Hush in the Storm Page 15

  I stared at each of them. “Sign what?”

  He slapped three forms in front of me. “Charges against Travis Walters.”

  “Why? For what?” My tonsils clamped against my throat. I swallowed the last of the soda and ran my fingers over the rings on the Formica from the condensation on the can to avoid his face. I didn’t like where this was heading.

  Officer Juarez leaned his large frame across the table. “Look at me.” I jumped. He stared me down. “He kidnapped you. That’s illegal. He drugged you against your will. That’s illegal. He committed fraud by faking your death. He stole a vehicle.” His stubby fingers stood erect emphasizing each point. When he got to his thumb, he added, “And, according to you, he admitted participating in a cocaine delivery.”

  I firmed my chin. “You’ll have to ask him. I didn’t witness it. I was locked under guard in a shack.”

  He slammed his hand on the table, jolting my emerging stubborn resolve back down my throat. “Yeah, yeah, we know.”

  It was nearing 11:00 p.m. Mercedes stretched. “Look, let’s stop for the night. We’ll make calls to Fort Worth in the morning.”

  Officer Juarez rounded his shoulders, casting a shadow over me. “Fine. We’ll start back up in the morning.”

  I rubbed my eyes and nodded. He’d frazzled me. Relief flooded when he turned and walked out. Then he slammed the door. All three of us jumped. Even the soda cans on the table rattled in his wake.

  I turned to the two women. “Where’s Tom? Uh ...Travis?”

  The two shot each other a glance. “Don’t you worry. You’re safe,” Grace said in an assuring tone.

  “We’ll get you a cot and you can sleep in here,” Mercedes replied.

  “Am I being held against my will?” I tried to keep my voice steady.

  “We can hold you pending further investigation, yes. But I doubt you want to spend the night in the drunk tank.”

  Grace reached for my hand. “It’s really for your own good, dear. Stay here and get some rest. You’ve been through the wringer.”

  I shook my head and shoved the forms across the table. “I want to see him. I won’t sign any papers until I do.”

  The two exchanged looks again. Grace squeezed my fingers. “We’ll see what we can do. Tomorrow.”

  Another officer brought me a cot, and Grace brought me a blanket and a bare pillow. “Sorry, we don’t have sheets around here.”

  “I understand.” My personal items from the motel were delivered. Not Tom’s though, or the motel Bible. Some praying soul in the future would have a pleasant shock. Well, they say God works in mysterious ways.

  Grace showed me to a restroom down the hall and stood guard as I freshened up. Then she led me back to the break room. “Good night, Jen.” Her voice was soft. “Try and get some sleep, okay? There will be an officer up front if you need anything.”

  She turned off the light and closed the door.

  In other words, stay put and don’t try something stupid like running or hunting for Tom. Big brother is watching. With a deep sigh, I laid down on the lumpy cot, and chose not to think about the many drunk and disorderedly bodies who had used it before me.

  I lay awake for some time trying to send telepathic messages to Tom. Whether it had any effect, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel that way. I tried a prayer, but it seemed to bounce off the ceiling back into my head. The room at last turned fuzzy as I slipped into a now-too-familiar chasm of dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  I woke to the sound of the station’s coffee pot groaning over doing its duty. The smell of coffee grounds filled my nostrils.

  “Good morning.” Mercedes shook a bag of sweetener, and then grabbed the pot as remaining droplets hissed on the hot plate.

  I watched her stir her coffee, rubbed my eyes, and yawned. “What time is it?”

  She glanced at the wall clock. “Eight oh-five. You must have been tired. You were dead to the world.” Her smile was as saccharin as what she sprinkled into her coffee. She was obviously playing the role of nice cop today, hoping I’d rely on her. I wasn’t buying it. It fit her as well as a secondhand-store sweater, stretched in all the wrong places.

  “Can I see Tom now?”

  “You keep calling him that, but he claims his name is Travis.” She sat down and sipped her coffee. “Want some?”

  I rubbed my hands across the back of my shoulders and my neck. “I told you. That’s the name I knew him by. Do we have to go over it all again?”

  Her sweet look faded. “Not now. Let’s get you cleaned up a bit, and then some coffee and food in your belly. Maybe then your mood will change.”

  She grabbed the bag of a few clothes I’d purchased at Walmart and led me to the locker room showers. She sat on one of the benches and held vigil while I bathed. As the hot water untwisted my aching muscles, I thought of the shower in the bomb shelter. And Tom. Where was he? Had he spent the night in a jail cell? I hoped he was okay and they hadn’t roughed him up. Then, I heard his voice in my head. Don’t worry about me. He had been on the edge of the law before and crossed over a few times. Yeah, Tom would be okay. But would I?

  Grace was in the break room when Mercedes and I returned. She pulled breakfast tacos out of a bag. The savory aroma permeated my nose. My stomach responded with a huge growl.

  I devoured two, hardly chewing them, as Grace set up her laptop. She shot me a sugary smile. “Well, shall we begin, again?”

  I sighed and leaned back in the chair, my arms and legs crossed. “If we must.” I waved my hand and took a deep drink of coffee. “Fire away.”

  In flat tones, I re-answered all their questions. Mercedes stood, her face twisted in a scowl. “Okay, Grace. Let’s start making phone calls.” She pointed at my nose. “You wait here. The morning paper’s over there.”

  I sat in the break room and read through the local paper. I did the jumble puzzle and the crossword of the day. Policemen filtered in, nodded, grabbed coffee and left again. I knew better than to ask any of them about Tom. But I strained my ears for his voice. I felt alone and on edge. I needed his strength. Mine was waning rapidly.

  I stretched my fingers in front of me then tapped them on the table. It was way too quiet. Maybe they were all busy and had forgotten I was in here. A thought flashed across my brain.

  Should I make a dash for it? Find a back exit? No. They’d stop me. Then, I would be arrested for real.

  I drummed my fingers some more and stared at the second hand on the wall clock. Stay strong, I told my psyche. Don’t let them wear you down. No matter what.

  Mercedes came in at 11:15 to escort me back to the examining room.

  “Well, we are getting somewhere now.” She pulled over a chair. “Luckily, since it’s been only a week since you were declared ‘probably deceased, pending further investigation’”—she held up her fingers as quotation marks—“there’s no probate court documents or inheritance papers to reverse. No death certificate yet to nullify as false.”

  I leaned in on my elbows. “That’s good, right?”

  “Yep.” She sipped from her can of Coca-Cola. “Here’s even better news. Your credit cards have not been deactivated nor your bank accounts closed, though they were in suspension and being monitored for activity.”

  I leaned forward. “Were?”

  “We have convinced them you are now alive and found. Your bank has agreed to wire you one hundred dollars for bus fare and a meal. Our department doesn’t have the funds for two tickets.”

  “Two?” My chest tightened. Was Tom coming?

  “One for me. Protocol.”

  The word popped my bubble. I hated that word.

  “You must be accompanied then turned over to the authorities in Fort Worth.”

  My eyes popped open, as did my mouth. Oh, no. That meant more questions. “Will they detain me as well?”

  She cocked her head. “Look. The good news is by the time you get there, you should be able to have access to your money. New cards will be reiss
ued to you within a few days.”

  “It doesn’t answer—”

  “I haven’t finished.” Mercedes shifted in her seat. She went on to explain that since forensics had determined the crash as “suspicious,” a hearing to determine whether my demise, if proven, had been a suicide or an accident had been set for the next Thursday.

  I half-listened, still thinking about what lay ahead in Fort Worth. I twisted the foil that held my breakfast taco. They weren’t telling me the whole truth. Why?

  Mercedes continued, flipping through her handwritten notes. “Your life insurance has not yet processed a claim, their actions pending that verdict, and according to your agent, underwriting was still trying to discover who could be claimed as your beneficiary.” She peered at me like a school vice principal.

  I gave her a sheepish shrug. “I hadn’t updated my will or policy since my husband, Robert’s, death.” Or supposed death.

  She remained silent and shuffled through her notes again.

  I looked down at the white mark on my ring-less left hand. What had I been doing? I had been thinking only of Tom. I was still for all intents and purposes a new widow. I should still be mourning, not yearning for another man’s arms. I felt adulterous. A wave of dizziness swooshed over me. My cheeks became icy, my palms clammy.

  Mercedes’ chair screeched as she scooted it to get up. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  She closed the door softly, but the click blared in my ears. I buried my head in my arms. God, I wanted to go back in time. If I’d never gone to Bob’s Burgers for that stupid cheeseburger...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Grace entered, juggling her trusty laptop, a glass of water, and a writing tablet. “I’m going to sit with you while I make some calls. This way you can listen in and answer any questions that arise. Let’s start with your apartment complex.”

  I straightened in my chair and nodded. “Yes, good. Please.” If I’d had ruby slippers I’d have clicked them together and chanted, “There is no place like home.” I envisioned my sofa, my own bed, my books, even the stray cat. I hoped he was still hanging around.

  With her cell phone in her ear, her eyes darted over the screen, one hand swishing the computer mouse in small, sharp moves.

  I bit my lip as she spoke with the management of my building. “Oh, that’s good news.” She nodded at me. “You say her personal effects are still part of a police investigation since, as of yet, her body has not been found?” She gave me a thumbs up. “Well, guess what? It’s turned up in Canyon, Texas, with a pulse, no less.” She laughed into the receiver.

  If it had been anyone else, I may have laughed as well.

  Grace’s fingers clicked across her laptop’s keyboard. Occasionally she asked me a question, showed me her screen, then pulled up more information. It freaked me out how much of my life was accessible on the Internet.

  “We have special clearances. But a lot of it is public record. You have to be careful these days.”

  Tom had been right. I was glad I’d given them my real name and told the truth. The more Grace’s research confirmed what’d I said, the nicer she became.

  She called my office and spoke directly with a very surprised Mr. Abernathy. Tsk, tsk. Poor man. He had lost two employees back to back. Being the meticulous OCD accountant, he never could tolerate chaos. I sat back, contented to listen to her end of the conversation. I wasn’t ready to speak with him, or anyone else in that dungeon yet.

  Just when my stomach was feeling empty, Mercedes brought us lunch and iced tea. She presented a stack of papers transcribed as my testimony.

  I again pushed the papers away. “I said I wouldn’t sign unless...”

  Mercedes’ eyes narrowed, their blackness deepened. She shoved them closer and wiggled the pen. “If you don’t, you will be under arrest for aiding and abetting.”

  I gulped. “But he kidnapped me.”

  A sneer crossed her lips. “And you refuse to press charges or give us information about him.”

  I locked my elbows on the table. “Because I don’t know who he is.”

  Mercedes leaned across and squared her eyes to mine. “Then why do you insist on protecting him?”

  I slumped to the chair, my fingers crossed over my eyes. I silently counted to three, then lowered them.

  Grace pulled a chair next to mine. She took one of my hands. With the other, I wiped a tear before it dripped down my cheek.

  “Honey, what you are going through is understandable. Really.”

  I looked at her, seeking out sincerity in her eyes. I saw a glimpse of it.

  “It’s called Stockholm Syndrome. Out of pure self-defense, you begin to identify with your kidnapper. You develop a loyalty to them. They get you thinking they’re protecting you, not detaining you for some foul purpose yet to come. It’s a mind-game they play.” She peered into my face. “You know, to keep you in their control, so you let down your guard.”

  I unclenched my teeth. “Really? This happens a lot?”

  Grace patted my hand. “It happens a lot. The ol’ cat and mouse.”

  The warmth of Tom’s breath and the stone-strength of his arms filled in my mind, then guilt over betraying Robert surfaced. “I was falling for him,” I said to the table in front of me.

  Mercedes sat down and gazed at me. “Yeah, we know. Sly dog. And good looking to boot.”

  I raised my eyes to her, pleading for the truth. “He said he cared. He said he loved me.”

  They both nodded. Grace replied, “They usually do. That way you’ll do what they want.”

  Mercedes tapped the pen across the signature line. I grabbed it and held it in my hands. Then I set it down again. “No. No. It was more than that. He, Travis, helped me escape the Chinese thugs, and then the drug lords. He took care of me in the desert. He—”

  “—was a conniving, manipulative weasel,” Mercedes finished. “Trust us, we see it all the time.” She handed me the pen. “Now, sign.”

  I bit my lip as the teardrops slipped down my cheeks onto the paper. I hovered the pen above the signature line. A large portion of my heart and my mind wouldn’t accept that Tom, even if he was now Travis, had manipulated me. I’d thought so in the beginning, but too much had passed between us. Yet I knew there was something he still wasn’t telling me. “This still is not stating that I am pressing charges, right?”

  Grace and Mercedes exchanged glances. Grace spoke first. “Right. It’s just your acknowledgement that this is your testimony about what happened.”

  Mercedes finished the thought. “However, we still have enough to hold him until further investigations are completed, and to possibly book him.”

  I sighed and sent the lump back down my throat. “I understand. But I don’t want him to ever think it was because of me. And, I won’t testify against him in court. Ever.”

  Graced touched my shoulder. “When the dust clears and you’re able to separate yourself from the emotion of what’s happened, call them.” She handed me a State Attorney General’s pamphlet on victim’s rights. A phone number was scrawled on it. “That’s my cell. I’m here, too, in case you just want to talk.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I meant it. I looked first at one then the other. “Please, can’t I just tell him goodbye?”

  Mercedes sighed and rose from the chair. She shoved it so hard it rattled against the table. “Geez,” she scowled. She left the room, shaking her head.

  I turned to Grace, my eyes still holding the question.

  She patted my hand. “No, sweetie. It’s not allowed. Sorry.”

  I bit my lip so much it bled. “Why?” I gulped.

  “It just isn’t.”

  I grabbed her sleeve. “He is okay, right?”

  Grace shoved a tissue box toward me, clucked her teeth, and left the room as well.

  The door clicked, echoing against the bare walls.

  Once again I was alone, in a confined place, and nothing was in my control. The story of my life. When would this madness eve
r end?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The door opened with a clamor. Mercedes stood there in full uniform, her police cap half shading her face.

  “We’ve coordinated with the Fort Worth police to get you safely home. I’m to escort you by squad car to Amarillo, then by bus to Fort Worth. A female officer will intercept you at the other end and take you to headquarters for more questioning.”

  I plastered on a smile. “Great. I can hardly wait to be grilled for another few hours.” I got up and walked over to her, my hands folded around my waist. In unison our steps clicked down the narrow hall. In the main squad room, Officer Juarez flipped through a clipboard. When he saw me approach, he tipped his fingers to his head. “Good luck, Mrs. Westlaw.”

  I shot him a sarcastic grin.

  In the squad car, I asked Mercedes, “I have one question. If I was supposedly in so much danger I had to have my death faked, isn’t that going to put me in even more jeopardy now to suddenly return alive?”

  She shook her head. “We’re still trying to sort out his story. No one’s convinced you ever were in any danger.”

  I twisted to face her, my eyes so wide they stretched my forehead. “What do you mean?”

  Mercedes looked straight ahead. “We think this guy may be, uh, delusional.” She leaned her head toward me and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “You may have been one lucky lady to get away from him when you did.”

  I shook my head. “No, no. I don’t believe that. He was smart enough to fake my death. He set it up, switched the cars. Arranged the room in a basement. Wired the cameras and sensors.”

  She turned toward me. “So?”

  “That all took planning and intelligence. Not exactly delusional behavior, is it?”

  “I’m not a psychologist. Are you?” By the look on her face, it was a rhetorical question.

  I shook my finger at her. “Mae Lin and her goons were real enough. The gas station in New Mexico? Trust me. That was real.”