The Night She Disappeared

by Kevin O'Brien

  In shock, Russ just stared at her. He’d assumed that Courtney was dead, but somehow, hearing this blunt confirmation still managed to stun him. He slowly shook his head. “No . . .”

  Taylor looked at him with pity and then caressed his arm. Then she took a deep breath and started signing. “On this recording Anna made with the hypnotherapist . . .” She spelled out hypnotherapist. “On this same recording, which that horrible man now has, Anna confessed that she’d bashed in Courtney’s head and buried her in those woods.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Saturday, July 25—11:03 A.M.

  Anna pulled up in front of the Craftsman bungalow on Shorecrest Drive. For a few moments, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. A small rainbow appeared above the whirling sprinkler that watered the beautifully manicured lawn.

  According to the online white pages for Lake Forest Park, this was the home address for Gloria Tolman, MD.

  It had taken several tries before Anna had found the listing. She’d been tearing apart the houseboat, searching for the glass trophy used to kill Courtney. But every once in a while, when she’d gotten too tired and discouraged, she would take a break and search the Internet for Gloria Tolman’s contact information. She’d figured Lake Forest Park was so close to Seattle that Tolman would have been included in the Seattle listings, but it hadn’t been. Out of desperation, she’d Googled Gloria Tolman, Lake Forest Park, WA, and there it was. The white pages didn’t give Dr. Tolman’s telephone number, e-mail address, or website, just her home address.

  Leaving her place in a shambles, Anna drove to Lake Forest Park to hunt down Dr. Tolman. Anna was going on about three hours of sleep. In the car’s cup holder, she had her fourth cup of coffee of the day—this one from the Texaco mini-mart where she’d stopped for gas fifteen minutes ago.

  Anna switched off the car’s engine and gazed at the house. She took the Lexus parked in the driveway as a sign that someone was home.

  She didn’t have a solid game plan for dealing with Tolman. She just knew that the recording was a phony—something she’d been coerced into saying while under hypnosis. It was just so inconsistent. For example, how come she remembered all the events of that night until the time Russ had put her to bed, but had absolutely no recollection of killing Courtney and disposing of her body? She remembered, under hypnosis, telling Tolman about that first portion of the evening. But the rest was just a weird dream: her, without makeup, in front of a TV camera, reading the news off cue cards and repeating things Courtney fed to her.

  Had she been dreaming that while speaking into the recorder, reading cues, and repeating whatever Dr. Tolman had told her?

  Anna planned to confront Gloria Tolman and get her to admit that she’d set her up. Tolman probably had a duplicate recording there in the house.

  Stepping out of the car, Anna realized Dr. Tolman wasn’t about to admit to anything. Why would she suddenly crack under the pressure of a few direct questions? So what if Anna had tracked her down at her home? That wasn’t going to make this woman cooperate. Anna wondered what she would do if Tolman stonewalled her. Maybe bash her in the skull with the first hard object I can get my hands on.

  Anna stopped at the walkway to the house. She told herself once again that what she’d heard on the recording wasn’t true. And she would make Gloria Tolman tell her it wasn’t.

  Anna stepped up to the wide front porch, which was supported by wooden pillars. Taking a deep breath, she rang the bell.

  A dog started barking. Then there were footsteps.

  Anna felt herself tense up as the door opened. A ruddy-faced, white-haired man in his late fifties stood on the other side of the threshold. He wore a polo shirt and shorts. A corgi was at his side, barking. “Okay, Enzo, that’s enough,” he said to the dog. Then he smiled at Anna. “Can I help you?”

  “Does Gloria Tolman live here? Gloria Tolman, the therapist?” Anna asked.

  The corgi started to get restless, and the man took hold of its collar. “Sorry. Um, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Anna Malone. I was a client of Dr. Tolman’s.”

  He grinned. “I thought I recognized you. Anna Malone from TV, of course! I had no idea you were consulting with my wife.” The dog barked and tried to sniff Anna. “I’m sorry. Could you wait here? He’s harmless. He doesn’t bite, but he’ll jump and slobber all over you.” He led the dog toward the back of the house. “Honey?” he called. “Gloria, there’s someone here to see you!”

  Anna waited in the doorway. From what she could see of the house, it was neat and nicely furnished. She could hear the man murmuring to someone. The dog barked again.

  A pretty, fiftysomething Asian American woman with gray-black hair and bangs came to the door. “Anna Malone?” she said with a cordial smile. “I’m Gloria Tolman. What can I do for you?”

  Bewildered, Anna gaped at her for a moment. “Hi,” she said finally. “I’m sorry to bother you. But are you the same Gloria Tolman who’s listed in the Seattle Counselors Association?”

  She nodded. “That’s me. But that’s from ages ago. Would you like to come in? I think my husband has our dog under control.”

  Anna numbly shook her head. “Are you by chance a hypnotherapist? I mean, do you sometimes hypnotize your patients?”

  “No, I’m a psychiatrist. And I no longer see patients. I’m just doing consulting work now. What’s this about?”

  “I’m sorry, but do you know of another Gloria Tolman in the Seattle area? This one’s a hypnotherapist—and she sees patients.”

  The woman shook her head. “I’ve never heard of another Gloria Tolman—here in Seattle or anywhere else. How did you find this hypnotherapist?”

  “An acquaintance of mine, Taylor Hofstad, recommended her to me.”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. “That name sounds familiar.”

  “Taylor Hofstad is Sally Justice’s daughter.”

  The woman smiled and nodded. “Of course! That’s where I’ve heard her name before. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in, Anna?”

  She shook her head. “Thank you. But I’m kind of in a hurry. So—you don’t know Taylor?”

  “I think I’ve seen her on TV once or twice, but I’ve never met her.” She held up her index finger. “Could you wait for just a second, Anna?”

  Anna watched her duck back into the house. The woman was gone for less than half a minute. When she returned, she handed Anna her business card. “Listen, Anna, if you’re able to track down this other Gloria Tolman, will you let me know? You’ve got me very curious about this woman.”

  Anna took the card. “I’m very curious about her, too. Thank you, Dr. Tolman.”

  * * *

  “Taylor-Made Productions, home of The Sally Justice Show. This is Barbara. How may I help you?”

  Anna had been on hold for five minutes, waiting to talk to an operator. She hadn’t wanted the real Dr. Tolman and her husband wondering why she was still parked in front of their house, so she’d driven two blocks and was now parked in front of a church.

  “Hi, this is Anna Malone. I need to talk to Sally, please,” she told the operator.

  “Sally isn’t available at the moment. Our message center is available twenty-four hours. Your call is important to us.” It sounded like the brush-off.

  “Barbara, this is Anna Malone,” she interrupted. “I need to talk to Sally. This really is important to you. It’s about Sally’s daughter. If Sally’s there at the studio, please put her on. If she isn’t there, I need a phone number where I can reach her now. She’ll want to talk to me.”

  There was a pause. “One minute, Ms. Malone.”

  “Thank you.”

  Anna restlessly drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She thought she might be in for a long wait. But then, after about a minute, she heard a click.

  “Hello . . . Anna?” The woman on the other end of the line didn’t sound quite like Sally. She seemed distressed, even despairing, like she might have be
en weeping. Anna immediately thought about Taylor and wondered if she was dead.

  “Sally?”

  “Yes, have—have you heard something?”

  “About Taylor?” Anna asked. “No, I don’t have anything definite. Have you found out something? You sound upset.”

  “I just got some bad news here at the studio,” Sally said, sniffling. “One of my production guys for several years, Gordy Savage, is dead. He shot his wife and then shot himself. A neighbor discovered them in their home this morning. I knew he had a lot of problems, but I had no idea it was that bad.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Anna murmured.

  Sally cleared her throat. “So, are you calling about Taylor?”

  “Yes—”

  “Is it about that CJ character?” Sally spoke over her. “Because my people and the police haven’t had much luck tracking him down. You said he was over at Taylor’s on Tuesday? Did Taylor ever say anything to you about him during one of your confidential talks?”

  “She didn’t say much,” Anna answered. “Just what I told you last night. He was a friend and not a boyfriend. Taylor didn’t seem all that crazy about him. But he seemed pretty much at home at her place.”

  She heard Sally sigh on the other end of the line. Then it sounded like she blew her nose.

  “Sally, did Taylor ever see a therapist or a counselor?”

  “Well, she couldn’t have spilled her guts to you very much during your afternoons together if you have to ask that question,” Sally remarked. “Yes, Taylor has seen a bunch of therapists and counselors over the years. I should know, I paid for most of them. Why do you ask?”

  “Do you know if, among them, there’s a hypnotherapist calling herself Dr. Gloria Tolman?”

  “A hypnotherapist?”

  “Yes, and she’s good at it, too, only I’m sure Gloria Tolman isn’t her real name. In fact, I think she might have hoodwinked Taylor into trusting her.”

  “I don’t remember writing a check to anyone named Tolman,” Sally said. “And Taylor has seen her recently?”

  “Very recently. I’ve met her. There’s a Dr. Gloria Tolman in Lake Forest Park, but it’s not her. That’s why I think this hypnotherapist might be a phony.”

  “I’m going to look into this, Anna,” Sally said, sounding determined. “Thanks. I’ll call you as soon as I get something.”

  She hung up.

  Anna was a bit startled at the way Sally suddenly finished the conversation. She tapped the phone screen to hang up.

  She was about to start the car, but then Anna remembered something she’d observed between the fake Dr. Tolman and Taylor. The hypnotherapist had spoken to Taylor the way some people, who didn’t know any better, often addressed deaf people. She’d talked loudly and overenunciated every word. Anna couldn’t imagine her addressing Taylor that way for any sustained period of time. The two couldn’t really have known each other very well.

  If her guess was right, maybe this CJ person recommended Dr. Tolman to Taylor.

  Something else hit her, and it put her stomach on edge. Now that Sally knew about the fake Dr. Tolman, she and the police might be a step closer to hearing that recording. Between the coerced confession and the murder weapon planted somewhere at her home, Anna knew she didn’t stand a chance of proving her innocence.

  With a nervous sigh, she leaned forward to clip her phone onto the holder on her dashboard. That was when she saw something in her rearview mirror—a man standing directly behind her car.

  Anna gasped and dropped her phone.

  She swiveled around in time to see it was a teenage boy—with a skateboard in one hand and a phone in the other. With a clatter, he tossed the skateboard onto the pavement, stepped on it, and sailed down the street with the phone to his ear.

  Anna caught her breath and picked up her phone. It rang in her hand.

  She was amazed Sally was calling back so fast. She touched the screen. “Sally?”

  There was a click on the other end. Suddenly, Anna realized it wasn’t Sally. She checked the caller ID: Unknown Caller.

  She heard the bogus Dr. Tolman talking. It was from the recording: “What about the murder weapon, this—this glass thing you used to kill her? What happened to that?”

  Anna heard her own voice, responding: “ I really wasn’t sure what to do with it . . . I didn’t want to bury it with Courtney. So I hid it—on my houseboat. I washed the blood off, of course. There’s a little crack in it now.”

  Then the line went dead.

  Anna stared at the phone for a few moments.

  She wasn’t scared. She was angry. She knew that Bud or CJ or the counterfeit Dr. Tolman was telling her, once again, that the murder weapon was hidden someplace in her home—as if she needed reminding.

  But she also became more keenly aware of something she’d noticed when she’d first heard the recording yesterday morning. It was slightly choppy—with awkward pauses between the sentences. Had she really been answering the fake Dr. Tolman’s questions—or merely been repeating things she’d been told to say? Had someone created this confession out of a bunch of sentences and phrases she’d been coerced into saying?

  Anna clipped her phone onto the brackets on the dashboard and then started up her car. “I’m on to you,” she whispered. “Whoever you are, I’m on to you, you son of a bitch.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Russ couldn’t move.

  Early this morning, before dawn, Taylor had told him about her ordeal with their captor, and she’d started crying. He’d held her for a few minutes until she’d calmed down. Then she’d asked if he could please keep holding her until she fell asleep.

  Now, hours later, he was still fully dressed and sitting on the queen bed with his arm around Sally Justice’s sleeping daughter. She rested her head between his chest and his shoulder. Russ was losing the circulation in his arm. But every time he tried to move, Taylor let out a distressed little moan. So he tried to keep still.

  But he managed to twist around and check for daylight through the slats boarding up the window behind them. Taylor stirred for only a second and went right back to sleep. Russ guessed it was late morning or maybe even noon. The creep holding them captive hadn’t pushed any food through the slot in the door yet. But that really wasn’t an indication of the time of day. He slipped the food packets through the slot at random intervals. Sometimes Russ got three food deliveries a day, and sometimes only one.

  A couple of hours ago, Russ had heard the house’s screen door open and slam. A minute later, he heard the RV door open. With apprehension, he’d listened to the footsteps approaching the trailer’s bedroom door. But the guy hadn’t said a word. He must have been just checking in on them. He’d left after a minute. Then the RV door had shut and the screen door had slammed again.

  Russ had managed to doze off a few times. He couldn’t have slept much anyway, not after everything Taylor had told him.

  She’d described how Bud had called in to her mother’s show, claiming to have witnessed Courtney’s murder. He’d admitted to being obsessed with deaf women—Courtney, in particular. But Taylor suspected he also had a fixation for Anna, too. “It’s just a feeling I got from some of the things he’s said to me and the questions he’s asked about her,” Taylor had explained.

  On Sally’s show, Bud wouldn’t reveal who had killed Courtney. However, he’d mentioned that Courtney had been dressed in a purple robe when she’d died. Russ knew it well—a silk, floor-length number; Courtney looked gorgeous in it. According to the news reports, she’d been wearing that same robe when some teenagers found her corpse in a wooded area near Lake Bosworth. Russ knew of the place because Anna had done a story there last year.

  Because Bud had been right about Courtney’s robe, people took him seriously. Either he’d witnessed Courtney’s murder or he’d committed it.

  Taylor was convinced this Bud was the man who had abducted her. She’d never gotten a good look at him. He’d been wearing what had looked like a
fake mustache when he’d broken into her place. Taylor had left the apartment door unlocked because she’d been expecting Anna.

  Describing the abduction, Taylor had told Russ something he still couldn’t wrap his head around: “It’s funny, but when I felt someone sneaking up on me in the kitchen, at first, I thought it was Anna. For a second, I wondered why she hadn’t blinked the lights on and off to let me know she’d let herself in. A half hour before, I’d told Anna about her confession on the recording. I’d been expecting her, and instead, this man creeps into my apartment, grabs me, and asks for this recording. How did he know about it?”

  Taylor showed Russ the bump on her head where Bud had hit her and knocked her out. She’d regained consciousness in the trunk of his car: “It was so scary to wake up in total darkness. At first, I thought I was in a coffin. Then I felt the vibrations of the car and the bumps in the road.”

  Russ had asked her if the car was a black Jetta, and Taylor had confirmed that it was. She’d caught a glance of the vehicle after they’d arrived here. Bud had been wearing a ski mask when he’d let her out of the trunk yesterday afternoon. She’d noticed the old RV, hooked up to a power outlet along with a hose that stretched from the side of the dilapidated rambler-style house. She hadn’t noticed any other homes in the immediate area—just a long gravel road through the trees.

  Russ had asked if the guy had a partner. Taylor had said she’d never seen anyone else. Once the man had brought her inside the house, he’d tied her to a kitchen chair and left her there. She’d seen him on the phone once—when he’d come into the kitchen to get a beer out of the refrigerator. “So maybe he does have someone working with him,” Taylor said—and signed. “The kitchen, by the way, was filthy. I saw mice, one dead in a trap, and another one scurrying around. I kept thinking it would crawl up my leg.”

  She said Bud had made himself a microwave fish dinner that smelled awful. He’d eaten it in another room. “I’m sure he took the ski mask off to eat,” Taylor said. “But I never saw him without it on.”