by Beth Manz
"What happened?" Blair asked when Dryer didn't immediately continue.
"When Hannah was seventeen, she and a boy she'd been dating for some time tried to kill themselves."
"How?" Jim asked, his brow furrowed with interest.
"The two of them sat inside an idling car they'd parked inside the garage at her family's cabin. Hannah survived, just barely, but the boy didn't. Local speculation was that the two had tried to kill themselves in a lover's suicide pact. All the evidence pointed in that direction and the possibility of murder was never seriously considered. Afterward, Hannah was hospitalized briefly for psychological evaluation, then released to general counseling."
"Wait a minute," Blair said, leaning back in his chair as the sheriff's words washed over him. "Hannah was committed to a mental institution?"
Dryer nodded. "Briefly, yes."
"Why the hell didn't that come up in court?" he blurted out. "How could Angela not have brought that out?"
"The records were sealed," Dryer explained. "Hannah was a minor at the time and no one in Berne wanted her life ruined because she made a stupid mistake when she was young."
"Only it was more than a stupid mistake," Jim said softly.
Dryer let out a long breath. "I believe that's true--now. But at the time she appeared to recover successfully from the incident and get on with her life. To be very honest, the folks in Berne never thought much more about it."
The sheriff leaned back and dropped his hands into his lap, absently fingering the hat that rested there. "Except for the boy's parents. They never believed their son's death was a suicide. They always insisted the boy didn't kill himself--that he was, in fact, actually trying to break up with Hannah at the time. Now...." The sheriff shrugged his shoulders. "Now, I fear those parents have been right all along."
Jim leaned back in his chair and ran a hand across his hair. "Interesting story. But why are you telling us all of this now?"
"Because I want your help." The sheriff looked at Banks. "Captain, with your permission, and if Detective Ellison and Dr. Sandburg are willing, I'd like some help reopening the case and investigating the boy's death."
"What could we do?" Simon asked, his tone skeptical. "We'd be out of jurisdiction--"
"As a favor," Dryer cut in. "I know I have no right to ask, but I feel partially responsible for Detective Ellison's being charged with attempted rape. Also, if Hannah is truly guilty of two murders and an attempt on Dr. Sandburg's life, I want her to go to prison. I know we can't prosecute her again for what happened to Mr. Kaage, but if she killed that boy all those years ago...." He turned his attention to Jim and Blair. "If you'd be willing to come to Berne and help me reopen the case...maybe do some legwork for me...I'd appreciate it."
"Gentlemen?" Simon asked looking from Jim to Blair and back again. "I'll leave this up to you."
"I'd like to help," Ellison spoke up without hesitation.
"Absolutely," Blair agreed
The sheriff exhaled a long, relieved sigh. "That's terrific news," he said, smiling for the first time since he'd entered the room several minutes earlier. "For all legal intents and purposes I'll head the investigation, of course. But I'll give both of you free reign. You'll have access to all our resources and files--anything you need." He stopped suddenly and looked over at Jim. An amused grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Well, free access to all but one item...."
"And that would be?" Jim asked dryly.
"No offense, Detective," the sheriff responded. "But I'll take the liberty of keeping the keys to my cruiser locked safely away if you don't mind."
Jim had the good grace to look chagrined for a moment, then he smiled broadly and reached across the table to shake the sheriff's hand. "Tell you what--I'll bring my own vehicle and we'll be in business. Sound like a deal?"
"Sounds like a great deal," Dryer agreed, pumping Jim's hand enthusiastically.
Jim released the sheriff's hand and leaned back casually in his chair. Looking over at his partner, he smiled. "So what do you say, Chief? You ready to do a little field work over in Berne?"
"You bet I am," Sandburg readily agreed. "I'm ready to do anything to get Hannah out of our lives for good...." The young man caught Simon's warning glare and quickly amended his statement: "Anything legal, that is, Simon...sir," he back-pedaled, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Strictly legal...Captain."
Simon scowled for a moment, then gave Blair a smile. "I knew what you meant, Sandburg." The captain folded his arms across his chest and took a deep breath. "And I agree with the kid--we want Hannah out of our lives, and proving that she murdered this boy may be the only way of accomplishing that." The captain turned to Dryer and extended his hand. "Sheriff Dryer," he began as the sheriff grasped his hand. "You have my finest team at your disposal. Good luck."
Part Four
Jim flipped on the right turn signal and slowed the truck as the Berne exit appeared. He tensed, remembering the last time he'd come to the small town and who his companion had been on that visit. But as he glanced over at the passenger seat of his truck, he was glad for Blair's trusted presence this time.
His partner sat with his glasses on, flipping through the file Sheriff Dryer had provided regarding the Mark O'Keefe case. Outside the truck, the day matched the mood of the two men--gray and overcast. The weatherman on the morning news had promised rain later tonight. However, looking at the low-hanging clouds, Jim wondered if the rain might not start sooner than that.
He and Blair had left the loft before seven a.m., partly because they wanted to get to Berne early, but also because they were worried about being served papers or receiving a call from IA. Only Simon knew where they were going.
It's like we're fugitives.
He glanced at Blair again. If IA did come down on him, would they pull Sandburg's credentials? Would he lose his job at the department? Worse yet, would Hannah try to bring charges against him for breaking and entering?
Jim's hands tightened on the wheel of the truck. There was no way he was going to let anything happen to his partner. Blair is not going to go to jail. If he had to Jim would make a deal, admit to whatever crime they wanted him to admit to as long as Blair was left alone.
But I need to take care of a few details first.
Last year, after he'd been shot, Jim had talked to a lawyer about adding Blair's name to the loft deed. He'd wanted to make sure that if anything ever happened to him, Blair would have a place to live, a home to go to each night. The process was simple--a few signatures and Blair would have that security. But Jim had not yet gotten around to completing the paperwork.
It's time to get off your butt and make it happen, Ellison.
And he would. As soon as they returned to Cascade he was going to call and get the paperwork taken care of. He was going to make sure Blair was co-owner of the loft.
"You okay?" his partner asked from beside him. "You've gotten awfully quiet."
Jim glanced at him, smiling. "Sorry, Chief. Just thinking."
"Yeah, me too." Blair pulled off his glasses and closed the file in his lap. "I think talking to Peggy O'Keefe, letting her tell us firsthand what she thinks happened to her son, is a good place to start with all this."
Jim nodded. "Dryer said he arranged a meeting with her this morning. Let's just hope she hasn't changed her mind."
"Then we visit the doctor's office where Hannah was treated all those years ago?"
"Two o'clock this afternoon," he confirmed.
Jim glanced at the directions Dryer had given him to the O'Keefes. Minutes later, he pulled the truck to a stop in front of a small but well-maintained mobile home.
"Let's hope she's home," Jim said, putting the truck in park and cutting the engine. As they stepped out, a woman appeared at the front door, arms crossed over her chest.
She looked older than the age given in the file, her face lined and sad. The type of person that life beat down, leaving evidence of every hardship indelibly printed on the f
ace, in the slouch of the shoulders.
"You're Ellison and Sandburg," she greeted without preamble.
Jim nodded. "I'm Jim Ellison; this is my partner, Blair Sandburg."
She held the door open for them. "Come on in. I've been waiting all morning for you." She led them to the living room and offered them coffee, which both gratefully accepted. As she served them, Jim studied her. She shuffled around the small home with tired slowness, every movement seeming to leech at her obviously small reserve of energy.
Blair took the coffee Mrs. O'Keefe was offering him, slipped his glasses on and opened the file. "Sheriff Dryer talked to you about us coming here?"
She nodded. "I've been waiting a long time for someone to look into my son's death." She sat heavily on the couch and leaned forward. "Hannah Merrick murdered my son and her father sheltered the little vixen like she was a child. He made sure her court files were sealed, making it virtually impossible for me and my husband to prove the truth. Douglas Merrick...he always protected her, never saw how she really was."
"How was she?" Blair asked.
"Obsessive...about everything. Including my son." She stood and ambled wearily over to the window where she stood staring out at the road. "There's an old house on the edge of town," she began softly. "It sits by itself. Mark used to go out there to meet with Hannah. She loved to talk about them buying that place someday, fixing it up." She turned her back to the window and stared over at the two men. "I always thought she sort of pretended like it was already theirs. I've...I've always thought about going out there, searching that place, seeing if there might be something...." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.
"After Mark's death," she continued a moment later, "Hannah went off to college and Douglas moved out of town. But they kept that cabin, the cabin where my son died. I've always wondered if Hannah talked her father into keeping the place because that's where she killed Mark and she wanted to go back and visit it again and again."
"Sheriff Dryer told us that Mark died when both he and Hannah ended up in the closed garage with a car running," Jim said when she didn't continue. "That his death was ruled a suicide."
"My son did not kill himself."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I knew my son, and he wasn't suicidal."
"Sometimes we think we know someone-"
"No! Mark told me the day he died that he was going to tell Hannah he no longer wanted to see her. Does that sound like someone who would go out and willingly climb into a running car and die for his true love?"
"No," Jim admitted softly. "It doesn't."
"That girl hit my son on the back of the head and placed him in that car. Then she parked it in the garage at her family's cabin and tried to kill them both. Only my son died and she didn't."
Blair flipped through the information in the folder again, a confused frown on his face. "There's no mention of a lump on the back of your son's head."
"It was there," Peggy insisted. "I felt it." She moved over to the couch and sat down again, then pinned Jim with a hard stare. "That girl killed my son, Detective. She hit him on the head, put him in that car, then locked them both in that garage." She shuddered slightly. "Every time I drive past that house...." Her voice trailed off and she turned away again, covering her mouth with a shaky hand.
Jim glanced at Blair, uncertain what they should do. Standing, Blair moved to the couch and sat down beside Peggy. He touched lightly at her arm, his gaze filled with sympathy. "We'll do everything we can to find out what really happened," he promised softly.
Peggy nodded, wiping absently at her eyes. "My husband died before we could prove what that little witch did to our son. But I vowed when they buried him that I would somehow prove Hannah killed Mark before I died." She clasped her hands together in her lap, looked at Blair, then over at Jim. "You two just may be the answer to my prayers."
/
/
/
"Please, gentlemen, come in." The petite blond woman stood and greeted Jim and Blair with a warm smile. "Sheriff Dryer called to let me know you were coming over, so I've been expecting you."
Blair moved forward as Jim nodded for him to proceed inside. The small, neat office was tucked at the back of the 1920s-style bungalow that served as Berne's doctor's office and general clinic. Blair waited for the doctor to be seated again, then he lowered himself into a vinyl and metal visitor's chair that fronted a worn oak desk. Beside him, Jim dropped down into an identical chair.
"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Doctor Olsen...."
The woman dismissed Jim's comment with a small wave of one hand and shook her head, sending her blond, shoulder length curls bobbing back and forth. "Not at all." She leaned forward and lowered her voice as though she were letting both of the men in on a carefully guarded secret: "I'm lucky to get a full day's work on even my busiest days around here. Scheduling you in this afternoon was no problem."
"Thank you," Jim acknowledged, smiling briefly, but Blair could tell from his tone of voice that Jim just wanted to get down to business. "Did Sheriff Dryer tell you why we wanted to see you?" the detective asked.
"Yes." Doctor Olsen placed a hand atop a thin manila folder laying on the desktop. "I went ahead and pulled Ms. Merrick's file and reviewed it while waiting for you to arrive." She dropped her gaze to the file for a brief moment, then looked up at both men again. "You realize that I can't discuss some of the details included in the file, but some of my father's notes are general enough that divulging them won't breach any patient-doctor confidentiality laws that I'm aware of."
"So, your father was Ms. Merrick's primary care provider during her...incident...with Mark O'Keefe?"
The doctor laughed good-naturedly. "Detective, my late father was primary care provider for most of Berne's citizens in those days. Just as I am now."
"Then he was intimately familiar with the details regarding the incident?"
Dr. Olsen nodded. "Yes. Hannah was treated by a psychiatrist following her suicide attempt, of course, but my father worked closely with that doctor during Hannah's recovery."
Blair frowned and leaned forward. "Was it your father's opinion that Hannah was obsessed with Mark O'Keefe?"
Dr. Olsen smiled apologetically. "Unfortunately, I can't divulge my father's opinion on Hannah's case, but I can tell you that he made mention in his notes that he felt she eventually overcame the...problems...that had been plaguing her at the time of Mark's death and her own near-death."
"Can you tell us if the file makes any mention of Hannah believing in past and future lives?" Blair asked next.
The doctor nodded. "Yes. Ms. Merrick did hold that belief. In fact, it was fairly well-known in Berne that she was dabbling in what folks around here referred to as 'that New Age mumbo jumbo,' but I believe most people thought it was a phase--that Hannah would outgrow it as she matured."
"Well, she didn't," Blair mumbled under his breath.
"I'm sorry?" the doctor asked.
"Excuse me," Sandburg apologized. "Um...it was nothing."
"Can you divulge anything that would give us an indication of what sort of treatment or therapy led Hannah to the point where she believed she was 'cured' of the feelings she had regarding Mark O'Keefe?" Jim asked. "I'm sorry to have to ask you that question," the detective apologized before the doctor had an opportunity to answer. "It's just that before we left Cascade, we tried to set up an appointment with the psychiatrist who treated Hannah following her failed suicide, but he refused to even meet with us. We can force him to participate in an interview, but quite honestly--if you can answer some of these questions for us, it would save us time and might put us on the right track in our current investigation."
"Of course," Dr. Olsen agreed. She lifted one hand briefly and inclined her head slightly to the side. "Again, I must abide by the laws regarding doctor-patient confidentiality, but I can tell you that Hannah eventually came to believe that Mark--whom she had thought was 'the right one,'
whatever that means--was not the 'right one' after all. She told my father that the fact that she lived was proof that Mark wasn't the person she had thought he was."
"The 'right one'," Jim repeated dryly, an underlying derision in his tone that Blair easily identified.
He glanced at his partner. The sentinel's jaw was locked tight, his mouth pulled into a tight line.
"Jim...?"
Ellison held up a hand, cutting Blair off. "She told your father that Mark was not the 'right one.' Correct?"
"That's right," Dr. Olsen confirmed. "Whether Hannah's coming to this closure was due to therapy or medication or any other number of factors I can't really tell you, as my father's notes don't go into a great deal of detail regarding her psychiatric regimen of treatment. But she did come to the point where she was able to admit that what she and Mark had done--or in her case, tried to do--was wrong."
"And it was at that point that she was considered 'cured'?" Jim asked, his tone still holding an edge of sarcasm. But if Dr. Olsen had picked up on Jim's distaste for the subject matter of Hannah Merrick, she didn't show it.
"Shortly after that her visits with my father fell back to yearly checkups or the occasional treatment for flu or other routine ailments."
"I see," Jim concluded absently, then stood. Blair, surprised at Jim's abrupt movement, stood up as well and studied his partner as the detective reached across the desk to shake Dr. Olsen's hand. "Thank you for your time," he offered in a professional tone.
"I hope I was of some help," the doctor replied.
"C'mon, Chief," Jim said, motioning for Blair to follow him. "We're finished here."
"Um, okay," Blair sputtered. He regained his composure quickly and gave Dr. Olsen a quick smile. "Thanks," he muttered simply. Another warm smile was the doctor's only reply.
Blair followed Jim's long strides to the front of the house where a receptionist area had been fashioned in the space that was obviously once a parlor or living room. Jim didn't even nod to the young girl who sat at the desk. Bounding down the stairs behind his partner, Blair finally caught up and reached out to restrain Jim with a hand on his arm. "Hey, man, wait up," he breathed out. "What's going on?"