Fractured Memory (10 page)

“Miles, please...leave the poor woman alone.”

“It’s okay,” Julia said.

“She works with kids,” Eli offered. “I don’t know if you’re aware, Mrs. Dymond, but a package was delivered to Ryder’s parole officer. It was a packet of information used in murder-for-hire plot, and it had Ryder’s fingerprints on it. Do you know how the parole officer got that package?”

Harper fiddled with the end of her zipper. “I don’t.”

“Do you happen to know where Ryder might be?” Eli asked. “We’d really like to speak with him and get this whole matter cleared up.”

“I don’t know where he is.” She blew wayward strands of hair from her eyes. “He’s a no-good...ever since...”

What was it she didn’t want to say? Ever since what?

“You’re sure you don’t know where he might be?” Eli pressed.

“Ryder and the things he does when he’s not home have gotten him into more trouble than I care to know about.”

“Mrs. Dymond, is there anywhere you could think of as to where he might go?”

“He’s run off before. Won’t tell me nothin’. Sometimes I get a few dollars in the mail, but it’s never enough to feed this child.”

The more Harper talked, the more Julia felt she knew this woman. She began to study her and the house more. No photos were visible. Sometimes people in law enforcement said that was a bad sign of poor family connections, but Julia thought it could also be people not wanting to be haunted by their pasts. The house was cluttered, but not horribly unclean. If Harper’s hair was combed and she wore pants and a nice shirt with just a hint of makeup, she’d be a striking woman. Even in her hoveled appearance Julia’s self-esteem plummeted.

“Has Miles ever been to the hospital before?” Julia asked. “Children’s Hospital?”

Harper planted her hands between her knees. The question didn’t seem difficult, but Harper acted as if she were being forced to walk a tightrope. “Why would you ask that?”

“It’s just that you look familiar to me, and I’m wondering if I took care of Miles before.”

“Julia’s a pediatric ER nurse,” Eli clarified.

“You’re a nurse?” Miles bounced up and down on the couch’s cushions.

Julia tried not to hunch her shoulders too noticeably.

“Once when I was doing my superhero moves—” Miles leaped from the couch and raced around the room holding his arms out like Superman “—I dove off the steps and had to have stitches right here.” Miles collided into Julia and pointed to his eyebrow. Just below it was the faint, slightly raised scar from a stitched laceration.

“He didn’t go to Children’s then,” Harper said. “We weren’t living here when that accident happened.”

“It looks like you were very brave,” Julia said to Miles.

Eli cleared his throat. “Harper, any information you could tell us about where Ryder might be would go a long way in keeping you from scrutiny. I wouldn’t want anyone to think that you were aiding a fugitive from the law.”

Harper’s eyes widened. “Is that what he is? A fugitive? Just ’cause he’s not around to answer a few questions?”

“It’s more than that,” Eli said. “Julia’s life is at risk. I don’t know if you’re aware, another woman has recently been murdered just like the Hangman’s other victims, and we don’t know if the real killer is on the loose. At this point, it would be difficult for us to say that Ryder is not involved in these crimes, because you won’t answer our questions and we can’t find him.”

Harper dried her palms on her withered dress. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’d help if I could... I really would. Our family has had enough tragedy. I just want to move—”

“What kind of tragedy?” The question slipped from Julia before she could help herself. Was it something that brought Harper and Miles into contact with her? A medical crisis at the hospital?

“It’s nothin’ I want to get into with a stranger, but we’ve seen our fair share of death. That’s all I’m going to say.”

Miles tugged at the end of Julia’s sleeve. “Do you have any scars you can show me?”

The scars at Julia’s neck burned as if they were lit on fire. She adjusted the scarf around her neck to ensure that they remained hidden.

“Miles!” Harper yelled. “That’s not a polite thing to ask someone.”

“Mrs. Dymond—are you sure you don’t know Julia? You’ve never met her before?” Eli asked.

Harper shook her head. The wall was up, and cold defiance had set in. Eli’s shoulders dropped. He seemed to sense what Julia knew—Harper wasn’t going to tell them anything else at this point.

Miles continued to tug at her shirtsleeve, and she turned to face him.

“Miss Julia—did you ever take care of my cousin? The one who died?”

ELEVEN

E
li sat in the car facing Harper’s house waiting to back out until Julia had her seat belt secured.

“That was...odd,” Julia said.

“I’d have to say that was the quickest I was ever muscled out of a house by someone half my size.” Eli backed out of the driveway wondering why Harper refused to talk about the cousin her son had mentioned. She had clammed up after that and then shown them both to the door. It had to mean something, but he couldn’t force her to talk at this point. He’d called Ben to look into it on his way to the car.

“Harper is pretty feisty.”

Eli wasn’t ready to leave Julia’s side, so he bought them dinner and drove her to the Capitol Building, where they could sit on the grass and eat. It wasn’t the type of meal he’d use to try and impress a girl on a first date, but then he really wasn’t supposed to be winning her over, so what exactly was he doing? Regardless, it was one of his favorite places in the city. Sitting in that park and watching the sunset was one of the ways he regrouped. Julia was stuck with him until he delivered her home.

Eli handed her a sandwich. She opened up the wax paper and smoothed it on the grass. Despite her long-sleeve shirt and scarf, she shuddered every now and then as if the faint, cool breeze was a little too chilly. Eli eased his suit jacket off and draped it around her shoulders.

“Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?” Julia asked.

Eli opened his sandwich the same way. He popped open a bag of chips and split it between the two of them. “I’ll be fine. From the look in your eye at the sandwich shop—you wanted some of these but just didn’t want to ask for them.”

She smiled. How he missed even the hint of it as both of them had defaulted to a business like interaction. Julia had been quiet most of the day and it bothered him more than he wanted it to. His mood lightened at the slightest contentment in hers. He didn’t want to think about how much he would miss spending time with Julia when her case was over.

“You’re right—it’s just that the cheese dust is going to wreak havoc on my clothes and my breath.”

Eli tapped his shirt pocket. “Always a few breath mints on hand.”

Julia laughed and Eli’s mood climbed even higher. “Really? I hadn’t pegged you for a guy who keeps a stock of breath mints on hand.”

“They’re not necessarily always for me. Let’s just say they make finishing some interviews a lot easier.”

Julia nodded. “I get that. We use peppermint oil.”

“At the hospital?”

“We put a little bit on cotton balls and stick it in rooms where the smell is not so pleasant. Same concept, I guess.”

“I guess.”

For a few minutes, both of them ate in silence. Eli felt like a salted slug on hot cement—his last energy reserves oozed into the grass. This morning, he could have run six miles and not blinked. Now every part of his body ached. His breath became short with mild exertion. Another good night’s sleep in his own bed would do him good.

The next step. Quentin had messaged him and the Justice Department would allow him to interview Dr. Mark Heller. Should he take her? Would it be helpful if he did?

The sun hovered just above the mountain peaks. It was late—nearly eight o’clock. Was it obvious that Eli’s delay in taking her home was to spend more time with her? Nestled in a small grove of nearby trees were a few extra agents helping to keep an eye out. No one seemed to be tailing them. For once, they’d had an uneventful day.

“What do you think of Harper?” Julia asked.

Eli swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and brushed the crumbs off his fingers. “She knows something. I think she knows you but won’t say how.”

Julia nodded, crumpling up her trash and putting it in the empty paper bag. “I agree.”

“Problem is...I can’t force her to confess what she knows and we don’t have anything to leverage against her. My guess is she’s the one who anonymously delivered the hit package to Ryder’s parole officer. That probably saved your life, so even if a prosecutor came up with something to charge her with—a jury is going to have a lot of sympathy for her once she fesses up to that. Do you think you know Miles? If you knew and interacted with the family—even the cousin—it could be a piece to this puzzle.”

Julia shook her head. “I didn’t really feel like I’d met Miles before, but I feel like I know her. I used to be really good with faces before I was attacked. With her, I get that feeling, but I can’t place it.”

“Don’t stress about it. I’m sure you come into contact with a lot of people. It would be impossible to remember them all...especially after what you went through.”

“I’ve wanted to ask you something,” Julia said.

Why was it when a woman said that statement to Eli, it always sent his heart stammering? “Sure. Ask me anything.”

“I want to see a doctor.”

Eli turned to face her. What could be wrong? “For what?”

“I don’t know if that’s the right term. Not a medical doctor—a mental health professional. Someone who could help open up my memory and see if I can remember anything else about my attack.”

“Julia—that can be a delicate process and we’d need to be very careful with how it’s done. If the interviewer plants any sort of seed in your mind, then who knows if the information you provide is reliable? I’m sure you know as a nurse that the mind is one thing we haven’t quite cracked. Eyewitnesses who wrongly identify a criminal but can pass a lie detector test. We don’t want anything to get us off track.”

“Are you sure that’s it?”

“What?”

“That you just don’t want us to get off track? Or is it you just don’t want to see me suffer more psychological trauma in trying to remember?”

Was she right? Julia had as much vested interest as he did in remembering. If they did it the right way, there would be little fallout.

Eli focused on the mountains as he thought about her request. It was his favorite time of day when the sun drifted down below their peaks and shadowed them in varying hues of blue—almost flat. The view was deceptive. It made the grandeur of the mountains seem like a young child’s painting.

What Eli was becoming more aware of from being in close proximity to Julia was how the traumatic things he saw affected him and how much he worked to deny it. Finding Julia so close to death had marked a point in time for him—an emotional burden he carried. Was he unwilling to allow her to suffer more pain just to save himself?

“Okay, I’ll call someone I know. She retired last year, but is well respected in the field of forensic examination. I trust her.”

“Great. It’s settled, then.”

Why was his heart dying when it was the happiest she’d been all day? “I’ll call her tonight and see if I can get something set up for the morning. Let’s get you home so you can get some sleep. See if we can have two uneventful nights in a row.”

* * *

Julia relished being home. Even though just a few days had passed since she was here, it felt both foreign and welcoming at the same time.

“Everything checks out. I promise.”

“Thanks, Ben,” Julia said. “For everything. If you two don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, I need to call to get replacements for my credit cards since my wallet is underwater. Who’s up for going to the DMV with me?”

“I’d be happy to, Julia,” Eli said. “Right after we meet with Dr. Powell.”

“Dr. Powell?” Ben asked.

“Julia thought it would be a good idea for someone to jog her memory. Since she’s been remembering some new details—why not see if a professional could help?” Eli said.

Ben frowned, looking at Julia. “You’ve been through so much, and memory is a tricky thing. What you remember might not be the truth, and we don’t want to contaminate the case with any unnecessary details.”

“Eli’s already expressed his concern about it. I want to help get a quick resolution to this case. If you don’t take me, I’ll drive myself there.”

A rush of tension burned in Julia’s chest. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar to her. It was a rare event to confront a physician about an order that could harm a patient, but she felt the same in those instances as she did now.

Don’t. Mess. With. Me.

She turned on her heel and marched up the stairs into the quiet cavern of her bedroom. After lighting several candles in her bathroom and soaking in the tub for a good thirty minutes, she started to feel the tension ease from her muscles. She dressed for bed and turned on her bedside lamp and pulled the covers down. From the bottom of the bed, she grabbed the black leather Bible that Eli gave her.

At first, a moment of grief washed over her as she opened the unmarred, crisp pages. All her notes, highlights, little doodles were waterlogged fish food. So much of her young life had been marked by grief. In her profession, she dealt with death—children dying, no less. Not daily, but too much. The loss of her memory. The loss of feeling safe and protected—and the hope that she and Eli could see if they were a good match together. Was she so broken that no man would ever want to be with her? The death of her parents. Not being able to contact her grandfather. Her Bible.

She opened the Bible to the New Testament and began to read, but frustration overwhelmed her.

A genealogy for Jesus. And hers was...severed.

She yanked open her nightstand drawer to pull out a package of gel highlighters. There were several notebooks there. As she rustled around, she found the journal where she’d make notes about the patients she’d cared for. Despite the potential patient privacy violation, it was a way for her to process the emotions she couldn’t convey at work and no one knew about it or ever saw it.

No one appreciates a sobbing nurse who can’t do her job. This is a way to safely decompress.

Setting the Bible aside, she grabbed the journal and opened it up. Some pages were wrinkled from her tears as she wrote about the death of a patient. She looked over some of her early entries from nursing school and smiled at what a novice she had been. One of her first patients on the medical unit was an elderly woman contracted into the fetal position and whose mouth gaped open but never spoke any words—her body ravaged by a stroke. Julia had stood there for the longest time trying to figure out how to get the blood pressure cuff on her arm when it was bent at ninety degrees. When she tried to ease the leathery muscles straight—it was evident the arm was not to be coaxed into any different position. Not knowing what else to do, Julia went and got her clinical instructor, who, without any qualms, threaded that blood pressure cuff around the elderly woman’s arm and got the reading in about thirty seconds.

After reading a few entries, Julia got brave enough to look at the months that led up to her attack. Were there any clues here that could help her tomorrow during her interview with Dr. Powell? Would it be possible to recall these events, or was her mind so fractured that her past was inaccessible?

Journal entries from two months before her attack.

A newborn with sepsis. One of the most difficult cases to manage as a nurse in the pediatric ICU. So much needed to be done to save the baby’s life. Multiple labs. Trying to ease tiny catheters into threadlike veins. This particular newborn, a baby girl just three weeks old, had rapidly deteriorated and been placed on a breathing machine.

Warm softness eased through Julia’s body. In the middle of that crisis—of that baby almost dying—she remembered the respiratory therapist assigned that day. Brin was her name. After they had stabilized the patient, Brin placed her hand over the baby’s forehead and said the sweetest prayer.

Lord, I ask Your blessing upon this child. That You would heal her tiny body. That You would let her grow up to experience the splendor You have created for her here. Amen.

Julia had been jealous of the freedom Brin had in expressing her faith at the bedside. What she had done had been a dangerous thing—if the family complained, she likely would have faced disciplinary action.

Brin.

Joyful. Full of life. The best, most sarcastic sense of humor.

Short. African American.

Julia pictured the woman in her mind. Her heart began to race. There was something her fingers itched to remember.

The hit package.

Julia threw her bedcovers aside and raced down the stairs in time to see Eli headed out the door.

He wasn’t going to say goodbye?

“The hit package!” Julia cried. “I need to see it.”

Eli walked back into the house. “Why?”

She implored Eli with her eyes. “Do you have a copy? Please, I need to look through the pages again.”

Eli shook his head. “Not on me. Ben?”

“Sure—in my briefcase. Hold on.”

Ben left Eli and Julia alone in the foyer.

“You were going to leave without saying goodbye?” The lump in her throat made it difficult to say the words in the nonchalant manner she wanted to present.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that would be important to you.”

Why should it have been? Eli had made it clear they were only to interact in a professional way. Even then—it would have been polite to let her know. And what—was Ben staying overnight? Even though he’d spent most of the day there?

“I just thought...” She shook her head. Why get into this now? “You never told me what time I needed to be ready to meet this doctor in the morning.”

“Right. We’ll need to leave here by eight.”

Ben handed her the manila envelope, and she opened it and skimmed through the pages. The photos that Eli had shown her of the other victims weren’t there.

“I need to see the photos...of the other victims.”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t have a paper copy. We can probably find them on the internet.”

Eli pulled his phone from his jacket and a few finger taps later he handed it to her. She scrolled through the faces.

Brin.

Julia thrust the phone toward Eli with Brin’s picture. “I know her. We worked together.”

Eli took the phone from her. “She’s a respiratory therapist, but Children’s didn’t have any record of her being an employee.”

“Then you didn’t ask the right people or the person you talked to didn’t know what he was talking about. She was from an agency—not employed by the hospital, but contracted to work for Children’s when we were short-staffed.”