t look infected.”

  “At least that’s one thing in our favor.” Decker slumped on the bed and wrapped a blanket around himself. He rubbed his temples. “What time is it?”

  “Two A.M.” Esperanza put on trousers and got out of bed. “Do you feel alert enough to discuss some things?”

  “My throat’s awfully dry.” Decker managed to hold up his hands as if defending himself. “But I don’t want any of that damned hot water.”

  “I bought some Gatorade. How about that? Get some electrolytes back in your system.”

  “Perfect.”

  It was orange-flavored, and Decker drank a quarter of the bottle before he stopped himself.

  “How about something to eat?” Esperanza asked.

  “My stomach’s not working, but I’d better try to get something down.”

  Esperanza opened a small portable cooler. “I’ve got packaged sandwiches—tuna, chicken, salami.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Catch.”

  Decker surprised himself by managing to do so. He peeled the plastic wrap off the sandwich and bit into tasteless white bread and cardboardlike chicken. “Delicious.”

  “Nothing but the best for you.”

  “We have to decide what to do.” Beth’s solemn tone contrasted with Esperanza’s attempt at humor.

  Decker looked at her and tenderly grasped her hand. “Yes. The Justice Department won’t be happy that you didn’t show up to testify. They’ll be looking for you.”

  “I took care of it,” Beth said.

  “Took care of...?” Decker felt troubled. “I don’t understand.”

  “Esperanza drove me to a pay phone. I called my contact at the Justice Department and found out I don’t have to testify. The grand jury was meeting to indict Nick Giordano, but since he’s dead, the Justice Department says there’s no point in going further.” Beth hesitated. “You killed Frank Giordano, also?”

  Decker didn’t say anything.

  “For me?”

  “Keep reminding yourself that you’re in the presence of a police officer,” Decker said.

  Esperanza glanced at his hands. “Maybe this would be a good time for me to take a walk.”

  “I didn’t mean to ...”

  “No offense taken. You two have a lot to talk about. You could use some time alone.” Esperanza put on his boots, grabbe
d a shirt, nodded, and went outside.

  Beth waited until the door was closed. “Esperanza gave me an idea of what you went through last night.” She reached for his hand. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  “All you have to do is love me.”

  Beth cocked her head in surprise. “You make it sound as if that’s something I have to talk myself into. I do love you.”

  She had never told him that before. The longed-for words thrilled him, flooding him with warmth. With emotion-pained eyes, he studied her. There was little resemblance between the enticing woman he had known in Santa Fe and the pale, gaunt-cheeked, hollow-eyed, straggly-haired woman before him. This was the woman he had suffered for. Risked his life for. Several times. Been prepared to go anywhere and do anything to save.

  His throat felt cramped. “You’re beautiful.”

  Welcome color came into her cheeks.

  “I couldn’t have gone on living without you,” Decker said. Beth inhaled sharply, audibly. She looked at him as if she had never truly seen him before, then hugged him, their embrace painful because of their injuries but intense and forceful all the same. “I don’t deserve you.”

  Beth had told him that earlier, when Decker had helped her onto the fire escape at the doctor’s apartment. Was “don’t deserve you” another way of expressing affection, or did she literally mean that she felt undeserving—because she had used him and now felt ashamed?

  “What’s wrong?” Beth asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “But—”

  “We have a lot of details to take care of,” Decker said quickly. “Did your contact in the Justice Department ask about McKittrick?”

  “Did he ever.” Beth looked puzzled by the sudden change of topic, by the way intimacy had given way to practicality. “I told him I thought McKittrick was the man who let the Giordanos know I was hiding in Santa Fe. I said that I’d been suspicious about McKittrick from the start and when we got to New York I slipped away from him. I told them I had no idea where he was.”

  “Keep telling them that,” Decker said. “When McKittrick’s body is found in the wreckage from the fire, the authorities will have trouble identifying it. Because they don’t know whose dental records to use for comparison, they might not ever be able to identify him. His disappearance will be a mystery. It’ll look as if he ran away to avoid going to prison. The main thing is, don’t show any hesitation. Never vary from your story that you don’t know anything about what happened to him.”

  “I’ll need to account for where I’ve been since Saturday afternoon when I left Santa Fe,” Beth said.

  “I’ll make a phone call. A former associate of mine lives in Manhattan and owes me a favor. If the Justice Department wants an alibi, he’ll give you one. They’ll want to know your relationship with him. Tell them I mentioned him to you in Santa Fe, that he was an old friend and I wanted you to look him up when you got to New York. It was natural for you to run to him after you got away from McKittrick.”

  “That still leaves another problem.... You.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Esperanza and I don’t have to worry about our fingerprints being identified. The Oldsmobile was destroyed by fire. So were the motel room in Closter and the doctor’s apartment in Manhattan. But what about your fingerprints? While you were asleep, we switched on the television so we could find out how the authorities were reacting to what happened last night. The FBI has stepped into the investigation of the Giordano deaths. There are reports that they’ve isolated fingerprints on a murder weapon left at Nick Giordano’s house. A log pick.” Beth seemed disturbed by the brutal implications of the weapon.

  “And?”

  “The authorities think it was a mob slaying, a war between rival gangs. But when they identify your prints ...”

  “They’ll find the prints are registered to a man who died fifteen years ago.”

  Beth stared.

  “Where would you like to live?” Decker asked.

  “Live?” Beth seemed puzzled by another sudden change of topic. “Back in Santa Fe, of course.”

  “With me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Decker said.

  “But the mob isn’t looking for me anymore.”

  “Renata is.” Decker paused, letting silence emphasize what he had said. “As long as I’m alive, Renata might use you to get at me. You’ll be in danger.”

  Beth became paler than she already was.

  “Nothing’s changed,” Decker said. “So I’ll ask you again, where would you like to live?” .

  Something in Beth’s eyes seemed to die.

  “If we split up,” Decker said.

  “Split up?” Beth looked bewildered. “But why on earth would—”

  “If we had a very public argument back in Santa Fe, at noon in Escalera or some other popular restaurant, if word got around that we weren’t an item any longer, Renata might decide there’s no point in doing something to you, because she wouldn’t be torturing me if she killed someone I didn’t care about.”

  Beth’s bewilderment intensified.

  “In fact,” Decker said, giving her a way out, wanting to learn the truth, “the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced Renata would leave you alone if we broke up.”

  “But ...” Beth’s voice didn’t want to work. No sound came out.

  “It would have to be convincing,” Decker said. “I could accuse you of knowing who I was from the start of our relationship. I could make a scene about how you only pretended to love me, how you bribed me with sex, how all you wanted was a bodyguard living next door to you and sometimes in your house. In your bed.”

  Beth started weeping.

  “I could tell everybody that I’d been a fool, that I’d risked my life for nothing. If Renata was keeping tabs on me, she’d hear about the argument. She’d believe it. Especially if I left Santa Fe but you stayed.”

  Beth wept harder.

  “Who killed your husband?” Decker asked.

  Beth didn’t answer.

  “I suppose we could make up a theory,” Decker said, “about someone in the organization, maybe one of his guards, shooting him, taking the money, and blaming it on you. Another theory would be that Nick Giordano’s son, Frank, was so jealous of the attention his father gave to your husband that he decided to set matters straight and blame it on you.” Decker waited. “Which theory do you like?”

  Beth wiped at her eyes. “Neither.”

  “Then ...?”

  “I did it,” Beth said.

  Decker straightened.

  “I shot my husband,” Beth said. “The son of a bitch won’t ever beat me again.”

  “You took the money?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s how you could afford the house in Santa Fe?”

  “Yes. The money’s in a numbered bank account in the Bahamas. The Justice Department couldn’t get their hands on it, so they let me support myself with it—especially since they wanted my testimony.”

  “Did you know who I was before you met me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you did use me.”

  “For about forty-eight hours. I didn’t know I’d be so attracted to you. I certainly didn’t expect to fall in love with you.”

  Blood trickled from one of the open gashes on Decker’s face. “I wish I could believe you.”

  “I’ve always had an inclination to live in the south of France,” Beth said unexpectedly.

  Now it was Decker who wasn’t prepared. “Excuse me?”

  “Not the Riviera. Inland,” Beth said. “Southwestern France. The Pyrenees. I once read an article about them in a travel magazine. The photographs of the valleys, with pastures and forests and streams running down from the mountains, were incredibly beautiful. I think I could do some good painting there.... Provided you’re with me.”

  “Knowing that you’d be putting your life in danger, that
Renata would want to use you to get at me?”

  “Yes.”

  “For the rest of your days, always looking over your shoulder?”

  “Without you”—Beth touched the blood trickling from the gash on his face—“I’d have nothing to look ahead to.”

  “In that case,” Decker said, “we’re going back to Santa Fe.”

  3

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Esperanza asked.

  “No. But it makes more sense to me than the alternatives,” Decker said. They were in the clamorous, crowded expanse of Newark International Airport. Decker had just come back from the United Airlines counter, rejoining Esperanza and Beth, where they waited for him in an alcove near rest rooms and schedule-of-flights monitors. He handed out tickets. “I’ve got us on an eight-thirty flight. We switch planes in Denver and arrive in Albuquerque at twelve forty-eight this afternoon.”

  “These seats aren’t together,” Beth said.

  “Two of them are. One of us will have to sit farther back.”

  “I will,” Esperanza said. “I’ll check to see if any passengers show unusual interest in you.”

  “With my crutches, I’m afraid I can’t help being noticed,” Beth said.

  “And the scratches on my face definitely attracted attention from the woman at the United counter.” Decker looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “But I don’t see how Renata could anticipate which airport we would use. I’m not worried that she’s in the area. When we get back to Santa Fe, that’s when we start worrying.”

  “You’re sure she’ll be waiting for us there?” Beth asked. “What other choice does she have? She needs to start somewhere to find us, and Santa Fe is her best bet. She knows if I’m not coming back, I’ll need to sell my house and transfer my bank account. She’ll want to be around to persuade the Realtor or the bank manager to tell her where the money is being sent.”

  Beth frowned toward passengers hurrying past, as if afraid that Renata would suddenly lunge from among them. “But that information is confidential. She can’t just walk into the real estate agency or the bank and expect someone to tell her your new address.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a gun to the head when the Realtor or the bank manager came home from work,” Decker said. “Renata’s an expert at terrorizing. In addition to hating me because I killed her brothers, she has the incentive of the million dollars of her money that I’ve got in this carry-on bag. She’ll do everything possible to get even. In her place, I’d be waiting in Santa Fe until I knew in which direction to start hunting.”