Driven Page 10

  Karianne tried to speak. Tears poured down her face as she quietly sobbed for what seemed like forever to Gavin. Not only was he in a hurry to get his questions answered, but he hated to see crying. He didn’t want to let up, but he knew the tears would get to him. Unfortunately, the crying seemed to be causing her physical pain, which was probably prolonging the crying.

  “What friend?” she finally asked.

  “That’s what we want to know. Who was the guy driving?” Gavin demanded.

  “Driving? Driving what?” she asked.

  “The Jeep Cherokee.”

  Her eyes widened. “My car?” she said.

  Gavin rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was tell her what she was supposed to be telling him. He was here to get information, not give it. But seeing she could not seem to remember a thing, maybe a few pertinent facts might jog her memory.

  “Look. Maybe we should start at the beginning,” he said as he pulled out a memo pad. He recounted what had happened so far, from when Garrity and Chris drove away from his house on back through the previous crashes. As he spoke, she stared at him without blinking. When he finished, she erupted.

  “This is a nightmare. This can’t be happening. It just can’t. Not again…”

  Gavin stopped. He and Dr. Fagan looked at each other, verifying without a word that they had heard the same thing.

  “ ‘Again,’ Karianne?” Dr. Fagan asked.

  “Yes. The same thing happened to me five years ago in Norway. I woke up in a hospital and was immediately questioned about a crash. It was my car and the driver was never caught. I didn’t remember any of it. I tried, but I never could. It’s haunted me since, and now it’s happened again. How? Why?” She began to cry again.

  “No way. You’re not going to tell me you don’t know who the driver is,” Gavin said, tossing his memo pad onto her bed in frustration. This was impossible. She had to know something.

  She shook her head.

  “Look, if you think you can protect this… this…”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember! I don’t know who you’re after,” she cried.

  “Well, you’d better try,” Gavin said angrily.

  “Karianne,” Dr. Fagan said. “What is the last thing you remember about yesterday?”

  She exhaled and closed her eyes, apparently searching. She began massaging her temple and then the bridge of her nose. Finally she took her hand away and looked solemnly at the doctor. “I remember having a drink.”

  A drink? Gavin screamed silently. Now there’s a monumental revelation. Your blood had enough alcohol in it for an entire Mardi Gras carnival. He opened his mouth to voice a retort, but the doctor held up his hand, apparently realizing Gavin’s struggle to maintain sanity.

  “Who were you with?” the doctor asked.

  “I was alone.”

  “Where?” Gavin said.

  “Near where I live. In Long Beach. On the boardwalk. I think the place was called Seahorse.”

  Gavin picked up his memo pad and wrote it down. “Did you leave there with anyone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Big guy—blond?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even remember leaving.”

  “Great, we finally get someone who was with him and we know more about what he looks like than she does.”

  “What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I remember?”

  “You apparently blacked out from too much alcohol. It’s very common. All you’ve experienced has been sealed away from your conscious. Locked up,” Dr. Fagan explained.

  “Locked up,” Gavin said. “Where’s the freakin’ key?”

  “Yes. I was just thinking the same thing. If the events she can’t remember are hidden within her subconscious, there are techniques that have been known to work. But she has to be willing to remember.”

  “I want to remember. Believe me, I want to remember. I will do anything to stop this,” Karianne said.

  “What techniques?” Gavin said quickly.

  “Hypnosis,” Dr. Fagan said.

  “Hypnosis?” An alarm sounded in Gavin’s mind. He wasn’t a particularly devout person, but he was a little iffy on the hypnosis thing. “And then a crystal ball and a palm reader?”

  Fagan was not amused. “Hypnosis happens to be a medically accepted practice for reaching into a patient’s subconscious and a viable therapeutic treatment for a multiplicity of suppressive disorders and addictions.”

  Gavin paused. His own reservations notwithstanding, the department frowned upon hypnosis. If this were the LAPD, there’d be no hesitation, but this wasn’t California; New York was a different world. Then again, she’d said she was willing to do anything. And he’d long since given up trying to pretend he was playing this case by the books. He was out to find the killer—whatever it took.

  “Okay,” he finally said.

  “Miss Stordal?” Fagan asked.

  She nodded.

  “How long is she going to be in here, Doc?”

  “At least one, maybe two, more days.”

  “Then I’ll arrange for a psychologist to meet us here tomorrow,” Gavin said, determined he would if he had to kidnap one.

  BEFORE GAVIN LEFT THE HOSPITAL to check out a bar called the Seahorse somewhere on the boardwalk in Long Beach, he stopped again to see Chris. This time Chris appeared to be awake, though it was hard to tell if his eyes were open or closed.

  “Hey, pal. How you doing?”

  Chris slowly raised his eyebrows to help open his eyelids. “Wonderful. I can’t remember when I’ve felt better. So long as Nurse Barker keeps the good stuff flowing through the tube. Oh… sorry about John, Gav. How’s his wife?”

  “Don’t ask. How’s yours?”

  “Ah. You know Pat. She’s mad as can be—ready to go out and find the jerk herself.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around.”

  “Did you see him?”

  Gavin shook his head. “Nah. I was kind of busy.”

  Chris smiled weakly. “That’s your problem. You’re always busy. I heard that a girl survived. Did you talk to her yet?”

  “Yeah. She didn’t remember a thing, except where she was drinking beforehand. A place called the Seahorse in Long Beach.”

  “The Seahorse Tavern,” Chris said. “A nice place on the boardwalk.”

  “I knew there was a reason for coming in here besides feeling obligated because you’re my partner and all,” Gavin deadpanned.

  “Hey, I guess you were right,” Chris said.

  “About what?”

  “About answering Gasman’s stupid question about sending the killer a message. I guess he didn’t like my advice.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Gavin said as he looked at his watch. It was four o’clock. “And speaking of mistakes, I agreed to have dinner at six with Amber Clayborne’s twin sister, Amy. I’ll never make it.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “My place.”

  “What’s she like?”

  Gavin thought for a moment before answering. “Besides being lights-out gorgeous, she’s the type of person that would board a train to go somewhere and end up driving the thing by the time she got off.”

  “Sounds scary.”

  “Very.”

  “But how…”

  “It’s a bit complicated and I don’t want to make you feel any worse. And, I’ve got to run,” Gavin said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’re gonna hypnotize Karianne Stordal to see what she really knows. She’s more than willing.”

  “Hypnotize?” Chris said loudly, then winced.

  “You got it.”

  “Does the lieutenant know?”

  “Nope. He can read it in your report when we’re done.”

  “My report?”

  “Of course,” Gavin said, suppressing a smile. “We’re partners, remember? Besides, the lieutenant will be easier on someone who’s injured.”

  Chris furrowed his brow. “You know, Gav, you
didn’t used to be so…”

  “Boring?” Gavin said, walking away.

  “Safe,” Chris said, looking down at himself in bed.

  “Hey, if you want out…”

  “Wonderful. Now you ask me. Look, I’m going to be there if I have to have them wheel me in. And Gav,” Chris called. “I heard about what you told Gasman. Be careful, my friend. That guy’s crazy.”

  “Who? Gasman or the killer?” Gavin yelled back.

  “Both,” Chris said.

  GAVIN DIDN’T NOTICE the fine craftsmanship that detailed the large, polished-brass clock mortised into the teak steering wheel—the centerpiece above the mirror at the Seahorse Tavern. What he did notice was that it was now ten till five. He had tried to call Amy on the drive down after conceding his schedule was sheer fantasy, but there’d been no answer at her home number and no machine to leave a message on. He had, however, managed to get a call through to Dr. Harold Katz, a criminal psychologist the department was familiar with. Under the circumstances, he had agreed to meet with Gavin at the hospital tomorrow at noon.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked as Gavin walked up to the bar.

  “A glass of water with a lemon wedge would be fine,” Gavin said as he flashed his tin. “Would you happen to know who was working the bar yesterday afternoon?”

  “That would be me. Why?”

  Gavin pulled a photo from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the bar. The picture had been taken in the emergency room. “She look familiar?” Gavin asked.

  The bartender put on a pair of glasses and picked up the photo, holding it flat enough to catch the down-lighting over his head. Gavin watched the man’s eyes widen as he drew the photo closer.

  “Man, oh, man! What did he do to her?” the bartender said.

  “Who?” Gavin shot back. “He was here? You saw him? You know him?”

  “Don’t know him,” the bartender replied, slowly shaking his head. “Don’t want to know him. But I can’t say I’m surprised you want the guy. Figured he was wanted for something the moment I laid eyes on him.” He continued to stare at the photo. “Is she going to be all right?”

  Gavin felt like the bartender was speaking in slow motion. “Yeah, fine, although right now she can’t remember a thing.”

  “Not surprised at that, either. By the time he came in, she’d already had better than half a bottle of vodka. I cut her off, but he came over and insisted she have more. A lot more. She was drunk, but he wanted her more drunk. I was amazed she was able to walk out of here.”

  “He insisted? Why didn’t you refuse?”

  The bartender looked down, obviously embarrassed. “I thought about it. Even thought of calling you guys. But… I can’t say it any other way: the guy scared me. When he looked at me I, I just had to let him have his way. And it wasn’t just that he was big. He looked wild, with fresh sores on his face, like he’d just been in a fight with a bull… and won. I was never so scared of saying no to anyone and never so glad to see someone leave.”

  The sincerity in the man’s tone and the fear in his face were chilling enough to cool Gavin’s intensity. “Okay. Tell me about him. Did you hear any of the conversation? Did you hear his name?”

  The bartender shook his head. “Sorry. Like I said, I kept my distance.”

  “Well what did he look like?”

  “Big. Mean.”

  “Blond?”

  “Yeah. Short, kind of flat topped,” he said, motioning with his hand over his own head.

  “Eyes?”

  “Scary, as if he could stare right through ya. I don’t remember the color. As soon as he looked at me I wanted to turn away. Run away.”

  “It’s him,” Gavin declared, more to himself than the bartender.

  “Who is he?” the bartender said.

  “Could you help one of our artists with a sketch tomorrow morning, say nine o’clock?”

  “Sure. Just tell me where. I’ll never forget that guy as long as I live. Enough to give me nightmares.”

  Gavin continued to question the man, noting details of everything the bartender could remember from the time Karianne walked in until she finally left with the man. Gavin wondered how much was exaggeration. The man the bartender was describing seemed more like a monster than anything human.

  “Is there anything else you can remember?” Gavin finally asked.

  “Well, there was something else that struck me as peculiar,” the bartender said, massaging his chin. “When the big guy first came in, I could tell the lady didn’t know who he was, but after a short while they were acting like they knew each other.”

  “What’s so peculiar? After enough drink, everyone knows everyone,” Gavin said.

  “I know; I’m a bartender. But there was more to it. They even had a word they used when they clicked glasses—something I’ve never heard before. It was a funny word. In fact, I probably wouldn’t even remember it if they hadn’t said it a few times. And they said it loud when they left.”

  “What was it?” Gavin said impatiently.

  “They were slurring, but it sounded like… shay-dod. Or shah-dod.”

  Gavin made a note of it as best he could. Finally. The case should wrap up fast now with as many clues as the big boy was leaving around. A little artist rendition and a little jogging of the flight attendant’s memory and he would probably have a name and address. It was almost beginning to seem like business as usual. Almost.

  18

  Gavin was surprisingly glad and scared to see Amy’s bike in the driveway as he drove in. Cedar stood at the gate dancing and wagging his tail. Beyond him on the lawn, laying on her side and leaning on her elbow, was Amy. Her lack of expression had him reciting to himself all the reasons that had made him late for their first date.

  He got out of the car and walked to the gate, where Cedar was twirling in circles whining with joy.

  “If you think I’m going to give you that kind of reception, forget it,” Amy said.

  “I’m sorry, but it couldn’t be helped. We’ve got a decent description from a witness who saw them together before the crash and tomorrow when we hypnotize the girl we might be able to tag on a name and address.”

  “Hypnotize?”

  “She didn’t remember a thing.”

  “She’s lying.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, you’re still late. And for punishment you have to tell me every little detail. And then I’ve got a few things to tell you. But first, I want to eat.”

  “No. Let’s talk first, and then eat,” Gavin said.

  “You don’t know me. I can’t concentrate on anything when I’m hungry. Low blood sugar and high metabolism or something like that. All I’ll think about while you’re talking is food.”

  “Okay, okay. I can’t even believe you’re still here.”

  “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. Whatever it takes, remember. Besides, Cedar was good company and he told me a few things about you I can’t believe.”

  “That so? How did you know his name? Did he tell you that, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Hmm.” Gavin took Amy’s outstretched hand and pulled her up.

  “Just point me to the kitchen,” she said, following Gavin into the house.

  “Over there,” Gavin said, motioning straight ahead. “Excuse the mess. The maid hasn’t been around for a while.” He started up the stairs to his bedroom to change.

  Amy looked around, impressed at the cleanliness. “She hasn’t?” Women were always impressed at the way he kept his kitchen. At least any women who got to see it, which lately was none.

  Gavin continued to his room and five minutes later was stepping briskly down the stairs in khaki shorts and a T-shirt. His bare feet were breathing for the first time all day. Amy sat on a stool at the kitchen counter with her fingers steepled under her chin. The sight of a woman in his house was both alluring and troubling to Gavin. The fact that the woman was Amy Kirsch magnifi
ed his conflict.

  “You get an A-plus in housekeeping. You also have all the fixings for a great meal. The only problem is you’ve got nothing to fix,” she said.

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you this morning. What would you like?”

  “Fish?”

  “I’m picky with fish,” Gavin said.

  “So be picky. I’m not. We’ll get whatever fish you love,” she said, hopping off the stool and heading for the door. As she passed Gavin she grabbed him by the elbow. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

  “At least let me get something on my feet,” he said.

  On the road, Gavin was barely able to keep up with Amy and her mountain bike. She had a tendency to go up curbs and through debris that Gavin would have avoided. Gavin couldn’t tell if she was showing off or just having fun. Either way, she exhibited a zest he could only envy. Maybe if he hadn’t been so personally involved with the case, he would not feel so alien to her free spirit. He wondered, as she waved for him to keep up with her, what held the reins that kept him from being free with her? Was he really the head case some people said he was? Maybe if he hadn’t become so tarnished by death he could share her enthusiasm for life.

  So why, then, had he agreed to dinner with her? He could have been more resistant. But, on the flip side, how could he not be attracted to her? She was kind of pleasant—in a headstrong, slightly alarming, sort of way.

  When they got to the supermarket, Gavin dismounted his bike, but Amy rode hers right to the door and waited for it to open.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Gavin said, walking toward her.

  “This baby goes wherever I go,” she said.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, I always do this.”

  Gavin shook his head in disbelief. “If you’re afraid it’ll be stolen we can lock it to the lamppost.”

  “Nope,” she said smugly.

  “Well, what do you expect me to do, chase you through the store? Race you to the seafood section?”

  Amy smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Not to me.”

  “What do you do for fun?”