Fractured Memory (5 page)

FIVE

T
he next morning, Eli was hopeful for an uneventful day. Will and Jace reported there had been no overnight incidents at the hospital. Ben was well rested and relieved the two of them so they could sleep.

Eli was parking his car in the hospital lot when a call from Quentin redirected him to this location—the house of a murder victim. Quentin insisted Eli drive to the crime scene without seeing Julia first. Aurora police provided backup for Ben until Eli could get there.

No. This isn’t possible. This can’t be happening again.

The fact of the matter belied what Eli hoped. The woman was dressed in a sharp-looking turquoise and black pantsuit, her longer auburn hair covering the bulky rope around her neck that had claimed her life. Suicide? Homicide? One black, high-heeled shoe was on the floor below her. The other dangled from the tips of her toes.

Quentin Archer, Eli’s supervisor, waved him over. A tall black man, he stood nearly six foot five—a good three inches over Eli. His voice was James Earl Jones deep and he always presented a stabilizing force in any situation he was involved in—even when bullets were flying. Though he exuded polite calm and unflappability—the job had aged him beyond his fifty-four years. His hair was gray and the beard he wore fashionably clipped barely held the color of his youth.

Eli and Quentin stood off to the side as Aurora police detectives began to analyze the presumed crime scene. Eli waved to Nathan Long, a well-respected detective he’d had the honor of working with on occasion. Local law enforcement would handle the case, which added to Eli’s apprehension as to why Quentin called him to the scene.

“Quentin.”

“Eli, thanks for coming by.”

Eli motioned to the woman. “Not that you gave me a choice. What does this mean for Julia?”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss and why I wanted you to see the crime scene for yourself. You understand my concern?”

“I see a woman who may or may not have committed suicide.”

“Follow me.”

They rounded to the backside of the woman’s body. Quentin pointed to the noose. “What we know about the Hangman is he is very methodical in the way he dispatches his victims. Each noose had a device that was anchored into the ceiling. The rope—always yellow nylon. The noose was elaborate—far beyond what was needed to kill somebody. Decorative, you could say. The perpetrator would need to be skilled in tying knots.”

“Like the doctor currently on death row for the Hangman’s crimes. Have they found any blood?”

“The man who was convicted of being the Hangman, Dr. Heller, was a pediatric intensivist and doesn’t have the skill that, say, a surgeon would have with tying knots.” Quentin smoothed his hand over his mouth, his eyes narrow. “And no—so far they haven’t found any blood.”

Eli shrugged. “If it proves to be murder, perhaps we have a copycat at play. The Hangman’s trial was televised and heavily covered by the media. There was extensive forensic presentation of the materials he used to make the noose and how it was anchored.”

“Perhaps.” Though Quentin sounded far from convinced. “From looking at the scene right now, how could it possibly be suicide? There is nothing under her feet she could have stepped off of.”

That was problematic. Eli’s gut tightened. “Who is she?”

“Evelyn Roush was CEO of Medical Interventions International or MII. They’re a company based out of Colorado Springs.”

Eli fiddled with the coins in his pocket. That was concerning. All the Hangman’s victims had a connection to the health-care field. As of yet, they hadn’t determined if the medical angle was significant or just the killer’s preferred type.

“What does the company do?” Eli asked.

“From what I gather, they revolutionize life-support equipment. Recently, the company was in the news for getting FDA approval for a specialized type of ventilator. Evelyn just became infinitely richer than she was before—quadrupled her net worth.”

“I’m sure Aurora PD will look at all the usual suspects. Husband—”

“She wasn’t married. No kids. Early reports say she dedicated her life to her company and was also a big philanthropist.”

This woman’s death, on the surface, could be connected to Julia, but there wasn’t a logical straight line. If it was the hit man—why a hanging and not bullets? And if the real Hangman was free and not awaiting a state-sponsored injection to whatever was beyond this life—why didn’t he choose to kill Julia in the same manner as before?

Quentin sighed and nudged Eli from the room with his hand pressed against his back. He didn’t stop guiding Eli until they were in the front yard. Eli put his sunglasses on—in part to shield his eyes from the sun, but also to hide his feelings from his more experienced, astute supervisor.

“I know you were involved with the Hangman’s case. I know you were part of the responding team that found Julia barely alive. How did that come about?”

“What?”

“That you found Julia?”

“The hospital called and reported her missing after they tried to get a hold of her for two hours when she didn’t show up for work. I was in her neighborhood when Dispatch notified us of the need for the welfare check. It was the same day—”

“Of the high school shooting.”

“I wasn’t tasked on that case, and I knew it would be hours before a uniformed officer would be available, so I decided to stop by and help out. Get it off the call log.”

Eli turned away from Quentin. He could feel the emotion of that day building in his chest. What he thought was going to be a quick safety check had changed his life forever. When he’d gone up her steps, there was no answer at the door. When he peered through the side window—he saw her. Much in the same fashion he’d just seen Evelyn Roush.

“It’s good for Julia that you were so close.”

Eli squared his shoulders and turned back to Quentin. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Should I?”

“Absolutely not.”

Quentin put a firm hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re the Hangman. I am concerned you might be too emotionally connected to Julia—finding a victim that way, barely clinging to life, resuscitating her and perhaps developing feelings—”

“I don’t have feelings for Julia Galloway. I was just doing my job then.
Am
doing my job now.”

A knowing look crossed Quentin’s eyes.

Am I so easy to read?

“What I see is that, perhaps, your judgment is clouded. Even though there is a man in jail serving for the Hangman’s crimes, we should consider the possibility, in light of today’s event, and the hit on Julia’s life, that the Hangman was not working alone.”

Eli’s mouth dried. Was it possible? They had missed a partner all along? “If that’s true, then why is this person killing again? He could have walked away scot-free after Mark Heller’s conviction.”

“What it suggests to me is two possibilities—a seasoned serial killer who can’t help himself or someone with a personal vendetta against this group of people, and he’s not going to stop until his sense of justice is satisfied.”

Did either of those possibilities carry the same threat against Julia?

“Then why hire someone to kill Julia? Why not finish her off the same way he tried to before—especially considering this murder.”

“That, Agent Cayne, is what you’re going to have to figure out.”

“Get me access to Mark Heller,” Eli said.

“You want to interview the Hangman?”

“You’re implying he didn’t act alone. I think an interview is warranted.”

“What’s his incentive to open up to you?” Quentin asked.

“Heller has always claimed his innocence.”

“As they all do.” Quentin smirked.

“True—but if he offers new information and this crime ends up being linked to the Hangman, he’d be in a good position for appeal and ultimately getting his freedom back.”

“You’re prepared for what that means for you—personally and professionally?”

Eli’s stomach clenched. Could he have put an innocent man in jail? Or had he just let a partner go free?

Either possibility wasn’t acceptable.

* * *

Julia relished her friend Crystal’s smile. It had been too long, since before her attack, since they’d had a chance to catch up.

“I got a heads-up through the hospital rumor mill that you were down here in the ER, so I snuck in under the guise I was your nurse. I’m glad I wasn’t shot on sight for doing so.”

Ben lifted his eyes briefly from his laptop. “I might reconsider next time.”

Crystal winked at him and turned her attention back to Julia. “I’m so glad you’re not mad at me for not being there for you when you were so sick.”

“How could I be now that I know your mother was going through cancer treatment. I’m so glad she’s okay.”

Glancing around the room, Julia was unnerved to have Ben sitting in the corner listening to their private conversation. He tried his best to be nonobtrusive, but the more Julia watched Ben’s face, the more she felt he was hiding something from her. Frequently, he placed his finger against his earpiece listening to communications, which often was followed by a slight frown. A few times he’d stepped out of the room to talk with the agent outside her door. And where was Eli? He’d told her he’d be back at the hospital this morning. So far he hadn’t shown up and it was nearly ten o’clock.

Ben didn’t present the same type of peaceful calm that Eli did. There was an undercurrent of something smoldering that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Home problems? Ben said he didn’t have children. Perhaps he couldn’t have any. Julia eyed his hand. There was a simple gold band on his left fourth finger. Today, he had a nervous energy about him—like a kangaroo hyped up on caffeine. But then, he’d had the same brush with death that Julia had. Perhaps that was enough to explain his behavior.

The curse of nursing enveloped her. Why couldn’t she just enjoy people for who they were? When did the analysis of people stop? The issue with emergency room patients, at times even their parents, was that they didn’t always tell the truth.

What she needed to learn was that not everyone was hiding a lie, either.

“Julia...” Crystal’s voice trailed as her face tilted toward the ground. Her long, wavy brown hair dropped over her face.

Julia reached for her friend’s hand. “What is it? I want this to be a happy time together. Anything to keep my mind off what’s going on.”

“I feel so bad talking about my mother when your parents...”

Both died
. That was the line her friend couldn’t finish. Was that really why she hadn’t heard from Crystal since her attack?

“It’s okay,” Julia offered.

“On their way to the hospital to see you.” Crystal broke down. All Julia could think to do was place a comforting hand on her shoulder until the sobbing subsided.

The truth was Julia had suffered more loss than she thought humanly possible. Each day was a step into unknown territory. Before her attack, she’d parroted the same response to friends that everyone said to her.

Don’t worry. God won’t give you more than you can handle.

That was a myth perpetuated by people in good faith but poor understanding. The Bible was rife with people getting hefty doses of more than they could handle. What was the purpose of suffering? What Julia learned was that at the point where life became overbearing—that was when the only option left was to throw your hands up to God and let Him take over. It was in a human’s ultimate weakness that God’s strength poured through.

Which left her saying, “I was never really alone. God was with me.”

Crystal lifted her eyes. “I wish I had your strength.”

Julia shook her head. “That’s the thing. It’s not my strength. I was so weak that I had to let God take over.”

Her friend shook her head, wiped away the tears, but smeared black lines across her cheeks. “How is that possible?”

Waterproof mascara was a must for ER nurses. Perhaps it was different for those who worked in surgery.

Julia was about to answer when something on the television caught her eye. The headline in white lettering with a red backdrop, Has the Hangman Struck from Prison?

“Crystal.” Julia grabbed the box of tissue next to her bed and handed a few to her friend. “I don’t know how to answer. I just pray...a lot.” She offered her a smile. “Do you mind if we meet for tea sometime soon? I’d really like to get a little sleep.”

Crystal patted her eyes dry. “Of course. I’m being so selfish—”

Julia grabbed her hand. “No, you absolutely aren’t. Please, don’t think that. You’ve been a bright spot to my day.”

Her friend reached for her from her chair and hugged her. “Whatever it is you’re going through might not be so bad if you have all these handsome police officers keeping track of you.”

Julia caught Ben’s smile from the corner. He really was listening.

“One day I’ll tell you why they’re watching over me. It’s not as glamorous as it looks.”

As soon as Crystal left the room, Julia dashed out of bed. She paced to the closet and yanked the flimsy grocery bag from the bottom of the locker.

Ben stood from his chair, nearly knocking it over. “Julia, what are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

She upended the bottom of the grocery bag and spilled her clothes onto the bed. One thing that could be said about Eli was that he didn’t know how to match women’s clothes—at all. A pair of magenta pajama bottoms and a lime-green T-shirt with an autumn scarf tumbled onto her crumpled bed linens.
Seriously?

“You can’t do that,” Ben stammered. “You’re in protective custody.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then I’m leaving.” She yanked the privacy curtain around her bed. “And if you open this, it’s not going to be pretty.”

His shadow hovered on the other side. “Where are you going? Why are you so agitated?”

Never did she dream she could dress so quickly. She whipped the curtain open. Eli had forgotten a pair of shoes and socks. No phone, of course. Her wallet was likely still at the safe house.

Julia fumed and pointed at the television with the tantalizing, media-driven hook blazing across the screen. “Instead of asking me why I’m so upset, perhaps you could enlighten me as to what’s going on. Is this what you’ve been hiding from me?”