She requested it from the young man and relayed it to Brad. “And I’ll try not to turn the ringer off again. What did you want?”
“The story about your dad has been released to the press, and I didn’t want it to catch you off guard.”
“Thank you. I knew it would have to be sooner or later.”
“We hope it may deter whoever is after you.”
She didn’t know how her father’s death being made public would accomplish that, but she was all for the killer forgetting about her. “Was that all?”
“No. Have you discovered anything about the employees who were working at the museum when he disappeared?”
“I was doing that now. You want to hang on while I look around in the files? Or do you want me to call you back?”
“Why don’t I just drop by there in an hour? Then we can go to lunch before your appointment.”
She’d pushed the appointment to the corner of her mind. Kelsey checked her watch. It was only ten. “Make it closer to noon. I need to put in some time on the circus or people will start wondering about my job.”
“See you then.”
He’d really sounded anxious when he answered, and she said, “Thanks for worrying about me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.
Smiling, she hung up. Brad was different from the other men she’d dated. Dated? Where did that come from? They were not dating. It was all about the case, and as soon as he caught the man after her, they would go their separate ways. With a start, Kelsey realized she enjoyed being around Brad and would miss him. Except he had Elle. The thought unsettled her as she turned to the computer screen.
Where to start? She opened a program that allowed her to search for employees with twenty-eight years of service. The query returned three employees. Julie Webb and Mark Tomlinson and Helen Peterson. Why wasn’t the director on the list? She distinctly remembered him saying he’d been at the museum when her father was there.
Maybe he left for a period of time. She needed to rephrase her query. This time she entered the year her father was director. The query brought back twenty-one names. They must have been running the museum on a shoestring budget.
She scanned the list, looking for names she recognized. Julie’s and Mark’s names were there as well as Robert Tomlinson’s. Jackson King. Helen Peterson, and her step-uncle, Grant Allen.
Kelsey hit print and rocked back in her chair. She couldn’t imagine any of these people being a killer. They had to be on the wrong track or it had to be one of the names she hadn’t recognized.
39
AFTER BRAD TALKED WITH KELSEY, he made another copy of Carter’s file and drove out to pay another visit to Sergeant Warren. The retired cop was wearing his ball cap, and his packed bags sat on the bed. “Leaving?” he asked.
“Yep. Doctor discharged me to go home, providing I stay off of ladders.”
“Probably a good idea. Thought I’d check and see if you remembered anything else.”
“I’ve been thinking, pulling things together, and it was Conrad King who requested the audit. Seems there were rumors that items were missing about the time Carter took off. The audit was going on while I investigated. Didn’t get a list of all the articles until after I closed the case.”
“Did anyone strike you as suspicious?”
Warren shook his head. “From the get-go, everyone was talking about the missing artifacts, and I can see now that it influenced my investigation. What can you tell me about Carter? Any idea where he is?”
Brad hesitated. “I’m afraid someone murdered him twenty-eight years ago.”
“No way.” The retired sergeant leaned back in his chair and removed his cap. “Do you know how it happened?”
“He was shot with a pistol stolen from the museum.” Brad hated telling him, because now the retired sergeant would spend the rest of his day, maybe the rest of his life, going over the case, looking for what he missed.
“I didn’t see that coming,” Warren said. “That puts a whole new spin on everything.”
“I brought a copy of the file. Thought maybe if you went over it with this new development in mind, something might come to you.”
Warren took the folder Brad held out. “How do you think it went down?”
“I’ve been brainstorming with Reggie Lane and Rachel Sloan, both in Homicide, and we figure two people are involved, maybe one covering up for the other.”
“That would certainly make it easier to spread the rumors about Carter. I’ll work on remembering who pushed that the most.”
Brad checked the clock on the wall. Almost noon. “Do you have a ride?”
“My neighbor said he’d come after me. I’ll use the time until he gets here to go over the file.”
“Call me if you come up with anything.”
“Believe me, I will.”
For once, the tedious work of restoring artifacts didn’t take Kelsey’s mind away from her problems. She put down the lion and picked up the lion tamer and used a small brush to get dust out of the crevices while her bodyguard looked on.
If it wasn’t the upcoming psychologist appointment looping through her mind, it was the names of the people who had worked at the museum when her father was murdered. Immediately, she dismissed Julie’s name. She just couldn’t see her killing anyone unless she was psychotic, and Kelsey had seen no evidence of that.
She didn’t want to believe it was any of them. Perhaps there was someone they were overlooking, like someone in maintenance or a groundskeeper. She felt a presence and turned. Julie. Her face warmed, and she silently chided herself. No way could the collections manager tell that Kelsey had just wondered if she was psychotic.
“I didn’t know you had someone with you,” Julie said.
“This is Phillip McFall. Mr. Tomlinson assigned him to me,” she said.
“Because of the shooting, I guess.” Julie glanced at the miniature pieces on the table. “I see you’re making a little progress, but your face is flushed. You really ought to wear one of those,” she said, pointing to a box of disposable masks on the worktable. “It’ll keep the dust from causing allergies.”
Kelsey put down the brush. “You’re probably right, but it’s so hard to breathe with one of those things over my nose.” When Julie made no move to leave or carry on a conversation, Kelsey said, “Did you need something?”
“No, I just ran into Mark and he said you were inquiring about employees from twenty-eight years ago. Any particular reason?”
Kelsey wrestled with whether or not to tell Julie about her father being dead. If it was going to be on the evening news, did it matter if she told her now? “The bones that were delivered here . . .”
“Yes? Have you found out something about them?”
Kelsey nodded. “They are the remains of my father, Paul Carter.”
Color drained from Julie’s face. “You’re Paul’s daughter?” She covered her lips with her fingers. “Wait, Paul Carter is . . . dead? How did he die?”
“He was shot.”
“But . . .” She shook her head. “I thought he . . .” She glanced at the chair. “I’m having a little trouble comprehending this. Do you mind if I sit down?”
Kelsey hadn’t expected the news to throw Julie. “How well did you know my dad?”
“We were friends, and I greatly respected him.” She sat in the chair and stared at Kelsey’s face. “You must look like your mother.”
Goose bumps rose on her arm from the intense study. “I do. Do you know anyone who might have wished him dead?”
“I can’t believe he’s dead. Are you certain the bones were his?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.” Julie frowned. “Why were they sent to the museum? And who sent them?”
“I believe that’s the question the police are asking.”
The collections manager twisted a ring on her right hand. “Yes, the police would be involved, wouldn’t they?”
“You were
here when my father disappeared, and you knew the people working at the museum. Does anyone stand out as a thief or killer?”
“Oh my.” She took a deep breath and stood. “I’ll have to think about that. I’d hate to accuse anyone.”
“Please do think about it. I’m sure Brad or Rachel will be interviewing you soon.”
Alarm flashed in Julie’s eyes. “Yes, I suppose they will. If you will excuse me, I need to process this.”
She hurried from the room. That had been interesting, but as Kelsey reviewed their conversation, not really informative. She was still deep in thought about it when Brad tapped on her door. She looked up, and his grin sent her own lips curving up.
“I like the smile. You were looking mighty serious before,” he said. “You keeping a good watch on her?” he asked Phillip.
“Yes, sir. But so far she hasn’t gone anywhere.”
“I’ll take over for a couple of hours.”
Once they were alone, Brad said, “Did you get a list of the employees?”
“Yes.” She handed him the sheets she’d printed. “One sheet is current employees who have twenty-eight years of service, so it doesn’t give names like Robert Tomlinson or Jackson, who worked here off and on. The other is a list of all the employees from twenty-eight years ago.”
“Good job. Saved me a bunch of time.” He raised his eyebrows. “Ready to get something to eat?”
“I’m really not hungry.”
“You need to eat. You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” She’d never liked going to the doctor, and one poking around in her mind was especially scary.
“I suppose I would. How about a barbecue?”
“Too heavy. Why not just grab something at the café and eat here in my office?”
“That’ll work. Be right back.”
When he returned with ham sandwiches and peach tea, she told him about her morning and the junior partnership offer from Jackson.
“I don’t blame him for trying to make you a part of his company. You might even think about becoming a cop.”
She shook her head. “Too dangerous.”
He had his sandwich halfway to his mouth and set it on the small plate. “You’re kidding.”
“No. What you do day in and day out is extremely dangerous. You might as well put a bull’s-eye on your back.”
“And you don’t think dangling from a winch above the street or climbing up a straight wall is dangerous?”
“The way you say it makes it sound dangerous. It’s not something I do every day. Besides, it’s different when I’m in the middle of it, and you keep forgetting that I’m an experienced rock-climber.”
“I can’t wait for the psychologist to get ahold of you.”
She could. “What’s his name, anyway?”
“Her name—Dr. Andrea Bowling.”
Some of her tension about the appointment eased. “She’s not going to make me crow like a rooster, is she?”
He laughed out loud. “It’s nothing like that. I’ve seen her work with a patient before. You will be fully aware of everything, just very relaxed.”
Kelsey blew out a shaky breath. “Okay. That sounds doable.”
After they finished their sandwiches, he gathered the wrappers and plates and disposed of them. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she muttered. The sidelong glance from him prompted her to speak louder. “Yes, I’m ready.”
The psychologist’s office was on Union, not far from the Methodist Hospital. At least if she went off the deep end, the hospital was nearby. At promptly one thirty, they were ushered into a spacious room with a desk and recliner as well as a sofa and were told the doctor would be in shortly.
“I don’t have to lie on the sofa, do I?” Kelsey said. Every comedy skit she’d ever seen involving a psychologist had the doctor talking to the patient stretched out on a sofa.
“No.” The reply came from the other side of the room near the door. “Not unless you want to. Hello, Sergeant Hollister,” the doctor said in a well-modulated voice, and then extended her hand to Kelsey. “I’m Dr. Bowling.”
Kelsey didn’t know what she’d expected, but not this rotund woman with dancing blue eyes behind oversized glasses. She shook hands with the doctor. “And I’m Kelsey Allen.”
“Would you like to sit down?” Dr. Bowling motioned toward the recliner and sofa. “I’d like to explain what will happen and answer any questions before we start.”
Kelsey chose the recliner, and the doctor sat in the straight-back chair.
“Before we begin, do you have any questions?”
“Why don’t you explain first, and if I still have questions, I can ask then.”
“Fair enough. Have you ever been hypnotized before?”
“No.”
Dr. Bowling nodded as she made notes. “First of all, I want you to understand that you will not be asleep and you will remember everything we talk about. You are not under my control or any kind of spell. Now, tell me why you want to be hypnotized.”
She glanced at Brad.
“Yes, Sergeant Hollister told me what you wanted, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
“I keep seeing flashes of white that I think is someone’s face, but the image doesn’t stay around long enough for me to recognize who the person is.” She explained the circumstances and when she thought she saw the face. “I thought maybe hypnosis would allow me to hold on to the image.”
“I can’t guarantee that will happen, but shall we try?”
Kelsey ran her fingers over the smooth leather of the chair. “What do you want me to do?”
“Sit back in the chair, and if you’d like, lift your feet so you’ll be more comfortable—like you’re going to watch a movie.”
Once she was comfortable, Dr. Bowling spoke in soothing tones, asking her to relax each part of her body, starting with her feet and ending with her face. “Let your eyelids relax. They’re growing heavy now. You’re at the top of a staircase in a nice quiet room. Take the first step down and feel yourself relax. With each step you will feel yourself growing calmer and calmer.”
Kelsey’s breathing became even and slow as her tension slipped away.
“You’re at the bottom of the stairs. How do you feel?”
“Good. Calm.”
“Good. Let’s go back to Thursday night. What are you doing?”
“I’m standing on top of a building.” She breathed in. “I smell barbecue. And feel a cool breeze on my face.”
“Okay. Let’s move forward fifteen minutes. What are you doing now?”
“I’m in a harness, climbing out a window.” The memory was vivid. “Now I’m coming up the side of the building.” Kelsey shifted in the chair. “I’m uncomfortable. I need to stop the winch. Oh no. There’s a helicopter with strobe lights to my right. I’m worried the pilot might see me.”
“Go ahead and stop the winch.”
“There, that’s better, and the helicopter is gone. There’s a light on in this office. It wasn’t on when I came down. I see someone.”
“Can you see their face?”
“No, the light is shining against them. Just their outline.”
“Is it a man or a woman?”
“I can’t tell. Looks like a large person. Maybe a man. He’s bent over, doing something to the lamp. I hear the helicopter again and there’s a flash of light! I see his face! He’s coming to the window and he has a gun. I’ve got to get out of here.” She struggled to move. “Can’t breathe . . .”
“Kelsey, listen to me. You are safe. He is not here. You are safe. Breathe very slowly.”
She took a deep breath.
“Now take another one. Remember that you are safe. Can you still see the face?”
“White. I see something white,” she gasped and struggled to breathe.
“Take another deep breath. You are perfectly safe here. Do you see those steps you came down?”
She sucked in air
and nodded.
“You’re going back up those same steps. Count them as we go up, and when we get to the top, you will rejoin us. One, two . . .”
Kelsey slowly came out of the altered state of consciousness and took another deep breath. “I thought hypnosis was supposed to relax you.”
Dr. Bowling gave a soft laugh. “Most people I hypnotize aren’t being shot at or going up the side of a building. Do you remember the helicopter?”
She nodded.
“How about the man and the lamp?”
Kelsey chewed on her thumbnail. Today was the first time she remembered him bending over the lamp. She closed her eyes and tried to pull out the image she’d seen. “Yes, but I still can’t see his face.”
40
BRAD SQUEEZED KELSEY’S HAND. He’d hoped Dr. Bowling would get more from her memory. “But at least we know we’re dealing with a man. And you remembered the helicopter.”
“I remembered the helicopter yesterday, but I never thought to tell you,” Kelsey said.
“But don’t you think this helped you?” He believed it had. He turned to the doctor. “Do you think another session might help her to see the man’s face?”
“Wait,” Kelsey said. “I’m not sure I can do this again.”
Dr. Bowling pushed her glasses up on her nose. “I think she should give it a couple of days. Sometimes in cases like this, there’s a delayed response. The image could suddenly become clear any time.” She looked at her calendar. “This is Wednesday. If you haven’t remembered by Monday, would you be willing to try this again?”
He glanced at Kelsey, doubtful she would go through it again, but she surprised him and was nodding her head.
“You don’t think it would help to do it earlier, say Friday?” Brad asked. Every day she didn’t remember the man’s face was a day the shooter could be standing right beside her.
The doctor tapped her pen on the desk. “Tell you what, let’s do it Saturday if she hasn’t had the desired results.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bowling,” Kelsey said.
When they walked out into the bright sunlight, she checked her watch. “We have a little time, so why don’t we drive over to the house on Snowden and see what’s in the desk there. Dad may have kept museum papers in it.”
Justice Buried Page 24