Amnesia

by Beverly Barton

  “Mr. Vanderley, please accept my deepest condolences.”

  Jim thought he’d be sick. Chad was such a suck-up. And just when had Chad become so chummy with Annabelle Vanderley, enough so that they were using each other’s given names? Probably yesterday when he’d questioned her about Lulu’s date book. He’d hand it to Chad—he worked fast.

  “Thank you. Dear cousin Annabelle tells me that you’ve been very kind, Sergeant George.” Wythe Vanderley smiled weakly, his manner rather condescending as if he thought Chad—and probably any other civil servant—was his social inferior.

  Jim figured Wythe did everything weakly because he was weak. He had that look about him that all but shouted to the world that he was soft and refined and much too good for this dog-eat-dog world into which he’d been born. Jim’s gut instincts warned him that there was something not quite right about the guy, something more than him being a snobbish prick.

  “Would y’all care for coffee?” Chad asked. “I’d be glad—”

  “No, thank you,” both Vanderleys said in unison.

  “I hope the press didn’t give y’all too much trouble this morning.” Chad gazed adoringly at Annabelle.

  Give me a break, Jim thought. How obvious could a guy be?

  “As of this morning, I have a bodyguard who is doubling as my chauffeur, at least for now,” Annabelle said. “He took care of the press for us and saw us into the building and up to the tenth floor.”

  “I’m sorry you felt it necessary to hire a bodyguard,” Chad said.

  “That was a smart move, hiring a bodyguard to keep the press off your back.” Jim approached them, thinking it was high time he stepped in and made his presence known.

  Annabelle snapped her head around and faced Jim. “I suppose y’all should know that I have hired Griffin Powell’s agency to investigate Lulu’s murder and it’s his agency that is providing me with a bodyguard whenever I’m concerned about being harassed by the press.”

  “I’m afraid Annabelle has done something quite foolish.” Wythe Vanderley gave his cousin an I’m-telling-on-you smirk. “She’s gone into partnership with Quinn Cortez in hiring Mr. Powell.”

  “What!” Chad’s face darkened with shock and anger.

  “It was the only way Mr. Powell would take the case,” Annabelle explained. “It was either take the case for the two of us together or not take it at all.”

  “But Quinn Cortez is still a suspect—” Chad paused, cleared his throat and said, “He’s a person of interest in your cousin’s murder. I don’t see how you could have agreed to—”

  “An unholy alliance,” Wythe finished Chad’s sentence as he looked squarely at Annabelle. “That is what you called your partnership with that notorious Latin lover, isn’t it?”

  Annabelle gave Wythe a withering eat-dirt-and-die glare.

  Inspector Purser’s door opened. Ted called from where he stood in the doorway. “Sergeant George, please contact Quinn Cortez and ask him to come in as soon as possible.”

  All eyes turned to the inspector.

  “Yes, sir,” Chad replied and headed off to do as he’d been told.

  Jim gave Ted a questioning glance.

  “Ms. Vanderley…Mr. Vanderley…if y’all will come into my office, please.”

  “What is it?” Annabelle asked. “Has something happened?”

  Ted shook his head. “Nothing unexpected. The ME just telephoned me with the preliminary results of Lulu’s autopsy and I think it’s best if we speak in private.”

  When Wythe grasped Annabelle’s hand, she jerked it away, then hurriedly walked past Ted and went into his office. After glancing around to see if anyone had noticed how decidedly his cousin had rejected his touch, Wythe followed her.

  Ted motioned to Jim. “Come on in. Chad can join us after he contacts Cortez.”

  Quinn got out of his Porsche, retrieved his carryall from the trunk and flung it over his shoulder. He’d phoned Marcy last night to let her know he wouldn’t be moving into the place she’d rented for them until this morning. He hadn’t intended to spend the night with Kendall, but they’d both wound up forgoing their good intentions. He’d used Kendall and she knew it and had let him do it anyway. This morning he had some regrets. Mostly he regretted that she didn’t mean as much to him as he did to her. He did care about Kendall, just not the way she wanted him to care. She had admitted that she was in love with him. In a way he wished he felt the same, but he didn’t. He wasn’t in love with her. He’d never been in love, didn’t even believe in that kind of emotion. Not for him.

  When he reached the front entrance of the condo, the door flew open and Marcy stood there frowning at him. He knew she didn’t approve of his philandering ways. Jace had told him that Marcy hated all the other women in Quinn’s life because she was probably in love with Quinn herself. He’d dismissed Jace’s suspicions as nonsense, but in the back of his mind, he wondered. If there was any chance whatsoever Jace was right, that was yet another reason to keep his relationship with his pretty, young assistant on a strictly friendship basis. Marcy was the last woman on earth he’d want to hurt. Without meaning to, he’d broken quite a few hearts over the years. Although he’d never lied to a woman, never made any promises he didn’t intend to keep, he wasn’t entirely blameless.

  “Did Jace and Aaron come in with you yesterday?” Quinn asked, knowing full well that they had. Marcy always followed his instructions to the letter.

  “Aaron’s eating breakfast. Jace is still asleep.” Marcy reached out and took Quinn’s carryall. “I’ll put this in your bedroom. This place has four, one for each of us, although two are quite small. And if you’re hungry, there’s coffee and an assortment of cereal and fruit in the kitchen.”

  “Coffee will be fine.” Quinn closed the front door behind him and followed Marcy through the foyer and into the living room of the fully furnished condo. Sleek and modern. Light wood. Dark leather. Chrome and glass. Not one personal touch in the house. But that was what Quinn had become accustomed to, what he expected. The only place Quinn kept personal mementoes of any kind was at the old frame farmhouse on his ranch in the hill country. Most of those were photos of him and his fellow juvenile delinquent buddy from their teen years, Johnny Mack Cahill and Johnny Mack’s wife and kids. Even his penthouse in Houston possessed a sterile, unlived-in feel. He was a man without sentiment, with few personal ties, only a handful of friends and no family whatsoever. Money and power ruled him. Carnal pleasure was simply an enjoyable pastime.

  “You might want to shower and shave,” Marcy told him as she headed up the stairs. “The master suite is on the second floor, up this way.”

  “Any special reason I need to shower and shave?”

  “Other than that you look like hell this morning?”

  Quinn grinned. “Yeah, other than that?”

  “A Sergeant George from the Memphis PD telephoned about ten minutes ago and requested the pleasure of your company this morning downtown at the Criminal Justice Center.”

  Chad George. The bastard! Quinn’s latest nemesis. “Did he say why?”

  “He wasn’t specific. More questioning about Lulu Vanderley’s murder, I suppose. I called Ms. Wells. She’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

  “Kendall’s due in court this morning,” Quinn said as he followed Marcy into his bedroom.

  “Another member of her law firm will be taking her place in court today.”

  Marcy opened the folding wooden doors to the closet and placed his carryall on the floor. He noted that half a dozen of his suits hung in a neat row in the closet, six silk ties adorned a metal tie rack and four pairs of shoes sat side-by-side on a shoe rack at the bottom of the closet. No doubt his laundered shirts were lined up in the chest, along with his underwear and socks.

  “Kendall should have sent the associate to meet me instead of coming herself,” Quinn said.

  Marcy gave him a condemning stare.

  “Don’t look at me that way. Kendall should have known
that I don’t expect her to jump through hoops for me.”

  Marcy groaned. “God, Quinn, get real, will you? You spent the past twelve hours with her, making love to her. Of course she’s going to put your welfare first…above everything else.”

  “The way you do,” a deep male voice said from the doorway.

  Both Quinn and Marcy shot quick glances in that direction. A barefoot Jace Morgan, wearing a T-shirt and worn jeans, grinned at them. “Sorry, I just came up to say hi to Quinn. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  Ignoring Jace’s comment, Marcy looked at Quinn. “You’d better hurry up. You’ve got thirty minutes to get ready and make your appointment on time.”

  “Where are you going?” Jace asked.

  As she walked past him and out into the hallway, Marcy told Jace, “Quinn has to meet his lawyer at police headquarters this morning for further questioning.”

  “Want me to drive you?” Jace asked.

  “Thanks, but not today.” As Quinn headed into the bathroom, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Look, how about not saying things like that to Marcy again.”

  Jace shrugged, an I-could-care-less expression on his face. “Sorry, it just slipped out. But you know as well as I do that she’s nuts about you. If you gave her the slightest encouragement, she’d jump you in a minute.”

  “I doubt that’s true, but even if it is, Marcy’s my assistant and my friend. And that’s the way I intend for it to stay. But it wouldn’t hurt if she found herself a boyfriend. Maybe you should ask her out sometime.”

  All color drained from Jace’s tanned face. “She’s not my type. Besides, I don’t want your leftovers. I’d be a fool to get involved with a woman who’s in love with you. Nobody can compete against you. You’re The Man.”

  Quinn wasn’t sure how to respond, wasn’t sure if Jace’s comments had been a compliment, a slur or if he’d simply been stating the facts as he saw them. “Just go easy on her from now on. Okay?”

  “Sure thing. Whatever you want, boss.”

  Quinn nodded.

  Quinn had spent the night with Kendall Wells. She was his lover, just as Lulu had been. Another foolish, foolish woman. Didn’t she know that he would break her heart again? Didn’t she know that he had used her, the way he’d used so many other women over the years? She didn’t mean anything to him. None of them did.

  She deserved to die, just as the others had deserved to die, so killing her would be easy. The first time had been difficult, despite having good reason to kill the bitch, but with each woman, each death, it had become a little easier.

  Just like with Lulu and the others, when I cover her face with the pillow, I know that I’ll be putting her out of her misery. I’ll be saving her from the agony of loving Quinn Cortez.

  A voice from yesterday growled inside his head. “You’ve been a bad boy, Quinn. I’ll have to punish you for your own good.”

  No, God, no, make her voice go away. Make her leave me alone. Doesn’t she realize that everything I’ve done has been good, not bad. I don’t hurt them. I help them. I give them peace. I kill them softly, tenderly.

  Annabelle sat in one low-back, metal and vinyl chair across from Inspector Purser’s desk and Wythe sat in the other. Before sitting, she had deliberately scooted her chair as far from his as possible. She hated that her animosity to her cousin was so apparent, but at least no one here had been ungentlemanly enough to inquire why she appeared to loathe Lulu’s brother.

  Wythe had shown up at the Vanderley apartment yesterday evening, just as he’d warned her that he would. She had hoped he wouldn’t come, that as he so often did, he’d threatened her with some action or other simply to get a reaction from her. When he arrived, she had tried to keep him from entering. She had stood her ground and told him to go to the Peabody. He’d laughed in her face.

  “Either we share this place or you go to the Peabody,” he’d told her.

  And that’s what she’d done—packed her things and gone straight to the hotel. She’d shown up on Griffin Powell’s doorstep at seven-thirty and had drinks with him until a suite could be prepared for her. During her hour with Griffin, he’d suggested that he provide her with a bodyguard whenever she was in public and would have to deal with the press. She had accepted his offer of providing one of his employees for the task.

  “I just spoke to Udell White, our medical examiner, concerning the preliminary autopsy report,” Inspector Purser said.

  Annabelle snapped out of the mental fog she’d been in, thankful to put last night’s unpleasant episode with Wythe out of her mind.

  “Cause of death on the death certificate will read asphyxiation,” the inspector said.

  The office door opened and closed. Inspector Purser glanced at the person who had entered. “Come on in, sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you take care of that matter?” Purser asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Purser glanced from Annabelle to Wythe. “Lulu was suffocated, which we pretty much already knew. She was smothered with one of the feather pillows on her bed.”

  Annabelle hadn’t realized she’d gasped aloud until she felt a man’s hands touch her shoulders with gentle comfort. She glanced up to see Chad George standing behind her.

  Inspector Purser gave Chad a censoring glare, which prompted him to immediately remove his hands from Anna-belle’s shoulders. She sighed, feeling the loss of that tender touch. Chad had been so kind to her, so caring.

  “Was she…was she raped?” Wythe asked in a low, weak voice.

  Annabelle glowered at him.

  “There is no evidence of rape,” Purser said. “Actually, there is no evidence of sexual activity shortly prior to her death.”

  “Thank God,” Wythe said. “I couldn’t bear it if I thought she had been violated that way.”

  Annabelle gritted her teeth. Count to ten, she told herself. Just don’t say or do anything you’ll regret later.

  Once again the inspector glanced from Annabelle to Wythe. “Were either of you aware that Lulu was pregnant?”

  “What?” Wythe and Annabelle cried simultaneously.

  “She was approximately six weeks pregnant,” the inspector said. “I take it that neither of you knew.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Annabelle said, then cast a suspicious glance at Wythe. “Did you know? Did she tell you?”

  “No. I swear to God, she never said a word to me.”

  She didn’t believe him. The bastard lied so easily and so frequently that she doubted he knew the difference between the truth and a lie. If Lulu had been pregnant, she would have told Wythe.

  “I was hoping she had confided in one of you,” Purser said. “It would help us in the investigation if we knew who the father is.”

  Annabelle couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Please, dear Lord. Please don’t let it be him.

  “Perhaps we should ask Mr. Cortez for a DNA sample,” Chad said. “If he is the father and Lulu expected him to marry her and he refused, this could have given Cortez a motive for murdering her.”

  Chapter 10

  “The baby wasn’t mine.” Quinn vehemently denied the accusation that Sergeant George had hurled at him.

  “How can you be so sure?” George leaned down and got right in Quinn’s face. “You had sex with Lulu Vanderley, didn’t you? Weren’t you two together approximately six weeks ago?”

  Quinn narrowed his gaze as rage built inside him. He gripped his knees with white-knuckled strength to stop himself from attacking the cocky young sergeant. When Kendall reached out and grasped his wrist, Quinn lifted his hands and balled them into tight fists, then glanced at her. He swallowed a portion of the rage he felt, taking his lawyer’s warning glare to heart. The last thing he needed to do right now was lose his temper.

  “I don’t have unprotected sex,” Quinn said, his voice deadly calm.

  “Never?” Chad George smirked. “Not in your entire life?”

  Quinn didn’t reply. The questio
n didn’t warrant a response. Yes, of course, when he’d been very young and very stupid, he’d screwed around a few times without using a condom. But God, that had been twenty or more years ago, when he’d been a horny teenager. But even then, he’d used a condom at least seventy-five percent of the time.

  “Condoms fail,” Sergeant George said.

  No shit, Quinn thought, but kept his mouth shut. Could he be one hundred percent sure the child Lulu had been carrying hadn’t been his? No, of course not. But the odds were in his favor. Besides, could a person ever be a hundred percent sure of anything?

  “I think Lulu told you she was carrying your baby and she put pressure on you to marry her,” George said. “When you told her there wouldn’t be a marriage, she got upset, maybe threatened you in some way and you lost your temper and in a fit of anger, you killed her. Isn’t that what happened?”

  Quinn growled, deep in his throat. He wanted nothing more than to rip out Chad George’s heart.

  “And after I smothered her in a fit of anger, I chopped off her finger,” Quinn said. “Since you seem to have all the answers, sergeant, want to tell me why I did that?”

  Suddenly George backed away, putting some distance between Quinn and him. Smart move on his part, Quinn thought. Sooner or later, things would come to a head between the two of them. But not now. Not until Quinn was no longer a suspect. The one thing those who knew Quinn understood about him—he always paid back in kind.

  “We’d like you to give us a DNA sample,” Lieutenant Norton said. “Do you have any objections to—?”

  “I’ll give you a sample,” Quinn replied. “I did not get Lulu pregnant. The child she was carrying wasn’t mine. And I did not kill her.”

  Saying he hadn’t been the father didn’t make it so, but on a gut instinct level, Quinn believed it was true. He’d been careful. Was always careful. Fathering an unwanted child was the last thing he’d ever want to do, considering he’d been one of those unwanted, unloved kids with a mother who’d reminded him every day of his childhood that he’d ruined her life.