The Unforgivable Fix (27 page)

Allie said nothing.

“The coroner placed time of death as early afternoon. The police wanted you to get Patrick to your dad's houseboat at two thirty. Early afternoon. I think the system you two had worked out allowed for always going with the same time as you were being instructed. Brilliant, by the way. I don't know how you could transmit time in code. It's far easier to just go along with the same time the police were asking you to use. Just on another day. Patrick died two days after he was supposed to be arrested. In your phone call you suggestively teased him with what you wanted to do when you saw him. Again, an awkward moment for your father, but one we assumed you created to ensure Patrick would be there. You teased him by saying ‘and…and…' then coyly stopping. He responded by repeating ‘and…and…' Each ‘and' meant one day. So, right there, under your father's watchful eye—knowing full well you were being recorded—you very succinctly conveyed to Patrick ‘We're being monitored. They're expecting you at two thirty tomorrow. Come two days later, at two-thirty, to the warehouse where we first met. I'll be there.' Very clever. The code worked exactly as you two intended. But Patrick never planned for your betrayal. You knew Tokarev would come after you in retaliation for what Patrick did and saved yourself by offering him Patrick.”

Allie uncrossed and recrossed her leg. This time it was her left leg that swayed. “That's an interesting story. But without proof, that's all it is.”

Lydia nodded. “You're right. But circumstantial cases have been known to hold up in court. This one just might. Then you'd be facing felony murder charges. But let's say it didn't hold up in court. Would it hold up to your father? Your brother? Could they lay this story next to the life they know you've led and come up with something different? Or would they forever know that you sent a man who trusted you—despicable as he was—to a horrible death to save your own skin?”

“You've gone to my father with this?”

Lydia let her simmer in the possibility for a few moments. “I haven't. What we have here is a strategy of mutually assured destruction. Should you decide to offer me to the authorities in exchange for them letting you walk away from your involvement with Patrick Duncan's drug empire, I'll fill them in on the particulars of Patrick's murder. I'm sure they have the resources to change my circumstantial case into one with hard evidence behind it. On the other hand, should I decide to tell anyone what I've learned about your code and how it not only obstructed justice but led to Duncan's torturous death, you can counter with your suspicions of my being The Fixer. You see? We now have nothing to fear from each other's knowledge.”

Allie held Lydia's gaze as she considered her situation. After a while, she nodded. “You're very good at what you do. Does all that psychological training help?”

“It doesn't hurt.” Lydia decided to test another theory. “Why did you send those two men here?”

Allie smiled as though Lydia had just asked about the secret to her special lemon pie. “So it's to be an evening of total honesty, is it? No more talk of wolves prowling your property? I needed to stay relatively free. If Dad turned me over to the authorities, they'd have me in a monitored holding cell. I needed freedom to communicate with associates. I contacted one of Patrick's men. He had strong reason to want Patrick dead. I made that happen for him. In exchange, he agreed to send two of his own men to come put a scare into you and Dad. But you let me down. What was
supposed
to have happened was these two were to make a fake raid on the house. I even had them wait until Dad was gone, so there'd be no chance of anyone actually engaging them. They'd come in, maybe tie us up…say something about how they were working for Tokarev. They'd say someone in the DEA told them where I was and they were here to kill us. I'd make them a promise of money, they'd leave us alone, and you and I would tell a frantic Mort Grant we had to be moved somewhere safer, but certainly not anywhere any cop would know.” She shook her head in admiration. “I didn't know at the time I was dealing with The Fixer. I assume the two are dead?”

This time it was Lydia who said nothing.

“I'll accept your mutually assured destruction pact, Lydia. But I want you to know I was sincere when I told you I have no intention of ever telling anyone who you are. I mean that.”

“What do you mean? And what are you two still doing up?” Mort came through the front door looking like he was on his last burst of energy. “It's nearly one
A.M.
”

Allie ran to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her posture changed as she shifted back into the role of Mort Grant's precocious little troublemaker. “Liddy and I have been talking a blue streak, Daddy. I guess we've lost all track of time.”

Mort walked into the living room, his arm around his daughter and his eyes on Lydia. “What could be so interesting that kept you two up so late?”

Allie giggled and winked at Lydia. “What else, Daddy? Boys and clothes.”

Lydia was exhausted. She clicked on the lights in her office, but the gloom shrouding her had little to do with the dark, drizzly morning. She hadn't slept. Instead, her thoughts tortured her with the delicate balance she and Allie now found themselves living. Allie was capable of extreme measures. If Mort couldn't stop his daughter from being arrested, and even he doubted he could, Allie might still turn on them both if she thought it would help her case.

I have everything arranged. The house, the money…all I need is a little time.

She'd almost made that final ascent up her cliff last night. She'd left Allie with her bone-weary father and headed off to her room. Lydia had pulled her climbing boots out of her closet and was changing her clothes when the image of Hank Trow flooded her awareness. His only daughter had accused him of horrific deeds, yet he did nothing to defend himself. Instead Hank set about looking for help. He'd come to Lydia. At the time, she knew nothing about Zach's scheme to implant false memories into Brianna Trow.

But she did now. He'd tried the same thing with Heather Blankenship. How many others were unwitting subjects in Zach's twisted experiment? Did his activities go beyond his work in Lydia's clinic?

The weight of responsibility pressed against Lydia's shoulders and chest. She had welcomed him into her practice, had assigned patients to him, had trusted him to do his best. It was Lydia who blindly accepted Zach's tapes as authentic. Even after Hank Trow's visit, when Zach feigned astonishment, Lydia believed Zach.

This is on you. You made this mess. You have to fix this. Or else this becomes like everything else you touch: a steaming pile of shit.

Lydia put her exit plans on hold, lay awake for hours, and finally pulled herself into the shower at a little past five.

Once she was at her desk, she began making a list of all the patients she'd assigned Zach. She'd call each of them Monday morning and schedule a time to meet. Her own calendar would have to take a backseat. Determining the extent of Zach Edwards's damage was her top priority.

She needed to fix this before the cops came for Allie.

She then assembled a box of evidence for Paul Bauer, some of it duplicates of what she'd already given him. It was only a matter of time before the detective presented a court order demanding every shred of paper associated with Zach Edwards, and she wanted it ready in case she wasn't available to hand it to him herself. She duplicated every digital recording Zach made of his sessions with patients. For extra measure, she ran each through the program that produced hard-copy transcripts. She made copies of every case note Zach ever wrote. As she tucked in a reprint of Zach's report to the judge, she was thankful Zach had only done an assessment of Will Sorens's daughter. The thought of Zach manipulating a girl so young—one who had actually experienced abuse at the hands of her stepfather—chilled Lydia to her most ancient core.

Lydia was brewing her second pot of coffee in preparation for listening again to each of Zach's recordings, when the door to her office chimed. Lydia froze and focused on sounds. The main door to the converted mansion that served as her office building would be open. There were accountants and lawyers on other floors who often saw clients on the weekend. But Lydia never saw patients on Saturday. She was certain she had kept the main door to her office suite locked when she came in hours earlier. Lydia stepped to her desk drawer.

“Who's there?” she called out.

Footsteps approached. Lydia slid the drawer open.

“It's me, Dr. Corriger.” Zach Edwards entered her office with a sheepish grin. He held up a tie-dyed lanyard with the keys Lydia had given him when he began his work there. “I came by to drop something off. Hope I didn't frighten you.” He slid a battered canvas bag off his shoulder. “What are you doing here today? I figured you for a person who'd be out antiquing or trying some new brunch place on a Saturday morning.” His words were clipped and tight.

“You shouldn't be here, Zach. I made that perfectly clear.”

Zach shook his head. “No, you didn't. What you made clear was that you didn't want me seeing patients. You also made clear it was because you said someone had called, telling you there was something fishy on my résumé.” His eyes widened. “I wrote the damned thing. I know better than anyone that every word on it is true and accurate. So I went home and called each and every faculty member, supervisor, and clinic manager who ever had anything to do with my clinical training. I asked them if they'd called you. Certainly you can't blame me. If someone called your boss talking trash about you, wouldn't you follow up?”

Lydia had fabricated the lie on the spot. She needed to give Paul Bauer time to find out whose voice was on the tapes Zach had dummied up for her.

“No one called you, Dr. Corriger.” He reached for his bag and Lydia's hand made a subtle move toward her gun.

“So I asked myself a question.” Zach spoke as he fumbled through his bag. “Why would you say such a thing? Why would you block me from seeing patients?” He pulled a flash drive out of his bag and laid it on Lydia's desk. His hands were shaking.

“What's that?”

“A recording of conversations you and I had here in this office.” Zach stood and pulled his bag over his shoulder. “I've always been impressed with the technology in this space. You wouldn't have thought it, what with the building being over a hundred years old and all. It must have cost you a fortune to have such state-of-the-art digital capability installed.”

“I don't know what you're up to, Zach, but you're done here. Leave your keys and go. I'll call Dr. Luther and let her know things didn't work out the way she'd hoped.” Lydia didn't want to tip Zach off to Bauer's investigation. “It'll be up to you to fill her in on the details.”

“I spoke with her after you tossed me out of here. I told her how bewildered I was. Dr. Luther knows the kind of student and clinician I am. She shared with me that you told her your concerns regarding my…what did she say you said? My
sloppiness
with patients.” He looked down at his scuffed shoes. “And she scolded me about how you told her you basically had to rewrite the Emma Sorens report. I told her how uncomfortable I was, but that I did, indeed, basically submit
exactly
what you told me to, word for word.” His voice sounded apologetic. “Thanks for telling Dr. Luther about that.”

“Leave, Zach. I don't want to have to call the police.”

Zach nodded. “I know you think you have things all figured out. But before you call anyone, listen to that flash drive. Don't worry about returning it. I have a copy.” He dropped his keys on Lydia's desk. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Corriger. Believe it or not, I really did learn a lot from you. You're a great teacher.” He hung his head and turned away.

She waited for the sound of the creaking door, then went to the window to watch him leave. Lydia wasn't surprised to find Patty waiting in the rusted Volvo to drive her boyfriend home.

Lydia picked up the flash drive. Zach had mentioned nothing about his off-the-books research project. He had to know that if she came forward with what she knew, no university would ever hire him. Zach was an ambitious young man who'd thrown away a promising future. She wondered what next step he was planning.

Zach's words floated back to her.
I know you think you have things all figured out.
Was Zach giving her a recording of the actual sessions he had with Brianna Trow? Was there another reason Zach dummied up recordings of his sessions with her? She plugged in the flash drive and called up the only file on the device. The first voice she heard was her own.

“You do this or I will.”

Lydia remembered using that stern tone when she needed Zach to stop hesitating on his report to CPS about Heather Blankenship's allegations of sexual abuse. She now understood. He didn't want to make the call because he hadn't had the time yet to fully convince Heather that the nonexistent abuse had happened.

The next voice was Zach's.
“But this is illegal, Dr. Corriger. Beyond that, it's just not right.”

Zach had never spoken those words to her. She was stunned when her own voice answered. “
I want you to rewrite this. I've highlighted the changes you need to make
.”

She'd said those words when Zach had been so sloppy in his assessment report of Emma Sorens.

Then Zach's voice, sounding nearly on the verge of tears.
“But it's not true. It's just not true.”

Lydia heard her own crisp voice in response.
“It doesn't matter what's true. It matters what people think is true.”

She sank back against her chair. She recalled saying that, as well. She'd been trying to impress upon Zach the importance of choosing his words carefully.

Zach's voice came on again, begging her not to make him do this. She listened to her voice stream out of the wall-mounted speakers.
“Are you clear on how I expect this to look?”

I know you think you have things figured out.
Lydia's breath left her as she understood what Zach meant by that taunt. She squeezed her eyes shut, listened to the rest of the recording. Zach had been recording all their supervisory sessions without her knowledge. For all she knew, he'd been recording her sessions with patients, too. She recalled a time when she needed to turn off the system. She thought then that he'd left it on following a session with a patient. But he'd actually been recording her.

I should have known then. I could have stopped this sooner.

She kept listening. Some phrases she recalled saying. Others seemed to have been digitally extracted from various everyday conversations, a bank of words Zach could rearrange to make any sentence he wanted. All in Lydia's voice. Each of them spoken by her…building a conversation she never had.

She felt herself grow smaller, pulled from this reality and drawn deep into a dark tunnel of memory. A warehouse…bright lights…the voice of Barbra Streisand teasing her from above…the eardrum-piercing tsunami of sound bringing her to her knees.

I should have known. I could have stopped this.

From what seemed to be a distance of a thousand miles, she heard herself directing Zach to do terrible things. She heard him trying to reason with her. But the Lydia Zach had created from the building blocks of her words would hear nothing of it.

There was a period of silence before the recording sounded again. It became obvious that this was to represent another meeting. Lydia's voice began.

“Remember first and foremost, your patient will want to please you.”
Yes, she'd said that. She'd meant her words to be instructive. But in this context she sounded like a terrifying dictator.

I know you think you have things figured out.

Lydia now understood what Zach was doing. Listening to what was on those tapes made her long for a situation in which Zach was merely running a simple experiement in implanting memories. She could deal with that. What he was doing came from a place so dark that not even The Fixer would have thought it possible.

And Zach was pinning it all on her.

She listened to the entire file again. She was impressed with his skill. Thanks to the endless flexibility of digital recording, no one who heard it would be able to tell the whole thing had been doctored.

She replayed it for a third time, and the trauma she experienced on first listening started to fade. Her curiosity set in and Lydia found herself trying to reconstruct where and when she might have spoken certain phrases. On the fourth go-round, she was able to listen with a clinical ear, trying to comprehend the psychology of Zach's motive for producing such an incriminating piece of work.

When she finished listening for the fifth time, she was angry. She let that energy course through her. She listened one last time, allowing Zach's manipulation to recharge her. She now knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it.

She turned off the sound system and pulled a business card from under her desk phone. Lydia turned it over and called the handwritten number on the back. He'd said she could use it anytime.

“Paul Bauer here.”

“This is Lydia. I'm at my office. I need you.”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He hung up and Lydia looked at the clock. It was just now noon.

By one thirty, Paul Bauer was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. He'd heard the tape and he'd heard her explanation. Lydia watched him. His jeans and sweater showed off his athletic build in a way business suits couldn't. She looked down at her own outfit. Her own jeans and boots were presentable enough, but her sweatshirt had seen better days.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I need to make some calls.” He opened his eyes and pulled himself erect. “One to our techies. See if there's a way to prove this has been doctored. They're probably gonna tell me there's no way, since it's digital. But still, I gotta try. The next is to a district attorney. I want a warrant.”

Lydia's chest tightened. “They're as likely to want to arrest me as they would Zach, don't you think? I'm the one on the tape telling him what to do.”

“I keep telling you, you need to spend more time with cops. You'd know this stuff.” His gentle smile offered reassurance she wasn't ready to accept. “It's my job to figure things out. If I tell the DA you're being used, she'll believe me. And when she sees what Zach has been cooking here, I'm sure it'll piss her off enough to get a judge on the phone. Even on a Saturday. You're good with the police. But fasten your seatbelt when Zach's defense attorney gets hold of you.”

It's unlikely I'll be here for a trial, Detective.