Everything Pales in Comparision

by Rebecca Swartz

  ***

  Nothing could prepare a person for laying their private life out in the open, before what basically amounted to a bunch of strangers. And yet she felt she was handling herself well. She bridled, however, when Detective James said, “Please describe your relationship with Daina Buchanan.”

  “My relationship?” She raised her eyebrows and then shook her head. “I have no relationship with Ms. Buchanan.” Her flat tone did not invite further discussion.

  But James looked down at his notepad and quickly leafed through it. He stopped halfway through and read what was before him, saying, “I understand that you visited her at the hospital.” He looked up, met her eyes, and politely inquired, “Is that correct?”

  Emma had no idea how he’d come by that information, since the request for her visit had not gone through the usual channels. But she returned his look levelly. “I didn’t initiate the visit, Ms. Buchanan did. She wanted to thank me. Is there a problem with that?”

  “It’s just unusual that no one knew about the visit, that’s all.”

  Emma kept her tone and expression unchanged as she said, “Obviously someone knew about it, if you’re bringing it up. The woman wanted to thank me, there’s nothing more to it than that.”

  Still the detective pressed. “How did she know how to get in touch with you?”

  Emma thinned her lips, bringing the edges of her teeth together. “I’m in the phonebook, Detective.”

  “But how did she know it was you?” he asked patiently. “How did she get your name?”

  Emma finally saw where he was going. “My name was somehow leaked to the press. I’m sure you know it was in the papers the next day. I don’t know how, but I can tell you there were individuals that I know who were at that concert.”

  He nodded. “Okay, well, we’ll need the names of those individuals, as well as any others you deem relevant to this investigation, say within…the last four years?”

  Emma nodded.

  “Obviously, we’re looking for someone the two of you have in common,” the detective continued. “That may extend to…romantic partners, past or present.” His voice and expression were both keen and kind. “Are you okay with that?”

  She looked him steadily in the eye as she considered how best to respond. She had known something of this sort would be necessary. She hadn’t had the time to even think of how to answer it. Now, with a sinking sensation in her gut, she chose her words carefully.

  “It’s not that I’m not okay with it, it’s that there may be some…difficulty in that area.”

  The detective and the sergeant frowned, and Emma was aware of a subtle shifting of the room’s two other occupants. She ignored them and said, with utmost care, “I don’t date. And I don’t associate with my…romantic partners, as you put it, for longer than one night.” She paused, then added, almost coolly, “And I don’t usually get last names.”

  Nobody said anything. Detective James, frown still in place, glanced down at the table, obviously thinking, then looked back up at her. His expression had softened. He cleared his throat and said gently, “Okay, well, forgive me for asking this, but what kind of numbers are we looking at here?”

  Emma narrowed her eyes. “In the last four years?” She looked away and cast her mind back, making a quick calculation. She looked back at the detective and shrugged. “Off the top of my head, twelve, thirteen, somewhere in there.”

  “Women?” he asked.

  She shot him a tight, dark look but said nothing.

  The detective had the decency to blush. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I meant no offense. Do the best you can, whatever you can remember about them, whoever you think is relevant, in whatever capacity. It’ll take some time, I’m sure, to compile but get it together as quick as you can and get it to the sergeant here. We’ll ask the same of Ms. Buchanan. Speaking of which,” he added, after a quick glance at his notes, “considering the nature of this letter, are you comfortable with her knowing its contents? Because we don’t have to tell her, verbatim, what it says. Nor do we need to give out your name in reference to it.”

  Again, though the idea had not completely formed in her mind, something of the sort had already occurred to Emma. She responded, “If it will further the investigation, you have my permission to tell her whatever you need to. Otherwise, I’d prefer not to be brought into it.”

  “Okay.” He nodded once, sharply. “Good enough. You’ve been a great help, Constable, thank you. And my…apologies for any discomfort this may have caused.”

  Emma merely nodded and got to her feet. She glanced at Sergeant Michaels and inclined her head slightly toward him, a gesture he returned.

  And as she drove home for the second time that morning, it suddenly occurred to her that she had forgotten to mention that she had given Daina her phone number. She wondered if it was relevant, and then immediately dismissed it. It no more meant there was a relationship between them than anything else had. And besides, it’s not likely she’ll call anyway, considering the way things are going.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Saturday morning found Daina awake early and chafing at the agonizingly slow passage of time. She was to be released at eleven, but it was now only seven thirty. The breakfast rounds had begun and while she’d never been very big on breakfast, in the hospital she’d made a habit of consuming as much of the meal as she could. Her recovery and, indeed, her release depended on a continual gain of strength. The nurses were adamant that she be eating, and keeping down, what she was given. She did her best to comply.

  She was healing quickly, and while still suffering from a great deal of pain and stiffness, she’d made the decision to cut herself off her pain medication. She even refused the usual T3s generally prescribed at her stage of recovery. She didn’t want to become dependent on anything, and she didn’t like the foggy feeling from taking the medication. She learned to accept and tolerate the pain, and even welcomed it, as a reminder of her limitations. She had never really paid much attention to the “lessons learned” school of thought, but she did know that what had happened to her had affected her, changed her. She just wasn’t exactly sure how. And she’d been too busy with business affairs to give it the consideration it probably deserved.

  Over the last couple of days, she’d called her lawyer, her banker, her road manager and the record company. She had received faxed copies and signed and sent off other copies of pertinent documents which effectively removed Kendra from any and all decisions and obligations regarding Daina’s career. She was pleased with the progress she had made; her mother had been an enormous help, going so far as to release an innocuous statement to the press on Daina’s behalf.

  What she hadn’t been able to accomplish was to get in touch with Kendra. And that troubled her. Not because she was particularly heartbroken over the demise of their relationship. She’d initiated it and she felt right about it. But Daina disliked loose ends, and Kendra and whatever business still lay between them was starting to resemble just that. She had called her once, on Wednesday, and left a voice mail. There was no point in calling again. Kendra would either get the message and return the call, or not. That she hadn’t annoyed Daina to no end. And she hated feeling annoyed. On top of that, she felt powerless, and edgy and restless as a result. Sleep had become more of an acquaintance of hers than a real friend.

  Finished with her breakfast, she swallowed the last of her apple juice and pushed the tray aside. She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed and now gingerly lowered her feet to the floor. She’d begun physical therapy on Wednesday and had made progress since then, but her movements were still cautious and restricted. She made her careful way to the bathroom, stopping to pick up the change of clothes her mother had brought her. She was tired of hospital gowns and robes. Today, she would clean herself up on her own, wash her hair, and dress in something other than hospital garb. Today, she was going home.

  Fifteen minutes later, she opened the door to leave the bathroom. Her min
d once again overrun with her concerns, she didn’t even see the person standing right outside the door until she practically walked into him. Every muscle in her body contracted and a wall of pain slammed into her. The agony was so intense she almost dropped where she stood. She fell back against the doorjamb. Her vision grayed, her heart pounded, and whatever she’d managed to eat of her breakfast headed back up the way it had gone down. Oh no, you will not throw up. She swallowed hard, and then swallowed again. She felt hands on her arm, on her shoulder, but for the next few seconds could only wait until both the pain and the nausea subsided.

  She heard someone say, “Is she okay? What happened?” And then another voice, this one vaguely familiar, asked, “Ms. Buchanan, are you okay?”

  She cracked open an eye and saw the concerned face of Detective James. Through clenched teeth, waves of pain still crashing through her and a sickening heat washing over her, she practically spat out at him, “Yeah, I’m fine, just—dandy.”

  She managed to straighten, using the doorframe for support. She irritably knocked James’ hands away, then fixed him with a venomous look. “Jesus Christ, don’t you people knock?” she asked testily.

  “Actually, we did,” he said, his expression filled with concern. “I guess you didn’t hear us,” he added, just as Daina flicked off the switch to the bathroom light and fan; obviously the latter had been just loud enough to drown out their entry.

  “So knock louder,” she threw back at him.

  With extreme care, she moved away from the doorjamb, her entire left side on fire and her belly churning unhappily. Her surgical site felt as if someone had ripped it open, dropped a red-hot brick in it, and then closed it back up again. That just can’t be good. But she was still on her feet, still conscious and still moving.

  She made her slow and painful trek back to her bedside. James again made as if to help her, but she stopped him with a baleful look.

  “Don’t,” was all she said.

  She didn’t even bother trying to get up onto the bed. That, she knew, was currently beyond her. Ever so carefully she lowered herself into the chair beside the bed. She let her muscles relax, and a new wave of agony coursed through her. For a moment she seriously reconsidered her stand against pain medication, but eventually the pain subsided to a dull ache. She was able to look up at the detective, who stood where she’d stopped him. She swallowed, cleared her throat, and smiled thinly. “So, Detective, to what do I owe the…pleasure of this visit?”

  James blinked, then took two steps forward. “There’s been another threat against you,” he said, his tone and expression caught somewhere between concern and professional courtesy. “We received it this morning. It came in the form of a letter.”

  Daina could only look at him blankly. And then, as his words registered, she closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “Wonderful,” she muttered.

  “The letter was delivered to us by a third party,” he went on, and Daina looked up at him once more. “The threat against you is obvious and, we believe, legitimate. You weren’t named, but the content and the context left no doubt that you’re the target.”

  Still, Daina just looked at him. Her mind and body felt thick and slow. “So where is this letter? Can I see it?”

  James shook his head after the briefest of hesitations. “Unfortunately, no. We need to protect the privacy of the third party. I can’t divulge the contents of the letter and I can’t show it to you. I’m sorry. I can tell you that there’s no question that the threat is directly against you. But there’s no indication of how that threat will or could be carried out. Just that the intent is there.”

  Daina felt certain that what he’d just told her should have made some kind of sense.

  “So…” she began, choosing her words carefully, “a letter was delivered to you, which contains a threat against me, but you won’t tell me what it says or let me read it, because you need to protect someone else?” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that what you’re saying? Because if that’s what you’re saying, what the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s…complicated, I know.” And he did look and sound apologetic. “But the individual who…delivered it asked that their privacy be upheld. We have to respect that.”

  Daina still didn’t get it. “So why can’t I see it? Is this person named in the letter? Why can’t I read it?”

  The detective hesitated once more, as if considering, then abruptly shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. No one was named, but I can’t discuss it any further. It’s complicated.”

  “That’s not complicated, Detective,” Daina snapped at him. “That’s bullshit.”

  Detective James put his hands out in a placating gesture. “Ms. Buchanan, if you knew the situation, you’d understand. But I can’t even explain it to you because, well…I can’t.”

  “Okay, fine,” she said tightly. “So why are you here then?”

  “Because we need to ensure your safety.”

  “And how do you intend on doing that? I’m in here in the first place because somebody didn’t do their job. And now you’re fudging things. So what exactly do you have in mind?”

  “Well, actually, that’s largely up to you.” He briefly eyed her T-shirt and her nylon black and white track pants. “When are you getting released?”

  “Today. This morning, at eleven.” Daina was actually no longer as excited about that as she had been. She had a feeling her life was about to get rather complicated itself. She wasn’t happy about that at all.

  Detective James was nodding. “Okay, I figured as much. We’ll have to get the ball rolling quicker than I expected, but first, I need to know where you’re going, and if you’d be comfortable being under guard there. You’re not leaving town, are you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Well, if you leave our jurisdiction, there’s nothing we can do for you.”

  “Really.” Daina sighed. “Okay, well, I’m here for a couple more weeks, to recuperate. The doctors have advised me not to fly yet.”

  “Well, that does make it easier. Where will you be staying?”

  “With my parents.” As soon as the words left her mouth, the full reality of the situation hit home. And what she hadn’t considered, hadn’t wanted to consider, now stared her full in the face. “Wait a minute, Jesus, is that even an option?”

  “Actually, yes it is, and it’s probably your best one,” he told her. “You shouldn’t be alone, and if you choose to be placed under guard, that protection would extend to your family, as well.”

  “If I choose?” Daina frowned. “What do you mean if I choose?”

  “As I said, anything we plan to undertake is largely dependent on what you’re comfortable with. We’re not going to surround your house with a SWAT team, that’s not realistic, but depending on the layout, we’d probably assign two cruisers, one at the front, one at the back, to watch twenty-four/seven. Or,” and he shrugged, “if you so choose, you could tell us to get lost, that you don’t want any protection.”

  Daina contemplated him for a moment, then said dryly, “Well, that would just be stupid, now wouldn’t it?” Her comprehension of the seriousness of her predicament was growing steadily. There might have been a time when she would have refused such measures, but that time was past. She didn’t know what she required, but she was willing to accept that she required some kind of protection.

  “We’re not trying to force anything on you, Ms. Buchanan,” James went on. “It’s your life, it’s your choice. We’re here to help and to advise you. If you want protection, you can have it. If not…” He shrugged.

  “My life is in my own hands,” she finished for him. “Yeah, I think we’ve covered this ground already.” She took a couple of moments to collect her thoughts, then asked, “How long would I be under guard?”

  “Until you or we determine it’s no longer necessary.”

  She gave him a look of narrow-eyed annoyance. “That’s not a very definitive answer, Detec
tive, but I get your meaning: either nothing happens, or something happens, right?”

  “Simply put, yes.”

  This time, Daina took several seconds to ponder his words. It seemed that every time she thought she could take a step forward she was sent two steps back. What he was saying, what he was suggesting, was beyond disturbing. It was practically beyond comprehension. But whatever logic existed in this crazy, upside down world of hers strongly dictated that she take his words and her situation seriously. And so she said firmly, “Okay, then let’s do this.”

  He nodded. “Good. I’ll see that the arrangements are made.” He added, “There is something else I need from you, though.”

  Of course there is. She cocked her head and feigned polite interest. “And what’s that?”

  “We’ve been over this before, I know, and I know you’ve said you don’t have any enemies, but we need you to compile a list of names of anyone you can think of who, for any reason, would want to harm you. Anyone in the last four years.”

  “Four years?” Daina gaped at him. “How the hell do I remember everyone I’ve met over the last four years?”

  “Not everyone,” he said gently. “Just those who might have a reason to want to harm you. Anyone. Like, for instance, your ex—uh, manager.” He stumbled a bit, as if he was still unsure of how to refer to Kendra. “Who, by the way,” he quickly added, “we have questioned and who does have an alibi.”

  Daina was startled, more at the realization that they had spoken to Kendra when she hadn’t, than by the information provided. “Well, I didn’t seriously think it was her—”