Driven Page 11

“Fun?” Gavin said, as if the word belonged in another universe. If God was interested in him ever having fun he would not have stuck him in a world with so much calamity. “I knit.”

  “Come on, Gavin. Let go a little. Where’s your wild side?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Amy’s eyebrows raised. “That’s not what I’ve read.”

  “Read? Where?”

  “Your files.”

  “Department files?”

  “From what I read, you can be quite aggressive when you want to.”

  “You should be arrested.”

  “Then cuff me,” she said with dare in her eyes.

  “Believe me, if I had cuffs with me I’d lock you and your bike to a parking meter.”

  “I’ll tell you what, if you beat me in arm wrestling, I’ll leave my bike out here.”

  “I give up. Bring the bike, but please walk it.”

  “Yes, sir, Officer, sir,” Amy said, saluting. “But soon enough you’ll see everything my way.”

  “Really. What makes you think so?”

  “An old Japanese saying: ‘Those who run with wolves learn to howl.’ ”

  “That’s Japanese?”

  “Uh-huh,” Amy said, nodding confidently.

  “But there aren’t any wolves in—” Gavin stopped when he saw Amy’s eyebrow rise again. “Never mind. Let’s get the food. I’m starving.”

  As it turned out, he had to admit to himself, and then begrudgingly to Amy, her bike was less of a disturbance than he anticipated. Maybe there was something to her Japanese sayings, or whatever they were. He wondered just how much she was used to getting away with. Even the cashier had met her with a smile. The bike might as well have been a cute baby.

  Back at the house Gavin poured them something to drink while Amy made a sauce to go with the fish.

  “That smells delicious,” he said.

  “ ‘The best sauce is a good appetite,’ ” she replied.

  Gavin rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me. Another old Japanese saying?”

  Amy smiled and nodded.

  “What can I do to help?” he said, not used to watching someone else work in his kitchen.

  “Nothing. Sit at the table and relax,” she said, then turned to him as he stood there. “Relax!”

  Gavin’s dining room was small and simple, as was the old, re-finished oak table on the stripped-oak floor. Amy found an old half-burnt candle on a kitchen shelf, lit it, and placed it on the table, where Gavin had found a seat. Cedar was lying down by the rear door, his eyes spending equal time between Gavin and Amy. Gavin wondered if the Golden Retriever-smile the dog was wearing displayed his approval of Amy or his relief that dinner was finally happening. Gavin guessed it was the dinner, since he could never resist giving Cedar a few morsels, even though it meant putting up with an occasional whine for more.

  Although they had settled on catfish, Amy’s method of sautéing the fish over onions in olive oil and garlic looked great, especially when her grandmother’s secret sauce was added. The fish was set on a bed of rice with a side of lightly cooked shredded broccoli and carrots. As soon as the plates hit the table, they quickly sat and Gavin topped off their drinks. He raised his glass.

  “To the hands that prepared this feast.”

  “To teamwork,” Amy said, then clicked his glass with hers. “ ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’ ”

  “Japanese?”

  “Of course.”

  They both ate heartily, not saying much until their plates were empty. Gavin had looked up from his dish several times to see Amy’s bronze glow in the flickering candlelight. On the last glance, she caught him, acknowledging his gaze with a smile.

  Apparently deciding it was time for business, she finally asked Gavin to detail his day. He retrieved his notes while Amy cleared the table of everything but their glasses.

  Gavin knew the main tool of his trade was information. Information meant control and power and, in the end, validation. Under what he would consider more normal circumstances, he would have felt the need to establish a longer, more trusting, relationship before revealing what he knew. But he had no time for building trust. He had information and apparently so did she.

  He swallowed what was left in his glass, pushed it aside, and asked her to resist asking questions until he was done. She agreed, eagerly bouncing back into her seat, readying herself for some note taking of her own. Gavin proudly presented the information his police computer had provided on Karianne Stordal, confident anything Amy had retrieved would only be redundant. Amy remained quiet throughout, though obviously straining not to interject when Gavin spoke about the hypnosis scheduled for noon. Finally, when told of the bartender’s description of the killer, she ended her vow of silence.

  “He didn’t hear him tell her his name?”

  “No,” Gavin said, looking through his notes. “But there was a strange word he overheard. Oh, here it is. Shay-dod or Shah-dod, he said. And he said they repeated it several times.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe he heard it wrong. Could mean anything. A name, a place… who knows.”

  “I’ll check it out first thing tomorrow morning,” Amy said. “My turn now?”

  Gavin nodded and sat back with folded arms.

  “Well, the fact Stordal was in an almost identical crash five years ago in Norway is just the beginning.”

  Where had she found that? Gavin decided he didn’t want to know.

  “The vehicle that her car crashed into had five people in it. Three of them were killed. But one of the ones who survived not only saw the driver who escaped, but actually admitted to knowing his identity. The other survivor was the man’s granddaughter.”

  “He knew him?”

  “Yes! But,” Amy said, raising her finger, “he refused to reveal the identity.”

  “Why?” Gavin said incredulously.

  “The report surmised a possible fear of retribution.”

  “Really? He thought they would try again?”

  “Sort of. He didn’t want his survival or even the fact he had a granddaughter to become public knowledge. He was obsessed with keeping her within his sight at all times.”

  “The Mob?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “A little temporary insanity?”

  “More than a little and more than temporary. The entire rest of the time he was there, which was another week in the hospital, he refused to eat anything and even gave them a hard time when they tried to hook up the intravenous.”

  “Why the fuss?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about his granddaughter?”

  “I don’t know. All they say was he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.”

  “Back up. What do you mean by ‘the rest of the time he was there’? Was he visiting Norway?”

  “Yeah. And that’s the good news: we won’t have to learn how to speak Norwegian to talk to him. He’s from New Jersey. A preacher who was visiting Norway on some kind of ministry engagement.”

  “New Jersey? That’s close enough. Maybe he was suffering from some kind of temporary paranoia and now that he sees his granddaughter has been safe for the last five years, he might open up to us.”

  “Maybe, but New Jersey was also five years ago. He moved. He’s no longer right around the corner. After the accident he sold everything he owned and moved upstate New York to a small town called Hamden, just west of the Catskills.”

  Gavin frowned in disbelief. “What did you do, tap into the Norwegian police department and the U. S. Postal Service?”

  “Actually, the Norwegian police was one of my stops. But the IRS had more on him than the Post Office. Translating from Norwegian took a little time.”

  “You speak Norwegian?”

  “Of course not. I get a little help from my friends,” she said with a wink. “Anyway, the guy’s name is Jesse J. Buchanan. Reverend Jesse J. Buchanan.”


  “Good job, Amy. I’ll give him a call. Or are you going to tell me you’ve already done that and he’s standing outside right now?” Gavin said.

  Amy laughed. “I wish. Actually, I was hoping we might take a ride to the country and pay him a visit.” She pushed back her chair, took her glass, and relocated herself on the living room couch. “It’s not all that far away.”

  “A ride in the country sounds nice, but I wouldn’t be much fun,” Gavin said, picking up the cordless phone from the table. He punched in 411. “Yes, Hamden.”

  Amy handed him a folded piece of paper. He opened it and read, “Samantha’s Farm.” There was a number. He hung up and looked at Amy, his right eyebrow raised. She was ahead of him at every turn.

  “Let me guess: Reverend Buchanan?” he said, motioning to the paper.

  “Yup.”

  “You know, you’ve got to at least let me feel like I’m accomplishing something,” he said. “What’s Samantha’s Farm?”

  “He lives there, according to the local general store. There’s no phone number under his name.”

  “Maybe it’s unlisted,” he said, refilling his glass and following her to the couch.

  Amy shook her head. “Not even. Besides, his granddaughter’s name is Samantha Buchanan. I wouldn’t be surprised if she owns it outright. Either way, he’s not an easy person to find. Maybe he wants to be left alone. Maybe he’s hiding.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Gavin said.

  “You’re calling him now?”

  “Why not?” he said as he dialed.

  The phone rang twice before an answering machine picked up with the voice of a child. “Hi! My name is Samantha and this is my dairy farm. Please leave the usual information at the beep. Thank you. Good-bye.”

  Gavin left a message and his number, then hung up and looked at Amy. He pressed the redial button and handed her the phone. “You’ve got to hear this.”

  “Gimme,” she said. Her face went from serious to a smile to a giggle. “Very cute.”

  “Yeah, very cute. But what do you make of it?”

  “A couple of things come to mind.”

  “Such as?”

  “A sales gimmick? Honesty. Innocence. After hearing her voice, I know I’d do business with her.”

  “Maybe you would, but I’m sure there are just as many that think little girls and business don’t mix.”

  “Men,” she snorted with a roll of her eyes. “Well, maybe it has nothing to do with business. Maybe Samantha’s Farm is just what they call the place.”

  “Hmm, sounds to me like you’re still pushing for that ride in the country.”

  Amy smiled thoughtfully, made a few notes, then closed her pad and dropped it onto the coffee table. Gavin was impressed. Even if all her material turned out to be a dead end, he was still surprised she’d been able to get it—and so quickly.

  He found he was actually starting to relax and enjoy Amy’s company. He raised his glass for another sip, but stopped with the rim at his lips. He’d heard something—a roaring car engine. It wasn’t far away and it was coming down the side street across from his house. He sat up and put his glass down.

  “What is it?” Amy said.

  Gavin suddenly remembered how relaxed he’d been when he was sitting at the aquarium with Grampa. And how he’d been caught off guard when John Garrity was killed. The engine got louder—closer. He could see the headlights illuminating the front window’s curtains. In seconds the car would come crashing through…

  “Gavin, what are you doing?”

  He did not remember leaping toward her, but he had apparently seized Amy and was now shielding her with the weight of his body on the dining room floor. He opened his tightly shut eyes and looked behind him toward the living room. The lights were gone. The front wall was still there. The engine sounds were quietly fading up the block. He rolled off Amy and helped her sit up before looking again at the window, embarrassed, muscles still tense.

  “Gavin. You’re shaking.”

  “I… I thought…”

  “It’s okay,” Amy said, tenderly sliding her hand along his forearm.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, not wanting to look her in the eye.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she said, gently cupping his chin with her hand and turning his face toward hers. “You were afraid for me, weren’t you? You tried to save my life.”

  “But you weren’t in any danger.”

  “But you didn’t know that,” she whispered.

  Gavin fought the urge to kiss her. His relationship with her was complicated enough. Besides, he didn’t want to add Amy to a list of dead loved ones. For one reason or another, people he allowed himself to get close to did not have good life expectancies. He gently took her hand from his face. “It’s my job to know,” he said.

  “It’s your job to know?” she scoffed, pulling back. “You know, there’s a time to work and there’s a time to… not work.”

  “Japanese saying?” he said, trying to change the subject.

  “Not this time,” she said sternly.

  “Look, I like a break as much as the next guy, but as long as that psycho’s breathing fresh air, I ain’t punchin’ the time clock.”

  Amy maintained eye contact with him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

  “We have a big day tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe I better give you a ride home.”

  Amy clearly looked disappointed, but nodded. “I’ve got my bike.”

  “The bike will be safe with me. I promise not to ride away with it.”

  19

  Karianne Stordal was sitting upright in her bed, alert on mild oral painkillers, the intravenous gone. The swelling in her face was barely noticeable and her black-rimmed eyes were almost fashionable. The most familiar people in the room she had known for less than twenty-four hours.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Karianne?” Dr. Fagan said gently, his hand on her left forearm. Gavin wondered if he was like that with all his patients, or just the pretty blonde ones.

  She nodded. “I suppose so. I want to know as much as anyone.”

  The criminal psychologist, Harold Katz, having completed final tests on video recording equipment in the corner of the room, aimed a microphone at Karianne. He was a tall man of about fifty years who wore a gray suit. His weak chin, large nose, and deep, droopy eyes made his face appear sad, even when he smiled—like a basset hound, Gavin thought.

  Gavin sat at Karianne’s bedside with his back toward the window. Although he’d already briefed Katz, he wanted to be close enough to communicate with the psychologist during Karianne’s interview.

  Chris was in a wheelchair at the foot of the vacant bed next to Karianne. Dr. Fagan had told him he did not think it was a good idea to leave his bed so soon. Chris had thanked him for his concern. Gavin thought his partner still looked terrible, but knew there was no way to exclude him. Chris was staring at the sketch that had been derived from the bartender’s description. The sketch had had a sobering effect on any thought that the killer would be easy to handle once cornered. Earlier, when Gavin had first seen the drawing, he’d checked his shoulder holster to make sure his gun was with him and loaded. Katz had requested Karianne not be shown the sketch yet, lest the image of the killer’s face remain in her mind and interfere with the hypnosis.

  Gavin drummed his fingers on the windowsill and looked at his watch. It was one-thirty. Where was Amy? She’d wanted to research the strange word the bartender had heard. How long could that take her? He was getting spoiled by the speed with which she usually found obscure information.

  “Okay, Karianne,” Katz said in an extremely deep voice. “First I must officially inform you of the obvious. This videotape is now recording our session and will record everything you do or say under hypnosis. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we have your permission to proceed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. This won’t
hurt a bit. In fact, you’ll find the entire experience very soothing. As for the rest of you, I have a few ground rules. Normally, these types of sessions are private, but under the extreme circumstances, allowances must be made. If you have a question, write it down in ink, not pencil. And write small. I don’t want to hear any turning of pages. I will expect complete silence throughout the interview.”

  Katz placed a musician’s metronome on the rolling bedside table, adjusted the tray’s height, and positioned it over Karianne’s legs so the metronome was directly in front of her. He released it’s shiny gold arm, letting it swing freely. The room was silent except for the constant sound of the timer. Tick, tick, tick, tick…

  Katz sat on a stool by the bed and folded his hands in his lap. “Karianne, I want you to look at the thin, polished arm as it moves back and forth. Take a deep breath and exhale.”

  Karianne breathed in deeply and blew out as if she were trying to blow up a balloon.

  “Good,” Katz lied calmly. “Easier with each breath. Listen to the sound of your air. Allow all your troubles and fears to flow away in the currents. Relax. Just keep your eye on the moving arm and listen to the gentle beat it emanates.”

  Tick, tick, tick, tick…

  Katz continued to talk calmly to her about her lungs filling up with anxieties and fears and her ability to release them all simply by blowing them into the air. Her facial muscles soon relaxed as she sank into the pillows propping her head.

  Though he thought some of the credit could be shared with the drugs she was on, Gavin was impressed. Katz really seemed to know what he was doing. Just ten minutes ago, Karianne had been jittery, her eyes following every movement. Now, with the exception of an occasional blink, she was motionless.

  “Now I will ask you a few questions. All of my questions will be simple, and you will be able to answer them easily. All of your answers will be correct and you will not worry about making any mistakes. Do you understand?” Katz said in his low, mellow voice.

  Karianne said nothing, staring at the metronome like she was stoned.

  “Karianne?”

  Nothing.

  Great, Gavin thought, reminded of all the times his computer froze or his cell phone lost the signal. Now we have two comatose witnesses.