Body of Shadows (5 page)

“Here’s the problem,” he said. “If her memory comes back at some point—and I assume it will—she’ll be a material witness. Technically I’m in a conflict position because I’ve had a relationship with her, albeit only for a couple of days. If I follow the rules like I’m supposed to, I should bow out of the case.”

“Why?”

“Because if this ever goes to trial, Pantage's credibility will be at issue, just like every other witness in a trial,” Drift said. “The defense will argue that she’s lying to support her lover, who happens to be the lead detective on the case.”

“
Former
lover,” Sydney said.

“No,
lover
.”

She gave him a look.

“You’re going to make a move on her?”

“No, she’s going to make one on me.”

“You should leave her alone Dent. She’s vulnerable. Take the little guy and let him play in someone else’s back yard if he absolutely has to play somewhere.”

He smiled.

“
The little guy?”

“You know what I mean.”

He did.

He did indeed.

“Mr. Roundtree,” he said.

She winced.

“That’s more information than I need,” she said. “You probably should bow out of the case. That’s my point.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because someone needs to protect her.”

“Other people can do that.”

“Not the way I can.”

“Look,” she said. “I’m not going to tell anyone about your past with her. If I were you though, I’d think long and hard about where you’re heading.”

“Long and hard? Are you talking about the little guy again?”

She punched his arm.

“I should get double pay for having to be around you all day.”

“Put in for it,” he said. “You never know.”

Forty-one floors
was a long way, even going down. By the time they reached the lobby Drift’s legs were on fire and his chest pounded for air. He wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

Then his phone rang and the voice of Leigh Sandt came through.

“Your victim out there in Denver is number six,” she said. “At least number six. Before her there’s Brooklyn Winnfield, Ashley Gibson, Rikki Amberdeck, Abby Night and Kimberly Johnson, in that order. They were all killed the exact same way, namely repeatedly strangled while they were being raped and then got their left ear cut off.”

Drift exhaled.

“What cities?”

“All over,” she said. “Are you at the office?”

“I will be in ten minutes.”

“Check your email when you get there,” she said. “I’m gong to start sending the files over.”

“Come to Denver,” he said.

“I can’t,” she said. “It’s not my case plus I’m swamped.”

“Whose case is it?”

“A newbie by the name of Dale Radcliff.”

“Did you tell him about the Denver victim?”

“I did,” she said. “His reaction was, I knew there’d be another one. Conspicuously absent was any mention that he wanted to jump on a plane and head to where the fresh blood was.”

“So you come then.”

“Read my lips Drift,
I’m swamped.
I would if I could, you know that, but I can’t.”

“Not even for me?”

She laughed.

“Especially for you.”

“Come on, when’s your schedule going to clear up?”

“I don’t know, when I’m sixty.”

“That’s thirty years,” he said.

She exhaled.

“Nice try. Look, I’ll see if I can rearrange something, but don’t hold your breath,” she said. “In the meantime, check your emails.”

He hung up
just as they got outside.

The sun was bright.

The air was downright hot.

It was definitely going to hit a hundred again today.

He filled Sydney in on the serial aspect of the case as they headed for the car and said, “Hopefully there’s something in one of those files that’s going to get us pointed in the right direction. That’s not where I want to spend our time today, though. Today I want to track down that guy with the long hair.”

“The one who saved Pantage?”

“Right,” Drift said. “He must have gotten a pretty good look at the guy.”

Sydney wasn’t convinced.

“I don’t know, they were fighting at the time,” she said. “It was after dark.”

“You might be right but he’s the best thing we have right now,” he said. “My guess is that he lives in the neighborhood somewhere.”

They headed up the street.

Sydney grunted.

“Finding him won’t do any good,” she said. “He doesn’t want to get involved. If he did, he would have come forward by now of his own volition.”

“One step at a time,” Drift said. “Let’s just find him first.”

“Maybe he hasn’t come forward because the guy killed him.”

“There’d be a body.”

“Not if the guy shoved it in a trunk and dumped it in the mountains.”

Drift looked at her sideways.

“Whose side are you on today?”

“I’m just being the devil’s advocate.”

“The devil doesn’t need an advocate,” Drift said. “I do.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I said I’m being your advocate.”

He thought about it.

Then he smiled.

“Good one.”

“I didn’t think you’d get it.”

“I’m smarter than I look,” he said. “In fact, between me and my brother, we can answer every single question in the world. Go one, ask me one, anything you want.”

“Okay, what the square root of 534?”

“That’s one my brother knows,” he said. “Go on, ask me another one.”

She punched him on the arm.

“Like I said, double time.”

12

Day One

July 18

Monday Afternoon

En route over Vail
Yardley called her boss and said, “Blank’s on board.”

“Do you see any problems with him?”

“Not really,” she said. “He’s hungry, he’s good with the financial part of it and he understands the risks. I called Johnnie Axil in Seattle, too. He’s a hundred percent committed. He’s going to become Johnnie Preston and move to Santa Fe. Everything’s a go from my end.”

A pause.

“Okay, let me call New York.”

Yardley hung up.

Twenty minutes later her phone rang and a woman’s voice came through.

“New York’s good with it,” the woman said. “Blank will be going to Wells & Whitter. It’s a 300-plus firm in Manhattan. His contact is Randolph Zander. He’s expecting Blank’s call. Be sure Blank uses the name Johnnie Axil when he calls.”

“Done.”

Thirty minutes later Yardley touched down at DIA.

In the back room
of the bookstore, behind closed doors, she began the detailed-oriented process of manufacturing the basic papers for Johnnie Preston, namely a social security card, a birth certificate and a Washington driver’s license, which he’d surrender for a New Mexico one after getting to Santa Fe.

The door opened and Deven walked in.

“Who are you giving birth to?”

“Someone named Johnnie Preston.”

“Teach me.”

Yardley tilted her head.

Then she said something she didn’t expect.

“Okay, go lock the front door and stick the closed sign up.”

Deven’s face lit up.

“Are you serious?”

“Why not? It’s going to happen sooner or later. It may as well be today.”

Deven reached under Yardley’s dress, moved her hand up and rubbed her between the legs.

“Thanks.”

13

Day One

July 18

Monday Afternoon

Denver General
closed Pantage’s head wound with six stitches and conducted a number of tests to determine the cause of her memory loss, ruling out a brain tumor, oxygen deprivation, infection, drugs, or a psychiatric disorder. Although the impact didn’t result in a concussion, it was nevertheless severe and located directly over the memory area of the brain. “Our best guess is that your amnesia is the product of physical trauma to the brain.”

“How long will it last?”

The doctor shrugged.

“You never know with these things. The brain is a complicated organ. Cases like this can arise from being in the vicinity of an exploding bomb or from being in a car crash. Some people in those situations find their memory coming back fairly quickly, within months or even weeks. Other people never regain what they lost, or regain it only partially.”

“Are you saying it could be permanent?”

“It’s possible both ways. All we can do is wait and see. I treated a patient two summers ago. He was on a motorcycle trip to Sturgis, the last rider in a pack of eleven. He went down and ended up in a Flight for Life. Afterwards, he couldn’t remember anything about what happened. He remembered cruising down the road and then he woke up in a hospital. To this day he still has no recollection of crashing or being in the helicopter or anything else about the day in question.”

Pantage swallowed.

The hospital also conducted tests to determine the extent of the memory loss. It was a total loss from sometime early Sunday evening until this morning when Pantage woke up. From that point on, it seemed to be working fine. There was, however, a larger problem. Her long-term memory had been affected. Events more that six months old were sketchy at best. She could remember almost nothing that happened more than nine months or a year ago.

“The best thing you can do at this point is get plenty of rest and eat healthy. Avoid alcohol, smoke, drugs and stress. You might be able to help the return of your long-term memory by reviewing things that happened in your past—photos, diaries, emails, things like that. Even talking to someone who can tell you about your past might help. There are no guarantees but it certainly won’t hurt.”

The law firm
was a mile away. Rather than calling a cab she set out on foot, needing time to process things. The sun beat down and tried to strangle the life out of every human and dog and weed and bug in the city.

She kept her pace up.

Almost all of her cases were big, meaning they were more than a half-year old, also meaning that she’d forgotten a good deal of what happened in them. The only way to handle it would be to refresh her recollection when she needed to by reviewing the file. It wouldn’t be fair to the client to bill for that time, so she’d need to do it on the side. Getting 40 billables in a week would take 60 in the chair.

She’d do it and keep her mouth shut.

The important thing was not to let anyone know she was having brain problems. If the firm put her on leave of absence it would take her off partnership track. She’d worked too hard for too long to let that happen.

She needed to get drunk.

Two blocks away
from the law firm an image flashed in her brain, a terrible image, an image of Jackie Lake lying flat on her back with her wrists tied to the bed frame and a horrific look of betrayal on her face. Pantage was between her legs, ramming her with a cucumber that had a rubber stretched over it.

Beside her on the bed was a box cutter.

She kept it in her peripheral vision.

She’d use it to cut the woman’s ear off after she strangled her to death.

The image
didn’t last longer than a heartbeat and then it was gone. It was as if she’d been in the dark and someone flipped a light switch up for a half-second, just long enough to show a monster.

Her heart pounded.

She stopped and leaned against the exterior of a building.

It was rough.

“Hey, lady, are you okay?”

The words came from a man in a business suit, still walking past but slowing and looking over his shoulder.

She looked at him.

“Yeah.”

The suit stopped.

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m okay.”

She forced herself to walk away.

Whatever was happening, she couldn’t let anyone know.

She needed to appear normal.

14

Day One

July 18

Monday Morning

Based on the files
Leigh Sandt emailed over, all the victims before Jackie Lake had two things in common; one, they were drop-dead gorgeous and two, they had raven-black hair. “Jackie Lake doesn’t fit the profile,” Drift said, “but it’s pretty obvious who does.”