by David Archer
Dr. Clark looked at the recorder, then nodded. “Yes, go ahead. Patient confidentiality doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”
EIGHTEEN
Dr. Clark gathered her appointment calendar and laptop, then rode the elevator down with them. They walked her to her car and saw her safely inside, then walked back toward the Charger after she drove away.
“How do you feel about getting close to the cops?” Dixon asked.
“Fine,” Chance said, “as long as they don’t ask too many questions. We did leave a couple of bodies here yesterday.”
“Yeah, and that’s a pretty distinctive gun you carry. You might want to hide that thing, at least until after we meet with Bobby Jensen.”
Chance nodded and slipped the Maxim and both of the Rugers under the front seat of the Charger as he got in. The rifle was wrapped in a blanket on the back floorboard, but he was hoping nobody would get close enough to notice it.
As soon as they were moving, Dixon took out his phone. He dialed Detective Jensen and put it on speaker. “Bobby, it’s Pete,” he said. “I just paid a visit to Melinda Cummings’ therapist, and she gave me a recording you ought to hear.”
“Therapist? We were just about to try to contact her. Dr. Clark, right?”
“That’s the one,” Dixon said. “Melinda Cummings went through a hypnosis session this morning, and she remembered the killing. You need to hear this recording, and then I think maybe you need to go talk to the prosecutors.”
Jensen sighed. “But you still don’t have enough to go after Cardwell?”
“Not yet. I’m working on something, though.”
“Okay. Let’s get together so I can hear this thing, and then we’ll figure out what to do. I’m in my car, meet me at the Buckhorn Restaurant. I’ll be waiting in the parking lot.”
“Okay, we’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.” He ended the call and told Chance to take the next left turn.
They got to the restaurant on schedule and found Jensen sitting in his car on the side of the building. Chance pulled up beside him, and the two of them got out of the Charger and walked to the open driver’s window.
“Bobby Jensen, this is Bill Simmons. He hired me to look into the Yolanda Martinez situation, and that’s what cracked all this wide open.” He handed over the recorder. “Just hit the play button.”
Chance and Dixon stood there while Jensen listened to the entire recording, his face growing darker by the moment. When it was finished, he looked up at Dixon.
“You really think this Elizabeth Cardwell is the one behind this? The one who’s doing this to these women?”
“She’s definitely my top suspect,” Dixon said. “Now that she’s with Finnigan, I’m pretty sure there will be more cases like this in the future if we don’t put a stop to it.”
Jensen shook his head. “It’s got to be stopped, no matter what it takes. Pete, this recording might be enough to convince the DA that this woman was brainwashed, but that’s not going to help the others that much. There’s no way he’ll just accept my word that it’s all of them, because people would suddenly start claiming they couldn’t remember what they did no matter what crime they were arrested for. I’m gonna need something a lot more solid to help the other women.”
“I’m working on it,” Dixon said. “In the meantime, you need to start looking into the possibility that Melinda Cummings was murdered, and didn’t kill herself. Did you talk to the detective about the other witness I told you about?”
“I called him, yeah. As far as he’s concerned, he’s not sure he believes there’s a connection between the cases, but I’m going with you on this. Somebody is whacking witnesses. And speaking of whacking, did you hear that two of Finnigan’s men were killed yesterday? Nobody knows who did it, but it was clean. Two quick shots that nobody heard, straight to the forehead on both of them.”
Dixon grinned. “Couldn’t happen to a couple of nicer bastards,” he said. “Any leads?”
“Nothing. No witnesses at all, but a patrol officer noticed the car sitting in the parking lot by itself for a while and stopped to check it out. He’s the one who found the bodies.”
“Might’ve been the mob,” Dixon said. “You know the dagos aren’t real fond of the Irish being here. They whack each other every now and then, that’s probably all it is.”
“I sure as hell hope not,” Jensen said. “Last thing Las Vegas needs is a gang war. Okay, I’ll take this to the DA and see what I can get started. Maybe it will at least be enough to start an investigation into the other women and their cases. The DA will probably want to talk to Dr. Clark.”
“Well, call her cell phone,” Dixon said. “I have a feeling she might be next on Finnigan’s target list, so I suggested she get out of town for a while. Last I saw of her, she was making tracks toward the airport.”
“No problem, we’ll find her if we need her. Get me something on Cardwell, Pete. If she’s really the one doing this, I want to see her locked up forever.”
“Yeah,” Dixon said. “Me, too.”
Jensen started his car and drove away, and Dixon turned back to Chance. “I’m thinking,” he said, “that it might be time to try to shake the big tree. What do you say we go visit Dr. Cardwell?”
“I’m in,” Chance said. “Let’s go.”
He googled the address of Empower Counseling and put the car in gear. Just under twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of a nicely appointed three-story office building and parked.
“Finnigan probably has security on this place,” Dixon said. “Be ready for anything.” He looked at Chance for a moment. “That means get your guns back out, but try not to use that big one. If they find a ballistic match here to the bullets that killed those guys yesterday, it wouldn’t take them long to connect to us.”
“Not much to worry about,” Chance said. “After I use one of those, I always switch the barrels and get rid of the old one. It’s a lot cheaper than buying a whole new gun every time.”
Dixon stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “I hope to God I never piss you off,” he said.
They got out of the car and walked up to the front door of the building. A sign out front said it would be opening soon, but the door was unlocked. They stepped inside and a receptionist at the front desk looked up and smiled.
“Hi, can I help you? We aren’t actually open just yet.”
“I was hoping to visit with Dr. Cardwell,” Dixon said. “Would she happen to be in?”
The smile slipped slightly. “I’m sorry, no, she’s not. I understand she’s in Los Angeles at the moment, but she’s due back tomorrow. Can I tell her who was calling?”
“Yeah,” Dixon said. “Tell her it’s Pete Dixon, and I want to talk to her about her special skills. Any idea what time she will be here?”
“No, I’m sorry,” the girl said. “Is there a number where she can reach you?”
“That’s okay,” he replied. “I’ll just check back tomorrow.”
He glanced at Chance and turned around, and the two of them walked out of the building. They got into the Charger and backed out of the parking space, then headed for the exit and turned onto the street. Behind them, a black sedan pulled out from the curb.
“We’ve got another tail,” Chance said. “How do you want me to handle it?”
“Let’s just see how long they want to stick with us. With this thing, you should be able to lose them.”
Chance grinned. “Works for me,” he said. “All buckled up?”
“Snug as a bug in a rug.”
Chance dropped his foot to the floor and the car leaped forward. He raced down the street at more than 70 mph for several blocks, putting some distance between them and the car behind them, then slammed on the brakes and drifted around the corner. The hard left turn had been partially concealed by a truck that was turning behind them, and Chance chuckled as the following car sailed right through the intersection in his rearview mirror. He made a couple more quick turns, t
hen picked up the ramp onto an expressway.
“Well, that was easier than I expected,” he said. “But now they know what we’re driving again.”
“That’s okay,” Dixon said. “I doubt they have much that could keep up with us. I’m just trying to figure out what to do next.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than his phone rang, and he held it up to show Chance that it was Bobby Jensen calling. He hit the button to answer on speaker.
“Yeah, Bobby,” he said.
“Pete, I just left the DA’s office,” Jensen said. “I played that recording for him, and he’s willing to consider the possibility that these women are actually being brainwashed, but he wants a name. I know you said you’re not certain yet, so I wouldn’t give him anything. Trouble is, he won’t let me pursue this angle until we have a suspect. Any hope of getting something soon?”
“We just went to try to visit with Cardwell, but she’s out of town until tomorrow. I’m gonna try confronting her directly, but it may take a day or two before I can actually pin her down. If you could quietly put out a BOLO on her, maybe you can help me do that sooner.”
“I think I can handle that,” Jensen said. “I’ll let you know if I get anything back on it.”
“Sounds good, Bobby. Talk to you later.” He ended the call and looked at Chance. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to think a late lunch would be a good idea. We haven’t eaten since breakfast, and that was a long time ago.”
Chance nodded. “I can go along with that,” he said. “Anywhere in particular?”
“There’s a burger joint at the next exit. I forget the name, but it’s really good.”
“Hamburger sounds fine to me,” Chance said. He got into the right lane and took the next exit when he got there, then found the restaurant Dixon was talking about and pulled in the parking lot.
They went inside and ordered, then sat and talked quietly between themselves while they ate. It was a comfortable place, and they enjoyed their lunch. When they were finished eating, they sat for an extra cup of coffee and then got up to leave.
Chance paid the tab while Dixon was looking at all of the cards that advertised the shows in town. He picked up one or two, looked it over, then put them back where he had found them. When Chance was finished settling the bill, he grabbed a handful of toothpicks and then the two of them walked out the front door together.
They had parked the Charger at the side of the building, and both of them looked around as they walked out toward the car. They didn’t see anything that worried them so they got into the car and started it up, and Chance drove them out of the parking lot. He turned to Dixon to ask where they might be going next, and that’s when he spotted the black sedan that was fishtailing around the corner behind them.
“We’ve got company,” he said. “Looks like they found something with some power.”
Dixon leaned over to look into his own mirror and scowled. “Those are Finnigan’s,” he said. “Show them what you can do, cowboy.”
Chance shoved his foot to the floor and the car surged, but then two other cars suddenly slid to a stop in the intersection just ahead of him. He was forced to slam on the brakes just as the men inside the cars opened fire, aiming directly at their windshield. The glass exploded, and Chance spun the wheel and hit the gas pedal as hard as he could, spinning the car around in a bootlegger one eighty that would have done justice to a movie stunt driver.
The car that had been behind them suddenly slid to a stop, turning sideways to try to block their exit, but Chance climbed up onto the curb to get around the back of that car. He made another hard left at the next intersection, then a right and kept his foot on the floor as he put distance between them and their attackers.
“You okay?” he asked.
There was no answer, and he looked over at Dixon. The man was slumped against the passenger door, and there was a spreading red stain on the front of his pale yellow shirt.
NINETEEN
Chance reached over and felt Dixon’s throat for a pulse, and found a weak one. He slapped his hand over the wound as he kept his foot pressed to the floor, making over 100 mph down the city street. He blew through two red lights, then spotted the big H of the hospital trauma center sign, and slammed on the brakes to make the turn into the ER driveway. He slid to a stop just outside the door and laid on the horn.
A couple of orderlies came running out to see what was going on, and Chance shouted at them to get a gurney. “I got a man with a gunshot wound,” he said. “I think it’s pretty serious, come on, hurry up!” He used his free hand to take the Maxim and its holster from Dixon’s waistband and shoved it under the seat.
They didn’t waste any time. One of them ran back inside and was immediately replaced by a nurse who started checking Dixon over. She pushed Chance’s hand away and clamped a pad over the wound, and when the orderly returned with a gurney, she held it in place while two of them quickly loaded him onto it. As they wheeled him away, she shouted at Chance to move the car.
He put it in reverse and backed out, then parked it off to the side and jumped out. He hurried inside the hospital and ignored the people who told him he couldn’t follow Dixon into the exam room.
“He’s losing a lot of blood,” the nurse said. “Pulse is weak but steady, but we’re going to lose him if we don’t move fast. Sir,” she said as she spotted Chance, “you can’t be in here. Please, wait outside.”
“Just a minute,” Chance said. He shoved his hand into Dixon’s jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, then let the orderlies push him out of the room. He looked at the recent calls and tapped the number for Detective Jensen.
“Jensen,” the detective answered.
“This is Bill Simmons. Pete Dixon’s been shot, we’re at Memorial Hospital ER.” He was gathering his guns and tossing them into his bag as he spoke.
“Shot? Is he alive?”
“Yes, but it might not be good. They say he’s losing a lot of blood and his pulse is weak.”
“I’m on the way. Any idea who did it?”
“We were boxed in by three cars, big black sedans. The two in front of us opened fire and I guess he didn’t duck fast enough. I was driving and got us out of there, but all I could do was get him here to the hospital.”
“Finnigan,” Jensen said. “I don’t know what you guys stumbled onto, but apparently it’s big enough Finnigan wants to shut you up. Try to stay out of sight until I get there, and I’ll see what I can do about getting you into protective custody.”
“Screw that,” Chance said. “You just take care of Pete, I’ll handle myself.”
He ended the call and dropped the phone into his own pocket, then walked out the door again. He got into the Charger and started it up, pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Johnny’s Used Cars.
Johnny was standing outside the office when Chance pulled in, and his eyes went wide when he saw the car. “Holy crap, what did you do to my car?” he yelled.
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,” Chance said. “Right now, I need something else. What have you got?”
“You need something else? Where the hell is Pete?”
“In the hospital, he’s been shot. Finnigan sent his killers after us, and I’m going to take the fight right back to them. Now, have you got something I can drive?”
Johnny stared at him for a moment. “Pete got shot? Is he alive?”
“He was when I left the hospital. The police are on the way there, they’ll take care of him, but I need to finish what he and I started. Come on, give me some wheels.”
Johnny stood there for a few more seconds, then motioned for Chance to follow him into the big garage. They went into the back room and Johnny pointed out a late-model Corvette. “That’s the only other thing I got at the moment that’s ready to go. Take it, but it’s eighty grand if you wreck it.”
“No problem,” Chance said. He tossed his bag and rifle into the car, then slid behind the wheel and started it up.
Johnny opened the door and Chance drove out and onto the street. He’d gone only a couple hundred yards when Dixon’s phone rang in his pocket. A quick glance told him it was Jensen calling and he put it to his ear.
“Bill Simmons,” he said.
“Where the hell are you? Look, I don’t know who you are, but you can’t go off half-cocked in my city.”
“I don’t plan to,” Chance said. “You need evidence of Elizabeth Cardwell’s involvement in this, right? I’m going to get it.”
“And how do you plan to do that? Are you another PI?”
“Nope. I’m just a guy who knows how to push buttons.” He hit the end button and cut off the call, then took out his own phone. He found the number for the attorney, Kramer, and dialed.
“Kramer and Johnson,” the receptionist said. “How may I direct your call?”
“This is Bill Simmons,” he said. “I need to speak with Mr. Kramer, please.”
“One moment.” The hold music began to play, but it lasted only a few seconds.
“Alvin Kramer,” the lawyer said. “Mr. Simmons?”
“Yes, sir,” Chance said. “I’ve got more information about this case, but I’m going to need your help with some of it. Can you arrange for Yolanda to get to a hypnotist?”
“A hypnotist? Can I ask why?”
“Another woman who had the same kind of experience was able to remember details about the murder under hypnosis. She was completely confused and shocked by what she remembered, and it definitely lends credibility to the brainwashing theory. I know that the DA has already heard a recording on that particular case, and is willing to allow that that woman was a victim of brainwashing. If we can get a similar result from Yolanda, I think it will be enough to at least get the DA’s attention.”
Kramer was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Yes, I think I can arrange it. It’ll probably be late this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Would you like to be present?”