“A letter.” She sighed. “If his alibi is solid, just knowing he hurt me? I’m not sure I can do this.”
“This is important on several levels. You need to face this, and I need to gather the evidence. Kessler is rich, and alibis can be bought; we’ll double check everything again.” She took the letter out of her pocket. He wondered if Kessler were blackmailing her. He read the words several times. He did not understand them; they were cryptic. Sarah remained silent.
“This sounds like a suicide note. What were the gifts?”
She took a deep breath. “When I first came to, in the hospital, the first question in my mind was…” She shivered. “But I couldn’t because we’d… Did you find… anything pointing to him?”
“Because we’d been together. I’m so sorry. No, but not all the evidence has been processed, and, after I found you, I washed the blood off your body. I left the gown you were wearing in the shower. I destroyed any possible evidence. I’m sorry. You think Gerry was there?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I’m not sure I want to remember.”
He understood and changed the subject. “We know Rohypnol was in your hot chocolate, but you didn’t finish it. Do you recall anything?”
She touched her head where the blow had landed. “Nightmares, Steven. Horrible, horrible nightmares.”
He was concerned soon those nightmares would become memories. “Can you tell me what the gifts were? This letter makes no sense.”
“In my room.”
“May I see them?”
“Of course.” She led the way but moved slowly, and he knew she was delaying the inevitable.
They passed by the fireplace in the main sitting room, and Sarah pointed to the mantel. “The item I threw over the cliff was a wedding present from Gerry. A crystal eagle from Tiffany’s.”
In her room, she opened a dresser drawer and pulled out several items wrapped in tissue paper. Steven undid the paper and was shocked to find two pairs of underwear: pink lace, and black lace. When he saw the violence that had destroyed the black pair, the impact, the realization hit him like a blast from a double-barreled shotgun. But, calling upon his years of experience, he did not react.
“That night… I was wearing pink.” She collapsed, but this time he caught her.
She was safely in his arms; Steven sat down on the bed and let her cry.
“It’s all right, angel,” he said softly, knowing life could never be right again.
Steven’s heart was broken in a way he never thought a heart could break. He dried her tears, ran her a hot bath, and made her a cup of tea while she soaked among the scent of roses and regained her strength. He called his team and had them check Gerry’s alibi again. Then he called John.
“Put a man on Gerald Kessler. It’s him, John. It’s Kessler. I need to know exactly where he is. I’ll explain later.”
Once Sarah was emotionally secure, he had an arrest to make.
He tucked her into bed and fluffed the pillows behind her. “You’re going to eat lunch, and then get some rest. You need to start taking care of you. I like curves, and you’re beginning to look way too skinny. Now, wait here, because I have lunch on the stove. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”
True to his word, in minutes, Steven was back with a mug full of homemade chicken noodle soup. “Opal sure keeps the freezer well stocked. This stuff is wonderful.” He handed her a deep mug filled with steaming soup, as well as a spoon with which to eat.
Sarah took the spoon and balanced the mug on her knee, but looked uninterested.
“Come on, eat. All of it. I’m not leaving your side until that cup is empty. I know you don’t have an appetite, but please eat. You need your strength.”
She gave him a half smile. “I know you’re right, but where’s yours?”
“Right here,” he said, and produced another mug on a separate tray from just outside the door. “Just had to make sure you were settled in first. Come on, eat.”
She ate, but he knew she was struggling. Even if only for a few minutes, he hoped the rest of the world would vanish. After they ate, Steven closed the curtains and turned off the lights, wanting Sarah to sleep. He tucked her in. “Do you want me to stay? Or leave?”
“Stay, please. I feel safe in your arms. I—I’m sorry you probably want to—”
“I want to be right here.”
Steven lay down beside her, fully clothed and on top of the blankets. He wanted her to know his presence was only to offer comfort. She relaxed in his arms and let sleep descend.
Sarah slept peacefully, and Steven held her protectively. He found himself too angry to sleep, and Steven reviewed the case, going over every detail in his mind.
Putting Kessler in the role of villain, he tried to make the details of the case synchronize. But Kessler’s alibis for the deaths of Debra, Rhonda, and Patricia were solid, with verifiable witnesses. Steven had personally gone over every detail because of Sarah’s reaction to him at the Christmas party. Could Kessler have taken advantage of the other killings to get to Sarah? If so, another killer was still unknown. He would know soon, as soon as Kessler was in front of him.
After three hours, she stirred.
He kissed her forehead. “Hey, beautiful. How about a cup of coffee, and a warm fire? I’ll go prepare everything while you get dressed.”
He sat up, and she did, too. Much as he didn’t want to, Steven knew he couldn’t put off the next step.
“Sure. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.”
He found leaving her alone was too difficult, and Sarah seemed to sense his hesitation.
“Go.” She hopped off the bed. “I’ll be down in a few.”
By the time Steven had the fire going and the coffee percolating, Sarah had joined him. She wore jeans, an oversized sweater, and her hair in one long braid. He opened his arms and waited for her to fill them, but she never looked in his direction.
Sarah went to the coffee pot and poured them each a cup. She handed a cup to him and settled down on the end of the couch. Sarah sat in the lotus position and blew into her cup to cool the hot coffee. She had closed herself off, withdrawn from him, and while he understood why, the pain was real. He hated what was to come next, but he had no choice.
“I need to know what happened.” He sat down on couch, leaving space between them; he did not want to crowd her.
“I understand.” She sipped her coffee.
“Your healing requires it, and the case against Gerry may rest on it.”
“I wanted reality to wait a little while longer, but it’s obvious Scott didn’t attack me, and you need to arrest Gerry—but I don’t know if I can deal with giving evidence against him.”
“If we can get Gerry for murder, he did kill Ray. I think we can forego the rest, but you need to talk about what happened to you. The longer you bottle these emotions, the more anguish you’ll experience. But first.” He took her hand. “Come with me.”
She followed him to the fireplace.
“To show you that whatever you tell me goes no further than this room.” He took Kessler’s letter, and the ‘gifts’ and threw them into the flames, destroying evidence. “I love you, and this will never get to the papers, will never be bandied about as a news story. I promise.”
Tears cascaded down her cheeks, but she remained silent, as the evidence of horror disappeared in the flames. She stepped into his arms and, without words, conveyed her appreciation. She allowed him to hold her.
Settled once more on the corner of the couch, she closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths before she began. “Four years ago, the January before Michael and I married…” She hesitated. The memory came forward with such clarity, she gasped. “I’m sorry, I suppressed all this, and, remembering now, I don’t understand how I could have forgotten it. How I could allow him to be a part of my life and not realize, not recall what he did every time I looked at him.”
“Part of you knew. You never invited him to your home.
Subconsciously, you knew. Consciously, you just weren’t ready. We’ll do this together. Suppression happens with trauma. Our minds protect us from things that are too difficult to live with. We’re alone. You can tell me what happened, and whatever you tell me will never leave this room. I promise. I’m not a cop now. I’m your friend, someone who loves you. Just relax, and start at the beginning.”
She closed her eyes. “We were supposed to be celebrating our respective engagements, but Gerry’s fiancée never showed up. She sent word through a messenger service. Gerry received a Dear John letter at the restaurant. Barbara and Gerry’s partner had run off together. I’m sorry, Steven. I know this is extraneous detail, but—”
“No, you’re doing fine. You’re telling what happened as you remember. You’re doing very well.”
She nodded and proceeded to look backward in time.
“Gerry was devastated. He put on a good face, pretended he was glad, but we knew his spirit was broken. Michael insisted we eat. He wanted Gerry to get some food in his stomach. He ordered a meal, but never ate. He drank Jack Daniels by the glassful. A business crisis called Michael away, and he asked me to see Gerry home safely. He was concerned for his friend—our…”
Her voice trailed off. She realized the word friend had no place in her story. She took a deep breath and began again.
“I drove Gerry home in his car and went in with him. I called a cab, and put on a pot of coffee. I didn’t have to. He was home. I’d done what Michael asked. I didn’t need to do anything else. I shouldn’t have—” She shook her head. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid. “But I offered Gerry an opportunity to talk. He didn’t act drunk. I mean, he wasn’t falling down drunk. The liquor gave him a self-confidence he didn’t have before.”
“He was sure of himself and very talkative. He badmouthed Barbara and Frank. He went on and on about how he was the brains of the partnership and, without him, Frank would fail. Then Barbara would come back. He said he wanted her to, so he could laugh in her face. She’d got just what she deserved, he said. Then, he started to brag about the role he played in Michael’s business, taking credit where I knew he had none. The alcohol was talking, though, not him. He was hurting, and I wasn’t going to argue with him. Besides, the next day, he probably wouldn’t remember. Funny, how I can see, and remember my motivation. Sad, really!”
She stopped for a few seconds to breathe, to get the courage to go on. Shaking off the pain, she continued.
“He was clearly heartbroken. He was Michael’s best friend. Michael looked out for him, and loved him like a brother. He had since grade school. And I was standing in for Michael.”
She went silent. Struggled to retain composure, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.
“Gerry had been pacing the room, but suddenly he was right next to me, on the sofa. I was uncomfortable, so I got up and went to the other side of the room. I went to get him a cup of coffee, but he’d followed me.”
Sarah was visibly shaking. She twisted her hands together trying to ward off the physical sensations reacting to her emotional freefall.
“He grabbed me, pushed me up against the wall. He was violent, strong. He had my hands pinned above my head with one of his. With the other hand, he…”
She looked at her hands in disbelief and quickly folded them against her body. Sarah could not stop the memory of his actions. She relived them and continued to shiver violently. She tightened her arms for protection. Steven was quiet. Sarah forgot he was there.
“His breath was so vulgar. He kept trying to kiss me. It’s so hard to scream, to say no, when you can’t escape the monster’s mouth.” She wiped her mouth, reliving the feel, taste, the foul saliva. “He tried to wrestle me to the floor. I fought him, even got away from him. I threw a lamp at him. I knocked over a bookcase. I thought I’d escape, but he tackled me. He actually jumped over a chair. We were on the floor, he pinned my legs with his, and kept my arms above my head. I struggled against him. I refused to be still, but he…” She recoiled at the memory. She used her arms to cover her breasts, but she got physically sick. Steven hurried to her side with a wastebasket. She vomited. He got her a cold compress and a glass of water.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She took the compress from him, wiped her face and mouth, and settled back on the couch. He gave her the time she needed.
With her eyes closed, she continued. “So monstrous.”
A dry sob escaped. She placed the compress against her pale face, until she was sure she was not going to vomit again.
“I remember screaming, but he covered my mouth with his hand. I don’t even know when or how…” She bowed her head in shame.
She gathered her strength. Sarah talked clearly, in a hurry. “I never knew any man could be so powerful, I never knew I was so helpless. I had no sway against him.”
She became quiet again.
“Go on, you’re doing fine.” Steven encouraged.
“He let go of my hands. I hit him, pounded on him. I just wanted him to stop, but he seemed to enjoy the struggle. I didn’t know what to do with that, but soon nothing mattered. My fists had no effect. My screams… nothing.”
Her voice was calm, soft, as if she was in deep retrospection.
“When he… when it was over, I remember the look on his face, like a starving animal finally satiated. I remember feeling such intense fear that I froze. Held my breath. He grinned, and I remember thinking this is the last memory I’ll ever have—the face of pure evil. I don’t know how long it took, but he closed his eyes, and I backed away from him, praying he wouldn’t open them. I don’t know if the alcohol finally got to him or what, but he collapsed and I ran.”
“Did you go to a doctor, a clinic, anything?”
“No, the cab I called when I first arrived was waiting. I went home and showered, scrubbed, and showered again. Then I got on the first plane to Fairbanks and went to my parent’s cabin. I wanted to get as far away from evil as I could. I couldn’t face Michael. I couldn’t tell him what happened; they were best friends, and I thought if Michael knew, he’d kill him. If only I hadn’t gone inside,” she said, as though she still believed she was at fault. “It was the only time Michael ever got angry with me.”
“Angry?”
“I stayed away for three weeks. I don’t remember getting help or telling anyone what happened. Surviving winter in that cabin took all my resources, and fifty below saved my sanity.”
“But three weeks… Michael must have been beside himself.”
“He had several out of town business meetings, but, yes, he was hurt. He thought I’d changed my mind about the marriage. I think I stayed away because of the bruises.” She looked thoughtful, reflective. “It took a long time for them to heal. I think as they faded, the memory did, too. I pushed the incident so deep, by the time I saw Michael again I had no memory of it. I don’t remember seeing Gerry for almost a year. Michael told me he was in rehab. But the first recollection I have of seeing him again was that next Christmas party. Gerry asked me to dance, and I became ill, a headache so severe Michael insisted on an MRI. But I never recalled that night until I saw that package. But nightmares—now I understand my nightmares.”
“I’m so sorry.” She closed her eyes and bowed her head. For a few moments, they were both silent, then her whole body jerked. “I remember. Oh, god, I remember.” Her eyes were wide in horror. “He was there, in my room, Gerry, I came to, I was on the floor in front of the bathroom, my head pounded, but I remember him applying a wash cloth to the wound. He said…”
She closed her eyes. “He said, ‘I hit you too hard, but you surprised me. All you had to do was drink the chocolate.’” She reached up and touched her head. “The throbbing—I must have blacked out again. The next thing I remember, I was on the bed, he was sitting on the edge, watching me, as if he was waiting for me to wake up. He said, ‘no fun this time, but I’m taking these,’ he held up my pink—’just a souvenir, I’ve hurt you too badly, I
never wanted that, I love you Sarah, get some sleep, you have a while to wait before they find you, and I can’t have you destroying such a dramatic scene, created it just for Quaid, although he was meant to be part of it.’ He injected me with something.”
She grabbed her arm as though she could feel the needle going in. She grew silent; her body shook violently and she threw up again, and then she got the dry heaves. Her stomach was empty, her complexion gray.
Steven picked up his phone and called John in Seattle. “Sarah needs a doctor, as soon as possible. Dr. Listten is at a conference in Kirkland. Can you get him to make a house call? Do whatever you have to, but, John, make it quick.”
Sarah did not react. She appeared catatonic, sitting on the end of the couch, rocking back and forth. Steven no longer knew what to do. Yet seconds later, her voice resonated an intensity that frightened him.
“They’re dead because of me. If I’d had the courage four years ago, they’d all still be alive. If I’d gone straight to the police, the hospital… Oh god, what have I done? What kind of monster am I?” She did not wait for the answer. With her eyes wide, she recalled their first argument. “You said I knew. You said I had the answer. You were right.” She looked squarely at Steven. “I denied everything, but you were right! I knew! All along I had the answers… answers that could have saved lives.”
He wanted to take her into his arms, to hold her and never let her go. He wanted to erase the pain, the memory, and the horror. But before he could move, before he could speak, she looked at him. No, she looked through him.
His angel was gone, replaced by a woman in so much pain he felt her torment all the way to his birth. Then suddenly she was off the couch. She threw the French doors open and dashed from the room. Despite the darkness, she ran down the path and raced straight for the cliff. Steven followed. Once she arrived at the edge she stopped. She settled on the ground and stared at the waves.
Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Page 27