Amnesia (42 page)

“Will that be all?” Jim asked.

“For now,” Purser replied.

“Chad, you coming?” Jim asked.

“Sure thing.”

Jim walked out of the office, then waited for Chad to emerge, knowing his partner would have a few choice words for him. Right on cue, the minute Chad came out, he nailed Jim with a you-son-of-a-bitch glare, then motioned to Jim to follow him. They wound up in the restroom.

Chad looked around, checking to see if they were alone, then when he saw that it was just the two of them, he said, “What kind of game are you playing, Norton?”

Jim grinned. “I think that should be my question, don’t you?”

“You practically accused me of being the one who leaked the story to Bob Regan.”

“Is that the name of the
Commercial Appeal
reporter who wrote the article about Quinn Cortez?”

Chad clenched his teeth, then took a deep breath. “I could have pointed the finger at you, but I didn’t. You’re my partner. It’s my job to cover your back, right? I expected the same from you.”

“I can’t prove you gave confidential information to the press,” Jim said. “I’m not even a hundred percent sure you did it. But you’re the only one I know who wants Cortez to be guilty so badly that you’d resort to underhanded, unethical methods to get the man arrested.”

“You’re a good one to talk about underhanded, unethical methods. At least I never went rogue and killed my partner’s murderer with my bare hands.”

Jim saw red. Literally. Anger welled up inside him at an alarming rate.
Do not let him get to you. He knew the right button to push to shove you over the edge. Don’t react. Don’t give him that satisfaction
.

When Jim moved, Chad jumped, then eased back away from him.
The little shit’s afraid of me. Good. He should be
.

Without saying a word, Jim shoved open the restroom door and walked out, leaving Chad to stew in his own juices.

Kendall Wells’s funeral at Memorial Park Funeral Home chapel in East Memphis didn’t involve the pomp and circumstance that Louisa Margaret Vanderley’s funeral had, but it was a solemn, dignified affair, with a respectable number of mourners. Those in attendance included not only Quinn and Annabelle, but Quinn’s entourage. Marcy Sims sat between Jace Morgan and Aaron Tully, on the same bench as Annabelle and Quinn. From time to time during the service, Annabelle felt someone staring at her and twice caught Marcy glaring her way. Apparently Marcy did have a major crush on Quinn and must be feeling quite jealous of Annabelle because, for the moment, she was the woman in Quinn’s life.

One of Kendall’s partners in the law firm, Calvin Jeffreys, gave a rather touching eulogy, recounting not only Kendall’s professional accomplishments, but recalling several personal stories about his friend.

Two teenagers flanked Kendall’s ex-husband, Dr. Jonathan Miles, who had glared daggers at Quinn as he made his rounds before the funeral, speaking to those in attendance in his role as grieving widower. Apparently, he’d seen the front-page article in this morning’s
Commercial Appeal
and, like most of the people in Memphis, probably thought Quinn was a murderer. No, not just a murderer, but a serial killer.

Annabelle and Quinn had spent the past two days together in her hotel suite, making love, becoming better acquainted and trying to shut out the rest of the world. But this morning, just as he had Sunday morning, Griffin Powell brought the
outside world to them. This time in the form of the Tuesday issue of the
Commercial Appeal
.

“I’ve already called Judd Walker for you,” Griffin had said as he came barreling into Annabelle’s suite at eight o’clock this morning, a ferocious look on his face as he brandished the newspaper at Quinn. “Someone in the Memphis PD is going to lose his job over this.”

Having awakened only when Griffin called and said he was coming straight to Annabelle’s suite, she’d still been in her gown and robe and Quinn had been wearing the rumpled slacks and shirt that he’d worn since Saturday.

Quinn had grabbed the newspaper, hurriedly read through the article and cursed under his breath. “Once again this bastard, Bob Regan, stopped just short of accusing me of murder, but by printing the facts the way he did, it makes me look like a monster.”

“Judd’s contacting Director Danley and demanding a thorough investigation,” Griffin had said. “Judd thinks the article may be grounds to sue the newspaper as well as the Memphis PD. He said to tell you that he’ll catch the first plane out of Chattanooga later today.”

Annabelle had read every word of the article while Quinn and Griffin discussed strategy. If she didn’t know Quinn, if she were just a Memphis citizen, she would assume the worst about lady-killer Cortez. Bob Regan had stated the facts—that four of Quinn’s former lovers had been murdered and the police knew Quinn had no alibi for the time of the two Memphis murders. Other than the four of them—she, Quinn, Griffin and Judd—only the Memphis PD possessed those facts. Since she knew for certain that none of them had shared the information with Bob Regan, that left only one other source. Someone in the police department had deliberately given a reporter confidential information.

Her first thought had been Chad George. Was this all her fault? Had Chad’s jealousy of Quinn pushed him into disregarding the very law he’d sworn to uphold?

Suddenly Quinn grasped Annabelle’s hand and urged her
to stand, bringing her abruptly back to the present moment. Kendall’s funeral. Only then did she realize the service had ended. Snapping her mind back to the here and now, she rose from the pew and, holding Quinn’s hand, walked at his side down the aisle and out of the building. Kendall’s interment would follow at the Memorial Park Cemetery, but she and Quinn had agreed earlier that they would not attend.

The very second they emerged from the South Chapel, a horde of reporters swarmed down on them like manic bees. TV cameras zoomed in on them, microphones were thrust in their faces and a dozen voices bombarded them with questions.

“Is it true, Mr. Cortez, that you murdered four of your former lovers?”

“How did you kill them, Quinn? Love ’em to death?”

“Ms. Vanderley, are you Cortez’s latest ladylove?”

“Aren’t you concerned you’ll be his next victim, Ms. Vanderley?”

“How does it feel to sleep with a killer, the man who murdered your own cousin?”

“How many others have there been, Cortez? Just how many women have you killed?”

“Does it turn you on to kill? Is that the reason you do it?”

Quinn draped his arm around Annabelle’s shoulders and did his best to push through the crowd, but the reporters en masse kept them trapped within a vicious circle.

“Leave him alone!” a female voice shouted.

All heads turned toward the sound of that voice and the reporter nearest the woman shoved his mike as close to her as he could get it. “Who are you? And why are you defending Quinn Cortez? Are you another of his lovers?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Marcy Sims said, her voice loud enough to gain the attention of all the other reporters. “Quinn Cortez is a good man. He hasn’t killed anyone. You have no right to accuse him of such horrible things.”

“Oh, God,” Quinn groaned. “It’s Marcy. They’ll eat her alive.”

“What can we do?” Annabelle asked, whispering the question in Quinn’s ear.

Quinn glanced nervously around as if searching for someone. She followed his line of vision and saw that he’d made eye contact with Aaron Tully, who had gotten separated from Jace and Marcy after leaving the chapel.

“Maybe Aaron can get to her,” Quinn said. “He’s closer to her than we are. Besides, we’re trapped.”

“She’s Marcy Sims. She’s the lone woman in Cortez’s entourage. She’s on his payroll,” one of the reporters called, informing her fellow tormentors of Marcy’s identity. “You can bet she’s one of Cortez’s lovers.”

Suddenly, the focus left Quinn and Annabelle and became directed on Marcy.

“Are you in love with Cortez, Ms. Sims? Is that why you’re defending him?”

“Tell us what you know about Cortez. If you two are lovers, why are you still alive?”

“Yes, I love Quinn!” Tears streamed down Marcy’s flushed cheeks. “I love him because he’s a good man. He’s not capable of murder. Someone is trying to frame him. And y’all are making matters worse by tormenting him, by accusing him of things he didn’t do.”

Aaron knocked aside several reporters in his quest to reach Marcy, but before he could get to her, sirens shrilled and several police cars arrived on the scene. Within minutes, half a dozen uniformed officers cut a path through the unruly crowd, a path by which Jim Norton and Griffin Powell reached Quinn and Annabelle, just as Aaron got close enough to grab Marcy around the waist.

“The calvary to the rescue,” Quinn said as Griffin approached.

“Come on, let me get you two out of here,” Griffin said.

“I’m not leaving without Marcy and Aaron and Jace,” Quinn said.

Jim looked at Griffin. “You get them to their car. I’ll bring the other three along in a few minutes.”

Before she realized what was happening, Annabelle found herself not only protected by Quinn’s strong arms, but by Griffin and two other men in dark suits to whom Griffin had issued orders. She recognized one of them as her part-time bodyguard, Bruce Askew. Within minutes, the threesome had taken them through the crush of reporters, several of whom were being apprehended by the police.

When they reached Quinn’s Porsche, he refused to leave until he was certain his employees were safe. Annabelle waited at his side and a few minutes later, Jim Norton and a uniformed officer escorted Marcy, Jace and Aaron directly to Quinn.

Quinn grabbed Marcy and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life.

“What on earth were you thinking, Marcy?” Quinn grasped her shoulders and pushed her back, then looked right into her eyes.

Instead of making eye contact with Quinn, Marcy’s gaze pierced Annabelle. “This is all your fault. You should get out of his life now and stop complicating things.”

Marcy jerked free of Quinn’s hold and moved toward Annabelle, her finger pointing like a loaded weapon as she raged. “You don’t love him. You’re just using him the way all the rest of them did. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal.” When Marcy lunged at Annabelle, both Quinn and Aaron reached for her. Aaron grabbed her and yanked her back, then whirled her around and shook her.

Suddenly, all the fire went out of Marcy and she crumpled into Aaron’s arms. “Jace and I will take her home,” Aaron told Quinn. “Maybe after you take Ms. Vanderley back to the Peabody, you should come on home and—”

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon. Just take care of Marcy, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

Quinn turned to Griffin. “Either you or one of your men stay with Annabelle. I need to go home and talk to Marcy and I can’t be in two places at once.”

“I’ll drive Annabelle back to the hotel and make sure she isn’t alone,” Griffin said.

Quinn caressed Annabelle’s cheek. “I hate to leave you, but I have to check on Marcy. I’ve never seen her lose control the way she did today. You have to understand that she didn’t mean the things she said to you. She wasn’t herself.”

Annabelle grabbed Quinn’s hand. “You go do what you need to do. I’ll be fine. Griffin will take good care of me.”

“Not too good a care,” Quinn said, then kissed Annabelle hurriedly before getting into his Porsche. He zoomed out of the parking lot, forcing several people to jump out of his way.

Shaken by the combination of events, Annabelle trembled as Griffin helped her into the passenger seat of his rental car, a black Lincoln. She sat there quietly as he secured her seatbelt, then she rested her hands in her lap. Neither she nor Griffin said a word until they were a couple of miles from the funeral home.

“Could Marcy Sims be the one who killed Quinn’s lovers?” Annabelle voiced the question, but she suspected Griffin had been wondering the same thing.

“It’s a possibility. She’s obviously in love with Quinn and apparently hates every other woman in his life. She’s close enough to Quinn to know his every move, to be able to execute the murders when she’d know Quinn was in the area and wouldn’t necessarily have an alibi.”

And she’s a trusted employee, someone close enough to have drugged Quinn so that he couldn’t account for a couple of hours during the time each woman was killed
.

If he was drugged
…

“Could you find out where Marcy was when each of the murders occurred?” Annabelle asked.

“I’ve already got agents checking on Marcy’s, Aaron’s and Jace’s backgrounds and their whereabouts when each woman was murdered. Of course Jace wasn’t working for Quinn when Kelley Fleming was murdered. And Marcy’s
been in Quinn’s life for ten years. Why would she just all of a sudden start killing his lovers?”

“Maybe she finally realized that Quinn was never going to be hers.”

Griffin grunted. “If we could just tie someone else to all five dead women…” He paused, obviously thinking about something in particular. “Aaron Tully had a connection to Lulu. They’d been lovers, too. And he knew Kendall Wells.”

“Do you think Aaron Tully is the murderer and not Marcy?”

“I’m not certain of anything. I have no way of knowing if Aaron or Marcy or Jace killed those women,” Griffin told her. “But if we rule out Quinn, then—”

“What do you mean
if
we rule out Quinn?”

Griffin shot her a quick, speculative glance. “I know you’re in love with the guy, but you can’t tell me that the thought hasn’t crossed your mind—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

“But you’ve thought it, haven’t you? Even though you love him and you want to believe him wholeheartedly, there’s a tiny kernel of doubt deep down inside you, isn’t there? Don’t be ashamed to admit it. What you say to me will never be repeated.”

“I know Quinn didn’t kill those women. I believe in him. I trust him.”

“But?”

“But God forgive me, the thought did cross my mind and that thought lingers.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree with you. I don’t think Quinn killed those five women, but I can’t say I’d stake my life on it.”