Remember Me

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

  Giggling, she rolled on her back and spread her legs, then gasped as she felt him slip deliciously inside her. Moaning, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, then let him do all the driving.

  ******************************************

  Satin slid her sunglasses off, then groaned as the morning sun burned her eyes. She had always hated mornings, but this one in particular had been worse than most, because she had gotten precious little sleep the night before. Just thinking about it made her blood boil, as she thought about what had happened with her client, Gunner Beck, being picked up and held for questioning. Gunner's father had called her at eight in the evening, informing her his son had been taken to the Sheriff's office, for what they said was an “informal questioning”.

  Rushing there, she had demanded to see her client, but had got the run-around instead, for hours on end. Frustrated, she had finally decided that if they wanted to play dirty, then by God, she could as well. She had phoned all the local television and radio stations, and once the news men and women had arrived, she had stood on the steps of the Sheriff's office, screaming at the top of her lungs about how her client had been taken in against his will, even though he had not officially been placed under arrest, and was being denied his civil rights. Then she dropped the bomb that made most police and government officials cringe, screaming that the Sheriff's department not only didn't care about the bill of rights, but that it was possible her client had even been physically abused, up to that point. Her little impromptu press conference, and of course, her great acting, had left the DA and Sheriff’s department scrambling to initiate damage control, and a mere ten minutes later, a fuming Detective Brian Lemont had brought her client out, apologizing for the mix-up, and scowling as he watched her fussing over her him.

  At the moment, she was on her way to speak to the one-time legendary party girl, Marsha Crane, who had been the mistress of Granger's father.

  Upon arrival, she approached the front door of the two story, ranch style home and knocked on the door. A woman, who looked much older than her fifty nine years, answered the door, and looking at her, the first thing that crossed her mind was the phrase, 'rode hard and put up wet'. Thrusting her hand out, she put on her best smile and introduced herself. “Ms. Crane, I'm Satin Johnson, my aide called to set up this meeting.”

  The woman looked at her warily for a moment, then finally took her hand and shook it. “If you don't mind my saying so, you sure don't look like an attorney.” she grunted. “You don't look like you've even been out been out of high school very long, young lady.”

  With a heavy sigh, she replied, “And you would be amazed at how many times I hear that. Every day.”

  With a short laugh that sounded more like a bark, the woman replied, “Well, come on in, I was making coffee for us when you rang the doorbell. Name's Marsha, but I guess you know that already.”

  Stepping inside the house, she saw it was furnished with beautiful antiques, and as she followed the woman, she stopped in the living room for a moment and examined a framed photograph as her host muttered that she would be right back. Even though the picture was old, she could tell the woman in it was a much younger Marsha, and she bore a striking resemblance to the late Jayne Mansfield. The man standing next to her in the photo she knew instinctively was Mr. Joseph Mortensen. Both of them were in formal dress, and both were smiling brightly for the camera.

  “He was a bitter man who hated life, and everyone, in general. That smile you see there was for the benefit of the camera, and the people around him that day he wanted to impress. Trust me when I tell you he was never happy. Not with Grace, not with me, nor any other woman he ever shared a bed with.” the older woman explained as she reentered the room and placed a tray of coffee and blueberry muffins on the coffee table. Taking a seat, she motioned for her guest to do the same.

  Taking a seat, she thanked the woman for the refreshments as she accepted the offered plate and cup. “Ms. Crane, I'm here to talk to you about the night Mr. Mortensen passed away.”

  Crossing her legs, the woman smoothed out the beautiful teal embroidered house dress. “He came banging on my door that night in the wee hours of the morning, I had just arrived home from a party. I thought at first he was just drunk, and wanting to discuss my breaking off our relationship just days earlier. Of course he WAS drunk, that much I was right about, but once I had invited him inside, reluctantly, I saw immediately that someone had laid a good old fashioned, country ass whooping on him. ” she chuckled, thinking about how the usually well-dressed, dapper man had looked like a hobo that night.

  Carefully balancing her plate on her legs, she replied, “Did he tell you who roughed him up?”

  Nodding, she took a sip of her coffee. “Joseph said his son had attacked him, but the strange thing about that was that he seemed almost happy about it! He said that he had made certain the boy knew exactly what kind of a tramp his mother was.” she replied, then wrinkled her brows in thought. “You know, just my opinion, but he wasn't any better than Grace. As a matter of fact, in some ways he was worse. You see, he had just found out from his doctor that he had an inoperable brain tumor, the doctor had told him he would be lucky to see the New Year. Joseph wanted to make certain Granger wouldn't let Grace piss away the Mortensen fortune, so in order to do that, he told that boy some horrid things, trying to get the boy to hate his mother. If you ask me, I think it was sick and twisted what he did to that young man, although I do agree that Grace is a snake herself.”

  “That was pretty low.” Satin agreed, waiting for her to continue.

  “Anyway, I let him clean up, and afterwards he wanted to stay, but I said no, I had a belly full of him. I tell you, that man, he could go from nice to extremely nasty in the blink of an eye, and when he got nasty, he liked to hit. After I told him no, he cursed me and said I was no better than any other woman in his life. I'll say this, I would bet my left tit that Grace had him killed.” she said as her gaze took on a faraway, and sad look. Shaking her head a moment later, she said, “Oh, you should see this.” She then pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her house dress, then handed it to her.

  Taking the paper from her, she unfolded it and saw it was a photocopy of a check written out to Marsha Crane, in the amount of fifty thousand dollars, from Grace's personal account.

  “She came around yesterday and gave that to me to 'forget'. She said if you came snooping around, asking about that night, that she wanted me to deny ever seeing him. Of course I kept the check, but there’s no way I'll lie for that two-faced, K-Mart brand with money, trailer park trash. No offense to decent folks who live in trailer parks, just sayin'. Anyway, all those years I tried to get the police to listen to me about the circumstances surrounding Joseph's death, she made my life a living hell. You can keep the copy.” Shrugged her slight shoulders, she finished, “I figured she made a lot of people suffer over the years, just thought I would return the favor.”

  Deciding she liked the woman very much, Satin gave her a sly smile. ”I'm guessing you cashed the check already, so there would be no way she could get her money back.”

  Eyes twinkling, the older woman laughed. “You make sure when you confront her with her little scheme, to give her my regards. My momma always said, “Payback is a bitch, and I'm just the bitch to make sure she gets her comeuppance.”

  With a laugh and genuine smile of her own, she replied, “Ms. Crane, I like your style.”

  ******************************************

  State Police Homicide Investigator Lieutenant Paul Marshall stood near the body of the woman who was once his partner, a woman who could have been more, but at the time he had been trying to keep a hopeless sham of a marriage together. In a futile attempt to patch things up with his then-wife, he had he left the Sheriff’s Department to take a job with the state police, knowing it would hurt Jeannie terribly. Regret washed over him as the medical examiner checked the body, trying to avoid the pool of congealed b
lood that had seeped from her once vibrant body.

  The medical examiner, surprisingly young for his position, pushed his glasses up his long nose with the tip of his gloved finger, and blinked back tears. It was hard for him to see her as just another dead body, after all, he had worked with her, and even partied with her on occasions, as had the rest of their fellow officers and county officials. Clearing the lump from his throat, he tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and concentrate, do what he had been trained to do. “From what I can see now, she has knife wounds to the chest and neck, and she bled to death. I won't be able to tell you more until I get her back and examine her.” Standing, he removed his gloves and motioned towards a body bag that was being slowly lifted from a shallow grave nearby, and said, “As soon as I ascertain who that victim is, you'll be the first to know.”

  Nodding grimly, Paul watched as an attendant carefully and reverently wrapped his former partner's body, then replied in a choked voice, “Thanks Doc, please do keep me informed. I have to go, I need to notify her baby brother. He lives in Atlantic City.” Brett Parker, I'm coming for you...he vowed silently as his vision blurred with the sting of tears he hadn't felt since childhood.

  *****************************************

  Charleston, South Carolina

  Cynne'' stepped out of their rented SUV, then yawned and stretched her arms over her head. They had left for the airport at four in the morning, and the lack of sleep was getting to her. Dropping her arms, she smoothed her white blouse and adjusted the belt of her black slacks as she looked around the Royal Oaks apartment complex, located in North Charleston. “So, this Lottie Patterson is supposed to just spill the beans about an illegal act she helped Brett Parker perpetrate?” she asked Raidon sarcastically.

  Stepping out of the Blazer himself, he adjusted his tie and the jacket of his black tailored suit. Removing his sunglasses, he slipped them in the inside pocket. Pulling his long hair back in a ponytail in an attempt to look more professional, he gave her a saucy wink and replied, “Oh, I'll give her incentive to tell me what I want to know.”

  Rolling her eyes, she pantomimed sticking a finger down her throat and gagging. In the short time she had been with him, she had learned he was a hopeless flirt, the man couldn't seem to help it. But if the man was arrogant, she had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that he had a reason to be. She had witnessed females, ages ranging from eight years to eighty, eating out of his hand at the slightest warm smile he gave them. NOT the kind of man I need in my life...she thought.

  As they walked into the breezeway, she tapped his arm and pointed at the apartment door. “106 , this is the one.”

  Not knowing who would answer the door, or what kind of disposition they would be in, he was all business now, and stepped in front of her, to shield her from harm, just in case. Knocking on the door, they waited several moments before it was finally opened by a slender white woman who looked to be in her late fifties.

  Peeking around Raidon in order to get a good look at the woman, Cynne' flinched when she saw the look on her face.

  “What do you want? Didn't you see the no solicitation sign!” the woman as growled as she pointed at the handwritten note on the door. “ I don't want what you're selling, go away!” Trying to slam the door shut, she cursed when he stuck one boot inside the door jamb, preventing it. “Back off!” she raged, her face turning red. “I have a gun and I'll use it, I got a right to protect myself!”

  Hearing the word 'gun', Cynne yelped and clutched the back of his jacket tightly.

  “Do you mind, Cynne'? You're wrinkling the threads!” he asked in an irritated voice, but never took his eyes off the angry woman. Pulling his jacket free from her grasp, he said, “Ma'am, I'm a licensed private investigator.” Withdrawing his wallet with one hand, he held it out to her slowly and carefully. “We just want to ask you a few questions about Doctor Parker, and a young African American woman who was badly injured three years ago. You, I believe, accompanied her to Mexico.”

  The woman, whose name was Lottie, suddenly paled, eyes wide with genuine fear. “He..he isn't here is he? He doesn't know where I am, and I want to keep it that way. Please tell me you haven't led that maniac to my front door.” she hissed as her gaze darted fearfully past them, and up and down the hallway.

  “No, we just want to ask you a few questions. He knows nothing about this little visit, and he won't find out your location from us, I promise.” he replied. “My name is Raidon Bishop, and this is my trusted assistant, Cynne' Barns, by the way.” Stepping back, he motioned to Cynne', who gave him a withering glare. “May we come in?”

  “I should have known this mess would come back to bite me in the bum.” the woman muttered, sounding close to tears, but motioned them inside impatiently, and somewhat fearfully, then handed his wallet back to him.

  Cynne' looked around the small apartment. Although sparsely furnished, the place was neat and orderly.

  Seating herself in an old, but comfortable looking Lazy-Boy, Lottie motioned for them to sit on the couch.

  “Thanks.” Raidon grunted as they both sat down. “I'll get straight to the point. We have questions that need to be answered, and I can't begin to impress upon you just how important it is. Questions about the time you spent with the woman you knew as Karen Washington. Oh, and do you mind if I tape this conversation, Ms. Patterson?”

  Giving him a guarded look, she nodded stiffly, intent on covering her own ass. There was something about the man she trusted implicitly, which was odd, considering her general lack of faith in mankind, but she trusted her finely honed instincts, ones which had been learned at a terrible price.

  “Thank you, we're not here to cause you any trouble. Your name, as well as your address and phone number, will remain strictly confidential.”

  Relaxing somewhat, she grabbed a cigarette from the coffee table and lit it, taking a deep drag with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. “Is she still under HIS care? Ms. Washington, I mean?”

  “No, she isn't under his care anymore. Her husband found an expert on head injuries and memory loss.” he informed her. “She's safe, for now, but we need to know what you know, in order for her to remain safe.”

  Hearing that the young woman she had grown to care about was out of Brett's grasp, Lottie sighed with relief. Figuring he already knew about the events leading right up to the flight to Mexico, she got straight to the point as well. “It used to creep me out how he would sit for hours, just watching her. Actually, it was more like a, longing, I guess, like he was coveting his neighbor's wife, as the Bible says.” Taking a long drag from her cigarette, she was silent for a moment, then continued. “And it used to creep me out, the look on his face, when she called her husband's name in her sleep. Granger, was that his name?”

  “Yes, that's his name.” Cynne' replied in a cold voice, feeling her blood begin to boil. “I thought Cassandra, or Karen, as you knew her, couldn't remember anything about the attack from day one. Are you telling us that she knew about Granger? When her husband and mother found her, she didn't know them from Adam.”

  “Well, I assumed she knew, although I only heard her call his name in her sleep, like I said. She would cry to him, to help her, to come find her. All of that stopped though, after Doctor Parker began giving her some type of medication. She slipped into a coma after that.”

  Shaking with anger and righteous wrath, Cynne' glared at the woman with burning contempt. She knew Cassandra had someone, and she didn't lift a damn finger to contact the police, or anyone else... she thought. “For three years...” she said, gritting her teeth and holding up three fingers, “...for three years, that woman's mother didn't know if her only child was dead or alive. Can you imagine that? Every day wondering if your child is lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or if someone has kidnapped her and was abusing her. Did you know that woman had a child as well? A child who always wondered where his mommy was? You knew something was wrong, and you did NOTHING?” her voice ende
d in a screech.

  Ashamed, Lottie averted her gaze just as she saw the woman's handsome companion place his own hand over hers in a comforting gesture. “I did want to help her.” she answered in a small voice. “But at the time I was mixed up with the wrong man, he was a mean bastard. Both of us were hooked on narcotics, and he made me steal prescription pads from Brett's office, I'm sure you know how that racket works. I couldn't say no to him, if I even looked at him the wrong way he would beat me so bad I couldn't walk for days. Doctor Parker caught me in the act one morning, stealing the prescription pads, and samples of sedatives he kept in the office. He approached me and told me if I didn't help him, he would turn me in. That would have meant losing my nursing license, and time in prison.”

  “Tell me what happened when he took her to Mexico.” Raidon urged in a soft voice, amazed himself that he had been able to keep his own temper in check.

  Taking a final drag from her cigarette, she crushed it an ashtray that sat on the coffee table. “We took her to that awful facility, it was like something out of the dark ages.” she shuddered, then reached for another cigarette and lit it. “The place reminded me of accounts of state institutions in this country in the 1800's, that I read about. They had people strapped to beds for days on end without feeding them, or cleaning them. Violent predators, staff, and patients alike preyed on the weaker patients, and the place reeked. Some of those poor people sat in their own waste for days, and there was never enough staff to care for them. Not that they would have given a tin shit, anyway. The place, from the outside, reminded me of something you see in horror movies, foreboding, and the screams from that place...” her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes and shuddered again. “A friend and colleague of Brett's ran the place, Doctor Santos. He allowed him to bring Karen there for treatment, and she was kept on a wing that was closed. No one but Brett, Dr. Santos, and myself were permitted inside that area.”