The Unforgivable Fix (15 page)

“You have to be out of your mind, Daddy!” Allie's face drained of color the moment Mort told her what the next step was. “I won't do it.”

Lydia leaned against her kitchen counter and watched the father-daughter team sitting at her breakfast nook table. Mort had called her, asking if she could come home early. He didn't give her a reason.

Allie turned to Lydia for support. “Tell him, Lydia. If he won't think of the safety of his own daughter, tell him how vulnerable this could make me to a meltdown. Maybe even that PTSD stuff.”

Lydia folded her arms across her chest. These days with Allie had taught her one thing: no one had to get all hot and bothered about Allie's emotional fragility. That girl was tough to the core.

Mort had described to Lydia how he'd spent his morning. He'd met again with DEA agents Jerry Gehrking and Rachel Sampson. Mort said they had reason to believe Patrick Duncan was in the United States.

“Passport Control didn't have him using that name, of course,” he'd said. “But their sources in Barbados had him boarding a plane two days ago. They checked the customs video of the main ports of entry and sure enough, Duncan entered through Atlanta. He's traveling under the name Fletcher Fields. DEA ran it and found nothing under that name.”

Allie confirmed that Patrick Duncan had dozens of passports in different names. “He makes a game of it. All of his aliases have the same initials, like Alex Appleby or Richard Robertson.”

Mort promised to pass that information on to the agents. “That's just the kind of inside knowledge that's going to allow us to get this guy.”

He'd gone on to tell them Fletcher Fields had caught a connecting flight to Denver. “There's no indication anyone using that name has traveled anywhere else.”

Allie panicked. “He's looking for me! He knows Robbie's in Denver. He thinks I'm there. Oh, God! Are they safe?”

Mort told her to relax. He shared what both he and Lydia knew to be true. From the moment Mort had approached the DEA with information that Allie was in his custody and prepared to give information on Patrick Duncan, they'd have every known associate of Mort's under surveillance. He reassured her Robbie and his family were safe.

“Where did you meet the DEA agents?” Lydia asked.

“Tacoma. A breakfast joint down by the Dome.”

Lydia turned to Allie. “Where were you?”

“Right here.” Allie narrowed her eyes in sarcastic rebellion. “Don't worry, Mom. I didn't open the door to any strangers.”

Lydia's throat tightened. Mort caught her concern and assured her he'd spoken bluntly with his daughter and gained her commitment to stay put. But Mort didn't understand. It wasn't the notion that someone might find out Allie was at her house that bothered Lydia. It was the idea of Allie being left to explore her home, unsupervised, that infuriated her.

Mort turned back to his daughter and explained the next phase of the plan. “Allie, you'll make one phone call. That's it. You'll be nowhere around when we arrest him.” He reached across the table to lay his hand on her arm. “Patrick Duncan will be in custody, you'll meet with the DEA folks, and you'll help them build a case that will put Duncan behind bars for the rest of his life.”

Allie pulled her arm away. “What about Tokarev? Do you think having Patrick in jail will stop him? Who's going to protect me against the Russian?”

Lydia understood the way a sociopath's mind worked. Patrick Duncan's incarceration wouldn't be the justice Tokarev sought. Duncan would be a difficult target in a federal prison. Tokarev's efforts to balance the scales for Duncan's mutilation of his lover would intensify against his one remaining target: Allie. He'd have no other option.

“I told you, Allie,” Mort said firmly. “The DEA doesn't buy into Duncan's paranoia about Tokarev making a move on his business. Tokarev's got his own hands full. They're monitoring him. If he makes a move to leave Russia, they'll know it.”

“Like they knew about Patrick?” Allie shot back. “He was already in the country by the time they started looking. The DEA can't keep me safe from Tokarev. I'm on my own with that one.”

Lydia watched Mort wrestle with his daughter's assessment. She wondered how his plan might change if he knew about the two invaders she had dropped into the sea.

“Allie, listen to me.” Lydia took a seat at the table. “There are no guarantees. Not in this situation, not in life. We have to do what's best and hope it all works out.” She locked eyes with Mort's daughter. “It's time for some brutal honesty. You've brought us here. You've led your father to the point where's he's having to make the best deal possible with the DEA to keep you out of a jail cell. You and I both know that without your actions of the past few years there'd be no bad guys chasing you. Your family wouldn't be in danger. You're not in the position to refuse anything. All you can do is trust.”

Allie's eyes sparked defiantly. Lydia held her furious stare until she could see Allie's boldness shift into acceptance.

“Trust your father, Allie.” Lydia turned to Mort. “It's always worked for me.”

The three of them were quiet for several minutes. Lydia looked out the window and focused on the soft mist of the grey day.

“When do they want me to do it?” Allie asked finally.

“Tomorrow,” Mort replied. “They'll give me a secure phone equipped with a recording device. You'll make one call, convince him you want to meet with him, and set the time and place. That's it. You'll never have to speak to him again.”

Allie dropped her gaze to her hands.

“Can you do it, Allie?” Lydia asked. “Do you think you can convince Patrick Duncan to meet you?”

Allie raised her face and offered an apologetic smile to Lydia. “I know you think I'm a fuckup. But if there's one thing I do well, it's getting men to do what I want.”

Lydia would have preferred to stay home and have a blunt conversation with Mort about his decision to leave Allie alone while he went off to his meeting in Tacoma, but she had to return to the office. She had two more patients to see and wanted to check in with Zach. Lydia had to settle for Mort's promise that he'd hold off picking up the secured phone until she returned home and could keep her own eyes on his daughter.

Lydia caught Zach as he was leaving. He pulled a thumb drive out of his worn corduroy jacket and handed it to her. “Saw two today. Eric, my unemployed marijuana user, and Cindy, my kleptomaniac.” His smile was a welcome sight after her time with Mort and Allie. “I'm happy to report her sticky fingers have latched on to nothing since our last session.”

Lydia asked when his next session with Brianna Trow was.

“I'm seeing her tomorrow, Dr. C. I'll keep you posted.” He pointed to the door. “I'd love to talk more, but I'm already late to the lab. You mind?”

Lydia shooed him off. She remembered well the hectic life of a postdoctoral fellow. Zach was balancing two jobs, each of them filled with tremendous responsibility, at a time in his career when he lacked the experience necessary to master either with confidence. She headed into her office and settled in behind her desk. Lydia pulled open her top drawer and noticed the red recording switch still depressed. Zach had forgotten to switch off the equipment after his last session. She'd need to talk with him about not letting his frenzied schedule compromise office procedure.

Krystal Piekarski described her struggle but said she was still keeping her sexual boundaries in place. Lydia noted Krystal brought up Tito, the bouncer at the club Krystal frequented, several times. When Lydia gently pressed for more information, Krystal assured her the two of them were simply friends.

“It's nice having a guy who just wants to talk, know what I mean, Dr. Corriger? Talking to Tito is like talking to myself. I can just be who I am with him. It's all good.”

Her last patient of the day was an intake who never showed up. Normally Lydia would be irritated, but her practice was building steadily and she had more than enough paperwork to keep busy. She was glad to have the found hour. She checked her phone to make sure her patient hadn't called to cancel. There were two messages. One was from Sharon Luther, Zach's research mentor, wanting to schedule a time to meet and discuss his progress. The other was from a man who introduced himself as Paul Bauer. He said he was a detective with the Olympia Police Department. He would like to talk with her as soon as possible about the Kenton Walder case. Lydia called him back.

“Paul Bauer.” His voice had the clipped tone of an experienced public servant.

“Detective Bauer, this is Lydia Corriger. You called?”

“Yes. Thanks for getting back to me.” Lydia heard paper shuffling on the other end of the line. “It's about the Kenton Walder case. I have a few questions.”

“I don't know how I can help you, Detective.”

“Call me Paul, okay? I'm holding in my hand two releases allowing us to chat. Got one signed by William Sorens, father of Emma Sorens. Got another signed by Dee Walder, mother of said Emma. I know where your office is. I'm about six blocks away. How about I swing by and drop these off? We could have our talk, probably take all of twenty minutes.”

“When were you thinking?” Lydia asked.

“Now works for me.”

Lydia didn't like talking to police. She squeezed her toes together enough for a little jab of pain to remind her the detective simply had a job to do. “I'll see you in fifteen minutes then.”

“Make it ten.”

Paul Bauer filled the door when he walked into her office.

“How tall are you?” Lydia immediately regretted her rudeness. “I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that.”

The black man wore his dark hair in a close cut. His face was anchored by a wide, square jaw and softened by eyes the color of Irish clover.

“It's okay.” He handed her his card. “Genetic hazard. I get asked that all the time.” He threw his shoulders back and seemed to grow even larger. “I'm six six. Back in the day, the announcers used to call out 245.” He patted a trim stomach. “Might be a few pounds heavier these days.”

“Announcers?” Lydia asked.

Paul Bauer looked around her office as he spoke. “Football. I played tight end for Notre Dame. You follow the sport?”

Lydia shook her head. “I know Seattle has the Seahawks. That's about it.” She pointed toward the sofa and watched him try to find a comfortable position.

“Great game. Keeps you sharp.” He pointed to her diplomas from out-of-state schools. “You lived in Washington long?”

“Nearly ten years.” She was never comfortable with people talking about the past. One never knew when a loose end might pop up and unravel her entire life. “You have questions about Kenton Walder?”

“Ten years, huh?” Paul nodded while continuing his survey of her office. “How'd you come to pick Olympia? I'll bet it seems a little sleepy after the big cities back east.”

She reminded herself that he was probably simply being pleasant. “I like the weather.”

“You like rain?”

“I don't like snow. Or intense heat.” She made a show of looking at her calendar. “You said twenty minutes.”

He reached inside his grey wool suit jacket, pulled out several sheets of paper, and set them on the table. “The releases you'll need. The Walders tell me they came to see you. Then, lo and behold, Will Sorens tells me he sees you, too. Says you help him keep from going crazy. On top of that I see you countersigned the evaluation report on Emma.” He interlocked large hands around his knee and leaned back. “Now unless you're the only shrink in town—and I know you're not—sounds to me like you're all wrapped up with the Kenton Walder case.”

He's just doing his job. You're someone he needs to interview. Nothing more.
Lydia picked up the releases and gave them a cursory scan. Will had checked the boxes authorizing her to share any information she had with the detective. “It looks like I'm more involved than I am. Will Sorens came to see me, looking for help dealing with this terrible situation with his daughter. As you can imagine, having your daughter tell you she's being sexually abused by her stepfather is a difficult thing to hear. Do you have children?”

He shook his head. “I'd like nothing better than to have a house full of them. But I guess I don't need to tell you a forty-year-old cop isn't most women's idea of a dream catch.” He urged her to continue with a wave of his hand. “So you're seeing Emma's dad. How's he doing?”

“I would say Will Sorens is holding up as well as anyone could expect, given the circumstances.”

“He strike you as a violent guy?”

“Not at all. There's been no history of that in his past, no indication from his behavior in session that he's ever been unable to control his actions”

Paul nodded. “Back in my football-playing days, there was always one guy on the team who needed to be in charge. Needed to control not only what went on during the game, but in the locker room, too. Real pains in the butt. Does Sorens strike you as that kind of guy? Manipulative? Needing to get his way all the time?”

Lydia recalled Dee's opinion that Emma's accusations were the result of Will's desire for revenge against her and Kenton. Was Detective Bauer thinking the same thing?

“I think anyone would feel out of control at a time like this. It's crazy making. But Will Sorens has displayed nothing but cooperation in his work with me. He doesn't try to control or manipulate our conversations in any way.”

“Would you know if he did?” Paul shrugged large shoulders. “I mean, some of these guys are damn good at it. You don't know who's pulling the strings until you're all tied up.”