by Karen Rose
“Yes? Can I help you with something?”
Winters smiled and smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. No slippage. Good. “I hope so. I’m looking for Claire Gaffney.”
The woman smiled distractedly. “That’s me. Or at least it was me. Gaffney is my maiden name. Now it’s Burns. Excuse me a moment.” She leaned on one foot to look around him. Winters looked over his shoulder to see the mother of the injured child get up and walk toward the double doors to surgery. Nurse Burns opened her mouth, then closed it again as the woman stopped a few feet short of the doors, folded her arms across her chest and rocked, crying softly.
“I’m sorry,” Nurse Burns said softly. “I just hate cases like this. The other guy walked away without a scratch. They got him at a point two on the Breathalyzer.” Her fist clenched as she clutched one lapel of her teddy-bear smock. “I’m glad they took him someplace else.”
He’d been first on the scene of enough DUI wrecks to agree with her. “Will the little girl live?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Then she straightened and folded her hands on the purple semicircular desktop. “Why are you looking for me? Do I know you?”
“No, you don’t. I’m actually looking for a nurse who worked at Asheville General Hospital about nine, ten years ago. I understand you worked there then.”
She narrowed her eyes, suddenly on guard. “I did.”
He smiled again. Sadly this time. Her eyes stayed narrowed. He expected nothing less. Any woman cautious enough to use a Club to lock her steering wheel in a protected parking garage and who carried a spray canister of mace on her key chain was bound to be suspicious. “My reasons are completely aboveboard, I assure you. I had a sister. Her name was Jean. Jean died a few months back and in going through her things I found a letter addressed to someone named Christy. I remember her talking about Christy being a nurse at Asheville General around ten years ago. I’m trying to track her down, to give her the letter. I’ve checked the hospital records, but they didn’t have anybody by that name on the roster. I’m wondering if anybody remembers her.”
Nurse Burns tilted her head, eyes only slightly less narrowed. “How did your sister know this Christy?”
“Jean had gone to live with our grandmother who was really sick. She met Christy when she took Ma-Maw into the hospital for her treatments. That would have been summertime, nine years ago.”
Nurse Burn’s face relaxed. “Okay.” She glanced over at the mother who was now pacing up and down the hall outside the double doors. Her brows scrunched as she thought. “I don’t remember a Christy at Asheville General. We had a Carla and a … Carol Anne. But no Christy.”
“Did you have any other employees named Christy? Any nurses in training perhaps?” Winters had no idea the name of the woman he was looking for. Christy had been the name of the last hooker he’d arrested for soliciting. Christy had been anxious not to be arrested. They’d worked out a solution agreeable to them both. Very agreeable.
Burns shook her head. “No. We did have a summer volunteer that year, though. Her name was Susan. Susan Crenshaw. Pretty little thing. Couldn’t have been more than eighteen at the time. She was going to get her nursing degree. She shadowed the head nurse, Nancy Desmond.”
Tiny hairs on the back of Winters neck came to full alert. Bingo. “Doesn’t sound like the person I’m looking for. Did she have a lot of contact with the patients? The woman I’m looking for would have worked in oncology. My grandmother had cancer.”
“No, Susan worked on our floor, orthopedics. There was another volunteer in oncology that summer, come to think of it. But it was a young man, not a girl.”
Susan Crenshaw. Crenshaw wasn’t a name on Livermore’s list. Of that he was certain.
“Well, thank you for your time, Nurse.” He glanced over his shoulder. The woman was still pacing at the double doors.
“Sorry I couldn’t have been more help,” she murmured, her attention already focused again on the distraught mother.
You have, Winters thought. Hopefully more than you know.
He arrived at his car, slid behind the wheel. He’d been in five separate wigs in the last forty-eight hours. He was hot, tired and had rubber adhesive stuck to his hairline. Next stop, home for a shower. Tomorrow morning, he’d head for the Asheville Public Library. He needed to access telephone listings from nine years ago. Hopefully Susan Crenshaw’s family would be listed. Otherwise he’d have to get creative. Winters peeled off the mustache and carefully placed it in the box in which he kept his wigs. The wig itself came off next and he sighed as the air cooled his sweating head.
Asheville. Susan Crenshaw. Then on to Mary Grace. And Robbie.
Chicago
Friday, March 9
11 A.M.
“Oh, Caro-line.” Dana leaned against the iron railing of the tiny bridge that spanned Carrington’s duck pond, fanning herself. It was still cold, so they’d escaped to the duck pond knowing they’d find relative privacy there. “Did you ever get to dinner?”
Caroline’s face was as flushed as Dana’s, despite the wind. Just remembering those moments in his arms … on his lap … She tugged at her muffler, shivering, but not from the cold. “Eventually, but it was ruined. My first attempt at cooking for him was an abysmal failure.”
“I guess he didn’t care.”
“No.” Caroline bit her lip. “And neither did I.”
“And this surprises you.”
“Yeah. I guess … I didn’t …” Frustrated, she looked up at Dana’s patient face with a frown before turning her aimless gaze to the wind-whipped pond. “I don’t even know myself anymore.”
Dana was quiet for a long moment. “I remember my first time with a good man,” she finally said quietly and Caroline jerked her eyes back to Dana’s face. It wasn’t a topic that they’d ever broached before. “His name was Lawrence and he was one of Chicago’s finest,” Dana went on and Caroline instantly felt her whole body go tense. Dana sighed. “Relax, Caro. Not all cops are bad. In fact most are very good. Lawrence was one of the good guys. He knew about Charlie.”
Caroline felt the cold now. The earlier warmth she’d experienced reliving those incredible moments in Max’s arms was gone, chased away by the specter of a violent man in a uniform, his badge shiny to the eye, tarnished to the heart. But Dana was talking about her own violent ex-husband, something she rarely did so Caroline made herself listen. “How did he know about Charlie?”
“One of the guys in his precinct answered my 911, testified when Charlie’s case came up in court. He told Lawrence most of the black-and-white details. It made a difference, Lawrence’s knowing. He was so patient with me. I think when the time finally came he was more scared than I was that he’d do the wrong thing. But he was perfect. Gentle. I never knew that sex didn’t hurt. I never knew I could ever like it,” Dana finished quietly.
Caroline worried her lower lip. “Or that you could even want it?”
“That, too.”
“So what happened to him?”
“Lawrence? We drifted apart, I suppose. He ended up moving out west. Albuquerque. I still get a card from him at Christmas.”
“Oh?”
“Signed by his wife.”
“Oh.”
“Something lasting just wasn’t meant to be for the two of us. But that isn’t my point here. A physical relationship with the right man is a beautiful thing. Forget what you’ve ever known, Caroline. If Max is the right guy, well, then …” She shrugged eloquently then lifted a brow. “That is if he can. The accident didn’t … uh, didn’t …”
“No.” The word was out before Caroline could even think and the heat in her face returned with a vengeance, making her tug at the muffler that wound around her neck. “I mean, we didn’t … we only … Darn it, Dana. Stop laughing at me.”
“Oh, oh, oh,” Dana wiped tears of mirth from her eyes with one mittened hand as the other pressed hard to her chest. “That air is cold. It hurts too much to lau
gh. You should see yourself, Caroline. You’re blushing like you were caught necking under the back steps by his mother.”
“Not too far from the truth,” Caroline muttered under her breath.
“Excuse me?”
Caroline lifted her chin with a little toss of her head that had Dana grinning anew. “We were … necking—and very adeptly I might add—”
“By all means, add away.”
Caroline narrowed one eye dangerously. “Watch your step, Dupinsky. Anyway, then his mother called. She’s a very charming woman.”
“Whatever. So how do you know the accident didn’t … you know?”
Caroline rolled her eyes and sucked in a breath, letting it out on an audible sigh.
“You don’t say.” Dana patted her heart. “Down, girl.”
Caroline sobered. “I’m meeting them all tomorrow.”
“Who?”
“His family!”
“Sorry, my mind was still back at ‘you know.’” Dana chuckled at Caroline’s frosty glare. “Relax, Caroline. You’ll be fine. Everybody loves you.” She draped an arm across Caroline’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “But take some baked goods, just to make sure.”
Caroline didn’t smile. Unwelcome doubts were now intruding. Reality usually was a bitch. “Does it really matter if they like me, Dana? Does it really matter if he is the right guy?”
Dana’s smirk abruptly vanished. “What are you talking about?”
“It can’t work.” Caroline pulled away and walked to the other side of the bridge. Dana followed, glowering. “I don’t know why I even let it go this far.”
“Maybe because he is the right guy.” Dana lifted a hand to Caroline’s shoulder.
Caroline shrugged Dana’s comforting hand away. “Two damn pieces of paper. A real marriage license and a fake birth certificate. I wish I could burn them both.”
“Then do it.”
“It wouldn’t do any good!”
“Then don’t do it.”
Caroline wheeled around, fists on her hips, her temper coming dangerously close to boiling over. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
Dana met her eyes and Caroline felt her anger abruptly deflate. “Yours,” Dana answered soberly. “I’ve always been on your side. I’m wondering right now whose side you’re on.”
Caroline’s shoulders sagged. “What am I going to do, Dana?”
Dana folded her arms across her chest. “You’re asking my advice?” she asked archly.
“Yes, damn you.” But Caroline smiled, spoiling the effect. “I’m asking your advice.”
Dana sighed. “You risked everything for a new life, Caroline. You planned it so carefully, every little detail of your escape. You wanted freedom from a man who threatened to kill you every day, who almost succeeded twice.”
Caroline arched her brows. “More like five or six times.”
“I lost count after the first two.”
“I guess you had to be there.”
Dana chuckled softly. “I guess so.” Her expression hardened. “He tried to kill you when you tried to get help. Didn’t anyone in your town think it was the least bit strange when you filed a complaint against your husband and the next thing you’re ‘falling down the stairs?’”
“No.”
“Damn straight, no. Of course, no. It was no the last time and the time before. And guess what, Caroline?” Dana wagged a finger under Caroline’s nose, but the impact was lost in her mitten. “It will still be no next week and next year. If you’d stayed he would have killed you and then—and only then—would the town have cried crocodile tears. And you know I’m right!”
Caroline tilted her head, her brows taking a quick ride up and down. “You’re right.”
“Sure I’m right.” Dana inhaled sharply, wincing at the cold air. “I’m always right.”
“You’re a fathead.”
“But I’m a fathead who’s right. Caro, listen to me. Listen to yourself. You tried to go the right way. You tried to use the law, but nobody listened to you. You’re lucky you were able to even get away after that last tumble. How long were you in the hospital? Three months? That was a long time to leave Tom alone with an abusive man, wasn’t it?”
Caroline shuddered, remembering the terror of every day of every one of those three months. Lying there, helpless, obsessing about what Rob could be doing to her baby. Seeing the fear in her son’s eyes every time he came to visit. “Stop. You’re right. I was justified in getting away, no matter what means I used.” She drew herself to her full height, still five inches shorter than Dana. “But that still doesn’t make bigamy right. I’m still married to him, Dana. And on that, I’m right.”
Dana caught her by the muffler as she tried to walk away. “Who are you?”
Caroline felt her skin prickle at the combatant look in Dana’s brown eyes. “What do you mean?” she asked uneasily.
“I mean who are you? What is your name?”
Caroline swallowed. “Caroline Stewart.”
“And where is Mary Grace Winters?”
She swallowed again, this one more painful than the first as her throat began to close. “Gone.”
Dana tugged Caroline’s muffler. “And who made her disappear?”
When Caroline said nothing, Dana tugged harder. “Dammit, Caro. Who made her disappear?”
“I did.” She had. She alone had taken the step to end the pathetic existence of the creature she’d been. To protect herself and the child the law didn’t care about. I did, she thought again.
Dana’s eyes were intense. “And now for the hundred thousand–dollar question. Who will it help if you continue to hold on to the life you worked so hard to escape?”
Caroline pulled free and turned away from Dana’s piercing gaze. Dana was right. Caroline knew it in her head. Now she had to accept it in her heart.
But what was in her heart? She didn’t know. It had been less than a week since he’d walked into her office and stolen her breath. But had he stolen her heart? That was a much more difficult question to answer. Conversely, had she stolen his? And if so, would it make a difference to him that she’d been married? That she still was?
If it mattered, he wasn’t the right man. And she wanted him to be. Desperately.
Dana stood waiting patiently as Caroline finished her internal debate. “You’re right, Dana. I won’t be helping anyone if I ignore what I feel for Max. I’ll let this progress where it will. But I won’t marry him. Should he ask.”
Dana huffed her displeasure. “You’re letting fear drive your decisions. Big mistake, Caroline.”
“Then it’s my mistake to make,” Caroline returned sharply. “Of course, assuming the man still wants me when he learns of my … history.”
Dana’s mouth dropped open. “You’ll tell him then?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Dana closed her mouth. “It’s risky.”
“Eli used to say nothing worthwhile is without risks.” Caroline tightened her muffler against the biting wind and together they started back for the shelter of the history building.
Dana stopped in her tracks. “You didn’t say better safe than sorry. I’d say that’s progress.”
Caroline gave her a sideways look. Dana was quite right. Maybe it was because Max made her feel safe. With a shrug she continued up the hill. “I’m not going to lighten my hair.”
“I said progress, not a miracle.”
Asheville
Friday, March 9
2 P.M.
Ross placed her coffee cup on the only empty space on her desk. “So what do you have?”
Steven opened his folder. “Not a hell of a lot. We know that Farrell suspected Rob Winters seven years ago. We know that there was a good amount of documentation evidence that no longer exists. Photos, statements by nursing staff, the restraining order that was never officially filed.” He handed Ross a packet of photographs. “I was able to get reproductions of the pictures. Nurse Desmond died a few years back
, but her husband is still alive and very … talkative. I spent a good part of yesterday afternoon with him.” Steven grimaced. “Damn near talked my ear off but I got what I needed. Mr. Desmond said his wife kept negatives. She documented patients’ history, especially women she thought were enduring abuse. All fifteen of the original photos are there, plus about twenty Nurse Desmond never gave to Farrell.”
Ross opened the packet and flipped through the first few photos, then closed her eyes for a moment. “Sweet Jesus,” she whispered. “I never get accustomed to seeing what humans can do to each other.”
“Human in the most clinical of terms, of course,” Steven muttered.
“Of course.” Ross spread the pictures across her desk, laying them on top of piles of files. “This one.” She tapped one of the pictures with her fingernail. “A burn?”
“On her neck,” Steven said quietly. “They appear to be cigarette burns.” He watched her flip through the photos, revulsion clear on her face. “Does Winters smoke, Lieutenant?”
She nodded. “Camel Filters.” Ross picked up another photo and bit the inside of her jaw. “Dear God in Heaven. Her back looks like she slept on a wicker basket.”
Steven held his shoulders rigid. “Those wounds were likely inflicted by the metal end of a belt, but it would have to have been purposely sharpened to create lacerations that deep.” He had to swallow back the bile that rose in his throat every time he saw that picture. “She was beaten severely, several times to leave scars like that.”
“Could they have happened before she was married to Rob?” Ross asked, unable to take her eyes from the graphic pictorial evidence of Mary Grace Winters’s abuse.