by Nora Roberts
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“I’m wondering if, in the circumstances of all this, she just doesn’t want it to be the same woman. Maybe she’s hanging on to it too hard.”
Doc smiled thinly. “Who’s playing shrink now?”
“Working behind the counter for a couple decades is as good as being a shrink. Not everybody believed that girl when she said she’d seen that woman attacked,” Mac added with another wag of his fork. “I did. Just like I believe that same poor woman ended up dead in that marsh. Reece can’t handle it, that’s what I think.”
“May be.”
“Well, you’re the doctor. Help her out.”
“Don’t you two look all serious and secretive.” Linda-gail tipped coffee from the pot into their mugs. “Sitting here with your heads together.”
“Man talk,” Doc said with a wink.
“Sex, sports or horses?”
Doc only grinned and forked up more pancakes.
“How’s Reece doing today?” Mac asked Linda-gail.
“Better than yesterday, I’d say.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Either of you hear if the sheriff’s got word on that woman’s identity?”
“Haven’t heard anything today, but it’s early yet. Terrible thing,” Doc added.
“Scary, too, thinking we might have somebody around here killing women. Moose Ponds’s a good way from the Fist, but still.”
“Women?” Mac frowned.
“If it’s not the one Reece saw, then it’s two different women. And okay, sure, Moose Ponds is all the way up by Jenny Lake, but maybe the same person did both of them. Like a serial killer or something.”
“Oh now, Linda-gail.” Mac shook his head. “You’re watching too much TV.”
“They wouldn’t make so many TV shows about killing if people didn’t go around killing, would they? And you know what else?” She lowered her voice now. “If Reece hadn’t been up on the trail, just at the right time, nobody’d know anything about that woman. Could be this killer’s done it before. I can tell you, I’ll be sticking close to home until they catch him.”
“Now hell, that’s another problem.” Mac scratched at his head as Linda-gail walked away. “Before you know it, people in the Fist’ll be looking cross-eyed at each other, wondering if we got some psycho serial killer in our midst. Or some damn reporter’ll write about it that way, and the tourists’ll bypass us, and we’ll lose the summer season. Some hothead will have one too many down at Clancy’s and start a fight over it.”
Doc frowned thoughtfully. “On that one, at least, you may have a point.”
SINCE HE STILL had an hour before office hours, Doc went up to the sheriff’s office before heading home. Denny sent him a sunny smile. “How you doing, Doc?”
“Can’t complain. Your ma have any trouble with that ankle?”
“No. She’s up and around just fine.”
“You tell her I don’t want her doing any jigs just yet. That was a nasty sprain. Your boss around?”
“Not yet. He’s got till ten, unless something hits. Sheriff’s been putting in a lot of late hours lately. Guess you heard about the body they found.”
“I did. Any word on who she is?”
“Nothing’s come in this morning yet. Sure is a hell of a thing. Son of a bitch must’ve kept her alive a couple weeks. God knows what he did to her all that time.”
“That’s assuming she’s the same one Reece saw.”
“Well, sure.” Denny looked perplexed. “Who else could it be? Sheriff thinks it is.”
“Mind if I take a look at the photos?”
“I dunno, Doc. The sheriff—”
“I’ve seen dead bodies in my time, Denny. Could be I’d recognize her. Maybe I treated her at some time or another. And it’s my sketch Rick’s using to determine she’s one and the same.”
“Yeah, I guess. Hank,” he added as the dispatcher walked in.
“Anything brewing but bad coffee around here? Hiya, Doc.”
“Hank. How’re the knees?”
“Ah, not too bad.”
“They’d be better if you took off twenty-five pounds. Not going to do that eating those doughnuts you’ve got in that sack.”
“Man’s got to keep his energy up in a job like this.”
“Sugar high’s not energy.” Doc adjusted his glasses as Denny came out of Rick’s office with the file.
Opening it, Doc pursed his lips in what looked like a combination of interest and pity. “Looks like man and nature were both unkind to this girl.”
“Got the shit beat out of her, that’s for sure. Was raped,” Denny added with a grim nod toward the photos. “Sheriff didn’t show Reece all the crime-scene pictures. Didn’t want to upset her more than he had to. See there? How her wrists and ankles are all raw and bruised? Had her tied up.”
“Yeah, I see.”
“Hauled her away from the river. Truck, camper, RV, something. Kept her tied up and did what he wanted with her until he was finished. Dumped her in the marsh after. You recognize her, Doc?”
“No. I can’t say I do. Sorry, Denny, wish I could be more help. I’d better go see to my patients. Hank, you go easy on those damn doughnuts.”
“Aw, Doc.”
HE DID SOME thinking on his walk home. About his conversation with Mac, about the photographs he’d studied. He thought about the town, and how long it had been his. How he liked to think he kept his finger on the pulse of it and his ear tuned to its heartbeat.
He let himself in the front door he hadn’t locked in two decades. Instead of going back to his office, he walked to the living room phone. Willow would deal with any early patients or walk-ins, he thought.
He made his call, then popped a cherry Life Savers to take the coffee off his breath before he saw his first patient of the day.
A LITTLE after twelve, Brody was pacing around Doc’s living room. Doc’s instructions had been to come by at noon and make himself at home. Interrupting the middle of his day, Brody thought, when the book was not just moving but actually racing.
If he’d wanted a break in the middle of the day—which he damn well didn’t—he’d have preferred to take that time at Joanie’s. Have some lunch, see Reece.
At least he assumed he’d see Reece. She hadn’t called to say she was still out of a job, and her car was parked in its usual place. Still, he’d like to see for himself.
Not that he was looking after her, he assured himself. Just checking, that’s all.
If the doc hadn’t been so damn cryptic on the phone, Brody figured his curiosity wouldn’t have been piqued. And he’d be at his keyboard.
His female lead was pushing him through the story. Almost dragging him through it, snapping at him to keep up, for God’s sake. And to think he’d originally conceived her as a victim. A couple scenes onstage, a terrible death, then gone.
Well, she hadn’t taken that lying down.
He wanted to get back to her. But since he was across the lake anyway, he’d get back to Maddy after he stopped off to grab a bite and see Reece. He probably should suggest to Reece that she stay at his place again tonight.
He should probably let that alone, he corrected. Let her go back to her own apartment before things got messy and she was, unofficially, living with him.
He’d been careful to avoid that stepping-stone to lifetime commitment with other women. No need to stumble over it now.
He wandered to the window, wandered away again. Wandered to a bookshelf, scanned titles. As always, he was a little jolted to see one of his own books, his own name emblazoned on the spine.
After skimming a finger down that spine, he wandered some more.
The photographs scattered around the room caught his attention. Idly he picked one up, one of Doc and the woman who’d been his wife for aeons, it seemed to Brody. Outdoorsy shot, camping gear, Doc holding up a string of fish while the wife grinned.
They looked nice together, Brody decided. Happy. Though if his g
auge of the ages was on, they’d been married a couple decades when the picture was snapped.
He picked up another, family shot. The whole brood. Then a young Mr. and Mrs. Doc holding a toddler. Various graduation pictures, wedding pictures, grandparent pictures.
The life and times, Brody thought, of a man and his family.
What was that like?
He didn’t have anything against marriage, Brody mused as he kept pacing. It worked for some people. Obviously it had worked for Doc Wallace. It had worked, and was still working, for Brody’s own parents.
It was just so…absolute, he decided. This is it, for the rest of your natural life. Just this one person unless you want to go through the hellish combat of divorce.
What if you changed your mind, or things just went wrong? Which they did, half the time.
Even if you didn’t, and they didn’t, there was all that adjusting and making room and compromising. A man couldn’t just do what he wanted when he wanted.
What if he wanted to move back to Chicago, for instance? Or hell, Madagascar? Not that he did, but what if? There was no pulling up stakes on a whim when you were married.
You weren’t just a man anymore, you were a couple. Then maybe you were a father, and now—wham—you’re a family. And there was no turning back. No editing it out and going in a different direction in the storyline.
He probably wasn’t in love with her anyway, any more than she was with him. It was just…involvement. Involvement was different, and the levels and intensity of it came and went.
He turned when Doc came in.
“Sorry, ran over on the last couple of patients. Appreciate you coming, Brody.”
“Why did you want to see me?”
“Come on back to the kitchen. I’ll rustle us up a little lunch while we talk. Won’t be what you’re used to lately,” he added as they started back. “But it’ll fill the hole.”
“I’m not fussy.”
“I heard about what went on with Reece yesterday.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Not today.” Doc got out some turkey, one of the hothouse tomatoes Reece disparaged, a half head of iceberg and a jar of sweet pickles. “I did talk with Mac. He’s worried about her.” He took a partial loaf of whole wheat out of his bread bin. “I wondered if you were.”
“Why?”
“Trying to get the full picture. I can’t tell you anything she told me as a patient. You may feel you can’t tell me anything she discussed with you as a…friend. But if you feel otherwise, I wanted to ask if she’s told you anything you find troubling.”
“She told you she came back to her apartment one night and found all her clothes packed up?” Brody nodded when Doc glanced over from slicing the tomato. “That she didn’t remember packing. I don’t think she did the packing.”
“Who else could have?”
“The same person who wrote all over her bathroom with a red marker and dumped out all her pills, moved her stuff around. And other similar tricks.”
Doc set down the knife. “Brody, if Reece is having memory lapses and episodes, she needs to be treated.”
“I don’t think she is. I think someone’s screwing around with her.”
“And you perpetuating her delusions only deepens them.”
“They’re not delusions if they’re real. Why does she only have these memory lapses and episodes when she’s alone?”
“I’m not qualified to—”
“Why did they startafter she saw a woman murdered?”
Doc blew air out of his nose, then went back to building the sandwiches. “We can’t know, absolutely, there weren’t other episodes before that. But if they began at that time, there could be a couple of reasons. One, what she saw triggered the symptoms.”
Doc put the sandwiches on plates, added two pickles and a small handful of potato chips each. Then poured two glasses of milk.
“I’ve been spending a lot of time with her. I haven’t seen any symptoms. Not like you mean.”
“But you have seen something.”
“I don’t like the position you’re putting me in.”
“I don’t like the position she may be in,” Doc countered.
“Okay, here’s what I’ve seen. I’ve seen a woman fighting her way back from the abyss. Who trembles in her sleep most nights, but who gets up every day and does whatever needs to be done next. I see a survivor who gets through on spine, on heart and humor, who’s trying to rebuild a life someone else shattered.”
“Sit down and eat,” Doc suggested. “Does she know you’re in love with her?”
Brody’s stomach jerked but he sat. And, picking up the sandwich, bit in. “I didn’t say I was in love with her.”
“Subtext, Brody. Being a writer you’d know about subtext.”
“I care about her and what happens to her.” He could hear the defensiveness—and was that a little fear?—in his voice. “Let’s leave it at that.”
“All right. If I’m reading you correctly, you’re thinking, or at least considering, that these things happening to Reece are being done by someone who wants to hurt her.” With a thoughtful frown Doc picked up his milk. “The only individual who could, as far as we know, be motivated to hurt her would be the man she claims to have seen strangle the woman she claims to have seen.”
“Did see.”
“I agree, but it’s still unproven.” With that same frown in his eyes, Doc drank. “But if she did, and if you’re right…Have you gone to the sheriff with this?”
“Rick’s just going to conclude she’s a nutcase. Whatever credibility she has about what she witnessed will go right down the tubes.”
“Without all the facts, he can’t do his job.”
“For now, I can look out for her. He can concentrate on finding out who was dumped in Moose Ponds, and who was killed by the Snake. I told you this in confidence.”
“All right, all right.” Doc held up a hand for peace. “Don’t upset your digestion. I went by the sheriff’s office, had Denny show me the pictures.”
“And?”
“I can only go by the description Reece gave me, and the sketch she approved. I can’t be sure one way or the other. Is it possible it’s the woman she saw? It is.”
“What about the time lag? It’s been weeks since Reece saw it happen.”
“That troubled me, as I imagine it troubled the authorities. There were ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. She may very well have been held all this time. But it doesn’t explain to me, and this is very troubling, why there was no sign these people were there, where Reece saw them. Why did this man throttle a woman violently enough for Reece to believe she was dead, then take that woman away, erasing his trail so that Rick, a man who knows tracking, found nothing?”
“Because he saw her.”
“Saw her?”
“Maybe not enough to recognize her, but he saw someone up on the ridge. Or he saw the things she left up there when she ran back and found me. He knew someone saw what went on.”
“Is that possible?” Doc asked. “From that distance?”
“Reece had field glasses. Who’s to say he didn’t? That after he killed the woman, he scoped out the area. Just another way of covering tracks, isn’t it?”
“I can’t argue. But it’s a lot of supposition, Brody.”
“Suppose this. Whether or not this body they found is the same woman, the man Reece saw had to know someone witnessed what happened there. There’s just no reason to erase the tracks otherwise. Take the body, sure. Can’t leave it there where a floater or paddler, a hiker may spot it. Take it away, wait for dark, bury it or dispose of it by other means. But cover all tracks? Not unless he knew he’d been seen.”
“Yes, of course,” Doc agreed. “And if he knew he’d been seen, he’d only have to wait a short time, keep his ear to the ground, to find out who.”
“And since, someone’s been screwing with her, trying to make her think she’s losing her grip. I’m not
going to let them get away with it.”
“I’d like to talk with her some more. I made a point of telling Mac this morning that I wasn’t a shrink. But I do have some training, some experience.”
“That’d be up to her.”
Doc nodded. “A lot of this is. That’s a lot of weight for someone with her background to carry. She trusts you?”
“Yeah, she does.”
“Weight for you, too. Tell her we spoke,” Doc decided after a moment. “Don’t breach the trust. But I’d like you to keep me in the loop. How’s the sandwich?”
“It’s pretty good. But you’re no cordon bleu chef.”
HE WENT BACK to the river. There was no sign of what had happened there, and he was sure of that. He’d been careful. He was a careful man.
It should never have happened, of course. Would never have happened if he’d had a choice. Everything that he’d done since was because she’dleft him no choice.
He could still hear her voice if he let himself. Screaming at him, threatening him.
Threatening him,as if she’d had the right.
Her death had been her own doing. He understood that, and felt no guilt over it. Others wouldn’t understand, so he did what needed to be done to protect himself.
None of that would have been necessary if it hadn’t been for the caprice of time and place.
How could he have known someone would be on the trail, would have looked in that direction at that time, with field glasses? Even a careful man couldn’t anticipate every quirk of fate.
Reece Gilmore.
She should have been easy to handle, too. So easy to discredit, even to herself. But she wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t crack and turn it loose.
Still, there was a way to fix it all. There was always a way to put things right. There was too much at stake to allow some refugee from a padded room to ruin things for him. If he had to turn the pressure up, he’d turn it up.
Look at this place, he thought, drinking in the river, the hills, the trees. All so perfect, so pristine and private. It was his place, all he wanted. Everything he had was bound to it, rooted in its soul, fed by its waters, guarded by its mountains.