He sat back and took a sip of his coffee. He didn’t have any investigating to do in Port Angeles, and Caroline had probably already figured that out. So, after he picked up a coffee, he decided to wait for her on a bench outside the office, even though he’d be sitting here for another forty minutes.
A low wail started somewhere in the building before he heard a door crash open. He jumped up from the cement bench in time to see Caroline flying out one of the offices, her mouth open as she struggled with a scream.
The scream finally won, and the high-pitched sound sent a river of chills down his spine. He rushed toward her, and she blindly fought him off, scratching and kicking, until her wide blue eyes locked on to his and she collapsed against his chest.
“My God. What happened? What happened in there?” He started to move toward the open door, becoming aware of a few people poking their heads outside, but Caroline hung on to him, dragging him away.
“Caroline, what’s wrong?”
“She’s dead. Dr. Shipman is dead. Someone slit her throat.”
A spike of adrenaline shot through him. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. Don’t make me go back.”
A man hung over the iron railing on the second floor of the building and called down, “Should I phone 911?”
“Yes.” Cole glanced at Caroline. “Possible dead body.”
Caroline sobbed and sagged against his chest. He stroked her soft hair. “Can you wait here? I want to take a look myself.”
She grabbed his shirt. “Do you think I don’t know what a dead body looks like? I know.”
A few other tenants from the building gathered outside, and a woman spoke up. “Is it Dr. Shipman?”
“Yes, did you see anything? Hear anything?” Cole asked.
The woman called back, “I didn’t see or hear a thing. I didn’t hear any gunfire. Was there gunfire?”
Cole led Caroline to the bench he’d just vacated in a hurry and urged her to sit. Crouching in front of her and taking her hands, he said, “Can you wait here while I have a look?”
“I’ll stay with her.” The woman who had spoken before turned and locked her office door. “The police should be here any minute.”
“Is that okay with you?” He touched Caroline’s pale cheek and she nodded, her eyes still seeing something far, far away.
Cole lunged to his feet and walked up to the yawning door of Dr. Shipman’s office. He crept into the outer office, where nothing seemed out of place, and proceeded to the open door of the inner office.
He poked his head in first and sniffed, detecting the odor of blood. She must’ve lost a lot to have the smell permeate the air.
Keeping his hands to himself, he crept farther into the office, noting a piece of paper on the floor, but nothing else amiss. When he got to the heavy oak desk, he peered over the top.
A woman, presumably Dr. Shipman, lay sprawled on the floor, one arm out to her side, the other flung across her waist. She’d probably been dead or well on her way by the time she hit the floor.
A gash marred the slim column of her throat, and blood soaked the gray carpet beneath her head and neck. Cole scanned the floor for the murder weapon, but just that single piece of paper stood out.
The items on her desk were well-ordered and upright. Dr. Shipman had been caught off guard, with no time to put up a fight. His gaze swept the area and he detected small specks of blood on the door behind the desk. It must be spray from the initial cut, when the knife sliced through her artery.
The killer hadn’t escaped that shower of blood, even standing behind Dr. Shipman, which he must’ve been doing. He never would’ve been able to stroll out the front of the office.
Cole pinned his gaze on the back door, which must lead to a parking lot or alley. The perp had probably sneaked out through there.
The sirens rolling up outside disturbed Cole’s concentration, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Why would someone want to kill Caroline’s therapist? He had no doubt in his mind that Dr. Shipman’s death was related to the craziness swirling around Caroline.
He heard voices at the office door. “Hello? This is the police. Come out with your hands up.”
He turned away from the body and walked into the waiting room with his hands held clearly in front of him. “I’m Cole Pierson, a friend of the woman who found the body. I’m also a DEA agent.”
The Port Angeles police officer leading the charge kept his weapon aloft. “Anyone else in there?”
“Just the dead body—Dr. Shipman, throat slashed.”
The other officer stepped around his partner. “Do you have some ID?”
Cole spread apart his fingers. “In the right inside pocket of my jacket. My weapon’s in my left jacket pocket.”
The cop responded, “Let’s see your identification.”
Cole carefully pulled out his DEA badge and handed it over.
The officer glanced at it and holstered his gun. “Were you with Ms. Johnson when she found the body?”
“No, I was waiting outside to pick her up, when she left the office, screaming.”
“Why’d you come inside?”
The other police officer had started moving toward the inner office.
“I just wanted to see if Dr. Shipman needed assistance.”
“Did she?”
“Already dead, throat slit.” Cole slid his badge back into his pocket. “I didn’t touch anything in here, but my friend may have.”
“We have two homicide detectives from Clallam County on the way, so we’ll let them do the heavy lifting. We’re here to secure the crime scene.”
Cole backed out of the office. “I’ll let you get to work. There’s a back door in that office. The killer probably made his way out through that door.”
When he stepped outside, Cole gulped in buckets of fresh air and headed toward Caroline, still on the bench with an officer talking to her.
She glanced up at his approach, her eyes glassy and vacant.
He caught the tail end of their conversation. “I—I don’t have any ID. I lost my wallet on the way to Timberline. I haven’t had time to replace my driver’s license...or anything else.”
Cole flipped his badge open for the officer. “Is there a problem?”
Eyeing Cole’s badge, the cop said, “I asked Ms. Johnson for her driver’s license or ID, and she doesn’t have any.”
“Yeah, she lost her wallet last week.” Cole avoided the wide-eyed stare Caroline turned on him.
The officer frowned and tapped his pencil. “Can you vouch for her?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll need your cell phone number, Ms. Johnson. We’re going to have to verify your identity.”
She gave him the number and he wrote it down. “Do not leave the area. You’re a witness, and like I said, we’re going to have to verify your identity. Thanks to Agent Pierson, I’m not taking you in now to fingerprint you, but you’ll have to come to the station tomorrow for an interview and we’ll do it then.”
“Okay, thank you. I’ll be there.”
“That’s all I have, but the homicide detectives from county will want to question you when they arrive.”
“All right, but I told you everything I know. I had an appointment with Dr. Shipman, buzzed her when I walked in, called her and then listened at her door. When I didn’t hear any voices, I opened the door and...found her body.” Caroline rubbed her nose. “I didn’t know her well. I had seen her only once before.”
“Okay, well, you can repeat all of that to the detectives. Please wait here for a few more minutes.”
The officer talked briefly to Cole and then started clearing curious looky-loos away from the office door.
Cole sat down next to her and stretch
ed his legs in front of him. “What’s going on, Caroline?”
She jerked her head toward him. “I don’t know. Why are you asking me that?”
He lowered his voice. “You know why Dr. Shipman was murdered.”
“Why would you say that? I barely knew her. One session—that’s all we had.”
“What did you tell her in that one session that someone didn’t want her to know?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her face crumpled and she covered it with both hands—hiding her lying lips, her lying eyes.
A man in a black suit and dark red tie approached them. “Ms. Johnson? I’m Detective Rowan with the Clallam County Homicide Department. I understand you found Dr. Shipman’s body.”
She dropped her hands. “I did.”
“Can you tell me the circumstances of your visit and what happened?”
Caroline repeated her story, never veering from what she’d told the Port Angeles police officer.
Detective Rowan had a few questions for Cole, too, and then took their phone numbers before heading for the cops clustered around the doorway of Dr. Shipman’s office.
“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it? You’re a one-time patient of Dr. Shipman’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Cole murmured.
“What do you want from me?”
“How about the truth?”
She gripped his arm, her fingernails digging into him through the sleeve of his jacket. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
He blinked. “I never accused you of killing Dr. Shipman or anyone else. I doubt you have the strength to come up behind someone and slit their throat, although Dr. Shipman looked petite, like you. That’s why a lot of women choose poison as their murder weapon of choice.”
Caroline’s face drained of all color and her eye twitched.
All the noise and activity around Cole ceased, replaced by a roaring in his ears. It had been right in front of him all along—a petite woman with a black cap heading to Timberline. His first instincts had been correct, but her relationship to Linda Gunderson had thrown him off. Had a sweet lady like Linda been lying all this time? Why would she lie for a complete stranger? Unless they really were cousins and that’s why Caroline was on her way to Timberline.
Caroline half rose from the bench and Cole grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. “Poison. What do you know about poison?”
Her jaw hardened. “Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t kill anyone. I know that now.”
“Now? You know that now?”
She glanced at the huddle of cops. “Shh.”
“You’re going to tell me what’s going on, Caroline Johnson, and you’re going to tell me now.” His fingers still encircled her wrist in a vise and he became aware of the delicacy of her bones. He loosened his hold. “You can’t go on like this.”
“I know.” She rubbed her palms against the denim covering her thighs. “But not here.”
She stood up and swayed, and he jumped up next to her and caught her arm. “Drink?”
She nodded.
Taking her arm lightly, he checked in with the detective and then led her across the street to his rental car, which it seemed he’d parked there days ago.
When Caroline had snapped her seat belt, she turned to him. “What were you doing at the office so early?”
He cranked on the ignition. Were they both telling the truth now? “I didn’t have any research to do. What I’d been looking for had been right under my nose all along, and I didn’t see it because...”
“Because?”
“I didn’t want to.” He threw the car into Drive and squealed away from the curb.
He found a restaurant overlooking the harbor, and they bypassed the dining area and headed straight for the bar. As one couple rose to leave a table in the corner by the window, Cole claimed it.
A busboy scurried over and collected the glasses and wiped the table. “A waitress will be right with you, or you can order at the bar and bring it back to the table.”
“We’ll wait.” Cole pulled out a chair and sat down like he was ready to conduct an interrogation. He was.
Before he could start with his first question, the waitress was taking their drink order.
When she left, Cole hunched forward. “Who the hell are you?”
“Let me tell this my way. I’m not going to be bullied.”
“Me? A bully? I think I’m handling you with kid gloves considering you’ve been lying to me from day one and playing me for a fool.”
“Playing you for a fool? I hardly think that’s the case.”
“Really?” His hands curled into fists. “The longing looks. The gentle touches. The kisses.”
She made a cross with her two index fingers. “Whoa. You kissed me.”
The waitress cleared her throat. “One chardonnay and an Angeles IPA on tap.”
She left them to their private conversation, and Cole straightened the edge of the cocktail napkin beneath his beer mug. He had to get a grip, put his bruised ego aside and focus on the important issues at hand. “Go for it.”
Caroline splayed her hands on the table and her chest rose and fell quickly. “I’m the person you’re looking for. I was in that room with Johnny Diamond when he died.”
A muscle twitched at the corner of Cole’s mouth. She’d been right under his nose all this time. Once again he’d allowed his attraction to someone to derail his instincts and common sense.
He gulped back some beer and wrapped his hands around the mug, squeezing until his knuckles were white. He returned to the one piece of information that had thrown him off. “Are you related to Linda Gunderson?”
“No. I’d never seen her before in my life, or at least not that I know of.” Caroline’s lips tilted up on one side in a half smile.
“I’m glad you think this is amusing. How’d you con her? How’d you get her to lie for you—and so convincingly?”
“When she first saw me in Timberline, she thought I was a battered woman.” Caroline touched the fading, yellow bruise on her right cheekbone. “Her sister had been abused by a boyfriend, and she was very sensitive to that. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I did play on that. I told her a story about Larry and how I’d escaped from him and wanted to remain undercover. She’s the one who suggested the family connection.”
“Wow. So, how close did you stay to the truth? Were you Diamond’s woman?” Cole had to take another sip of beer to wash the bitterness of that statement from his mouth. “Did he knock you around...before you poisoned him?”
A splash of wine hit the table as her hand jerked. “I told you. I didn’t kill anyone, and that includes Johnny Diamond. After I discovered Dr. Shipman’s body, I remembered everything that happened in that room at the Stardust Motel.”
Cole’s nostrils flared as he narrowed his eyes. “You remember what happened? I would hope so.”
She licked a drop of wine from her lips. “But that’s all I remember. I don’t remember what happened before that.”
“What are you talking about?” The antennae that had been suppressed by his feelings for Caroline began to wake up and get ready for another snow job. “Who the hell are you and what’s your connection to Diamond?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Is that why you were seeing Dr. Shipman, to find yourself? That’s all very new age, but—” he drilled his finger into the tabletop “—I want answers right now. Who are you?”
“I told you. I don’t know.” She smacked the table with her palm. “I have amnesia. I don’t know who I am.”
Cole opened his mouth. Closed it. Ran a hand through his hair. Took a long pull from his glass.
What the hell could you say to that?
Chapter Twelv
e
Cole’s jaw tightened and then he ground out, “You’re lying.”
She grabbed his hand. “I’m not lying, Cole. I don’t know who I am.”
He left his hand beneath hers, cold and unresponsive—just like his hard green eyes.
Once she knew for sure she hadn’t killed Diamond, she’d wanted to confess everything to Cole, or at least everything she remembered. She couldn’t carry this burden by herself anymore, but she hoped she hadn’t made a mistake trusting Cole.
“Why didn’t you go straight to the police? They could fingerprint you, just like they’re going to do tomorrow. They could tell you like that—” he snapped his fingers “—who you are. Even if you’re not a criminal, you might have a thumbprint on file for a driver’s license or any kind of background check.”
“I was afraid. I woke up in a seedy motel room with a dead man. There had obviously been a struggle. I found cash and drugs in the room and the body of a dead woman in the trunk of the car. I had no memory of what I was doing there, who I was.” Caroline’s bottom lip trembled and she sucked it between her teeth. She wanted Cole to believe her because she told a convincing story, not because he felt sorry for her.
“I didn’t know if I had murdered someone, was involved in the drug trade or had pissed off someone in the drug trade. I was afraid if I’d gone to the cops, they’d arrest me.”
“You said you remembered what happened at the Stardust. So, what happened?” Cole folded his arms across his chest, which looked huge and implacable right now.
“Johnny was going to kill me or at least incapacitate me with some drug. He thought I was in the bathroom, taking a shower, but I was looking for an opportunity to escape. I cracked open the bathroom door and saw him mixing up some powder in a bottle of water. I knew he was going to suggest I drink the water, so when I came out of the bathroom I swapped the poisoned bottle with another one in the mini fridge. He had no idea I’d seen him put the poison in the water bottle, so when he went out to the car I switched the bottles. When he returned to the room, I made sure he saw me drink the water he thought was poisoned.”
In the Arms of the Enemy Page 13