“For the drinks?” the woman said. “For the party? This is your party, no?”
“It is,” the surfer said to her. “You’re a tour guide? How is it that my party made it onto your tour?” he asked.
The dark woman looked at the blonde. “I am a tour guide, but this is my friend and she made a very specific request,” the woman said. The blonde glanced at the surfer for a moment before looking shyly away. The surfer didn’t always care for the shy ones but sometimes, with the right women, he found it endearing. It helped that she had a body that could cause traffic accidents.
“You’re good friends?” the surfer asked. Carter’s own body tingled with the question, only guessing at what the question might have implied.
“Yes,” the darker woman said, almost purring the word. She knew what the question implied, and she wasn’t afraid of it. She knew what she was doing as much as the surfer did. It was a game they’d begun to play as soon as they saw each other. The surfer looked at the blonde again, wondering if she was the plaything or if maybe she had actually orchestrated this whole thing. He slid the rest of his drink down his throat while eyeing her purposefully. What did it really matter whose game this was? They were going to end up in the same place either way.
“Would you and your friend like to come upstairs?” the surfer asked. “To take a little tour?”
“What’s upstairs?” the dark woman asked as if she didn’t already know.
“My room,” the surfer answered her, not bothering to play coy. He kept his eyes on the blonde. He could see the desire in her. It was almost as strong as his own. Then he turned back toward the bartender. “Chet,” he called out, “tell them to turn the music up. We want to be able to hear it upstairs.” He didn’t wait for Chet to respond. He didn’t have to. Chet knew the drill. They were halfway up the stairs when the music grew even louder.
The surfer had more cocaine in the bathroom. The three of them shared some of it. The blonde still hadn’t said anything, but she knocked the cocaine back like a pro. He wondered what language she spoke, in what language she would be moaning once they’d gotten past the formalities. The surfer kissed her on the mouth as soon as she’d finished her bump. Her lips were soft at first and firm when pressed, giving in and pushing back to equal effect. She kissed him back eagerly until the surfer pulled away. The drugs moved through the surfer’s body again, like a jolt, like he’d just been zapped by a defibrillator, and Carter was right there with him. The surfer walked over to the bed. He fluffed up one of his pillows and lay down on his back, facing his new friends. Carter was enjoying the memory of the way the surfer’s own body felt almost as much as the vision of these beautiful women—almost. The blonde giggled. He could see her breasts bounce beneath the tiny piece of cloth she was wearing as a dress when she laughed.
“What’s the matter? Are you nervous?” Carter heard the surfer’s voice say. The voice was deep and resonant. It was a masculine voice but full of youth and danger. The memory of that kiss, that casual kiss that the surfer let loose on the blonde with so little forethought, had more passion than any Carter could remember from his own life. His heart was racing.
The blonde turned to her friend and said something in some other language. Portuguese? The surfer had no idea. Neither did Carter. “She doesn’t speak English,” the darker woman said. Of course she didn’t. How wonderful.
The memory kept going in directions that Carter never would have imagined. It was the stuff of male fantasies and adult movies, but it was real, it came to life in his head. He didn’t make it through the whole memory that first time. There was so much more left when the memory ended, but Carter couldn’t handle any more—not yet. For the moment, he was satisfied. He’d paid a large sum of money for extraordinary memories, and that’s what he was getting. He lay there, completely spent, and the memory had only just begun. He could barely contain his excitement, knowing that there was more of that memory in his head that he could save for later, and knowing the possibility that even more memories like that were now trapped inside his head. He’d completely forgotten that there were other people still in the room. He didn’t even care.
Carter had no idea how long he’d been immersed. “You’re going to have to learn to find them on your own,” Fergus said when he saw the telltale signs that Carter was coming out of the immersion, “but I can assure you that there are more memories like that one, and others. It’ll be worth the effort. I assure you.”
“Holy shit” was all Carter could say.
“Take the classes,” Fergus said to Carter. “Learn how to access the other memories. I’ll come back in two more days to see you off.” Then Fergus left. Now that they’d transferred the surfer’s memories, he had to go out and recruit more inventory.
Chapter 17
Three more police cars and an ambulance arrived shortly after Ed. The ambulance was for the super, still writhing on the floor with two bullets buried in his shoulder, only now in handcuffs. Cole was taken to the hospital in the back of a squad car. The doctors X-rayed his shoulder, but all he was suffering from was a deep, painful bruise.
It was barely dark when Cole was released from the hospital. They gave him a sling in case his arm hurt too much, but he didn’t plan on wearing it. Once out of the hospital, he took out his phone, now scratched and battered from when he’d tossed it out the door, and shot off a single text message. Then he headed back to the police station.
Ed was still at the station when Cole got there. Cole felt lucky to catch Ed as he was packing up and getting ready to go home. “I didn’t think I’d see you again today,” Ed said as Cole walked up to Ed’s desk. “How’s the shoulder?”
“It’s fine,” Cole said. “Just a bruise. How’s the case?” Cole’s memories of Meg’s murder weren’t admissible in court, so they still needed to find evidence. Somewhere along the line, somebody had determined that inherited memories weren’t reliable enough to be admissible as evidence. Cole didn’t disagree. He knew how much memories could change and how much they could play tricks on people. So it was his job to use the memories to find the killer. After that, the regular police work kicked into gear.
“It’s still early, but they found some hair in the basement that they think is probably Meg’s. Also, the serial number on the hammer we found in the Dumpster matches the serial numbers on the super’s other tools. That should be enough.”
Cole nodded. Ed was thorough and by the book. “He confessed to me,” Cole told him.
“We’ll get the evidence, Cole.” Ed knew what it would mean to put Cole on the stand to talk about a confession. He knew what sort of mess that could make of the whole case. “Don’t worry. We’ll nail him.”
Cole nodded again. “I can get him to confess on record.” He had no doubt. If they weren’t psychopaths, very few people could withstand being interrogated by Cole. If Cole did it right, it was too much like being interrogated by their own victims.
“If we need it,” Ed said, “but we shouldn’t.” Ed stood up from his desk. It was a sign to Cole that he wanted to go home and see his family. Cole was happy to let him go. The case was over for Cole now. Now he could rest with Meg’s memories. He needed to tie up one more loose end, then he hoped to have some time to relax. He had no way of knowing how quickly his next case would come and the impact that it would have on his life. All the cases changed him. His next case would change everything.
“Wait,” Cole said. “I just have a couple more things. Has anyone told Meg’s family yet?” Cole didn’t care about the mother or the father, but he wanted to be the one to tell Annie.
Ed knew he was going to disappoint Cole. “Yeah,” Ed informed him. “I called them a couple of hours ago.”
“You know where they’re staying?” Cole asked.
Ed nodded. “Maybe you want to let them be, though. Maybe give them a day or two to let this all sink in.”
“Tell me where they’re staying, Ed. I just want to talk to the sister. I won’t cause any prob
lems.”
“Okay,” Ed reluctantly agreed before telling Cole the name of the hotel.
“One more thing,” Cole said to Ed before he was willing to finally let Ed go. “Thank you, Ed. I owe you.”
“No need to thank me, Cole,” Ed said with palpable indifference. “It’s my job.”
Chapter 18
Cole grabbed a cab from the police station to the hotel where Meg’s family was staying. He checked his cell phone on the way. Allie had texted him back. She’d agreed to meet him for drinks later that night at his regular bar, the Arson’s Ashes. It was the first time that Cole had reached out to Allie, and not the other way around, in a long time, long enough that Cole had trouble remembering when he’d done it last.
Meg’s family was staying in one of the big midtown hotels just off Broadway. The police were picking up the hotel tab, so they’d put the family in one of the theater district’s tourist hotels that had steep discounts in the middle of the week. The hotel was giant, three hundred rooms at least. It was way past its prime. The carpets were worn—you could see where the color had faded in the hallways, right down the middle, from years of being walked over by people pulling luggage behind them—and the walls, like the carpet, were all a faded golden color that hadn’t been in style in decades.
Cole rode the elevator up to the sixth floor with a middle-aged couple who he guessed were from the suburbs. They were both wearing wedding rings. Cole didn’t doubt that they were married. He did have his suspicions that they weren’t married to each other. Meg’s family was staying in room 611, the three of them in a single room. Cole wished that he could somehow talk only to Annie, but he knew how unlikely that would be. He wanted to tell Annie himself that they’d caught Meg’s killer. He wanted to make sure she knew that he was going to bring Meg’s killer to justice. He wanted to do as much as he could to make things better for her. After all, at least in his memory, she was his little sister.
Cole reached room 611 and knocked. “Who is it?” a man’s voice, only slightly shaky, called out from behind the door. Once again, the mere sound of his voice tripped dozens of memories inside Cole. He fought to control them.
Cole identified himself through the closed door. “It’s Detective Jones,” Cole said in as official a tone as he could muster. “I wanted to talk to the three of you about your daughter’s case.” He stood there silently for a few moments, listening to the barely audible whispering coming from the other side of the closed door.
“Just a minute,” Meg’s father finally called back. Cole listened as he undid the chain lock. Then he opened the door and, upon seeing Cole, invited him inside. Cole couldn’t even look the father in the face. It was too much. He couldn’t look at Meg’s mother either. The only one he could look at was Annie.
The room was cramped. Without any way to spread out, the four of them were uncomfortably close to each other. “Please, sit,” Meg’s father said to Cole, motioning toward one of the two chairs.
Cole sat down. Meg’s mother sat on one of the beds. Meg’s father took a seat on the other bed, placing himself between Cole and Annie, who occupied the second chair. “I don’t know if you remember me from the police station,” Cole started.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Meg’s father broke in. Cole finally looked at him. He looked old. His hair was far grayer than it had been in any of Meg’s memories. He looked tired. His eyes were weary and had bags under them. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Everyone looked angry with Cole, even Annie. Cole couldn’t have that.
“Tell you what?” Cole asked.
“We remember you from the police station,” the father said, speaking on behalf of the whole family. “How come you didn’t tell us that you have our daughter’s memories?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Meg’s mother chimed in. She sounded like she was on the verge of a breakdown.
Cole decided to do his best to answer. After all, it was a reasonable question. “I knew that I was close to breaking through. I could feel it. I knew that I only needed a little more information in order to find Meg’s killer. I didn’t want you slowing me down.” Cole paused, debating with himself whether or not he should say any more. With Cole, the cautious angel almost always lost the fight with its counterpart. “Besides,” Cole said, “I’m not sure that you guys had any right to know. Only Annie had that right.” The anger inside Cole grew as he spoke.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Meg’s father was nearly shouting.
“Listen,” Cole said, “I didn’t come here to argue. I came to tell Annie that I found her sister’s murderer, that I know it was him. I remember it. And that I am going to make sure he pays for what he did.” Cole stared at Annie. She had the expressionless face of someone in shock. “She loved you, Annie,” Cole said. “She just wanted you to be happy. Don’t let what happened here keep you from living your life the way Meg would have wanted you to.” Annie looked back at Cole. She still didn’t look like she could speak. She was only fourteen, for Christ’s sake. She nodded to him, though. She at least gave him that, a tiny signal to show that she understood. He had no real right to ask for more than that, so he stood up, saying, “I’ll show myself out.” Nobody said anything as he stepped back into the hallway and closed the door behind him. Nobody said anything to him until he was halfway down the hallway to the elevators.
“Wait,” a woman’s voice called from behind Cole. The voice hit him deep in his gut. Cole turned around to see Meg’s mother standing barefoot in the hallway, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You can’t just leave us like that.”
“Why not?” Cole called back to her. He let his anger show more now. “You guys abandoned your daughter. You kicked her out of the house. And why? Because she was gay? Because she was different?” Meg never really understood why they’d done it. That’s what hurt the most in the memory, the not knowing why.
Meg’s mother began walking closer to Cole. “Is that what you think?” she said. She stared at Cole without really looking at him. Cole knew what she was doing. They all did it, the families, the old friends. She was trying to peer inside Cole to see her daughter. “We didn’t abandon her,” Meg’s mother said. “We would never do that.”
Cole gave her a cold stare. “You can’t lie to me,” he told her. “I remember that night, the night you and your husband kicked her out of the house.”
“Oh, God,” Meg’s mother cried out. “Is that what she thought? Then she never realized.” She looked up at Cole with pleading eyes. “It’s not like you remember it. I swear to God. We loved Meg. Carl loved Meg more than anything else in the world. All we wanted was for her to be happy. That night, the night Carl kicked her out of the house, that was the hardest thing the man has ever done. He cried that night until morning. I don’t know if you remember,” Meg’s mother said to Cole, “but Meg’s father wasn’t much of a crier. Not normally.”
Cole did remember. They had a dog growing up. Meg’s father cried when they had to put it down. Those were the only tears Cole could remember Meg ever seeing her father shed. “Then why did you do it?”
Meg’s mother’s tears began to flow now. She couldn’t stop them. She didn’t try to. “Because it was the only way we could get her to leave. Otherwise, we knew that she would stay out of loyalty to Annie. But she couldn’t be happy in Kansas. We weren’t ashamed of our daughter. We were ashamed of where we lived. All we wanted was for Meg to go out and be who she was and find happiness—Carl more than anyone else. Dear God, how he loved that girl. We talked about it for a long time before we did it. I told Carl I would do it, but he wouldn’t let me.”
Another memory suddenly flashed into Cole’s head. It wasn’t of the night that Meg’s father kicked her out of the house but of a night when Meg was much younger, maybe nine or ten years old. She was lying on the carpet in front of the television, her chin propped up on her hands. Her parents were behind her, sitting on the couch. They were watching a Disney movie. “The Fox and the Hound,”
Cole said to Meg’s mother, mouthing the revelation. He suddenly remembered the scene where the hound yells at the fox to run away, telling him they weren’t friends, all in order to save him.
Meg’s mother nodded through her watery eyes. “It was Meg’s favorite movie when she was a girl. That’s why we thought that one day, Meg would realize that we did what we did for her. I guess there just wasn’t enough time.”
“So you let her run away to New York with nothing?” Cole asked, still unwilling to ignore his crystal-clear memory of that night.
“We gave her everything we could. We didn’t have much to give. Sometimes, Carl gave Annie money to send her with her letters. It wasn’t much, but we tried. Carl had taught her how to be smart and how to be tough. We’d hoped that was enough. I guess it wasn’t.”
Cole remembered pulling money out of the letters from Annie. Sixty dollars here, eighty there. Meg didn’t question where the money was coming from. She was young and didn’t want to think too hard about it. Cole stood there, unable to speak, trying frantically to make sense of Meg’s memories in light of what her mother was saying. He’d had it all wrong. So had Meg, and Meg never got the chance to get it right.
“We read about you on the Internet,” Meg’s mother said. “Haven’t you been doing this long enough to realize that not every memory you have is the whole truth?”
Cole didn’t answer her. He stood frozen for another moment, unsure of what to say or do. “Did you read the letters she sent to Annie?” Cole finally asked.
“Every one of them.”
“Did she tell Annie about Sam?”
Meg’s mother shook her head. “Who’s Sam?”
The Memory Detective Page 11