by Debra Webb
His cell vibrated. He dragged it out and glanced at the screen.
Headed to Parkhurst Hall. Room 207. Catch up.
Joanna. Tony didn’t bother going for his BMW. He needed to burn off some of this tension anyway. He didn’t break into an outright run but he walked faster than he had in he couldn’t remember how long. Across the campus until he reached Greene Street, then a short stretch to the freshman dormitory. The entry door had been left propped open.
“Smart move, ladies.” He imagined students left doors unsecured all too often. He remembered doing the same thing, especially if a party was planned, back in his college days. He hoped his niece was being a lot smarter than he had been.
Rather than wait for the elevator he barreled up the stairs.
Once in the corridor on the second floor he slowed to catch his breath. He smoothed a hand over his hair and straightened his jacket. The door to room 207 was open. He stood in the open doorway and waited to be noticed before entering.
Sadie Hall spotted him first. Her eyes rounded and she said, “Is this your friend?”
Joanna turned around. “Yes. He’s a research analyst for my producer. He used to be a profiler for the FBI.”
Both Sadie and Marla appeared duly impressed.
“Tony will have a look around while we finish the interview.”
The girls were only too happy to ignore him in order to focus on their chance for the spotlight. The sound of Joanna’s low, steady voice along with the higher-pitched excited tones of the students filled the room as he took his time examining the place.
Vickie Parton’s closet looked much like Tiffany’s. The clothes were considerably more conservative. There were far fewer shoes and only one handbag. He had a look in the drawers of the small chest, then moved on to the bed. On the night table the Bible sat front and center. Tony picked it up and fanned through the pages. No bookmark, no notes. He checked the drawers of the table. In the bottom one far in the back beneath a handful of chocolate candy was a packet of birth control pills.
Like Tiffany’s, pills were missing through Friday of last week. The packaging looked the same. The drugstore they’d chosen was the same one. The address told him it was near the campus. The prescribing doctor’s name looked vaguely familiar. Tony pulled out his cell and reviewed the photos he’d taken in Tiffany’s room.
Ima Alexander.
Same doctor. At least it was a connection. Thin, but a place to look they hadn’t had before.
“Question,” he said to the two students still deep in conversation with Joanna.
All eyes shifted to him.
“Do either of you use this Dr. Alexander?”
Hall said, “She’s at the clinic over on North Glynn Street. It’s a walk-in clinic. A lot of the students go there because it’s quick and easy—especially since most of us don’t have a personal physician here. And they don’t ask as many personal questions. Dr. Alexander is the only doctor there, I think. There’s a nurse-practitioner on Mondays and Fridays. Most of the time there’s a couple nurses and that’s about it. They’re seriously overworked but always nice.”
“I’ve been,” the other girl volunteered. “I twisted my ankle really badly and didn’t want to go to the infirmary so I went over to the clinic. They x-rayed my ankle. Nothing was broken thankfully. They gave me a ten-day supply of pain meds and an Ace bandage.”
Tony figured the pain meds were the nice part Sadie Hall meant. Pain meds for a sprained ankle sounded a little overboard to him, but then he knew the statistics on the rampant abuse of prescription painkillers.
“They are pretty nice there,” Sadie confirmed. “More understanding.”
“Thank you for your time, ladies,” he said. With a knowing look toward Joanna, he headed for the door.
“Thanks, girls. I’ll be back with follow-up questions and the air date.”
Joanna walked out behind him.
When they were in the stairwell going down, he said, “I hate to ask what you promised them.”
“Then don’t.”
North Glynn Street, 9:00 a.m.
The clinic had seen better days. The old brick building appeared to have once been a private residence. The front yard had been paved for patient parking. Across the street was a church. The clinic was only a few miles from the campus but far enough away to give some semblance of privacy, as the students noted. Tony parked in the lot and shut off the engine.
“You don’t really expect them to tell you anything, do you?” Joanna stared at the clinic. “I hear doctors take the whole HIPAA thing rather seriously.”
He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to learn. Mostly he wanted to watch reactions. He turned to his passenger. “You seem like a reasonably good actress. With your younger sister missing, it’s only natural that you’d have a panic attack.”
She reached for the door. “I’ve given a few award-winning performances in my time.”
Before he’d rounded the hood she had started breathing shallow and fast. She put her hand to her chest and presented a credible expression of fear. With his hand resting at the small of her back he walked her to the door. By then she was full blown hyperventilating.
He opened the entry door and murmured as she went in ahead of him. “I think I might actually be worried.”
She hiccuped. “Oh, I don’t like this.”
Tony led her to the registration desk where she did, in fact, put on an award-winning performance. So much so, they didn’t even make her wait to fill out the usual paperwork. The receptionist thrust the clipboard at Tony since the patient had named him as her husband.
A nurse immediately hustled them to an exam room. As Tony filled in the patient’s name as Rita Durand Gates along with a host of other fictitious info, the nurse determined that the patient’s blood pressure was inordinately high. An EKG was in order since his lovely wife also complained of chest pains.
While the nurse rigged Joanna up for the EKG, the doctor arrived. Petite, dark hair and eyes, Asian features. “Why didn’t you go to the ER?”
Clearly she was put out by the potential emergency. “We were headed that way,” Tony explained, “but we saw the clinic and my wife insisted on stopping here. She’s had panic attacks before so I wasn’t all that worried.”
“Who’s your family physician, Mrs. Gates?”
“We’re...from...out...of...town,” Joanna said between gasps.
“We’re here because her younger sister is missing. Tiffany Durand,” Tony explained. “You probably heard about it on the news.”
The doctor stared at Tony for a moment, then looked back to the patient. “I’m so sorry to hear this. Can you breathe more slowly, Mrs. Gates? Deep and slow.”
Alexander tucked the stethoscope earpieces into place and positioned the diaphragm on Joanna’s chest. Joanna abruptly stopped breathing or at least stopped gasping. Tony leaned to see past the doctor. Joanna stared, wide-eyed and unmoving, at the other woman.
Was she purposely not gasping anymore?
Joanna bolted upright. “I feel fine now.” She started to yank EKG wires off her chest. “I just need to get back to the hotel and lie down.”
The doctor stared at her, surprise or shock or something on that order on her face.
Joanna hopped off the exam table and rushed from the room, yanking her sweater down as she went.
“I apologize for my wife,” Tony said, hoping to salvage the moment. He had no idea what just happened. “As you can imagine she’s very upset. It’s been a week and her sister is still missing.”
“It’s a terrible situation.” Alexander hung the stethoscope around her neck. “I’m afraid I don’t really know much about it—other than what I’ve seen on the news.”
“Tiffany was a patient of yours,” Tony said. “You prescribed her birth control.”
“I have other pa
tients, Mr. Gates.”
The doctor rushed from the room. The nurse shrugged. “It’s been that kind of day. I was really sorry to hear about Tiffany and Vickie. They’re both really nice girls.” She smiled. “Nicer than most.”
Tony smiled sadly. “Thank you for telling me that. We’re so worried that Tiffany met some guy who’s taken advantage of her.”
The nurse, Renae, nodded. “They were both here at the beginning of the month for physicals. Neither was—” she lowered her voice “—sexually active. At least they insisted they weren’t—but Dr. Alexander likes to urge the girls to take precautions.”
Tony grabbed the nurse and hugged her. “Thank you.” He dug in his pocket for one of his business cards. Plain white with only his name and cell number printed on the front. He placed it in her hand. “Please call me if you think of anything that might help us find the girls.”
The nurse nodded. “Sure.”
As Tony headed for the door, she said, “Didn’t you say your name is Gates?”
Tony glanced back at her, pressing a finger to his lips. “That’s my stage name. I’m an actor. Gates is my real name.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened and she grinned. “I thought you looked familiar.” She pressed a finger to her lips as if trying to place his face. She shook her head. “I can’t think of the movie, but it’ll come to me.”
Tony flashed her a wink and hurried out of the building. Joanna was already in the car, seat belt fastened.
As soon as he dropped behind the wheel, she said, “I need to get away from this place.”
“You recognized her.” He backed out of the slot and put the BMW in Drive.
“More important—” Joanna blew out a breath and nodded toward the clinic where the slats of a blind abruptly fell back into place “—she recognized me.”
22
10:00 a.m.
Jo locked the bathroom door and walked to the sink basin and stared at her reflection in the mirror. They’d made it all of a mile from the clinic when she’d told Tony she needed a bathroom.
He’d swerved into the first gas station they encountered and she’d scrambled out of the car.
Voices from eighteen years ago whispered through her mind. She’d had light brown, shoulder-length hair back then. No lines around her eyes like now. She’d wanted so badly to move on to the next phase of her life. Mostly she wanted a relationship. All through high school and so far in college, she’d been the friend. Nobody’s girlfriend. She’d thought that would happen in college. For Christ’s sake she had lost the weight. The braces were gone.
She’d heard other girls talking about being on the Pill. Why not be prepared? She carried condoms in her bag. Why not take the next step?
The doctor had noticed her birthmark.
Jo lifted her sweatshirt and looked at the rectangular shape that was several shades lighter than the rest of her skin. She’d always hated it. What kind of birthmark was shaped like the state of Tennessee?
She walked over to the toilet, closed the lid and sat down. She rummaged in her bag for the cigarettes and lighter. She fished a smoke out of the pack and jammed it between her lips, but didn’t possess the wherewithal to light it.
Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to remember why she had come here. What did she really expect to accomplish? Ellen was dead. What difference did it make if she uncovered the name or names of the person or persons responsible for what happened to them? It wouldn’t bring Ellen back. Wouldn’t give comfort to her husband and children. Or her parents and little sister...
Ellen didn’t really have a little sister.
Jo opened her eyes. She tore the unlit cigarette out of her mouth and tossed it into the trash can. The pack and the lighter followed. She didn’t want to smoke; she wanted to make the bastards who had damaged and taken so many lives pay.
She dragged out her cell phone and stared at the recent calls list—Ellen’s number.
It had been years after what happened before Ellen had told Jo about the child. Right after the semester ended and they both went back to their respective homes, Ellen had discovered that she was pregnant. The first missed period hadn’t surprised her considering what they’d been through, but when she missed the second one she knew something was wrong.
Several home pregnancy tests had confirmed her worst fears. She was pregnant. Since, like Jo, she’d been a virgin before the abduction, the baby unquestionably belonged to her rapist. For weeks she had toyed with the idea of an abortion. Her parents had stepped up and assured Ellen that they would support whatever decision she made. A compromise of sorts was reached when her parents offered to raise the child as their own, allowing the baby to believe it was Ellen’s younger sister. Ellen would only have to miss the fall semester of school, and then she could get on with her life. Ellen had agreed. After all, she’d insisted, it wasn’t the child’s fault. The baby was innocent.
Jo hadn’t been very kind about the news when Ellen told her. She’d made a remark about how she should have aborted it. The kid would probably grow up to be a monster just like her father.
Ellen hadn’t called her again for a long time after that.
Jo had never apologized. She should have. Goddamn it, she should have.
She bit her lip and blinked repeatedly to hold back the tears.
Who’re you crying for? Your friend or yourself?
Ellen had not really been her friend—just her partner in tragedy.
Later Ellen had told Jo that maybe she had been right after all. The girl had problems. She’d been diagnosed with some sort of severe mental disorder. Jo had felt like a total asshole.
The damned tears she’d tried to hold back slid down her cheeks. It wasn’t her fault Ellen got pregnant or that her baby was ill. Ellen had made her own choices.
Yet, somehow it felt like Jo’s fault. She should have been a better friend. She should have answered when Ellen called that last time before she took her life...
But she hadn’t. She’d been selfish and uncaring.
She swiped the dampness from her cheeks and pressed the number for Ellen’s phone. Two rings later Ellen’s husband answered.
The man was keeping his dead wife’s phone charged and handy. How pathetic was that? Jo wouldn’t know because she’d never had a man besides her father who cared enough about her to want to call her again much less hang on to any part of her.
“Hey, Art. This is Joanna. How’s Alton?”
As Ellen’s husband explained that they’d gotten to go home today, Jo unrolled enough toilet paper to dry up the damned flood of tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Good. I’m glad he’s getting better. And Elle?”
He assured her that his little girl was fine. A moment of silence lapsed between them before Jo gathered her courage once more.
“Art, I just wanted you to know that Ellen did the best she could. Something really bad happened to her a long time ago and she just never could get over it.”
Ellen had never discussed what happened with her husband. Having been from Kansas, he’d never even heard about it.
When he asked Jo what she meant, she cut him off, “It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that I’m going to make it right. You have my word. I promise I’m going to make it right.”
Before she could get away he asked Jo did she know Ellen’s sister. She said no. If Art now suspected that the girl was Ellen’s, she wasn’t going to give him another reason to think badly of his dead wife.
Apparently the girl had run away from home. Ellen’s parents were worried sick.
Jo said goodbye and ended the call.
More of those damned tears came. She cursed herself and wadded up more toilet paper.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“You okay in there?”
LeDoux. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
She rolled her eyes at the raw, emotional sound of her voice.
“Open the door, Joanna, or I’ll make a scene.”
God. She glared at the door. “Go away. Give me just five fucking minutes, please.”
“I’m getting the manager.”
Jo reached across the tiny room and unlocked the door without even having to get up. His tall frame crowded into the room. He shut the door and leaned against it because there was no place else for him to be.
She warned, “Don’t say a word.”
He held up his hands and kept his mouth shut.
Jo threw the wad of paper into the trash can and stood. She squeezed between him and the sink and washed her face with cold water. Did nothing to chase away the redness or the puffy eyes.
She patted her face dry, tossed the paper and turned to him. “It’s nothing. I’m okay.”
He nodded. “Good.”
When he started to turn around he stopped and grabbed her, pulled her into his arms and hugged her.
She tried not to... Damn it, but she couldn’t help it.
She cried again and she hugged him back. Relished the warmth and strength of his arms. How long had it been since anyone had held her like this?
Maybe not since that day in the hospital when her folks were finally allowed into her room. Her dad had hugged her just like this.
At that moment she realized how tired she was. So very tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of running from the past. Tired of the secrets and the lies.
Tired of the silence.
23
10:15 a.m.
She stared at the screen of her phone, tension immediately tightening the band already crushing her skull. What now?
Just a few more days and everything would be in place.
With an annoyed sigh she accepted the call but didn’t speak. Until Ima’s voice was confirmed she would not utter a word.
“We have a problem.”
Ima. She suspected the actual issue was that her old friend had a problem.
“I’m certain you’re aware of the deal we made long ago, Dr. Alexander. The home you live in, the car you drive, the college fund your children will enjoy. None of it would have been possible if not for our arrangement. If your activities have been uncovered, you will keep our secret out of the equation. Whatever sort of deal you are offered, however overwhelming the pressure, if you fail to uphold the vow you took, your husband and lovely children will pay the price. Now, do I have a problem or do you have a problem?”