Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (34 page)

Had Ms. Diebold tricked her? She had to find out!

Jenna googled R&L Enterprises, the office the reporter had mentioned, and found the address. Anxiety mounting, she put her tablet on the seat beside her, started the truck, and pulled out. A few blocks later, she turned on Mill Street and ran into a roadblock. Cop cars parked in the street, and a white van straddled the sidewalk nearby. A police officer motioned for her to turn around and leave. Jenna did as he instructed, then drove one block over and into an alley. She pulled off in a gravel turnout, stuffed all her electronics into her backpack, and left the truck. She realized the cops wouldn’t let her get close to the office where Russell and her therapist were, but Jenna could talk to Trina Waterman. The news people had someone on the inside reporting, and Jenna wanted to see Ms. Diebold’s face when she confronted her.

At the end of the alley, she turned right and spotted the white van. Jenna ran straight for the reporter, pushing her way through a small crowd. “Excuse me. Excuse me.” It was important to be polite.

The reporter looked up and Jenna realized she was being loud. She often couldn’t tell.

“Ms. Waterman, I’m Jenna Brennan. Charlotte Diebold is my therapist too.” Her mother had taken her to see Ms. Diebold after Jenna had hit one of her classmates who made fun of her. She’d learned how to calm herself, but what else had happened during those sessions?

The reporter signaled the cameraman, then motioned to Jenna. “Come over here, please.”

Jenna took tentative steps forward, suddenly self-conscious. Would they put her on TV? She hoped she didn’t get tongue-tied. This was too important.

“What brings you down here?” Trina held out the microphone.

“I saw what Ms. Diebold said about putting false memories in Russell’s head. I’m worried she did that to me too.”

“You’re one of her patients?”

“I’m her client.” Ms. Diebold said that she didn’t see patients because patients were sick, and her clients were not. But that didn’t matter. “I want to talk to Ms. Diebold. I want your reporter in there to put the camera on her face when I call her.” Jenna couldn’t always tell what people were thinking, but she was getting better at it.

“What are you going to say?”

“I’m going to ask her if she did that to me.” Frustration bubbled up and Jenna yelled a little. “I need to know! Please help me see her face when I ask.”

“Let’s see what we can do.” Trina Waterman pulled out her phone and keyed in a text message. “It may take a moment. It’s pretty tense in there, and I don’t know if our reporter is still able to record.”

Jenna glanced nervously at the crowd watching her. She didn’t like to be around this many people. She wished her mother were with her.

Trina smiled and patted her arm. “Thanks for coming down. I think your question is important.”

Jenna bit her lip. The reporter had no idea how important.

The reporter’s phone made a noise and she said, “That was fast.” Trina read the text, then signaled the cameraman again. She turned to Jenna. “We’re on. Do you have a cell phone to call in?”

“Of course.” Jenna resisted the urge to scowl. She dug for her phone, looked up her therapist’s number, and pressed call.

Trina pointed to a laptop she had on a portable stand. “The video will come up on that monitor as soon as Sophie sends it. It’s not really live, but it’s close.”

Ms. Diebold suddenly answered in her ear. “Jenna, I’m glad you’re here.”

The sad tone of her voice gave her away. Jenna knew the truth. She didn’t need to see Ms. Diebold’s face or even ask the question. Her therapist had tricked her too. “Why did you do that to me?”

“I wanted to empower you and to help you heal. You had so much anger. And yes, to help myself too. Because Craig Cooper hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him back. I used you and I’m sorry. But I just wanted you to press sexual abuse charges.” Ms. Diebold closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to think about what Jenna had done instead.

“So Uncle Craig didn’t molest me when he was my babysitter?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I hate you.” It was childish, she knew, but it was all Jenna could think to say. She hung up. She still hated Uncle Craig too, for making her father a drug addict and bank robber, but she understood now that he wasn’t a danger to other young girls. What had she done?

The reporter plugged her phone into the laptop, and a minute later, a video of Ms. Diebold talking on the phone came up on the monitor. She looked scared and sorry, but Jenna couldn’t watch. She felt too sick.

Someone touched her elbow and Jenna turned. One of the cops who’d been at the house was standing there. He looked tired and sad, and she knew he was here to arrest her.

CHAPTER 37

Jackson didn’t understand the full implications of Charlotte Diebold’s video, but the gist of it was clear. Jenna had somehow been manipulated by her therapist into killing Craig Cooper. Revolting! What terrified him was that he had sent his daughter to see Charlotte Diebold for therapy. How had someone so unethical become so recommended? Jackson wanted to call Katie and tell her they had to keep looking for a counselor, but he had to deal with Jenna first. The poor girl was so young, so unprepared for the consequences she faced. He hoped the DA would extend Jenna every possible break.

“Jenna Brennan. I need you to come with me.”

“I will. But can we stay and see what happens to Charlotte? I need to know.” Jenna stepped toward him and held out her hands.

Jackson had never felt worse about cuffing someone.

“What are you arresting her for?” Trina Waterman held out the mic, as if he might answer.

Jackson turned to Schak, who’d walked up while the video played. They had followed Jenna from her home and had watched to see where she was going, in case she led them to evidence they could use. Jackson had been stunned to see her end up here at the hostage crisis.

Schak said, “Let’s see what’s happening. If Jenna knows the therapist, maybe she can be helpful.”

“I don’t want to help her,” Jenna said, her voice as deadpan as ever.

“Not her, the other hostages.” Schak grabbed Jenna’s other elbow, and they walked toward the yellow tape stretched across the sidewalk. Jackson wanted to know what the hell was going on too.

Behind them, the reporter talked to her viewers. “In yet another odd development, Jenna Brennan, the young woman we just heard from, has been cuffed and led away.”

A patrol officer approached them as they stepped under the tape. “I know you’re EPD, but I was told no one gets in.”

“Is Agent River in charge?” Jackson asked.

“Yes. Our SWAT unit is here too.”

“Tell ’em we’re coming.” Jackson and Schak kept moving.

As they approached the command center, River called out, “What’s going on, Jackson? Why are you bringing a civilian into this scene?”

“She’s a patient of the therapist who’s in there with the hostages. And another of Diebold’s victims. I thought she might be helpful.”

River looked a little rattled. “I don’t see how.”

“Why don’t you update us?” Jackson said. “Maybe we have some insight.”

River gave them a quick rundown and concluded with, “Now our hostage taker is freaking out. Crowder seems to have shifted
his anger to Charlotte Diebold and won’t answer my calls. I need to get Sophie and Dallas out.”

“Sophie Speranza is in there?” Jackson was surprised, but realized he shouldn’t have been. If a story was breaking, Sophie was there.

“She’s been sending out the videos.” River’s phone beeped, and she tapped her earpiece and listened for a moment. “Release Sophie and Fiona, and we’ll clear out and let you walk away.”

After another moment, River responded, “Send them out, then we’ll talk details.” She hung up.

Miller, the EPD’s crisis negotiator, asked, “What does he want?”

“He wants us to clear out, so he can get away.” River rolled her eyes. “And he wants a helicopter to fly him out of the state. I told him I wouldn’t discuss details until he sent out the reporter and my UC.”

“Good,” Miller said. “We need to free as many of the hostages as we can, then get Crowder out into the open.”

“What about the therapist?” Detective Quince asked. “I think he might kill her. He looked outraged when she told him what she’d done.”

“We worry about everyone else first,” Sergeant Bruckner said. His eyes never left the curtained front windows. Jackson remembered another hostage scene they’d experienced together. Bruckner and his team had been incredible that day.

Jackson looked up and around to see if he could spot the snipers, now feeling guilty about bringing Jenna into this scene. He started to tell Schak that he would take the girl into the department for questioning, but they heard the front door open.

Jackson spun back and saw Sophie come running out, clutching her phone, her purse still strapped to her shoulder.

CHAPTER 38

Dallas watched Sophie go and wondered if Russell would send her out too. Unless she brought up that she was a federal agent, she would be the next to go. But she wouldn’t do that. Crowder might come at her with the knife he clutched. Her gun was still in the bottom of her purse, which was on the desk eight feet away. She felt so damn useless. The reporter had facilitated the conversations and sent out intel, while Dallas had just sat there, watching and waiting. She’d been prepared to make a move at any point, but with Russell’s nervous fingers never far from his bomb, Dallas hadn’t had an opportunity to go for it.

Now Crowder was asking River for a helicopter. The crazy man actually thought he was going to escape. He had bound the therapist’s hands and mouth with duct tape and told her she was going with him. He planned to use the big woman as a shield when he left the building. Could he actually get past the snipers that way? She knew they were out there, hiding in the upper floors of the surrounding buildings.

“Fiona, I’m sending you out too.” Crowder motioned for her to get up.

She stood, knowing this was her only chance. “Rockman needs to go first. He’s suffered enough for something he didn’t do.”

“Why do you care?” Crowder glared at her.

“I’m just that kind of person. Let him go. You can’t take two hostages with you.”

Russell thought it over.

Dallas pressed him. “I’m not leaving until after he does.”

Rockman stood, his wrists still duct-taped. “We’ll go together.”

“Shut up and go.” Dallas pushed him toward the door.

Rockman stumbled but didn’t argue and didn’t stop. She heard him running across the front office.

It was time to make her move. Crowder was crazy and might kill the therapist as soon as Dallas was gone. Or he might realize he wasn’t going to get away and set off the bomb, killing the shrink and himself to avoid a life sentence in prison. Dallas glanced at the pull-string for the curtains. The edge of the window was about five feet from the door. One long leap over. Russell didn’t expect anything from her and wouldn’t know what to think for that split second. That was all the time the snipers needed.

One leap over and one leap back
, Dallas corrected. She would still run like hell from the building. Who knew what would happen when Crowder hit the floor?

“Get out now!” Crowder had been highly agitated since his shrink had admitted she’d fucked with his head and used him like a windup toy. Dallas felt a little sorry for him.

She took two steps toward the door, then lunged sideways for the curtain cord, yanking down as she landed.

The drapes pulled open more slowly than she’d visualized, but the room flooded with daylight. From the outside, Crowder was
now visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. An easy target. Dallas spun and sprinted for the door.

The crack of a high-powered rifle boomed, joined by the shattering of glass. Dallas kept running. As she reached the outer wall, she heard a thud. She yanked open the door and rushed outside, filling her lungs with sweet, damp air as she charged across the street.

A chorus of cheers sounded and Dallas looked up, feeling like she was moving in slow motion. She took in the patrol cars and the group of law enforcement people behind them. Their relieved faces said it all. The hostage taker was down and the bomb had not exploded.