Amnesia

by Beverly Barton

  “Yes, sir. I’ll find Mr. Sullivan and give him your message. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Powell?”

  “Not unless you’re psychic, Charisse, and can tell me if one of my clients is a murderer.”

  Chapter 14

  As they started to enter the elevator at the Peabody to go up to Annabelle’s suite, Quinn’s cell phone rang. She tensed. Flush with the anxiety of admitting to Quinn and to herself that there was something sexual between them, Annabelle tried not to think about what lay ahead for them tonight. The rational part of her mind warned her that she shouldn’t become just one more of Quinn Cortez’s women, that their becoming lovers was an unwise course of action. But the purely emotional part of her that acted and reacted on gut instinct rather than pure logic wanted this man as she’d never wanted another.

  Quinn whipped his cell phone from his pocket. “I have to take this call.”

  Pausing at his side, Annabelle nodded, then glanced around to see if anyone else was nearby, either hotel employees or guests. Oddly enough, they seemed to be all alone, as if they were the only two people on earth. Crazy notion.

  Quinn answered the phone call. “Cortez here.”

  Noticing Quinn’s frown, Annabelle assumed the call wasn’t good news. But then how could there be any good news, considering two women—both important in Quinn’s life— had been murdered in the past seventy-two hours?

  “Yeah, Marcy. Thanks for passing along the message. I’m at the Peabody now, with Annabelle Vanderley. We’ll go straight to Mr. Powell’s suite.” Quinn flipped his cell phone closed and shoved it back into his coat pocket.

  “We’re going to see Griffin?” Annabelle asked.

  Quinn grasped her arm and herded her into the elevator, then punched the number for Griffin’s floor. “That was my assistant, Marcy, on the phone.” Quinn slipped his arm around Annabelle and maneuvered her so that she faced him. When she looked up at him, he said, “I suppose Griffin has heard about Kendall. No doubt it’s on the local newscasts.”

  “Tell him you didn’t kill Kendall and he’ll believe you.” Just as I believe you. Or at least, I desperately want to believe you. I will not allow myself to think that a man I’m so strongly attracted to could be a murderer.

  “Do you believe me? Can you honestly tell me that you know”—he gently tapped her in the center of her chest— “deep down inside, that I didn’t kill either Lulu or Kendall?”

  Annabelle’s mouth gaped open, the words caught in her throat. In that moment of hesitation, Quinn released his hold on her and his facial expression hardened. She wouldn’t lie to him.

  Before she could think of an acceptable response, the elevator stopped and a middle-aged couple holding hands smiled at them. “Going down?” the man asked.

  “Going up,” Quinn replied, then hit the CLOSE button and within seconds, the elevator continued its ascent.

  “I don’t think you killed Lulu or Kendall,” Annabelle said softly. “Is there even the slightest bit of doubt in my mind? Yes, of course there is. I don’t know you. Not really. We’re little more than strangers. You could be hiding all kinds of deep, dark secrets and I’d have no way of knowing.”

  “I told you before we got out of the car a few minutes ago that I’m trouble. My track record with women is abysmal and I’ll be the first to admit it. There has never been one special woman in my life. That’s not my thing. Commitment. Fidelity.”

  “I already figured that out about you.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Quinn’s grimace conveyed his barely controlled anger. “As for deep dark secrets…I’ve never killed anybody. Although when I was thirteen, I came damn near close to beating the hell out a guy. You see, I had a shit childhood. No father and a worthless bitch mother. When mama dearest’s latest boyfriend tried to beat the crap out of her, I stepped in and did to him what he’d been trying to do to her.”

  “I’d say you were justified in what you did. After all, you were defending your mother.”

  The elevator stopped on Griffin Powell’s floor. Quinn’s gaze locked with Annabelle’s. “I’ll bet your mother was as beautiful and elegant as you are,” he said. “And I’ll bet she loved you more than anything and was very proud of you.”

  Tears born of tender sympathy filled Annabelle’s eyes.

  “Don’t cry for me, honey,” Quinn said. “It would be a waste.”

  Blinking several times to dissipate the tears, Annabelle wanted to put her arms around Quinn, hold him and tell him whatever it was that he needed to hear. All those things his mother apparently never told him. That he was special. Handsome. Smart. And loved.

  But she didn’t love him. She couldn’t love him. She didn’t even know him.

  When Quinn stepped out of the elevator, Annabelle joined him in the corridor. He grasped her arm and said, “Why don’t you go to your suite and let me see Griffin Powell alone? I’ll call you in the morning.”

  She shook her head. “I’m involved in your life now, whether I want to be or not. We’re partners in hiring Griffin and we’re…well, we’re something. Not friends.”

  “And not lovers. Not yet. And if you’re smart, you’ll get the hell away from me and stay away.”

  “If you try this hard to run off every woman you meet, then I’m amazed that you consider yourself such a Don Juan.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Quinn slid his hand beneath her elbow and guided her down the corridor to Griffin’s suite.

  He knocked; they waited.

  “You should ask Griffin to let you see the report he has on me,” Quinn said. “I’ll give him permission to let you read it. If that doesn’t make you run from me as far and as fast as you can, then nothing will.”

  A tall, muscular man with a shaved head and pensive dark eyes opened the door to Griffin Powell’s suite. On first sight, the man was intimidating, but the minute his wide mouth curved slightly into a semismile, he seemed a little more welcoming.

  “I’m Quinn Cortez and this is Annabelle Vanderley. I believe Mr. Powell is expecting me.”

  “Yes, sir, he is. Please come in.”

  Once they entered the suite, the man announced them. Was he Griffin’s servant? she wondered. Odd that she hadn’t met him before now, but perhaps he had just arrived in Memphis.

  As they walked toward the lounge area, Quinn ran his fingers beneath the high collar of his lightweight turtleneck sweater. Was he nervous? Was he concerned about why Griffin had requested his presence?

  Griffin stood with his back to the windows. When they approached him, he turned, came forward and instructed them to sit. “Would either of you care for something to drink?”

  “No, thank you,” Annabelle replied as she took a seat.

  Quinn shook his head.

  “I guess you heard about what happened to Kendall,” Quinn said, standing face-to-face with Griffin.

  “Oh, yes,” Griffin replied. “It’s already on the local TV news and I’m sure her murder will make the front-page headlines in tomorrow’s Commercial Appeal.”

  “Before you ask—no, I didn’t kill her.”

  Clenching his teeth, Griffin glowered at Quinn. “It looks bad for you. Two of your lovers have been murdered in the span of seventy-two hours. I imagine that, as with Lulu’s murder, you’re the number one suspect in this one, too. How does that make you feel?”

  Annabelle held her breath as she studied the two powerful men, gazes melded, bodies battle-station ready. Don’t do this to him, she wanted to tell Griffin, but remained silent. She instinctively knew that Quinn wouldn’t appreciate her coming to his defense. Not in this situation.

  “How the hell do you think it makes me feel?” Quinn’s gaze became glassy. Although he was looking right at Griffin, it was as if he didn’t really see him. “How can I defend myself against something like this when I can’t prove I didn’t kill anyone? That’s why I need you. We have to find another suspect.” Quinn glanced at Annabelle and then, with clear eyes, he glared at Griffin. �
�Two women I cared about are dead and I can’t even mourn them because I’m too wrapped up in trying to figure out a way to keep from being arrested for their murders.”

  “Do you have an alibi for tonight?” Griffin asked point-blank.

  Not replying immediately, Quinn sucked in his breath. Annabelle suddenly felt queasy. Please, God, please let him have an alibi.

  “I don’t know exactly when Kendall was murdered,” Quinn said. “But my guess is that I was alone in my car, on my way to her house, when it happened.”

  Griffin blew out a disgusted breath. “This isn’t good. First you’re the one who discovered Lulu’s body, and now you don’t have an alibi for when Kendall Wells was killed. You were involved with both women and they’re both dead. And it’s only a matter of time before the police discover what happened to Joy Ellis down in New Orleans.”

  Visibly tensing, Quinn glowered at Griffin. “Joy Ellis?”

  “Yeah, you know the lounge singer you hooked up with when you went down to New Orleans about this time last year, not long after Mardi Gras.”

  Huffing, Quinn stomped loudly toward Griffin, stopping when they were less than two feet apart. “I know who Joy is, but I don’t know what you mean about something happening to her.”

  Griffin nodded. Annabelle noted what she thought was an expression of relief settle over his features.

  “When’s the last time you either saw or were in contact with Joy Ellis?” Griffin asked.

  “Last year right before I left New Orleans,” Quinn replied. “Our little fling was very private and very brief. How did you find out about it?”

  “Good investigative work on the part of my detectives. And actually, your name wasn’t mentioned, but by putting two and two together, my guys came up with the inevitable four. Seems Joy mentioned you—by reputation only—to a girlfriend. The girlfriend told the police, but she couldn’t give them a name and their ability to add two and two apparently wasn’t that great. Nobody in the NOPD ever came up with your identity.”

  “Just what the hell are you talking about?” Quinn all but growled the question.

  “Somebody murdered Joy Ellis and the crime is still unsolved. It’s not common knowledge, but the lady was smothered with a pillow, just as Lulu was, and her right index finger was hacked off. What do you want to bet that Kendall Wells was smothered and she’s missing her right index finger?”

  “Why did you bother bringing the guy down here?” Chad George tramped across the room and glared at Jim. “We can question Kendall Wells’s ex-husband all night and what good will it do? You let the real murderer walk off—no, drive off with Annabelle Vanderley at the scene of the crime. We both know Cortez is guilty. He’s killed two women here in Memphis in the past seventy-two hours and he’s walking around scot-free.”

  “Calm down and lower your voice,” Jim Norton advised. “We have no evidence against Cortez. Just because he knew both women—”

  “He was intimately involved with both women.”

  “Okay, so what if he was sexually involved with Lulu and Kendall. How does that fact make him their killer?”

  “There’s a link there somewhere. Something we haven’t discovered yet. But we have a motive for the Lulu Vanderley murder. She was pregnant by Cortez, wanted him to marry her and when he refused, things got ugly and in a fit of rage, he killed her. And who knows what set him off with Kendall Wells. Maybe Ms. Wells was blackmailing him. Or maybe she threatened him in some way. What we need to be doing is grilling the guy. Give me ten minutes alone with him and I’ll—”

  “If you got those ten minutes alone with an uncuffed Cortez, my money would be on him. He’d either outsmart you or knock your lights out. The guy would tear you apart in no time flat.” Jim chuckled. “You haven’t read the report on Cortez, have you? He’s smarter than you are. And besides that, the guy’s not only a karate black belt—and I believe you’re not, are you Chad?—but one of his hobbies is skeet shooting. He’s a crack shot.”

  Chad swallowed hard. “Damn, Jim, he’s dangerous and we shouldn’t have allowed Annabelle to go off with him that way.”

  “That’s what’s really bothering you, isn’t it—that Annabelle Vanderley stepped between you two and walked away with him?”

  “Are you implying that there’s something personal going on between them?”

  “You don’t think she intervened in order to stop Cortez from whipping your butt, do you? Hell, man, she didn’t want him getting in more trouble with the law. If he’d knocked you on your ass, I’d have had to arrest him, even if you did provoke him.”

  Chad’s face turned red. He stood there and glared at Jim, but didn’t say anything for several minutes. “I’m phoning Purser. Instead of wasting our time looking for other suspects in these two murders, we should concentrate all our energy on Cortez. I’m going to try to make the inspector see things my way. And if I can’t bring him around, I’ll go straight to Director Danley.”

  “Go right ahead, but keep one thing in mind—if you arrest an innocent man, it won’t look good on your record.”

  Chad didn’t bother replying, but he did give Jim a scurrilous glare as he headed toward his desk.

  Idiot. Cocky, hotheaded idiot.

  Jim entered the interview room where Dr. Jonathan Miles sat with Officer Dobbs. The man’s hand trembled as he lifted a cup of black coffee to his lips. Poor guy, Jim thought. When he’d arrived at the Wells home and taken over from the patrolman who’d been the first officer on the scene, he’d gotten a firsthand glimpse at what bad shape Dr. Miles was in. The man had been crying. And every time he said his ex-wife’s name, he broke down all over again. Unless the man was an Academy Award–winning actor, he was genuinely torn up by his ex-wife’s death.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr. Miles.” Jim closed the door behind him, then motioned for Officer Dobbs to stay put. Jim sat across the table from Miles. “It must have been terrible for you to have found your wife—your ex-wife’s dead body.”

  Fresh tears pooled in Dr. Miles’s eyes. “Who could have done something like that? I can’t believe she’s dead.”

  “We don’t have any suspects, but rest assured we’ll do our best to find Ms. Wells’s murderer.”

  “She was lying there, with the pillow over her face,” Dr. Miles said, his voice raspy with emotion. “I thought it was odd, but at first I didn’t realize she was…then I noticed the blood…and her finger—” His voice broke. “Kendall…Kendall…” He hung his head, covered his face with his hands and wept.

  Never being one to deal well with emotions—his own or other people’s—Jim certainly wasn’t comfortable witnessing another man falling apart before his very eyes. But how would he react if he were in Dr. Miles’s shoes and he had discovered Mary Lee’s body shortly after she’d been murdered? He might hurt like hell inside, but no way would he crumble to pieces in front of an audience. Alone, he might smash his fist through a wall. But first and foremost, he’d hunt down the person who’d killed her.

  The odd thing was, a part of Jim actually envied Dr. Miles’s ability to cry like a baby. Mary Lee had accused him more than once of being an unfeeling bastard. She’d never understood him. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel. He did. He just couldn’t verbalize his feelings or show his emotions.

  Jim motioned to Officer Dobbs, who got up and came over to him. “Yes, sir?”

  “See that Dr. Miles gets home safely and have somebody take his car to his house first thing tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir. Are we finished here?” Dobbs asked.

  Jim glanced at Miles, whose shoulders shook as he continued weeping quietly. “Yeah, we’re through.”

  After Officer Dobbs escorted Jonathan Miles out of the interview room, Jim sat down and rubbed the back of his neck. He mulled over everything he knew about Lulu Vanderley’s murder. Then he compared those facts to what little he knew about Kendall Well’s murder tonight. The killer’s MO seemed identical; however that didn’t necessarily mean the
same person killed both women. But all the facts about Lulu’s murder hadn’t been made public, so there shouldn’t be any way that a copycat killer would know the details.

  Quinn Cortez was the only common denominator, the only connection—that they knew of—between Lulu and Kendall. That fact alone would be enough for some people to condemn Cortez. Chad seemed dead certain that Cortez was a killer.

  Hell, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe in this case, Chad’s right.

  When the door behind Jim opened, he pivoted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Chad charging into the room. He groaned inwardly.

  “Inspector Purser wants Quinn Cortez brought in first thing in the morning,” Chad said triumphantly.

  “For questioning in the Kendall Wells murder?”

  “Of course in the Kendall Wells murder. If the guy doesn’t have an alibi and we can come up with a motive, then the inspector says the next step could be an arrest warrant.”

  Jim nodded.

  If Cortez didn’t have an alibi. If he had a motive.

  Jim figured that Ted had been trying to pacify Chad, understanding the need to placate Congressman Harte’s nephew and at the same time keep the boy under control. In the end, they might wind up arresting Cortez, but not without some rock solid evidence. Right now, they didn’t even have enough circumstantial evidence to indict the man. And so far all their leads in the Vanderley case hadn’t given them a suspect they could arrest. He’d rather arrest Randall “Randy” Miller for killing Lulu than arrest Cortez. But that wasn’t likely to happen. As much as he personally disliked Miller, he knew they didn’t have any evidence against the guy. Besides, Chad was dying to put the cuffs on Cortez.

  If Ted Purser thought he could pin both or either of the crimes on Cortez, he’d have already contacted DA Campbell and ordered Cortez’s arrest.

  “Cortez will have to get a new lawyer,” Jim said. “Considering what’s happened, I’m really curious about who he’ll hire.”