The Unforgivable Fix (19 page)

She carried her bundle of dresses, slacks, and blouses into the fitting room farthest from the entrance and thanked the attendant for her help. She hung her selections on one side of the stall, stripped off her jeans and sweater, and kicked off her shoes. Anyone who walked this far down the dressing-room aisle and looked under her door would see nothing but bare legs and socks. She pulled out her phone, called up the contacts screen, and touched C. As directed, he answered on the first ring.

“I hope you have something definite for me.” He sounded irritated. “No more delays.”

She wondered if there was a man on the planet who didn't feel entitled to bark orders. She put a smile in her voice and responded to the boring bully. “Then you'll be happy with this call.” She gave him the date and the time. He already had the address.

“And he'll be there?” His irritation morphed into hunger. “Alone?”

“Yes. I have bait he cannot refuse. He'll be alone. But you won't be.”

She heard the heavy breathing of a frustrated man on the other end of the line. “I deserve my justice. I've paid for it.”

“And you'll have it.” She didn't need him haggling about price at this stage. “Take all the time you need extracting your revenge. I'm sure your new partner will relish it as much as you will.”

“But—”

“Stop. If you have any intention of doing anything other than exactly what I've told you to do, I'll make other plans and you'll be left with nothing. Is that understood?”

A few moments passed before he spoke. She hoped he used them to run his options and realize she was his only path to the payback he so desperately wanted. Rebellion on his part would result in a needless delay. She'd deal with it, of course, but it would interfere with the timing of her overall design. She was growing bored with the entire situation.

“I'll be there,” he finally said.

She smiled into the mirror of the garishly lighted room and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She really needed to get to a salon.

“I look forward to hearing of your success,” she cooed.

She clicked the phone closed and looked at the selection of clothes she'd brought into the room. There wasn't a thing she would actually consider wearing, but she understood she had a role to play…for just a bit longer. She ran her hands over the pieces and pulled out a navy wrap dress. The material was cheap, but the style was classic. She pulled it around her, cinched the belt tightly around her waist, and turned to face the mirror. The deep neck showed just enough cleavage to tease. She rotated slightly to see the fabric drape down and cling to her hips. She wiggled and watched the way the dress accentuated her backside.
Not bad. This will do for now.
She took off the dress and hung it on the opposite side of the room, suffering through trying on the rest of the substandard items. It wouldn't be long before she'd be back on a boulevard building a new wardrobe.
Paris would be the perfect place to start.
It was just a matter of time before she'd have a closet worthy of her.

She looked at her phone lying on top of her purse. She thought about putting her jeans and sweater back on, but stripped off her bra and panties instead. She stood in the cold light of the dressing room and stared at herself until she felt the chilled vulnerability of her nakedness.

Then she picked up the phone and called the Russian.

Lydia assured Allie everything would be fine. “He doesn't want to talk to me about anything having to do with you.” She wanted to dampen Allie's self-centered anxiety. Their pleasant afternoon seemed to have distracted her from earlier concerns about what would happen to her following Patrick's arrest. Allie had even suggested they stop for fudge ripple before heading home, and Lydia hadn't seen any reason not to indulge her. It would, in all likelihood, be hours before Mort made it back from Seattle.

They'd just settled into their booth at a westside ice cream parlor when Lydia's phone rang. Detective Paul Bauer's deep voice on the other end told her he needed to speak with her immediately. Lydia suggested meeting the next morning, saying she had plans with a friend and wouldn't be working the rest of the day. Detective Bauer asked where she was. He said he'd be there in less than fifteen minutes.

“Just take me home.” Allie gathered up her purse and bags. “Go down to the station if you have to. I'll soon be up to my ears in cops. I don't need an early start.”

Lydia reached across the table to lay a steadying hand on Allie's arm. “He wants to talk about a case involving one of my patients. This has nothing to do with you.”

Allie's eyes signaled a desire to believe, mixed with dreaded anticipation of the time a detective would come for her.

“There's no way I'm leaving you alone,” Lydia insisted. “You know that.”

Allie's defensive cockiness kicked in. “House arrest again? So I do what? Sit here and eat my sundae while you two talk shop?”

Lydia shook her head. “That won't work either. Patient confidentiality.” She pointed to a booth diagonally across the parlor. “When your ice cream comes, take it over there. Sit by yourself and enjoy some time alone. That way I can see you, you can see me, and I'll be able to take care of this business with Detective Bauer in private.”

Allie looked toward the door and Lydia wondered if she was planning to bolt. She wasn't worried. Allie didn't know Olympia, and the keys to the car were in Lydia's purse. Allie slouched back against the booth, the picture of a woman who had no options other than to do what she was told.

Their ice cream came. Double hot fudge for Allie and a dish of vanilla for Lydia. Allie dug in right away. An earnest smile graced her face after the first bite.

“This is so good,” she said. “I defy anyone to be depressed when a dish of ice cream is in front of them.”

Lydia noted again how swiftly Mort's daughter could compartmentalize her moods. Allie shifted from one feeling to the next as smoothly as a Lamborghini racer. Lydia reminded herself she was there to watch Allie, not diagnose her, and took a taste of her own treat. Before she took a second bite she heard the tinkling bell over the shop's front door.

“Whoa.” Allie's eyes went wide as she caught sight of the tall black man with the ramrod spine and athletic build. “If this is the guy, I'm staying right here.”

Lydia turned to see Detective Paul Bauer approach. He was, indeed, striking in his black suit and starched white shirt. His tie was the same shade as his green eyes. While their match enhanced his overall good looks, the stoniness of his jaw indicated he was all business. He stood next to their table and looked down at Allie.

“This your friend?” His tone didn't suggest he was interested in an introduction. Lydia made one anyway and the detective shook her hand.

Allie picked up her sundae and spoon. She tilted her head to the booth across the way. “I'll be right over there.” Her smile had a hint of the pixie who had no trouble manipulating not only her father, but any man who crossed her path. “You two kids have fun.”

Paul Bauer pushed Allie's jacket and purse aside and slid into the booth opposite Lydia. He pulled out a small notebook and got right to it.

“You know Henry Trow? Goes by the name of Hank?” His eyes locked on to Lydia. “And before you start in with that stone-faced, ‘I can't say a word' bullshit, I got you covered. A, Mr. Trow was more than adamant about letting me know he wasn't a patient of yours; and, B, just in case, I had him sign a release.” He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a signed and witnessed form, and slid it across the table.

“Mr. Trow's right. He's not a patient of mine.”

“Hank's a great guy. Just met him this morning. One of those salt-of-the-earth types. Works hard, plays by the rules. What my mother would have called a God-fearing man.” Bauer's voice had the deep rumble of sleeping lion.

Lydia nodded. “I only met him once, but I'd have to say I'm of the same opinion. I hope he's not involved in any trouble.”

“Hank came to see me because he's confused. He wanted to get to the bottom of things. After our talk, I'd have to say I'm a bit confused as well.” He pointed to Lydia's ice cream. “Go ahead and eat that. It looks too good to end up a melted mess.”

She shoved the bowl aside. “Why don't you tell me how this involves me, Detective?”

“Call me Paul. I already call you Lydia.” He flipped his notebook open. “Hank's daughter, Brianna Trow…name ring a bell?”

Lydia knew exactly who she was. But the release Bauer gave her was signed by Hank, not Brianna. She had no authorization to speak freely about his daughter.

The detective shifted his position and his jacket strained against broad shoulders. As well as he wore that suit, Lydia got the impression he was a man who was far more comfortable in a Saturday morning sweatshirt than formal business attire.

“Let me refresh your memory. Brianna sees your associate, Dr. Zach Edwards.” He looked up at her and his eyes revealed flecks of ash floating in a stormy sea. “That would be the same fella who did Emma Sorens's interview, am I right?”

Lydia remained silent.

“Now, old Hank comes to me with a story. All about how he loves his daughter, and the hard times she's fallen upon…mostly due to her stomach problems and how she can't hold a job due to the pain. Tells me he's marched her from one doc to the next. They can't find anything, so they ship her off to the specialists…the ones who handle head cases.”

Lydia had heard the same story from Hank himself. She stayed calm and quiet on her side of the booth.

“Hank has this theory that the medical establishment has abandoned his daughter, given her inability to pay. But somehow she ends up at your practice. Now”—he flipped a few pages in his notebook—“I've done my homework on you, Lydia. You are about as far from the budget-priced shrink as one can imagine. You got the rep. You got the awards. Doesn't make any sense Hank would scoff at his daughter ending up at your joint.”

Lydia didn't react. She wanted to hear everything he had to say.

“But Hank tells me Brianna isn't seeing the great Dr. Lydia Corriger. She's seeing her student. Of course, I already know all about your rookie, given our last conversation. So now I get why a person on medical assistance is seen at your place.”

“I'm waiting to hear the reason you're sitting here, Detective. If Hank is right, if his daughter is seeing Dr. Edwards, then you know I can't say a thing.”

Bauer's nod was deep and slow. “Hank tells me his daughter wants nothing to do with him. All of a sudden. Cuts him right out of her life, and from the way he describes it, each of them is about all they have in the world. Why would she do that, I wonder. Then Hank clues me in. Says Brianna has suddenly
remembered
that Hank sexually abused her while she was a child. Says that Dr. Edwards has helped her
recover
memories that she
buried
a long time ago. Hank swears up and down he's done no such thing.” He tapped his large hand on the Formica table. “And I gotta tell you, Lydia. I believe him. I've been at this game a long time. I've developed a nose for people. Like I'm sure you have.” He paused. “Do
you
get the impression Hank was capable of raping his daughter for years?”

Lydia thought back to her brief meeting with the man. He'd been so distraught, arriving unannounced and demanding to see Zach. His story of raising his daughter alone following the death of his wife saddened her. But what Lydia knew, and what Detective Paul Bauer couldn't know, was that she'd listened to every tape of every session Zach had with Brianna. Not once had the topic of childhood sexual abuse come up. She was as clueless as to what was behind Brianna's allegations as Hank and Detective Bauer were, or for that matter, Zach Edwards. She decided to tread lightly.

“I think you're asking me to make a serious judgment based on limited information. To assess whether or not a man is capable of such a serious crime takes time. If you're investigating Hank's abuse of his daughter, I'm afraid I can't help you.”

Bauer's smile gave no hint of warmth. “You're mistaken, Lydia. I'm not investigating any charges against Hank. None have been filed. The man simply came to me wanting to tell his story and learn what his options are.”

Her gut tightened in warning. “Then why are you here, Detective? What
are
you investigating?”

Bauer reached across the table and pulled Lydia's nearly melted bowl of ice cream toward him. He dug her spoon into it, pulled out a small scoop, and closed his eyes as he savored the taste. “God, I love this place. Shame to waste such good stuff.” He put the spoon down and locked his eyes on hers. “I'm not investigating anything, Lydia. I guess what I'm doing is satisfying a curiosity.”

“About what?”

“Like most cops, I'm always intrigued by coincidences. Here I am, in the middle of investigating the Kenton Walder case and Hank comes in to see me.”

“What does one have to do with the other, Detective?”

Bauer shrugged. “Two daughters screaming about daddy raping them. Two dads saying it never happened.”

“I'm sure you're aware of the high rate of denial in sexual-abuse cases. I'd hardly call that a coincidence.”

Bauer nodded. “Maybe. But I got something else. I got a common thread. Both these girls were seen at your place, Lydia. Both by the same guy. Now
that's
the coincidence I find intriguing.” He pulled himself out of the booth, straightened his jacket, and tossed a ten dollar bill on the table. “For the ice cream. Maybe next time we can finish a bowl together.”

Lydia looked at the clock again. It was nearly midnight. Mort hadn't called. He should have been back hours ago. Allie had been leaving him text messages every twenty minutes for the past two hours. She'd even called her brother in Denver to see if Mort might have checked in with him.

He hadn't.

They'd gotten back around four clock. Lydia had hoped to have heard from Mort by then. She was eager to have her houseguests gone, and the arrest of Patrick Duncan was a major step toward that goal. Initially, Allie hadn't seemed so eager to hear from her father. Lydia assumed she saw Duncan's arrest as the evaporation of the last excuse keeping her from talking to the DEA. With Duncan in custody, Allie had no bargaining chip. Despite Mort's promises to his daughter, Lydia knew Allie's assessment was probably correct. It was highly likely charges would be filed against her. Aiding and abetting an international felon could cost Allie several years in a federal penitentiary. Obstruction of justice could add even more. Lydia understood when Allie wanted nothing more than to go to her room and wait for her father's return.

Lydia's mind had been more focused on her interaction with Paul Bauer. Mort had told her Bauer had a reputation as a good cop. Her conversation with Bauer had left her rattled. He sensed something was wrong. He seemed like the kind of investigator who wouldn't stop until he found it. So far, he had found nothing beyond her academic and professional record.

She didn't need him to go digging any deeper.

When Allie closeted herself in the guest room, Lydia headed downstairs to her study. She listened again to the tapes of Zach's sessions with Brianna Trow, this time with a keen ear for something, anything, that would suggest the young woman had given Zach any indication she'd experienced sexual abuse at the hands of her father.

Lydia heard again Brianna's complaints of stomach and digestive problems. She heard Zach respond. There he was, coming through Lydia's headphones with explicit educational offerings outlining the various ways the body could physically react to emotional stressors. While Lydia heard Brianna balk at the suggestion that her ailments might have psychological origins, the young woman did agree to try Zach's interventions. From there, for the next four sessions, Zach's time with Brianna was nearly textbook. He explained ways Brianna could reduce her stress. He demonstrated relaxation techniques. Soon Brianna sounded like a woman on the mend. She was reporting fewer symptoms, her tone of voice became more enlivened, and she was able to discuss several activities she was looking forward to.

Lydia heard nothing to suggest Brianna was reporting sexual abuse.

Lydia took to her keyboard and ran the digitized recording of Zach's sessions with Brianna through the converter. In less than twenty minutes, she had transcribed copies of each of Zach's six meetings with Brianna. As one last check to assure herself all was well, Lydia had the program search the transcripts for the words
Hank, father, dad, sex,
and
rape. Hank
was identified only once, at intake when Zach asked the name of her parents.
Father
was identified four times and
dad
twice. Lydia read and reread those passages of the transcripts. Each reference Brianna made to Hank, whether she called him father or dad, was warm and loving. The words
sex
and
rape
resulted in no hits. The words had never come up in six sessions between Zach and Brianna.

Still…Paul Bauer sensed something.

Lydia came up from her study to find a frantic Allie pacing the living room. Only then did Lydia realize the time, and how unusual it was not to have heard from Mort. Lydia shifted into damage control. She offered Allie some dinner, only to be declined. Allie didn't want to watch television, listen to music, play cards, or talk. All she wanted to do was obsess about what it might mean that her father hadn't returned from what was supposed to have been an uneventful arrest at two thirty that afternoon. She did accept a glass of wine around eleven thirty. At 12:13, headlights appeared in Lydia's driveway. Both women went to the kitchen window to watch a car approach through a steady downpour, and both let out an anxious exhale when Mort's Honda came into view.

Lydia opened the door. Mort walked in, not bothering to hurry his steps to get out of the rain. He said nothing to the two of them as he took off his raincoat. Lydia also kept quiet, surprised at the relief she felt at seeing him…safe and returned and hanging his wet jacket in her hall closet.

“What happened?” Allie's tone was a mixture of frenzy and irritation. “I've been waiting for hours. You have no idea what you've put me through.”

Mort pointed to the wineglass Lydia held. “You got something stronger?”

“Name it.”

“Scotch would work. No ice.” He lumbered past her into the living room and sat on the sofa. Allie followed him.

“Talk to me!” She stood over him with one hand on her hip. “What did Patrick say about me?”

Mort accepted the tumbler of scotch Lydia offered and drained half the glass in one swallow. Lydia didn't like the pallid tone of his skin or the defeated look in his eye.

“He didn't come.”

Lydia was certain she'd misunderstood him. “What did you say?”

Mort drained his scotch on his second swallow and set the empty glass on the side table. “Duncan didn't show. He's gone. I've spent the afternoon, evening, and half the night getting my ass chewed out by the DEA, FBI, Seattle narcotics, the chief…hell, I think even Daphne had a few choice words for me.” He slumped back. “Either that or one of the cleaning guys. It all became a blur of pointed fingers and mud after a while.”

“Are they blaming me?” Allie's voice was shrill. “You were with me when I called. He said he was coming. I did my part. What's going to happen to me?”

“Allie, stop it.” Lydia shot her a look that froze her in her spot. “Give your father some space.”

“Don't you see what this means?” Allie started pacing again. “If they don't have Patrick, they'll come after me. They'll need a head on a platter, and if it's not Patrick's, they'll take the next best thing.”

“Allie, sit!” Lydia pointed to the chair across the room. “And shut up.” Lydia sat down next to Mort. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Mort stared straight ahead. His voice was that of a man running on fumes. “We were all there. Ready. The time came. The time went. A delivery boy walked up to my houseboat carrying a package. For his trouble, he got cuffed and scared shitless by a thundering posse of law-enforcement officers screaming at him with guns drawn. Poor kid. The only sign of Duncan was a note on the potted plant he sent me.” He turned to Lydia. “He knew. Duncan knew we were laying for him and decided to make a game of it.”

They were all quiet for a while. Lydia had been there when Allie made the call to Patrick Duncan's private number. She'd done what was asked of her. Patrick sounded eager to reunite with his lover and had promised to meet…complete with romantic vows and admissions of love. Allie had been nearly hysterical once she'd hung up. It had taken both Mort and Lydia hours to calm her. Since then, Allie had been with either Mort or Lydia every hour of the day. There was no way Allie had warned Patrick off.

But someone had.

“What are the theories?” Lydia asked.

Mort shook his head slowly. “Not a clue. We got a read on the activity of the number Allie used to call Duncan. There have been no calls to it or from it since the one Allie made. Which leaves a very short list of people who knew about the call in the first place. The three of us, Jerry Gehrking and Rachel Sampson from the DEA, their immediate supervisor, and the chief of police. No one else had been briefed on what was going down until this morning.”

“So now the investigation shifts to the names on that short list.” Lydia stared at him. “They'll go looking to see who's on Duncan's payroll.” She reached out, placed her hand over Mort's, and squeezed. “They'll find out everything.” For a fleeting moment, the fear in Mort's eyes matched hers.

He patted her hand reassuringly. “There's nothing to find out on this end.” Mort turned to his daughter and forced a smile Lydia knew was solely for Allie's benefit. “You did your job well, sweetie. No one is suspecting you of tipping off Duncan. We've all listened to the tape of your call to him again and again. And I've convinced them that as long as Duncan's out there you're still not safe.” He turned back to Lydia. “Looks like we'll be bunking in with you for a while longer.”

Lydia nodded. “Of course. What's next?”

Mort got up off the sofa and crossed over to Allie. He took her hands in his, pulled her upright, and wrapped her in a bear hug.

“Now we all go to bed.” He kissed his daughter's cheek and watched her as she stormed down to her room without a word or backward glance. When her door was closed he turned to Lydia.

“Keep your gun handy, Liddy. This isn't going to end well.”