by C L Hart
As he took it, Lincoln watched the distinguished lawyer drain his glass in one gulp. Another family trait, he thought as he looked down at the picture. The black and white photograph was of a group of people standing on a wooden dock. Squinting into the photo, Lincoln immediately recognized the scenery and a few of the people.
“This is Gold Creek...and that’s Günter and Helga.” He pointed to the much younger Scandinavian couple.
“You know them?”
“Yes. Abby sent my wife and me to Gold Creek for our honeymoon. Of course, we didn’t know she owned the place,” he said as he looked back down at the picture, noting the gangly, black-haired girl standing off to one side.
“Don’t blame her. That was my idea. Considering the circumstances and her age, I thought it better to keep her name and financial background under wraps. That picture was taken the summer my brother and his wife died.” Nathan grew quiet, but looked Lincoln in the eyes.
“What do you know?”
“Just the basics. Her parents died in a boating accident and you sent her away. She doesn’t talk about it.”
“It all seems like a lifetime ago.” Nathan turned his back on Lincoln and looked out the window behind his desk. “Naturally, Abby was traumatized by the incident, and she didn’t speak for a long time. I sent her to the best doctors; post traumatic stress disorder, they said. It was a lot for a young girl to handle, so I did what I thought was best. I changed her name and used her mother's maiden name before I sent her off to an excellent private school. I thought it would do her good to be away from anything that would remind her of what had happened. But I often wonder if that was the best thing for me to have done.”
“She didn’t turn out all that bad, now did she?” Lincoln said with a hint of a smile.
Nathan paused before he answered. “Hmmm, let me see. She has a problem with authority, difficulty making any kind of commitment in a relationship, except with her dog, the only real friend she has is her partner, her temper is notorious, and let’s not forget the kicker — she is in jail on murder charges.” Nathan came around from behind his high-back leather chair and leaned against his desk. “So, you tell me — did she turn out okay?”
“She’s a good person, Nathan.”
“I know she is, but unfortunately all that matters from here on in is what I can get a jury to believe or disbelieve. Reasonable doubt is all I need. And I’m going to need the best around me to keep her out of the gas chamber. Lincoln, how would you like to come work for me?”
The question took him by surprise. “Work for you? I’m not a lawyer.”
“No, but you’d make a great investigator.”
“I...uh, I don’t know, I mean, are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t have made the offer if I wasn’t,” Nathan said firmly. “I’ll double your salary.”
“Nathan, it’s not the money I’m concerned with, though the offer is tantalizing.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Nathan was unaccustomed to being turned down.
“My name is at the top of the list as a witness for the prosecution. How will that look?”
“For starters, I’d think having you working for me on Abby’s behalf would make Ronald de Barr look like an idiot.”
A slow smile spread across Lincoln’s face. “When do I start?
Chapter 22
The hours dragged by, one after another, without incident and without variation. The hands on Abby’s watch barely moved as she continued to throw a small rubber ball against the wall. Her thoughts rambled between Sarah and Lincoln. And for the first time in years, she actually thought about her uncle — the man who looked so much like her father. He had the same dark eyes and the same dark hair, but he wasn’t her father. His face had been so pale that day. She recalled his soft voice trying desperately to help her understand what had happened — the explosion, the fire, the screaming. Nathan Holoman had powerful friends and he called in favors from each and every one of them when he collected his niece and flew her away from it all, away from the resort and away from the only life she had ever known.
It would be a long time before Abigail would speak of that day, and then it would only be to her doctors. He had changed her name, he had changed her surroundings, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t change her memories — and he couldn’t take away her pain. She loved him now, but when she was younger, she had hated him.
The walls and the echoed silence that had surrounded her then reminded Abby of where she was now. Then, she had lost the familiarity and protection of her school; now, she was in prison, charged with murder in the first degree for a death that had been flawlessly planned and perfectly executed, with all the evidence pointing to her being the perpetrator.
She began to repeatedly squeeze the soft rubber racquetball, working the dexterity back into her injured left hand. Tighter and tighter she gripped, wallowing in the pain that made her feel alive.
After all these years, the memories still haunted her, gnawing at her until she could almost physically feel the pain of the past. And adding to the regret and responsibility for what had happened then, was the guilt for what had happened to Sarah. How can I ever face you?
The hours in solitude made the days crawl. Her mind played to her guilt as the pain of reality drew her further and further into depression. Everything was gone, and every time she thought about Sarah, an overwhelming sense of remorse engulfed her. Whether or not Sarah had been that reporter no longer seemed to be important; it didn’t matter in the grander scheme of her life. What did matter was that she loved Sarah, but because of her, Sarah’s life would never be the same. She wondered with each passing hour how she would be able to live with that.
♥
Lincoln was sitting at his table writing on large yellow note pad when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Lincoln, it’s Lieutenant Banks.”
“Lieutenant?”
“We need to talk, but not at the station. Do you know the underground parking lot on Thirty-Fourth and Washington?”
“Yeah.”
“Meet me there in half an hour, just you and me,” the lieutenant requested tersely.
“But — what...why?”
“Lincoln, just meet me there, and don’t say a word to anyone.”
♥
The sharp knock on his door took Nathan by surprise. He wasn’t aware that anyone else was in the building.
“Nathan?” The door opened slightly and Lincoln stuck his head in.
“Lincoln,” Nathan said in surprise. “Why so early?”
“I’ve got something,” he said as he stepped into the office carrying a large manila envelope.
The lawyer’s tone changed to match the seriousness of Lincoln’s. “What’s that?”
“Information we both need to look at.” He crossed the room and held out the envelope. The lawyer took it and looked inside, then dumped the contents on his desk. Several papers came out along with a videocassette.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked as he picked up some of the papers.
“I can’t say,” Lincoln answered. “I didn’t take it. It was given to me by a friend.”
“A friend in the department? I won’t ask.” Nathan picked up the videotape.
“Yes, that’s probably best.” Lincoln took a seat. His heart was racing, as it had been all morning, and it was only ten to seven.
“What’s on this?” Nathan asked as he walked over and opened a cabinet to reveal a TV and a VCR.
“I haven’t seen it, but it’s supposed to be from an ATM camera that’s positioned across the street from the Hasty Motel.”
Nathan stopped at the mention of the motel where Billy Ward had been tortured and mortally wounded. “How reliable is your source?”
“Very.”
Nathan said nothing as he pushed the cartridge into the VCR and then turned on the TV. Within seconds, a grainy black and white picture came up on the screen. The dim light made it difficult, but the entrance
to the hotel across the street was clear to see. Down in the corner of the screen, the date and time clicked past in seconds; 10:17 pm.
In stop-action imagery, a Jeep turned into the Hasty Motel. It sat there in the parking lot for a moment with its lights on and wipers going, but no one got out. Then the headlights clicked off and a figure emerged from the vehicle, the collar of their jacket pulled up against the rain. Raising the remote, Nathan froze the screen with a clear view of the person standing next to the Jeep. He moved closer to the TV screen, “It’s her, isn’t it?” he asked without turning around.
Lincoln stared at the damning image and said nothing.
Chapter 23
“Sarah?” a voice asked.
She opened her eyes and looked around the brightly lit hospital room, until her gaze fell on a white-haired doctor standing at the foot of her bed.
“Sarah McMurphy?” he asked with a smile.
She reached for her dry erase board, but then decided not to call attention to her correct name. Abby’s influence and Lincoln’s presence had kept the reporters and the questions at bay, and for now that was okay with her.
“Hello, my name is Doctor Greene.”
She started to say something, but the doctor held up his finger. “No, no, stick to writing for a while longer. No sense putting any strain on that throat yet. Now can I take a closer look here?” He gestured at her left hand. “Can you move your hand?” Sarah looked down, lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers.
“Very good,” he said, noting the slight dip in her wrist. “Touch your thumb to all four fingers.” She again looked down and slowly touched her thumb to her first finger, her second finger, her third finger and finally her pinky finger.
“Excellent. Now do it with your eyes closed.” He watched her reaction and knew she couldn’t.
“It’s okay, let me take a look.” Dr. Greene picked up her hand and ran his pen down the inside of her forearm.
“Can you feel that?” Sarah’s answer was a slight nod.
Holding the tips of her fingers, he ran his pen down her thumb and along her arm. “Can you feel that?” The fear in her eyes gave him the answer. “It’s okay, that’s normal for your type of injury. When you were attacked, the knife cut through some of the nerve roots at the sixth cervical vertebrae, as well as the sternocleidomastoid muscle or rather the SCM, and... Well, never mind all the technical jargon, the bottom line is that with therapy, it’ll improve. I promise,” he added with a reassuring wink.
Sarah reached for her board and wrote out, 100%?
“One step at a time,” Dr. Greene said, but that didn’t satisfy Sarah and she tapped her board again. “There’s a lot of damage inside there, Sarah, and unfortunately soft tissue injuries and nerve damage take time to heal.”
Her green eyes were rimmed with dark bruises which made her glare all the more ominous as she tapped her board hard once.
“I see you’ve a bit of a stubborn streak. I can’t give you an answer because I don’t have an answer.”
She watched him for a moment longer, as if deciding whether or not he had spoken the truth, before she finally put down her board.
“Now, let’s take a good look at how your face is healing.”
Dr Greene reached over and turned on a lamp. The light was intense and it caused her to squint. “You can close your eyes if the light is too bright for you. Okay. ... Hmmm...” He hummed and hawed as he closely examined her face, his touch gentle when he palpated her broken cheekbone and her nose.
“You can open your eyes now,” he said as he clicked off the bright lamp. When she opened her eyes he could see almost every question and concern she had. “Rest assured, there’s nothing here I cannot fix, but,” he held up his finger, “you have to be willing to meet me halfway. Meaning you need to do your therapy — both the physical and psychological — religiously.” Dr. Greene picked up her hand. “You’ve been through a lot, and you have some long, hard days ahead of you.”
Sarah looked down at his soft hands, the hands that would make her whole again.
“Now, is there anything you need?”
She picked up her board and wrote one pressing word. MIRROR.
“Not yet, Sarah.” The moment he spoke, Sarah underlined the word several times.
“Another day or two will make a big difference.” Sarah dropped her board on to her bed and threw back her sheets. If no one was going to get her a mirror, then she was going to go and find one.
“No, no. You need to stay in bed,” Dr. Greene said quickly, but Sarah ignored his instructions and swung her legs off the bed. “Sarah, remember what I said about meeting me halfway? You’re not ready.” She stopped. Seeing her face pale, he lifted her legs and placed them back under the sheets. “Rule number one, listen to your doctor.”
Lying back against her pillow, Sarah closed her eyes against the waves of nausea. She couldn’t believe that such little movement had not only made her dizzy, but had left her shaking as well.
“This will relax you,” he said as he injected a sedative into her IV. “Sarah, I know you’re scared. You’ve every reason to be, but these are all normal steps in the healing process. I know you want to look in a mirror; however, it’ll be better if you wait. Right now, your face is still swollen, the cuts and scrapes are still prominent, and that’s all you’ll see. Give it a little more time, and then you’ll be able to recognize the woman in the mirror.”
His smile had returned and that did make her feel better. Sarah knew he was right, but she still felt an overwhelming need to see for herself.
♥
By lunchtime, Lincoln had verified the presence of the camera at the ATM machine across from the Hasty Motel. He drew a quick sketch of the scene and marked off the distances in his notebook. He looked from the bank across the street to the parking stall where the Jeep had parked to the orange sticker taped to the motel room door.
What the hell were you doing here, Abby? The question stuck in Lincoln’s mind as he made his way over to the window of the motel room. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered into the dark room. The room was messy, which was odd because every other place Ward had lived had been meticulously laid out and spotless. Lincoln could still see fingerprint dust everywhere and several large dark stains on the yellow shag carpet.
“Hey, get away from that window,” a female voice screeched.
Lincoln spun around to face a short, very round older woman with a cigarette dangling out of her lipstick painted mouth. Her flaming red hair obviously hadn’t been combed since the invention of the brush.
“I was just looking,” Lincoln said honestly.
“Well, you shouldn’t be. That’s all been taped off by the cops,” she said, the ashes falling off the end of her cigarette as she chomped on her gum.
He walked toward her, wiping the window grime off his hands, “By the cops, huh? What happened here?”
“Some female cop hacked up some guy with a steak knife. Made a hell of a mess of the place, too.” She gave Lincoln the once over and obviously liked what she saw. “Are you looking for a room, honey? I can get ya one, especially if you don’t mind sharing, if you know what I mean.”
It took an extreme act of will not to visibly cringe at the invitation. “No, thanks.”
“Well, if I can be of any service, I’m the manager here. So anything you want, you just give ol’ Dot a holler. That’s me, Dot.” She pointed at her chest. Her pudgy finger disappeared into the thin polyester blouse covering her enormous breasts.
Lincoln nodded and smiled. “Did you know the guy?” he asked as an afterthought.
“Yeah. He was that slime, piece of shit, from the papers. You know, Billy Ward, the one they called ‘the Sadist Slasher’. Freaky, huh?” Dot fished around in her shirt pocket for her smokes. “He was a weird little one, that’s for sure. Kinda creepy and sleazy.”
“Why do you say that?”
Dot lit her cigarette and took a long drag on it as she eyed him up, “You
a cop?”
“Who me?” He laughed and answered her honestly. “No.”
“Reporter?”
“No, just a man with a morbid curiosity. I was at my bank across the street and...well, you know.”
“Too bad, I was hoping to make a few bucks out of it.” She waited, but the handsome black man in the suit didn’t bite.
“Sorry,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Aw, that’s all right.” She dismissed his regret with a wave of her hand. “I was just hoping to make enough money to pay his last month’s rent. Owner’s gonna get mad at me ’cause of this. It’s gonna cost a fortune to have that place cleaned and the carpets replaced.”
Lincoln was wondering how expensive yellow shag carpet could actually be when her comment jiggled something in his head. “His last month’s rent?”
“Yeah, Wacko Willie hadn’t paid this month’s rent.”
“Wacko Willie?”
“That’s what all the regulars called him — Wacko Willie.”
“Really? Just how long had Wacko Willie been staying here?”
“Let me think, a good three, four months anyhow.” She looked skyward as she counted the days. “Yeah, that’s about right...four months.”
“Did you tell anyone else this?”
Dot eyed him suspiciously, “If you’re not a cop, then you’re a private dick.”
Lincoln quickly weighed his options and decided maybe the truth would get him further. “All right, you got me. I’m new at this,” he said, hoping to snow her just a little. “I just got my investigator’s license and I’m trying to impress my new boss.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so, honey? I’d love to help you out. Between you and me, I think he had it coming. He was a real strange one.”