The Unforgivable Fix: A Justice Novel

by T. E. Woods

  Lydia recalled studying the hysteria of the 1990s, when the notion of repressed memories flashed like a wildfire across the country. Poorly trained therapists and counselors, sometimes naively and sometimes not, led troubled patients into “remembering” instances of abuse that never happened. Hundreds of lives were ruined. Court cases splashed across nightly news programs, titillating the American audience with pitiful scenes of children demonstrating on teddy bears where the bad people had touched them. Innocent people’s lives were destroyed by jail time. Businesses were bankrupted, and reputations were decimated on nothing more than the assumption that young victims had no reason to lie.

  But the children weren’t lying. They simply remembered something that hadn’t happened.

  The repressed-memory mania metastasized to adults. It wasn’t long before therapists’ offices were filled with worried folks offering some variation of the same theme. My life’s a mess. I can’t recall parts of my childhood. I must have been abused.

  A bandwagon was created, onto which the media, sloppy therapists, daytime-television gossips, and get-rich-quick self-help authors were only too happy to jump. By the time the scientific community offered evidence debunking the notion of repressed memory, the damage was horrific.

  “I think Zach Edwards may be running a rogue experiment of his own. He’s an extremely ambitious guy. I think he may be implanting memories in Brianna Trow, or at least he’s trying to. I think Zach wanted Heather Blankenship to be another one of his subjects, but she stood her ground.”

  Bauer’s eyes narrowed as though he had his target and was drawing aim. “You told me you’ve lived in Olympia about ten years.”

  The familiar reaction of fear whenever someone asked about her past flared. “Yes. Why?”

  “I’ve lived here my entire life. Let me tell you a story from Olympia’s dark and shady past.” Bauer frowned. “This happened when I was a teenager. It just about tore this town apart. It started in 1988. There was this family, the Ingrams. Solid citizens. Churchgoing, wholesome, community-loving people. The father, Paul, worked for the sheriff’s department. He was a detective, like me. One day his young daughters, Ericka and Julie, head off for a church retreat. While they’re there, the two girls say the Holy Spirit came to them and told them they’d been abused.”

  A vague recollection came to Lydia. “I think we studied this in grad school. Wasn’t there a book written about this case?”

  Bauer nodded. “Ericka and Julie came home with some strong allegations against their father, Paul. Tales of torture and rape. Satanic rituals and baby killings. At first they said it all happened when they were young. But it wasn’t long before they were telling tales of current sexual torture by their father. And ongoing sacrifices of babies to Satan. A few days later they remembered their brother was raping them, too. As you can imagine, the town was up in arms to think such goings-on were happening in this beautiful little city.”

  “Satanic ritual abuse,” Lydia said. “It was all the rage in the eighties and nineties.”

  “Therapists and police interviewed the girls. They interviewed Paul, too. So did his pastor. Next thing you know, Paul’s remembering stuff as well. It started simply. His pastor asked him something like, could he imagine the idea of Satan overcoming him and making him do these things. Well, Paul was a good Christian, so of course he could imagine it. Just like that, the police had a confession. Paul told everybody he suddenly remembered raping his girls and participating in Satanic rituals.” A look of sorrowful pity weighed on Bauer’s face. “All this remembering the girls and Paul were doing grew and grew. When the cops went digging at the sites where the girls said they’d participated in sacrificial rituals and found no evidence of blood or bones, the detectives investigating the case were named as assailants by the girls, and Paul was recalling them worshipping Satan, too. The case made national news. I even think Geraldo may have come to town, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Sounds like something he’d be into.”

  “When the judge in the case was accused by the Ingrams, the whole thing started to unravel. But Paul went to jail. Despite the fact not one shred of physical evidence ever was produced to show that anything the girls or Paul supposedly remembered actually happened, Paul had confessed. His family was destroyed.”

  “Where’s Paul Ingram now?”

  Bauer shook his head. “I have no idea. I know he was released from prison in 2003. The man did fifteen years in prison for something that never happened.”

  “But he believes it did. That’s the eternal tragedy of false memories.” Lydia couldn’t imagine what Brianna Trow’s life would be like now. If Zach was implanting “memories” of sexual abuse, it wouldn’t matter to her that her father had actually never harmed her. Her memories would be real. “Paul Ingram, his girls—anyone who’s fallen prey to this—they’ll believe forever that it happened. It would be like someone telling you that you never actually were a detective with the Olympia Police Department. It was all a faulty memory you had. Imagine how crazy you’d feel.”

  Bauer was quiet for a moment. “Zach Edwards picked the wrong town to pull his little stunt. Folks around here are still bleeding inside from the damage done by the Ingram case.” He hesitated. “How long did you say he worked in that memory lab—not the one he’s in now with the babies, but the one studying implanted memories.”

  “Four years. Down in Oregon, why?” Lydia sensed he was working a theory.

  “For four years he’s in the field…less than three hundred miles away. He’d have to have learned about what happened here. You said you read about it in grad school. Carnegie Mellon, right?”

  Lydia flinched at yet another question from him about her past. Again, that promise of trust urged her to answer. “Yes. Undergrad, University of Pennsylvania.”

  “You were half a country away and the Ingram case was taught to you. Zach Edwards had to know about it.”

  “Maybe that’s his motive, then.” Lydia worked a theory of her own. “Maybe he wanted to show memories could easily be implanted even in a community that was on guard against them.”

  Bauer didn’t look like he was buying it. “What would be his win in all this? He went to a lot of trouble to hide his activities from you. I gotta believe no reputable journal would publish any results he wrote up.”

  “They wouldn’t. But what if he’s doing an off-the-record pilot study? Trying out his hypothesis before he takes it to the level of a formalized research project?”

  “Folks in your business do things like that?”

  Lydia thought back to Fred Bastian, the renowned neuroscientist researching emotions. He’d tortured and killed a silverback gorilla just to test a hunch. All without official approval. “You’d be surprised what people do in the name of science, Detective.”

  “Then who’s on those tapes?” he demanded. “Zach sure went out of his way to keep you from learning what he was up to. Something more is going on, and someone’s helping him.”

  “And you’re going to make it your mission to find out.”

  “That’s my job, Lydia. Do me a favor. Don’t mention our discussion to Edwards. Give me time to figure this out while he’s still operating under the assumption that it’s business as usual.”

  “I can’t do that.” Lydia was surprised at the stridency in her voice. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting Brianna anywhere near Zach Edwards ever again. Not after what I heard on Heather’s tapes. Not now that I know the tapes Zach has been giving me are phonies.”

  Bauer reached over and touched her arm. “Easy there, supergirl. Do what you need to keep Brianna safe. Just do it on the QT, okay? Tell her Edwards has the flu or something. Say he’s out of town. Can you just give me a couple of days to track down who’s the voice on the tapes?”

  Lydia’s answer was stopped by the sight of Oliver Bane coming through the front door of his shop. Her breath caught in her chest and her gaze locked on him. He was alone, carrying two airpots in one hand and h
is battered canvas briefcase in the other. His smile was easy and welcoming as he greeted regular customers by name. The smile disappeared the moment he saw Lydia sitting in the corner. Oliver’s step hesitated. A part of Lydia willed him to walk her way. Another was glad when he shifted his glance and resumed his path back to his office.

  Bauer’s hand tightened on her arm. “You okay? That guy bothering you?”

  Lydia looked down at her rumpled clothes, ruined by her impulsive jog through the morning’s downpour. She cringed inwardly at what she must have looked like to Oliver. But none of that mattered anymore. She turned toward the man across from her and forced a pleasant tone into her voice.

  “I guess you could call it a personal thing.”

  Bauer pulled his hand away. “I’m glad to hear that. I was afraid you spent all your nights alone in a dark room with seven cats.”

  Lydia shook her head. “It’s an old personal thing. He’s nothing to me now.”

  Bauer smiled and his eyes lost all of the professional intensity of a few moments ago. Instead golden flecks glittered and invited her in on some wonderful inside joke. “I’m glad to hear that, too.”

  Chapter 45

  Mort jumped up from the sofa the moment Lydia entered the room. “What the hell happened? You’re a mess.”

  “I’m getting that a lot today. I went for a stroll in the rain. It’s not as romantic as the personal ads might suggest.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Allie?”

  “In the bedroom. Came out once for a sandwich and a few pointed words about how I can’t keep her a prisoner forever. That was around two o’clock.”

  “What have you been doing all day?”

  “On the phone, mostly. Coordinating with the folks in Seattle. Trying to get a bead on where Duncan may be.” He looked discouraged. “There’s not a sign of him.”

  She looked down at her ruined clothing. “I’m off to the shower. We can have some dinner after that.”

  Mort stepped toward her. “If it’s okay with you, Liddy, I’m headed to Seattle. I need to know what Duncan says about Allie the moment we nail him. You okay taking watch while I’m gone?”

  Lydia glanced down the hall. How hard could it be to monitor a closed door? “Sure. Let me take a quick shower and you can be on your way.”

  —

  The door to Allie’s room finally cracked open a few minutes past nine. She padded out to the living room, carrying her brother’s book under her arm, and sat on the sofa opposite Lydia. Allie placed The Fixer on the coffee table that separated them.

  “Pure genius. And I’m not just saying that because Robbie wrote it.”

  Lydia sipped her glass of merlot and focused on the flames flickering in the stone fireplace. “You hungry? There’s roasted chicken in the fridge.”

  “Maybe later. Where’s Dad?” Allie pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, drew up her knees, and snuggled into its warmth.

  “He’s off to Seattle. Trying to do what he can to save your butt.”

  Allie was quiet for a while. “Did you have a nice day?”

  She was trying to be pleasant, but the resentment Lydia had toward Allie kept her from welcoming it. She took another sip of wine and forced herself to be civil.

  “I went for a run in the rain and ruined a perfectly good outfit. How’s that for starters?”

  Allie responded with a relaxed grin. “What made you do that?”

  Lydia focused on the flames. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Well, no offense, but your entire wardrobe might benefit from being ruined. I don’t mean to be cruel, but look at you, Lydia.” Allie held out her hands to encompass the entirety of Lydia’s frame. “You could be a knockout. Seriously, you could. The bone structure in your face. Those wide blue eyes. That tight little body. Why do you go out of your way to frump yourself up?”

  How could she explain to Allie that what the world would call beautiful, Lydia viewed as nothing more than the genetic legacy of a father she never met? Her mother had been a plain woman who took every opportunity to make certain her young daughter knew how much she resented her beauty. How could Lydia say that every time she looked into a mirror she saw the reason her mother left her to the foster system as an infant, only to reappear years later and introduce her to the world of sexual exploitation? My mother hated my beauty. I would never call attention to it.

  Lydia realized that was a lie. She had used her looks to full advantage during her years as The Fixer. She primped and preened and dressed her naturally lithe body however she needed to in order to snare her victims.

  “Have I offended you, Lydia?”

  Lydia refocused and assured Allie her mind had been elsewhere. “I guess I just prefer to be comfortable. It’s easier to pull my hair into a ponytail than to style it. Call me lazy.”

  Allie shook her head. “With your raw material, my guess is it takes more time to look as dowdy as you do than it would to just let your natural heat shine through.”

  “Maybe I just don’t see the point.” Lydia hoped that would end that particular topic of conversation.

  Allie swung her legs off the sofa and leaned forward. “The point, dear Lydia, is men. Like it or not, how we look is what first attracts men to us. I guess it’s the same the other way around. I don’t think I could be drawn to a man who wasn’t at least passably good-looking.”

  Lydia imagined it was more the power of the man that would draw in Allie. “I’m not looking to attract a man.”

  “What about that detective from the ice cream shop?” Allie fanned her face as though overcome with the vapors. “You may not be shopping, but when the world sends someone who looks like that across your path, you may want to get out your credit card. It wouldn’t take much to get me dreaming about the way his shoulders filled out that sports coat.”

  She had a point. Paul Bauer’s sophisticated good looks were matched by an intelligence and keen sense of his place in the world. Lydia recalled the way his eyes frolicked when he let his playful side out.

  “This isn’t a slumber party,” Lydia said. “Let’s just each get on with our evening.” She pointed to the book on the table. “If you want to read, I have plenty to choose from. Or you can watch television. Maybe you’d like to call your brother. I really don’t care. But I’ve had a rough day. What I’d like to do is stare at the fire, finish my wine, and get a good night’s sleep.”

  Allie sat quietly for several minutes. Lydia hoped the calming influence of the crackling flames might settle Allie into an evening of peace. She was nearly finished with her wine before Allie broke the companionable silence.

  “Do you think people can change, Lydia?” Her voice was low and her tone was sincere.

  “I’m betting my life’s work on it. I’ve seen it happen.”

  “Really change? You’ve seen that?” Allie sounded like she had a point to make. “I’m not talking about people changing habits. That can be done. I’m talking about actually changing the core of who you are. Is that possible?”

  “Are we talking about you, Allie?”

  Allie considered that for a moment. “I’m talking about both of us. We may want to be different, but can people like us really change?”

  Lydia set her glass on the table. She’d hoped the topic of her attire was over for the evening. “Listen, Allie, I like the way I dress, okay? I appreciate that people have different styles, but I—”

  “I mean can I stop being an adventure junkie?” Allie interrupted, but kept her eyes on the fire. “Can you stop being an assassin?”

  Lydia froze. Ancient defenses instantly accelerated her breathing and heart rate. She could feel the rush of hormones coursing through her body, preparing her to fight or run.

  “Don’t get me wrong.” Allie’s voice was calm. “In a lot of ways I admire what you’ve done. So do most people, would be my guess. I mean, who doesn’t wish there was some superhero out there making the world a safe and just place?” She turned to look at L
ydia. “But you’ve killed people. A lot of people. My guess is my dad has convinced you not to continue in that hobby. Am I right?” She shook her head. “He can be such a Dudley Do-Right. But what happens the next time you come across somebody who’s getting away with some pretty bad stuff. Isn’t The Fixer gonna itch to come out again?”

  Lydia’s mind raced with options…most of them unacceptable.

  “Your brother’s book has you hyped up. And the situation you’re in has you scared. I get that. But you need to be careful about conclusions you jump to…and doubly careful about accusations you make.”

  Allie smiled. “I’m not judging you, Lydia. Not in the least. I mean it when I say I admire you for having the guts to act.” She sank back into the cushions. “And I’m not scared about my situation. You and I find ourselves in similar spots, don’t we? We are who we are. And for whatever reason we can’t be that way anymore. Me, because Patrick’s going to get caught and that life is closed to me forever. And there’s that whole prison thing. And you, well, you can’t be The Fixer anymore because Dad figured out who you are and Robbie told the whole world about it in his book. So you’ve got to be something different.” She cocked her head to the side. “Robbie doesn’t know, does he? No. He doesn’t. He’d tell me.” Allie brought her focus back to her point. “I really want to know if it’s genuinely possible for people like us to become something other than what we are.”

  Lydia willed her voice to be calm. “I’m not going to participate in this fairy tale. You need to stop.”

  “Don’t underestimate me, Lydia. People who do soon learn they shouldn’t have.” Allie’s voice dropped to the tone of husky sophistication Lydia had heard when Allie made the call to Patrick.

  “Are you threatening me, Allie?”

  “Not at all.” Allie’s smile took on a seductive quality. “What I’m saying is don’t think I’m the impulsive girl who’s still good deep down, the one I let my father see. I’m neither innocent nor stupid. My dad brags about how good you are at observing. I see things, too. And what I see tells me you’re The Fixer. You’re trying to be someone else, but like me, you are who you are.”