Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (33 page)

“Bring her to me.”

CHAPTER 35

Charlotte couldn’t keep up with the police sergeant, but she tried. She was a big woman and moved slowly, even on her good days, but once she had momentum on her side, she picked up speed. Still, her heart raced, her back ached with tension, and she felt lightheaded. Sergeant Bruckner led her to a cluster of people standing behind two side-by-side cop cars in the street.

A tall woman with a pleasant face stuck out her hand. “Agent River. Thanks for coming.”

“Charlotte Diebold.” Charlotte often declined to shake hands because of her arthritis, but this was the FBI. “Russell called me and left a message. I tried calling him back but he didn’t answer. But it’s best I speak with him in person.”

“We have the hailer.” Agent River pointed at a portable microphone sitting on the trunk of the patrol car. “Or you can try him again on his phone. Keep the conversation low-key and personal.”

“I want to go in there and talk to him face-to-face. I’ll tell him to release a hostage and I’ll take her place.”

“We can’t let you do that,” the agent said. “He has a bomb.”

Charlotte understood their thinking, but they didn’t understand her responsibility. “Where is he?”

“The room on the right.”

Charlotte pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed redial. Russell cried, “Charlotte. Thank God you called. I need your help.”

“I’m here, Russell.” She watched the closed curtains and saw the center move a little. He’d seen her. Without another word, Charlotte charged toward the building, moving as quickly as her thick legs and heavy body would allow.

“No!” A chorus echoed behind her and large hands grabbed at her shoulders. Charlotte shook them off. With her weight, once she got moving, there was no stopping her. What would they do? Shoot her to keep her safe? The thought almost made her smile.

The sergeant grabbed at her again, but the FBI agent in charged yelled, “Let her go. Crowder might be watching.”

That’s right
, Charlotte thought.
Don’t piss off the man with the bomb by assaulting his therapist.

She reached the door and pushed it open. Until the moment she stepped into the building, she’d felt determined and a little numb. Now her legs were weak and her chest felt as if someone were sitting on it. If she survived this, she promised herself she would get her stomach stapled and lose a hundred pounds.

Across the lobby, an interior door opened and Russell yelled, “We’re in here.”

Winded and with pain shooting up her calves, Charlotte made her way across the room and stepped into the hostage crisis. The bomb taped to Russell’s chest caught her attention first, but the fact that Ted Rockman was in the room filled her with panic. And rage.

Charlotte turned and stared down at the man who’d degraded her, robbed her of her self-confidence, and trapped her in this hideous body. He looked rather helpless, sitting on the floor with his wrists duct-taped together. The young woman next to him was wide-eyed.

“Hello, Ted.”

He looked confused, but nodded. Of course he didn’t recognize her. It had been thirty years. And her face was buried under a thick layer of fat now. Charlotte pulled her attention back to her misguided client. She would deal with Ted later. “Russell, this has to stop now. You made your statements, now let everyone go. This can’t end well for you.”

“I want Rock Spring to burn. I want to see the ashes.”

“It won’t change anything. You’ll still go to jail, and Mr. Rockman will rebuild the factory. Even if he doesn’t, there are dozens of bottled water plants. You can’t burn them all. You can make more of a difference with legislation.” That chance was remote now, but she had to give him hope.

“But he’s a pedophile. And I’m not letting him go until he apologizes for molesting me.”

This was what Russell’s behavior was about. If she hadn’t planted those false memories, Russell would have been content to protest in front of the factory and gather petition signatures.

From the floor, Rockman said, “I didn’t molest you.” He sounded weary, as if he’d given up trying to be convincing.

Now was the moment. Charlotte took a deep breath. “He didn’t molest you, Russell. Someone named Chet did. But Rockman didn’t.”

“Why are you saying that?” Russell’s voice pitched with an edge of panic.

“I helped you come to believe Ted Rockman was one of the men who sexually abused you. I wanted you to go to the police
and file charges. But not to strap on a bomb and threaten innocent lives.”

“What?” Russell’s face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean you helped me? How?”

“During some of our hypnosis sessions I planted false memories.” Charlotte realized she would need a good lawyer.

“Why? I don’t understand.”

She heard Rockman make a noise behind her, but Charlotte ignored him. “Because he raped me when I was a teenager and I never had the courage to accuse him. So I wanted you to. I thought it would help you get closure as well. Since the man who assaulted you was long gone, I thought Ted Rockman would serve as his proxy.” Anguish threatened to overwhelm her, and Charlotte fought to keep her composure. “I’m sorry, Russell.”

For a long time, Russell was silent, and his face registered a range of emotions: confusion, anger, fear. While he worked through them, Charlotte relived the years. As a young teenager in a foster home, she’d felt powerless. Back then, the children’s advocacy service had not existed, and no one would have believed her if she claimed her foster brothers had both raped her. As she’d grown older and fatter, she’d been afraid to press charges for what people would say. Cops and social workers would have looked at her and thought:
Why would anyone rape her? She’s hideous
.

So much time had passed that Charlotte had given up on the idea that Ted and Craig would be prosecuted, but she’d followed both their lives and rejoiced when Craig went to prison. But Ted Rockman’s life had been blessed. When she’d read that he was considering a run for Congress, she knew she couldn’t let a predator assume a position of power.

Charlotte noticed the short redheaded woman sitting on the edge of the desk, holding out a cell phone. Was she recording? “Shut that off!”

The woman didn’t even look up. She turned the phone on its side and keyed in a message. Charlotte resisted the impulse to grab her phone and crush it. She had to stay focused on Russell.

Rockman stood and came to her. “Who the hell are you?”

She pulled in breath for courage. “Charlotte Diebold. Your foster sister. Remember? You and Craig both raped me.”

She watched Rockman’s eyes fill with recognition.

At least the bastard remembered her. His sexual assaults had filled her with self-loathing and she’d begun to eat for comfort. Even when she was free of the foster home, she couldn’t stop. She’d attended college on a grant and studied psychiatry to understand her own issues, but she’d never come to terms with her rage or her appetite. Then one day at the courthouse Russell had come along—after being arrested at Rockman’s factory—and Charlotte had visualized a way to be free of her past and bring justice to one of the men who’d condemned her to a lonely life of bitterness. She’d given Russell’s aunt her business card and prayed she would call.

Rockman shook his head. “No, Charlotte. We had consensual sex while we were drunk. I came to regret that because you were so young. But I was young too. One of your foster fathers may have raped you, but I didn’t.”

Memories flooded her brain, and faces blurred together. Charlotte pushed it all aside. “Liar!”

“No, Charlotte, you’ve got it wrong.”

CHAPTER 36

Jenna braked to cross the speed hump and spotted two dark sedans parked outside the trailer.
Uh oh.
The cops were here again. She didn’t want to talk to them. She hated lying. Jenna put the truck in reverse, backed into a neighbor’s driveway, then drove out the way she’d come in. At the curve in the narrow street, she allowed herself to look in the rearview mirror. One of the detectives was on the porch, watching her drive away.
Damn
. She pinched herself on the back of her hand. She hated swearing too.

Out of habit, she turned right and headed toward downtown. She would go to the library and get online for a while, or maybe to the student center at LCC’s campus to see if one of her friends was there. She hadn’t had many friends in high school, but she’d met several new people in her film class, and she still had Brianna, a friend from middle school. Jenna hoped the cops would be gone when she got back.

She drove faster than she usually did and it made her nervous. Mom couldn’t afford to have an accident on their insurance.
Her mother didn’t like Jenna to drive, but she let her use the truck sometimes when she was working, as long as Jenna agreed to run an errand or two. Jenna glanced in the rearview mirror and didn’t see the dark cars. A sense of relief made her giggle. Then she felt bad about being silly. She understood their investigation was serious and that what she’d done was serious too. But she was a protector now, someone who looked after others who were shy or picked on or afraid. She used to be one of the picked on, but not anymore. Katniss had shown her how to be a warrior. Then Arrow had shown her what she needed to do.

Jenna’s phone rang and startled her. She fumbled in her backpack, looking for her earpiece. She wasn’t supposed to talk and drive, but she did sometimes anyway. She managed to get her earpiece in. “Jenna speaking.”

“It’s Bri. Have you seen the news?”

Just the sound of her friend’s voice made Jenna feel better. “No. I went to the post office for Mom. Why?”

“That therapist you go to? The fat lady named Charlotte? She’s on the news. She’s talking to a guy with a bomb.”

“Get out!” Jenna thought Brianna was teasing her.

“I’m serious. Do you have your Kindle? They’re showing the clip on channel three.”

“Yeah, but I’m driving.”

“Well, pull over. You have to see it.” Brianna was practically yelling at her. “The shrink kind of messed with the guy’s head during their sessions. I don’t think you should see her anymore.”

Oh no! Her head was already messy enough. “I’m stopping now.” Jenna pulled into a parking lot on West Thirteenth, a few blocks from the library. After she shut off the truck to save gas, she pulled her Kindle Fire tablet out of her backpack. Her grandma had given it to her for Christmas. Jenna liked its name. The fire reminded her of Katniss and Peeta. “You said KRSL?”

“Yes. Trina Waterman is reporting. She’s awesome.” Brianna wanted to be a newscaster. Or an actress.

“I’ll watch it and call you back.” Jenna hung up. Sometimes her phone didn’t work well next to another wireless device.

She searched for the TV station and clicked open the video with Trina Waterman. The reporter stood on the sidewalk on a street near campus. Behind her were police cars. Trina was talking about Jenna’s therapist.

“For those just tuning in, the breaking news in the hostage crisis is that a therapist named Charlotte Diebold entered the building where the hostages are being held and confronted Russell Crowder, the eco-terrorist with the bomb. After failing to convince Crowder to let the hostages go, Diebold confessed to planting false memories of sexual assault during Crowder’s therapy sessions. We’ll cut to the video again so you can see it for yourself.”

False memories? What did that mean? Jenna felt queasy.

A dark, low-quality clip began to play. Jenna watched, fascinated, as her therapist confronted the man with the bomb. When Ms. Diebold said she’d put ideas into Russell’s mind during hypnosis, Jenna felt sick. During her own sessions, she’d recently recovered memories of being molested. Memories of Uncle Craig doing disgusting things to her. Jenna could see the faded green couch and the little rug she played on with her toys. The memories seemed so real.

But were they? She watched the rest of the video, the sickness filling her belly. Russell had been molested, but not by the man he thought.
Oh no
. Had she made a horrible mistake? Jenna had thought she was protecting other young girls from a predator. Ms. Diebold had said Jenna needed to report Craig to protect other children. But Jenna didn’t like the police, and her way had seemed simpler and better for everyone.