by N. C. Lewis
"Phew, what's that smell?" Danielle asked, holding her breath.
"I don't think I want to know," Amy replied staring at the faint traces of graffiti on the walls. " I don't think you want to know either; just be grateful it is cooler in here."
The hard click of the outside door caused Danielle to spin around. "Kinda dark and spooky like an ancient tomb in one of those zombie movies," she muttered in a half whisper.
Amy walked to the first door. "Look, at least it has a number. Come on, unit seven's this way."
There was a sharp squeak, light flooded the hallway.
"Hey, you!"
The shout, loud and angry, came from behind. It echoed off the faded walls bringing the two women to an immediate halt. They spun around.
Yellow light flooded out of an open doorway into the hall. A pair of dark, piercing eyes flashed at the two women. Amy sucked in her breath and held it until her stomach settled down and her eyes further adjusted to the gloom.
The piercing eyes belonged to a white-haired woman standing partially in the hallway. "You residents here?"
"Friends of Megan Finney. She lives in unit seven; we're paying her a visit," replied Amy. "Who are you?"
The woman stepped fully into the hall. She was in her seventies, pale skinned, dressed in blue jeans, a cotton shirt, and black leather boots dappled with splashes of paint. "The handyman, but I'm a woman." She laughed at her joke and pointed to a tool belt strapped around her waist. "Was watchin' ya through the window, but ya didn't see me, did ya? Name's Jane Theanine, landlord hired me to patch things up around here. Told 'im to tear the place down and start again. Says he can’t afford that, so he hires me. I'm retired, so it don't cost 'im much. He's cheap!"
"Oh, I see," said Amy with relief. "Can you tell us where to find unit seven?"
"Left at the end of the hallway, the first door on your right." Jane Theanine had already lost interest in the intruders, throwing the words over her shoulder as she stepped back into the room, closing the door. Again the hallway filled with gloom.
"Come on, Amy," Danielle said, hurrying ahead. "Got to get out of this hallway before I throw up."
Chapter 27
Danielle had pounded several times on Megan Finney's door when Amy caught up with her.
"No one home," Danielle said, glancing both ways along the hallway.
"Told me she didn't start work until later this evening," Amy replied.
"Maybe she did a little shopping, you know, to get supplies for the week ahead," suggested Danielle. But even as the words came out, she wasn't convinced. "Doesn't look like the homey, cooking type."
"Try the door," Amy said, standing back from a drying puddle of an unidentified liquid.
"Amy girl, it's locked!"
"How do you know?"
"Who leaves their front door unlocked these days?"
"Try the door!"
Danielle reached out her hand and turned the handle. The door swung open with a rusty creak. "Seems like every door is open in this place," she muttered, stepping into the room. "That's not normal!"
Their eyes swept across the sparsely furnished room—the folding screen that divided the space, the tiny kitchen with its two wooden stools, and a folding table jammed up against a wall. It was only when they had both stepped fully into the room, the door shutting quietly behind, that they saw them. Hundreds of images of Danny Fontane plastered on Megan's bedroom wall.
"Look!" Danielle gasped, pointing at the images. But Amy had already taken in and processed the scene. Every image of Danny Fontane's face had a huge red "X" scrawled across it. On some images, hand-drawn red teardrops fell from the eyes of the fallen star.
Danielle tried to make sense of it all. "Oh my! Amy girl, it's as if…" But words failed her.
"Better call Nick," Amy said at last. "I think we have done our—"
"What are you doing in my room?"
Megan Finney stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, crimson creeping across her face like a shadow at dawn. But it was her eyes that put a chill up Amy's spine. They were on the wild side, and in the dim light of the room, the pupils were as small as pin points.
Chapter 28
Megan stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind. Her face seemed to tighten dramatically, but she contained herself and at first was still, her eyes ablaze. Then, at last, she spoke again. "Hillary doesn't like visitors. Gets angry when they show up unannounced, very angry… and she makes me do things."
Amy glanced around, there was no sign of anyone else except Megan. "Who's Hillary?"
Megan hesitated, eyes flicking from Amy to Danielle. "My sister… and she is furious at you!" Megan stepped forward.
"Where is she?" Amy asked, mind racing. She needed to do something, but what? Better to keep Megan talking until an idea came. "I don't see anyone else."
Megan glanced around, smiled. "Right here with me. But you can't see her."
Danielle interrupted. "You lost us on the curve there, girl."
Megan took another step forward, her hands formed into fists then opened again. "My sister is dead! Only I can see her." Again, she hesitated, and Amy and Danielle waited, watching her face. The sound of cars pulling up on the street broke into the tense silence. Amy and Danielle exchanged quick glances. The friends understood Megan needed help.
"Have you told your doctor about this?" Amy said carefully, trying to keep Megan's mind off their intrusion into her apartment.
"On my salary! I'm working with Sage Oats at the temple, and on and off with Dr. Walden when I can afford him…"
"I'll tell you what," continued Amy, talking slowly now, emphasizing each word. "Let's sit down at the kitchen table… and… have a little chat."
"I don't want a little chat," Megan said, her face twisting into a grotesque mask, eyes hooding over. "Hillary is furious… No, Hillary, I can't do that… you made me do it to Danny…. Please, no… I'm not doing it again…"
Amy glanced around, the window was too small to squeeze through. She needed a weapon. Danielle, whose thoughts mirrored Amy's, moved toward the kitchen. There'd be something to defend herself with in a drawer if it came to that.
Heavy footsteps pounded along the hallway. The front door flew open.
"Police! Megan Finney, stay where you are, and put your hands in the air."
Megan's face became puffy and pale as though life itself was draining out of her. Slowly, she raised her hands. Then in a movement almost too fast to perceive, crumpled to the floor, sobbing.
Moments later uniformed officers had Megan in cuffs, read her her rights, all the while she sobbed. "It wasn't my fault… Hillary made me strike out his face… I did nothing wrong…"
"Tell it to the judge," the uniformed officer barked. "She'll sure be interested, so will the jury."
"I didn’t do anything wrong," Megan cried, agonized, as an officer led her from the apartment.
◆◆◆
"Are you okay?" Detective Mary Wilson asked, placing an arm over the shoulder of Amy. "Did Megan attack or threaten either of you?"
They both shook their heads slowly.
"That's something," Detective Wilson said. "Guess, when you are ready, I'll need a statement. You can do that later at the station. Say tomorrow morning?"
Amy nodded. "How did you know we were here?"
"Your hubby, Detective King. He's in with Lieutenant Kostopoulos as we speak. Nick got a call from your son-in-law, Noel."
"Noel?" responded Amy still in shock. "Ruby's husband, Noel?"
Detective Wilson smiled. "Yep, seems he heard Megan humming, recognized the voice and tune. Guess she'll sing like a canary once we get around to interviewing her. I believe she was at Danny Fontane's relaunch party, right?"
Detective Wilson didn’t wait for an answer, her eyes fixated on the bedroom wall. "Goodness me!" she said to no one in particular. "We'd better question Megan at once; strike while the iron's hot and wrap up this case before the sun sets." She nodded at Amy and Daniel
le; they were dismissed.
"Bag up all electronics," Detective Wilson barked at a uniformed officer standing at the entrance to the apartment. "We'll need all the circumstantial evidence we can get with this one."
Chapter 29
There were five at dinner that night, at Hansel's House, the popular restaurant hidden in the corner of Enfield Court. Amy and Danielle, Noel and Ruby, while the host, Dr. Walden, sat at the head of the table.
"Hard to believe Megan as a murderer," Dr. Walden said, spooning soup into his mouth. "I don't like to talk about my patients, but she had... how can I put this." He put down his spoon, glanced around the crowded restaurant then continued, "A split personality."
"That's a real thing? I thought it was just in the movies," Ruby said.
"Oh yes, it is a real thing," Dr. Walden replied, glancing from face to face and nodding. "It's not quite the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde made famous by Robert Louis Stevenson's book." He spooned another mouthful of soup, slapped his moist lips together, savoring the last drop. "Damn close, though."
"Quite incredible," Amy said, "I thought there was something amiss with Megan, but would have never guessed it was a split personality."
"Ah!" Dr. Walden replied, leaning forward over the table. "It takes a trained eye to spot it. A bit like a chess game, only a grandmaster can see a clear path to victory. I've known cases where a couple was married fifty years, and the wife never knew her husband was a fiendish killer. Can you imagine that, fifty years!" He dropped his head to take another spoonful of soup, but his eyes darted furtively around the table. He had their attention and was enjoying himself.
Amy could sense him waiting for someone to ask another question about Megan. Noel picked up his glass and sipped. Danielle chased a potato around her soup bowl. Ruby stared at Dr. Walden in admiration but said nothing. At last, Amy could stand it no more. "Dr. Walden, are we to believe Megan's personality was split between her real persona and that of her deceased sister?"
His eyes glittered. "Can’t be too specific, especially about clients. Patient confidentially and all that." He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "But… yes… Hillary took over part of Megan's personality… seems she was the evil sister… the persona that struck the vital blow that killed Danny Fontane. It is quite possible Megan knows nothing about it and will say so, even under intense questioning. The mind is such a fascinating organ."
"Well, there were certainly a lot of pictures of Danny Fontane on her apartment wall," added Danielle. "All with their faces crossed out."
Dr. Walden turned slowly and looked at Danielle. "Really?" he said in a somber voice. "That is most interesting, most interesting indeed."
"Then there was her laptop," Noel added. He'd spoken with Nick earlier and had a rundown on the latest in the case. "Full of emails to Danny Fontane. I believe there were thousands."
"There you have it!" Dr. Walden said, smacking his spoon on the table. "The prosecutor will make short work of the whole matter. The woman will be behind bars for the rest of her life, and our community will be safer for—"
"Strange thing is," said Noel cutting the doctor short. "None of the emails were sent to Danny. Someone found them in Megan's draft email folder."
"Are you quite sure?" Dr. Walden said, turning to Noel.
"Yep, and they haven’t found the murder weapon. So, right now the evidence is circumstantial at best."
Dr. Walden sat very still in his chair at the head of the table, carefully studying Noel. There was a trace of crimson in his cheeks, and his mouth was shut very tight.
Chapter 30
"Your entrée," said the waiter clearing away the soup dishes, replacing them with plates of grilled trout with a garlic and butter glaze. "A charming little dish popular in Tuscany, Italy."
"Looks delicious," Dr. Walden said, taking a mouthful of trout, his eyes never leaving Noel's face. "Compliments to the chef."
"I've been thinking about the job," Noel said, forking in a crisp bit of fish.
Dr. Walden held up his hand. "May I say, Noel, you are doing a fine job. I couldn't be happier."
Noel blushed. "Thank you. It's just that I've examined the appointment books and can't for the life of me understand how you keep the business afloat."
Dr. Walden put down his fork. "What do you mean?"
Everyone, including Amy, was watching Dr. Walden now.
Noel continued. He thought it best to ask the next question out in the open, not sure he would like the answer. "On a good day, you have at most four paying clients, most days less than that. I can’t understand how you can afford to hire me."
The waiter returned to the table, topped up the glasses with water, and placed a large platter of roasted vegetables in the center of the table. "Compliments of the chef."
Just then a figure in a wrinkled suit, jacket tight across the stomach, and carrying a dingy plastic bag, tapped Dr. Walden on the shoulder.
"I'm Duke Savage," the figure said, extending his hand. "Noel mentioned you'd be dining here tonight."
If the intrusion surprised the doctor, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned, politely shook the hand of the new guest and indicated that he sit down.
"Always on duty," Dr. Walden said in way of explanation to the gathered guests. "I'm sure this will only take a moment, happens all the time. That's the life of a doctor for you." He turned to Duke who had pulled up a chair and was gazing at the platter of vegetables with a greedy eye. "How can I help you?" the doctor said in that soft, encouraging voice common to therapists.
Duke didn’t speak immediately, held up the dingy plastic bag high in the air. On the bag was inscribed in red lettering The Bullock Texas State History Museum. He spilled the contents of the plastic bag onto the table. Index cards with handwritten notes, news clippings, photographs and single sheets of paper scattered about in untidy heaps.
"What’s all that?" asked Dr. Walden, echoing the thoughts of everyone around the table.
"Two years of research, Dr. Walden. I'm a part-time reporter, working on a human smuggling investigation." Duke leaned back in his seat, popping open the button of his jacket. "Ladies and gentlemen, my investigation began with Danny Fontane. The grapevine told me he was part of a human trafficking circle. Thought I'd hit a dead end when he died. Then a contact mentioned you, Dr. Walden, and hence these cards and papers." He spread his arms wide, like a sprinter taking a victory lap.
Dr. Walden stood up.
"Sit down," barked Detective Wilson, who, unnoticed by the group, had entered the restaurant with Nick. "We don't want this to be any more difficult. I'm arresting you for the murder of Danny Fontane."
Dr. Walden slumped in his chair, tipped back his head and laughed. "Checkmate!" he somberly said, raising his hands slowly in the air. Then he hummed a familiar tune, his melodic voice operatic—a contralto.
Chapter 31
A few days later…
"So you see," said Noel, blowing on the surface of his hot coffee then glancing at the faces gathered around the kitchen table midmorning in Nick and Amy's home. "Megan went into the office, and shortly after I heard the humming. I immediately recognized the voice and tune, put two and two together and came up with five!"
"A quite natural error," interrupted Nick. "I'd have thought the same thing, especially given that a contralto voice is usually associated with women vocalists."
"Exactly!" Noel cried, "But, it was Dr. Walden who was humming while he treated Megan's personality disorder."
"My hero," Ruby said, wrapping her arms around Noel, whose face rapidly crimsoned. "Imagine the danger you faced every day in that nasty man's office!"
Noel half grinned. "Wasn't easy, but I did it for you!"
Ruby sat back down at the table, pride flooding through her. She picked up her cup and sipped. "Humming while he worked! Was Dr. Walden using some weird tune therapy on the poor woman?"
"No," replied Noel, enjoying being the center of attention. "Hypnosis. Megan was in a deep trance, recessing
back to before the death of her sister at the time the doctor began to hum. I believe her conscious mind was unplugged, so she wouldn't have heard anything."
Ruby shivered. "Kinda grisly that Dr. Walden hummed the theme tune to the movie Alistair's Blanket, Danny Fontane's biggest hit, as he killed him."
Nick stood up. Dr. Walden has the mind of a… warped child. He sees life as a game of chess… thinks if he gets to checkmate he's won. Can't say I fully understand it myself, but that is how he explained his actions down at the station."
"Has Dr. Walden been charged with his side racket yet?" asked Noel.
"You mean the people trafficking?" Nick replied.
"Yep," Noel replied, slowly shaking his head. "I wish I could have pieced that one together, but I didn’t. I only knew the business numbers didn’t add up, and that he had rather a lot of Mexican-looking visitors who wouldn’t leave their names."
Nick, still standing, crossed his arms. "No charges yet. There are several other law enforcement agencies involved, so that case will move forward slowly. I'd hazard a guess when Duke Savage's article appears in the Austin American Statesman, the wheels of justice will run a little faster. Right now we are focused on clearing up the murder of Danny."
Noel looked deep into his cup. "Guess Dr. Walden will be behind bars for a long time."
"A very long time," Nick whispered.
Danielle, who had been sitting quietly listening to the conversation wandered over to the kitchen counter, refilling her coffee mug. "I can understand why Megan left Danny's reunion party once the photo shoot was over, but I still don't get why she didn't tell either of us."
Amy's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "There is still a lot of stigma around mental health issues. I don’t suppose Megan wanted to broadcast to us she was having problems. I don't think I would have either."
"Agreed," added Nick. "But Megan's alibi was corroborated by the taxi driver, and Saint John's Mental Health Facility where she checked herself in. The head nurse expressed satisfaction that Megan came to the facility. She said most patients try to tough it out, often with bad outcomes."
Danielle sat back down at the table. "But what about the posters of Danny Fontane? It was scary seeing their faces crossed out."