Don't Close Your Eyes

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Don't Close Your Eyes Page 13

by Christie Craig


  She had two miles to figure out exactly what she planned to say to her mom.

  * * *

  Realizing the time, and knowing he had a shitload of work to do, Mark headed straight to the office. On the drive, he called his neighbor, Peter, whom he sometimes jogged with on the weekends. He asked him to run by and feed Bacon. “And if you’re going for a run, can you take Bacon? His leash is in the laundry room.”

  Bacon was a good dog, but if he didn’t get regular runs, he tended to eat Mark’s shoes and socks as a form of punishment.

  “Sure,” Peter said. “What’s her name?”

  “Huh?” Mark played ignorant.

  “Don’t bullshit me,” Peter said.

  “Annie.” Saying her name gave him a shot of pleasure.

  “Is she hot?”

  “Yeah. Later.” He hung up, feeling good about hooking Bacon up with a run, and pulled up into the precinct’s parking lot.

  “No coffee?” Mildred asked as he passed her desk.

  “Sorry, I’ll grab you some in a bit.” He stopped briefly. “Can you go through some more files today looking for the Reed case? I’ll take you out for a steak dinner if you find it.”

  “I’ll hold you to that, but I had…” She looked him up and down. “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?”

  “Who is she?”

  “What?” Peter guessing was one thing, Mildred puzzled him. “How…?”

  “You didn’t bring coffee. Your clothes weren’t just pulled out of the cleaner’s plastic sleeve. And your frown line is gone.”

  He grinned and took off but looked back. “You missed your calling to be a detective.”

  “Morning,” he said to Juan, who already had his nose in his computer.

  Juan gazed up. “I’m going over Gomez’s electronic file on the case.”

  “Finding anything?”

  “Mostly a shitload of useless info. Gomez noted everything.”

  “Nothing good?”

  “Maybe. I think Talbot was running around on his wife back then. Not sure if that’s important, but who knows. And I’m just getting started.”

  Connor walked into the office. His gaze zeroed in on Mark.

  “Morning,” Mark said, unsure what the look was about.

  A slow smile spread over Connor’s lips. “What’s her name?”

  Mark reared back in his chair. “What?”

  “You know what.”

  “How do you know?” Was Mark wearing an I GOT LAID sign he didn’t know about?

  “You said ‘morning’ instead of grunting.” He chuckled. “And I heard Mildred talking to you.”

  “Forget that.” Mark found his list on his desk of the Cash leads he hadn’t chased down yet. “We got tons to do.” He needed to call Brad about painting Annie’s car. And call Austin PD about the Missing Persons report on Francyne Roberts.

  Realizing he’d mentally lapsed into in his own to-do list, he looked up. “We’ve got about six more leads to chase down that I got from Janet Rigley.”

  “Who?” Connor asked.

  “The lady who worked at the shelter where Cash stayed. The one I saw yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” Connor said. “You need company?”

  “Actually, I think we should divide and conquer.” He didn’t want Connor interfering with his lunch with Annie.

  “Hand ’em over. I’ll get started. I don’t want to be cooped up in this cave all day.”

  The fact that they didn’t have a window bothered Mark, too. While Juan seemed perfectly content to be here. Mark tore the list in two. Made a paper airplane with Connor’s half and flew it to him. Connor unfolded the plane.

  Mark drummed his fingers over his desk. He needed to tell them what he was up to. “I decided on a new case.”

  “What?” Connor asked. “Last week you said you wanted to give this case everything we had.”

  “I know, but give me this.” Doubt stabbed at his conscience. Was he hurting their chances of solving the Talbot case by taking on Annie’s? He recalled how scared Annie had been when they found her car and apartment vandalized. And even more frightened from the dream.

  “Lady in pink? That’s the case, right?” Juan asked.

  Mark frowned. When had everyone gotten so good at reading his mind?

  Juan must have read Mark’s mind again because he chuckled. “I asked Mildred what she was looking for in the boxes you left out yesterday. She told me.”

  “Mystery solved.” Connor leaned back in his chair until it squeaked beneath his weight. And Connor’s six-four frame held a lot of weight. His partner looked as if he’d played pro football. And actually, he did play a year of college ball. But he said he decided chasing down badasses was better than being hit by an entire string of badasses.

  “What mystery?” Mark asked.

  “Your mood. You tapped that, didn’t you? You lucky dog?”

  Mark didn’t deny it, although he didn’t like Connor’s tone. “She’s nice.”

  “I bet,” Connor said. “You going to give us the lowdown on the case?”

  “I’m still piecing it together. Tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” Connor stood up. “I’m out to find Cash.”

  “Wait,” Juan said. “We got a call from Stone. He said he’d have something for us around three. Wants us to meet him at the morgue.”

  Mark rotated his shoulders. “Can’t he just write up a report?” The pictures were bad enough, but actually seeing the little girl’s body was sure to chip out even a bigger chunk of his soul.

  “You know him.” Juan smirked. “He likes show and tell.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said, begrudgingly. “So we’ll all meet up at three at the morgue.”

  “Got it.” Connor walked out.

  Mark sat there grasping the threads of the good mood Annie had brought about. He let his mind go back to how it felt to have her on top of him, to be buried to the hilt inside her. To hearing those soft, happy sounds she made when she came. Then bam, he realized he had a ton of shit to do. He reached for the phone.

  “Haven’t seen you smile like that in a while,” Juan said. “Must have been a hell of a night.”

  “It was.” Mark looked at his phone and realized Brad wouldn’t open his shop until nine. But he needed to give Austin PD a chance to finish their coffee before dropping the lost-cousin problem in their lap.

  The temptation to call or text Annie tickled his mind.

  He tapped her number and then tried to figure out what to say. But damn, how long had it been since he worried about what he should say to a girl?

  “She’s not a crazy bitch like the last woman you dated, is she?” Juan asked.

  “No.” Annie wasn’t anything like Judith Holt. Then bam, the crazy part of Juan’s question gave him the slightest concern.

  But he believed her now, didn’t he? The question bubbled up into his subconscious as if it’d been waiting to pounce. That thought scratched across his good mood. But no. He realized it wasn’t Annie he thought was crazy, it was the case. And the evidence. A decades-old memory that wasn’t even complete and nightmares that gave only part of the story.

  Then, realizing where he might find answers, he stood, and glanced back at Juan. “I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mark took the steps to the second floor. When he passed Brown’s office, he realized he probably needed to update him on the case. But first things first. He continued three doors down.

  “Is Murdock in?” he asked the woman sitting in the waiting room.

  “Yeah, let me call him.” She picked up her phone.

  Afraid the man wouldn’t see him, considering their last visit, he walked into the office.

  “Wait,” the receptionist called.

  “It’s okay.” The forty-year-old man with red hair acknowledged Mark, but didn’t stand up. Mark shut the door.

  “Should I have brought my parka today?”

  “What?” Mark asked, unsure if that was sarca
sm in the man’s voice.

  Murdock leaned back in his chair. “You told me hell and Houston would be hit with a snowstorm before you darkened my door again.”

  Definitely sarcasm. “Don’t take it personally.” Mark dropped into a chair across from the doctor’s desk.

  “I don’t. Ninety percent of all cops are like you. Although, I do think you come in at the top ranking of difficult.” He straightened and appeared to mentally brush the chip off his shoulder. “What’s up?”

  “What’s it called when someone can’t remember something from a long time ago?”

  Murdock leaned forward. “You mean a repressed memory?”

  “Yeah. Tell me about them.”

  “You remembering something?”

  “Not me. A friend.” The second he said it he realized how that sounded. “She’s a witness.”

  Murdock chuckled. “Don’t worry, I believe you. You’ve only shown up on mandated visits. You’d never come on your own.”

  “Right. So?” Mark leaned forward and waited for the man to enlighten him.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Mark rubbed the back of his neck, feeling as if being here was somehow betraying Annie. But how could he believe in something he knew nothing about?

  “Just tell me about them.”

  “Okay.” Murdock drummed his fingers on the desk. Tap, tap, tap. The noise reminded him of the times he’d been forced into this office, sitting stoic and silent. There was no damn way he was giving this man a peek inside his head. Mark pushed his agitation aside and waited.

  Tap, tap.

  “Usually,” Murdock said, “it stems from a dramatic event. Something the person can’t emotionally handle, so the mind locks it into the subconscious.”

  “And what causes it to become unrepressed?”

  “Something triggers it, or the person’s subconscious thinks he or she is strong enough to deal with it. Our brains are a lot smarter than we think.”

  The dots started coming together. The funeral and seeing the Reed family could have been Annie’s trigger.

  Mark’s mind continued to run. “Can a repressed memory give a person nightmares? Like recurring ones but only reveal part of the memory?”

  Murdock leaned back and hesitated. “That’s feasible.”

  “But not likely?” Mark picked up on the man’s tone.

  “Dreams are not that accurate. It’s likely that there’s only a kernel of the truth in the dreams.”

  “So…you can’t believe the information from a dream?” And wasn’t that what this whole case was based on?

  “Only to a certain degree,” the man said.

  Mark recalled what the sheriff told him about the family saying Jenny probably drowned. Could Annie have witnessed Jenny drowning and the dreams were mixed up?

  But why would anyone want to shut her up about that? And how would that explain the missing Fran Roberts?

  Murdock’s chair squeaked. “Do you think this person is being honest with you?”

  “I believe she believes it.” Saying that made this feel less of a betrayal. It wasn’t Annie he didn’t trust. It was the dreams and a decade-old memory.

  “If it’s a witness, I could talk to her. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Mark stood up, unsure if he felt better with what he’d learned. But at least he wouldn’t be blindsided. “Thanks.”

  Mark hadn’t turned around when Murdock continued, “Is this a cold case?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it officially opened?”

  “Not yet, why?”

  “You should keep in mind. Investigating a case in which most of the facts are based on a memory is difficult. But even harder is getting a DA on board. You’ll need solid evidence before you’ll be able to take anyone to court on this. Remember that before you dive too deep.”

  “I plan on getting solid evidence,” he said with a confidence that he didn’t really feel. He’d already gone too deep last night, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry.

  * * *

  Almost home. Her playlist was almost done, and so was she. She’d run three miles. But she’d gotten zilch on what to say to her mom. Winging it felt wrong, Annie had always been a planner. But this felt unplannable.

  And unfortunately, unavoidable. Thinking about it had her heart racing, even as Annie slowed down. Oh, how she’d love to bury her head in the sand. Skip the call. She couldn’t.

  She deserved answers.

  Plus Mark would ask at lunch if she’d spoken to her mom.

  Not that she blamed him. She’d gone to him for help. He was doing his job.

  She had to talk to her mom. This morning.

  But to say what? Did asking her mom about Jenny somehow imply her mom was behind the murder? No? Yes? Maybe? She didn’t believe her mom was involved. She didn’t believe her mom had been the one who’d called her or wielded a spray can.

  “So what do you believe?” The question slipped off her lips and went straight to her heart. Coming to her apartment stairs, she grabbed the railing and bent over to catch her breath.

  While feeding her lungs oxygen, the answer to that question came back and was just as disconcerting as the question.

  She believed her mom knew something. Believed her mom had lied to her about how Annie had gotten the scar on her knee. Believed her mom and father had known all along what her nightmare had been about. They knew. Yet they lied about it. Why?

  Perhaps to protect Annie. But from what? Or was it from whom? Either way, did it mean they’d thought the truth was uglier than the nightmare?

  She stood there for almost a minute, trying to believe it’d be okay. But would the truth set Annie free?

  What would her daddy tell her to do? That thought brought a thread of grief, and a question. She’d already lost her father. Was she going to lose her mom now?

  Finally, squaring her shoulders, she moved up the steps.

  Pulling her earbuds out, she put her key in the lock, only to realize it wasn’t locked. She even turned the knob to confirm it. It turned.

  Her mind raced.

  Had she forgotten to lock it?

  She’d been on the phone with Isabella. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d forgotten.

  Remembering Pirate gave her a jolt. She eased the door open but stood outside the threshold. Normally, all it took was the opening of the door for him to come running.

  He didn’t come.

  “Kitty, kitty,” she whispered, dread filling her stomach. Remembering her missing cousin. Remembering, Shut up bitch!

  He didn’t come.

  “Pirate?” His name slipped off lips that somehow felt cold. “Kitty.”

  He didn’t come.

  Then Annie heard the footsteps coming down her hall.

  * * *

  “Okay. I’ll have Annie drop her car in the morning,” Mark said into the phone as he leaned back in his chair. When he’d finished with Murdock, he went to see Brown, but the man had left. Mark came back to his office to take care of his calls before heading out to find Cash. But first, he’d called Doris Roberts and asked about her daughter. She informed him that she hadn’t seen or heard from Fran since she’d left the funeral in a huff.

  But there was something about her voice.

  He refocused on his call to the garage mechanic. “And Brad, thanks for giving her a discount.”

  “Not an issue. I’d be locked away if you hadn’t helped get me that deal. Plus, I need the work. When you decide to freshen up your Mustang, you know my number.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  Hanging up, he was tempted to call Annie but stopped himself. It’d be best to call with news on the case and not look so damn eager. He found Austin PD’s number and called. It took him five minutes to get transferred to the Missing Persons unit.

  When he was finally connected, he mentioned Francyne Roberts’s name. “Let me speak to the officer in charge of that case.”

&nb
sp; As he waited, his mind went to Murdock’s info. Damn, he wanted good news to offer Annie at lunch.

  “Detective Hash.” The voice gave Mark an image of a mature officer.

  “Hello. I’m Detective Sutton with the Anniston PD.”

  “Okay,” Hash said. “Why’s the Anniston police looking into the Roberts case?”

  “I’m working a cold case and it seemed Ms. Roberts could’ve been a witness to a murder.”

  “A witness, not a suspect?” he asked.

  “Right,” Mark said, wondering where that question came from.

  “We just got the case this morning, but this isn’t the first time her name’s fallen on my desk.”

  “She’s got a record?” Mark asked.

  “For public intoxication, and one DUI. But I meant her Missing Persons file. The woman’s got a drinking problem, which leads to relationship problems, which leads to her dropping off the face of the earth for a few days.”

  “Oh,” Mark said.

  “A couple of domestic violence calls were made to her boyfriend’s place, too, so I was going to drop by and see if I smelled trouble. My advice to you is, unless it’s critical, to just cool your jets. She’ll pop up in a week or so.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “But I’m concerned someone might be trying to shut her up.”

  “If you think she could be missing permanently, we can look into this a little deeper.”

  “I can’t say that for sure.” Mark drummed the pencil. “It could be she’s off on a bender. I have other feelers out, and if I find anything suspicious, I’ll call. Meanwhile, just let me know what the boyfriend says.”

  “You got it,” Hash said.

  Hanging up, he muttered, “Shit!” Every question he sought answers to just created more questions. His good mood from being with Annie was wearing off.

  And he wanted it back.

  Realizing Juan had gone, he dialed Annie’s number and curled back into his chair.

  The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

  It went to voice mail.

  “It’s Mark. I spoke to the Austin PD. Call me.”

  * * *

 

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