Amnesia

by Beverly Barton

  Annabelle clenched her teeth. When she closed her eyes momentarily, tears dampened her eyelashes. “Yes, I knew.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Chad asked.

  “Because I had prayed there would be no need. Wythe didn’t kill Lulu. He was in Austinville at the time of her murder. And my uncle Louis has no idea that…It would kill him if he found out. The relationship between Lulu and Wythe is our family’s dirty little secret, one that I had hoped was buried with my cousin.”

  “How did you find out about their relationship?” Norton asked.

  “Lulu admitted it to me several years ago.” She would not tell these police officers more than they already knew. What difference did it make now what they thought of Lulu? Would it absolve Lulu of her sins if these men knew that Wythe had begun molesting Lulu when she was just a child? The fact that by the time she was fifteen, Lulu thought herself in love with her own half brother was no one’s business. Nor was the fact that long after her infatuation with Wythe ended, their sexual relationship continued.

  “I promise you that I will do everything I can to keep this information under wraps,” Norton said. “Of course, if and when Lulu’s murder case goes to trial…”

  “I understand.” Annabelle stood and held out her hand to the lieutenant. “Thank you. I appreciate your not sharing the DNA results with everyone else.”

  “No one else needed to know.”

  “I’d like to go to the restroom and freshen up.” She wiped away her tears with her fingertips. “And since Mr. Walker invited me to join y’all, I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as Lieutenant Norton gave her directions to the ladies’ room, she escaped quickly into the outer office before Chad offered to escort her. She searched for Quinn, but didn’t see him anywhere. Then just as she’d given up hope of finding him, she caught a glimpse of him and Judd Walker near the men’s room. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching her, she waited nervously while Quinn walked toward her.

  When he reached her, he left at least two feet between them. “You’ve been crying. Want to tell me what happened?”

  “I will. Later. Once we’re out of here and alone.”

  Quinn nodded. “You know why we’ve asked for a meeting with the detectives on Lulu’s case, don’t you?”

  “You’re going to give them the information about Joy Ellis and Carla Millican.”

  “Once they know, this thing could go one of two ways— they’ll either think I killed all four women or they’ll know I’m innocent and start looking for a serial killer.”

  She longed to touch him, to take his hand into hers and say something comforting. And by the way he was looking at her, she knew he felt the same.

  Judd Walker, who had stayed at a discreet distance, came over and put his hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Lieutenant Norton is motioning to us. I think they’re ready to hear what we have to say.”

  Chapter 22

  With a look that could kill, Jim Norton scowled at his partner, daring him to open his mouth. Chad clenched his teeth and gave Jim a withering glare, but he kept quiet.

  “We didn’t have to come forward with this information,” Judd Walker said. “But we felt it in the best interest of my client to make you aware of these facts.”

  “You say there were two other women, both murdered the way Lulu Vanderley and Kendall Wells were murdered and both were former lovers of Mr. Cortez.” Although his question was directed at Judd Walker, Jim studied Quinn Cortez’s reaction. Jim couldn’t quite peg Cortez. Not even the infamous Houston lawyer himself thought he was one of the good guys. But being a cutthroat criminal lawyer didn’t mean the man was capable of murder.

  “Yes,” Judd replied, then glanced at the file folder he had laid on the table. “All the information that the Powell agency unearthed is in there.”

  “Four murders, same MO, all four women connected by one thing—Mr. Cortez.” Jim reached out, put his hand on the folder and slid the file across the table toward him, but didn’t open it. “I suppose you want me to believe that some mystery killer is responsible for these crimes.”

  “We’ve hired a former FBI profiler to work up a profile of the killer,” Judd said. “But it seems apparent to me that we’re dealing with a serial killer in all four murders.”

  Although he remained standing in a far corner, Chad spoke up, apparently unable to hold himself back any longer. “Yeah, and that serial killer is Quinn Cortez.”

  “That’s ludicrous,” Judd replied. “Mr. Cortez is no more a serial killer than you or I. If you continue your persecution of my client, I’ll be forced to—”

  “No one is persecuting Mr. Cortez.” Jim cut his eyes menacingly at Chad, then looked at Judd. “And although I tend to agree with you about a serial killer having committed these crimes, I’m not a hundred percent sure we can automatically rule out your client.”

  “Damn right about that,” Chad said.

  Jim huffed loudly. He’d like nothing better than to backhand his partner, whose show of machismo was lost on Annabelle Vanderley. If Chad thought that by acting tough, by hammering away at Cortez, he would impress the lady, then the guy was an idiot. Ms. Vanderley sat at the far end of the table, as far away from Cortez as possible with the two of them still in the same room, but Jim hadn’t missed the subtle way she watched the man, concern in her gaze.

  “I appreciate your coming to us with this information,” Jim said. “I figured it was only a matter of time before Griffin found out the same info we did, but I didn’t expect him to get hold of it first.”

  Chad snapped his head around and shot Jim a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about? look.

  “Are you saying you already had this information, that you knew about Joy Ellis and Carla Millican?” Judd asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we did. I actually spoke to the lead detective on one of the murder cases this morning,” Jim told them. Thanks to Sandra Holmes, Jim had come in to work today with the names of the lead detective in all of the other murder cases identical to Lulu’s and Kendall’s. “Conrad McCaffery, out in Dallas, was in charge of the Carla Millican case. And I have calls in to the New Orleans PD and…I take it Griffin hasn’t gone further back with the investigation than this past year.”

  “His agents are continuing the search,” Judd said.

  “He’ll come up with one more name—Kelley Fleming. She was murdered two years ago in Baytown, Texas.”

  “Was this woman another of your lovers?” Chad asked as he came out of the corner and stood across the table from Cortez and his lawyer.

  “I don’t recognize the name,” Quinn replied, but he was looking at Judd Walker, not Chad.

  “Maybe you just forgot her. After all, it was two years ago.” Chad cast a quick glance at Annabelle, then returned his attention to Quinn. “Love ’em, kill ’em, and forget ’em. Is that the way it is for you, Cortez?”

  Quinn rose halfway out of his seat, pure rage exhibited in his taut body and ferocious facial features. Judd grasped his arm. Quinn threw off his lawyer’s hold as he stood and zeroed in on Chad.

  “Sit down,” Judd Walker told his client, but Quinn ignored him.

  Just as Quinn leaned across the table as if ready to pounce on Chad, Annabelle spoke in a quiet, soothing voice that startled all four men in the room.

  “Quinn didn’t kill any of those women, including my cousin, Lulu.”

  Her words diffused the Cortez/George time bomb on the verge of exploding. As if she’d reached out and physically touched him, Quinn relaxed instantly, stood up straight and backed away from the table. Chad turned and stared at Annabelle, his gaze plainly telling her that he couldn’t believe she’d so readily come to Quinn’s defense.

  “Let’s everybody calm down,” Jim added. “Mr. Walker, remind your client that if he’s wise, he’ll control his temper.” Jim glanced at his partner. “And Sergeant George, remember you represent the Memphis Police Department and your actions can reflect badly on all of us if you cond
uct yourself in an unprofessional manner.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chad replied through clenched teeth.

  “Now, Mr. Cortez, you said you didn’t recognize the name Kelley Fleming. Is that right?”

  Quinn nodded. “If she was someone I knew a couple of years ago, I would remember her name. I didn’t know a Kelley Fleming.”

  “I assume Ms. Fleming was murdered the same way the other victims were?” Judd Walker asked.

  “That’s confidential—” Chad said.

  “The Powell Agency will have the info today or tomorrow,” Jim reminded his partner, then replied to Judd, “Yes, the MO is the same.”

  “I’d say that this fifth murder, and of a woman my client didn’t even know, adds credence to our theory that these women were murdered by a serial killer, not by Quinn Cortez,” Judd said.

  “Possibly.” Jim glanced from Quinn to Judd. “If Mr. Cortez didn’t know Ms. Fleming and if he was not in New Orleans or Dallas or Baytown when each woman was murdered, then I agree with you.”

  Silence.

  Jim glanced from Cortez to Walker to Annabelle Vanderley and realized that all three of them knew something he didn’t know. Not yet. And they sure as hell weren’t rushing to reveal anything more. His bet was Cortez had been in either Dallas or New Orleans when the murders occurred, but if he went much further with his questioning, Judd Walker wouldn’t allow his client to cooperate. He’d leave it alone, for now.

  “If that’s all…” Judd looked inquiringly at Jim.

  He nodded. “Yeah…for now.” He cast Chad a keep-your-mouth-shut glare.

  Judd and Quinn rose simultaneously, then Quinn went straight to Annabelle, pulled out her chair and held out his hand to her.

  “Annabelle,” Chad called.

  But she didn’t answer him, didn’t even glance his way. Instead she took Quinn’s hand, got up and walked out of the room with him.

  As soon as they were alone in the interview room, Chad cursed under his breath. “Goddamn son of a bitch.”

  “Cool off,” Jim advised.

  “Yeah, how the hell do I do that? Annabelle just walked out of here with that man. She has no idea what he’s capable of doing. She thinks he’s innocent. Goddamn it, Jim, the guy could kill her. She could be his next victim.”

  “Since you’re so concerned about Ms. Vanderley and equally convinced that Cortez is guilty, then find us some proof. Something the DA can take to a grand jury, something that will prove to the lady you’re so worried about that she’s putting her trust in a killer.”

  “That’s just what I intend to do.”

  “You might want to start by finding out if Cortez was in Dallas when Carla Millican was murdered and if he was in New Orleans when Joy Ellis died.”

  Annabelle and Quinn walked out of Griffin’s suite shortly after one that afternoon, leaving Judd and Griffin to ponder the next move in Quinn’s defense. Griffin intended to give the name Kelley Fleming to one of his top agents and send the guy to Baytown, Texas, to dig up as much information about that particular victim as possible. If her death was connected to the other four, that meant these murders hadn’t begun only a year ago as they had first thought. And if there was no connection between Quinn and Ms. Fleming, then did that mean his having been a friend and lover to the other four was nothing more than mere coincidence?

  “Still think he’s innocent?” Judd asked.

  Griffin nodded. “Yes, I do. But what about you, Judd? Are Annabelle and I the only two people who believe Quinn didn’t kill any of those women?”

  “I agreed to take this case because you convinced me he’s innocent. But I have to admit that I have a few unsettling doubts. Something about this case isn’t right. I thought I had it all figured out—that somebody was killing Quinn’s lovers either to pin the rap on him or to punish him in some way. But now the police have discovered another victim—one Quinn claims he doesn’t know. If Kelley Fleming was killed by the same person as the other four, then it doesn’t make sense. Any of it.”

  “Maybe Quinn did know Kelley Fleming,” Griffin said. “Maybe he knew her by another name or maybe he never knew her name. I’ll see if Sullivan can e-mail us a photo of the woman ASAP. It’s possible Quinn will recognize her, even if her name didn’t mean anything to him.”

  Judd’s cell phone rang, interrupting their discussion. “Excuse me,” Judd said as he answered the distinctive Beethoven’s Fifth ring. “Walker here.” Judd’s features softened. “No, it’s all right. I’m glad you called, honey. Give me a minute, will you?” Smiling, he glanced at Griffin as he held the phone away from his mouth. “I need to take this call. It’s personal. My fiancée.”

  Griffin gave Judd a how-about-that grin. “I’ll use the phone in my bedroom to call Sullivan and give you a little privacy.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Griffin headed out of the lounge, he paused and looked back at Judd. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

  “Jennifer Mobley.”

  “Former Miss Tennessee, Jennifer Mobley?”

  “One and the same,” Judd said proudly.

  “Wasn’t she in some sort of freak accident the year after she was a runner-up in the Miss America pageant?”

  “During an ice storm, her car skidded off Lookout Mountain. She nearly died. But after plastic surgery and a year of therapy, she recovered fully. She’s as beautiful as ever and come May, she’ll receive her doctorate degree from UT in child psychology. And in June we’re having the biggest, fanciest wedding Chattanooga has ever seen.”

  “Congratulations,” Griffin said. “And by the way, tell the lady that I think she’s way too good for the likes of you.”

  “I’ve already told her, but she’s going to marry me anyway.”

  “Then you’re the lucky one.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Griffin closed the door behind him after he went into his bedroom. So Judd Walker was getting married. Every marriage-minded woman in Chattanooga must be heartbroken. The heir to the Walker fortune, old money that went all the way back to reconstruction days in Tennessee, was considered the number one eligible bachelor in the city, if not in the state.

  Griffin sat down on the side of his bed and pulled the telephone to the edge of the nightstand. Of course, he was considered quite a catch himself, another sought-after bachelor. But where men like Judd could and would marry and live normal lives, with wives, children and a shot at real happiness, Griffin would never have any of these things. Destiny had dictated his future years ago.

  He lifted the receiver and dialed Sullivan’s cell number. Ben answered on the second ring. “This is Griffin. I need for you to fly to Baytown, Texas, right away. Track down all the info you can on a woman named Kelley Fleming.” He spelled both the first and last name. “According to the Memphis PD, she was murdered in Baytown approximately two years ago. The lead detective on the case was a guy named Lieutenant Stovall. I need to know everything there is to know about this woman as soon as possible. Find out if the lady knew Quinn Cortez or had any kind of connection to him. And send me a recent photograph just as soon as you get hold of one.”

  * * *

  Quinn entered Annabelle’s suite with no expectations. He was just grateful that she had returned to Memphis, that she wanted to be with him. During the days she’d been gone, back to Austinville for Lulu’s funeral, he had missed her. When had he ever missed anybody, least of all a woman? Under different circumstances, he would have gone to Mississippi to attend Lulu’s funeral. And yes, it would have been for Annabelle’s sake far more than to show his respects to Lulu, although he would have liked to do that, too.

  He and Annabelle hadn’t so much as held hands during the elevator ride, hadn’t touched at all during the short flight down from one floor to another at the Peabody. And they had glanced at each other only once. When she had smiled at him, he’d felt as if he’d been awarded the grand prize in a very important contest.

  God, he was acting like a lovesick teenager. And
he was nervous. Quinn Cortez, nervous? Unheard of. He had nerves of steel and balls of brass. He didn’t get nervous. He didn’t sweat. And no woman had ever intimidated him. Not until now.

  Annabelle Vanderley intimidated the hell out of him.

  “I can order room service for lunch, if you’re hungry,” she said as she laid her purse and key on the table just inside the entrance.

  “Maybe later, unless you want something now.”

  She shook her head. “I just want to be with you.”

  Her soft voice wrapped the words around him like a silk blanket. Quinn closed his eyes and savored the moment. God in heaven, don’t let me hurt this woman.

  “Annabelle, I…”

  She turned to him, there in the entranceway, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her cheeks flushed and her sweet, pink lips parted on an expectant sigh.

  He reached for her. As she came to him, he slipped one arm around her waist and brought her close, close enough to kiss. When she tilted her face up and gazed into his eyes, he desperately wanted to kiss her. Ravage her. Strip her naked and make love to her the whole afternoon. And then he wanted to start over again and pleasure her repeatedly, all night long.

  “You don’t know me, honey,” he told her, his mouth almost touching hers.

  “I know all I need to know.” Breathless, she closed her eyes and brushed her lips over his.

  Instant hard-on.

  He pressed his cheek against her. “Do you know that I call all women honey?”

  She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “Are you trying to warn me that I’m just like all the others?”

  No! You’re not like all the others and that’s the problem. I never cared what the others thought of me, just as long as they considered me a great lover. But with you, Annabelle…? With you I want—no, I need—your respect. “Would you believe me if I said no, that you’re special? Very special.”