Driven (9 page)

A drink? Gavin screamed silently. Now there’s a monumental revelation. Your blood had enough alcohol in it for an entire Mardi
Gras carnival. He opened his mouth to voice a retort, but the doctor held up his hand, apparently realizing Gavin’s struggle
to maintain sanity.

“Who were you with?” the doctor asked.

“I was alone.”

“Where?” Gavin said.

“Near where I live. In Long Beach. On the boardwalk. I think the place was called Seahorse.”

Gavin picked up his memo pad and wrote it down. “Did you leave there with anyone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Big guy—blond?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even remember leaving.”

“Great, we finally get someone who was with him and we know more about what he looks like than she does.”

“What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I remember?”

“You apparently blacked out from too much alcohol. It’s very common. All you’ve experienced has been sealed away from your
conscious. Locked up,” Dr. Fagan explained.

“Locked up,” Gavin said. “Where’s the freakin’ key?”

“Yes. I was just thinking the same thing. If the events she can’t remember are hidden within her subconscious, there are techniques
that have been known to work. But she has to be willing to remember.”

“I want to remember. Believe me, I want to remember. I will do anything to stop this,” Karianne said.

“What techniques?” Gavin said quickly.

“Hypnosis,” Dr. Fagan said.

“Hypnosis?” An alarm sounded in Gavin’s mind. He wasn’t a particularly devout person, but he was a little iffy on the hypnosis
thing. “And then a crystal ball and a palm reader?”

Fagan was not amused. “Hypnosis happens to be a medically accepted practice for reaching into a patient’s subconscious and
a viable therapeutic treatment for a multiplicity of suppressive disorders and addictions.”

Gavin paused. His own reservations notwithstanding, the department frowned upon hypnosis. If this were the LAPD, there’d be
no hesitation, but this wasn’t California; New York was a different world. Then again, she’d said she was willing to do anything.
And he’d long since given up trying to pretend he was playing this case by the books. He was out to find the killer—whatever
it took.

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Miss Stordal?” Fagan asked.

She nodded.

“How long is she going to be in here, Doc?”

“At least one, maybe two, more days.”

“Then I’ll arrange for a psychologist to meet us here tomorrow,” Gavin said, determined he would if he had to kidnap one.

B
EFORE GAVIN LEFT THE HOSPITAL
to check out a bar called the Seahorse somewhere on the boardwalk in Long Beach, he stopped again to see Chris. This time
Chris appeared to be awake, though it was hard to tell if his eyes were open or closed.

“Hey, pal. How you doing?”

Chris slowly raised his eyebrows to help open his eyelids. “Wonderful. I can’t remember when I’ve felt better. So long as
Nurse Barker keeps the good stuff flowing through the tube. Oh… sorry about John, Gav. How’s his wife?”

“Don’t ask. How’s yours?”

“Ah. You know Pat. She’s mad as can be—ready to go out and find the jerk herself.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Did you see him?”

Gavin shook his head. “Nah. I was kind of busy.”

Chris smiled weakly. “That’s your problem. You’re always busy. I heard that a girl survived. Did you talk to her yet?”

“Yeah. She didn’t remember a thing, except where she was drinking beforehand. A place called the Seahorse in Long Beach.”

“The Seahorse Tavern,” Chris said. “A nice place on the boardwalk.”

“I knew there was a reason for coming in here besides feeling obligated because you’re my partner and all,” Gavin deadpanned.

“Hey, I guess you were right,” Chris said.

“About what?”

“About answering Gasman’s stupid question about sending the killer a message. I guess he didn’t like my advice.”

“We all make mistakes,” Gavin said as he looked at his watch. It was four o’clock. “And speaking of mistakes, I agreed to
have dinner at six with Amber Clayborne’s twin sister, Amy. I’ll never make it.”

“Where’re you going?”

“My place.”

“What’s she like?”

Gavin thought for a moment before answering. “Besides being lights-out gorgeous, she’s the type of person that would board
a train to go somewhere and end up driving the thing by the time she got off.”

“Sounds scary.”

“Very.”

“But how…”

“It’s a bit complicated and I don’t want to make you feel any worse. And, I’ve got to run,” Gavin said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.
We’re gonna hypnotize Karianne Stordal to see what she really knows. She’s more than willing.”

“Hypnotize?” Chris said loudly, then winced.

“You got it.”

“Does the lieutenant know?”

“Nope. He can read it in your report when we’re done.”

“My report?”

“Of course,” Gavin said, suppressing a smile. “We’re partners, remember? Besides, the lieutenant will be easier on someone
who’s injured.”

Chris furrowed his brow. “You know, Gav, you didn’t used to be so…”

“Boring?” Gavin said, walking away.

“Safe,” Chris said, looking down at himself in bed.

“Hey, if you want out…”

“Wonderful.
Now
you ask me. Look, I’m going to be there if I
have to have them wheel me in. And Gav,” Chris called. “I heard about what you told Gasman. Be careful, my friend. That guy’s
crazy.”

“Who? Gasman or the killer?” Gavin yelled back.

“Both,” Chris said.

G
AVIN DIDN’T NOTICE
the fine craftsmanship that detailed the large, polished-brass clock mortised into the teak steering wheel—the centerpiece
above the mirror at the Seahorse Tavern. What he did notice was that it was now ten till five. He had tried to call Amy on
the drive down after conceding his schedule was sheer fantasy, but there’d been no answer at her home number and no machine
to leave a message on. He had, however, managed to get a call through to Dr. Harold Katz, a criminal psychologist the department
was familiar with. Under the circumstances, he had agreed to meet with Gavin at the hospital tomorrow at noon.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked as Gavin walked up to the bar.

“A glass of water with a lemon wedge would be fine,” Gavin said as he flashed his tin. “Would you happen to know who was working
the bar yesterday afternoon?”

“That would be me. Why?”

Gavin pulled a photo from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the bar. The picture had been taken in the emergency room. “She
look familiar?” Gavin asked.

The bartender put on a pair of glasses and picked up the photo, holding it flat enough to catch the down-lighting over his
head. Gavin watched the man’s eyes widen as he drew the photo closer.

“Man, oh, man! What did he do to her?” the bartender said.

“Who?” Gavin shot back. “He was here? You saw him? You know him?”

“Don’t know him,” the bartender replied, slowly shaking his head. “Don’t want to know him. But I can’t say I’m surprised you
want the guy. Figured he was wanted for something the moment I laid eyes on him.” He continued to stare at the photo. “Is
she going to be all right?”

Gavin felt like the bartender was speaking in slow motion. “Yeah, fine, although right now she can’t remember a thing.”

“Not surprised at that, either. By the time he came in, she’d already had better than half a bottle of vodka. I cut her off,
but he came over and insisted she have more. A lot more. She was drunk, but he wanted her more drunk. I was amazed she was
able to walk out of here.”

“He insisted? Why didn’t you refuse?”

The bartender looked down, obviously embarrassed. “I thought about it. Even thought of calling you guys. But… I can’t say
it any other way: the guy scared me. When he looked at me I, I just had to let him have his way. And it wasn’t just that he
was big. He looked wild, with fresh sores on his face, like he’d just been in a fight with a bull… and won. I was never so
scared of saying no to anyone and never so glad to see someone leave.”

The sincerity in the man’s tone and the fear in his face were chilling enough to cool Gavin’s intensity. “Okay. Tell me about
him. Did you hear any of the conversation? Did you hear his name?”

The bartender shook his head. “Sorry. Like I said, I kept my distance.”

“Well what did he look like?”

“Big. Mean.”

“Blond?”

“Yeah. Short, kind of flat topped,” he said, motioning with his hand over his own head.

“Eyes?”

“Scary, as if he could stare right through ya. I don’t remember
the color. As soon as he looked at me I wanted to turn away. Run away.”

“It’s him,” Gavin declared, more to himself than the bartender.

“Who is he?” the bartender said.

“Could you help one of our artists with a sketch tomorrow morning, say nine o’clock?”

“Sure. Just tell me where. I’ll never forget that guy as long as I live. Enough to give me nightmares.”

Gavin continued to question the man, noting details of everything the bartender could remember from the time Karianne walked
in until she finally left with the man. Gavin wondered how much was exaggeration. The man the bartender was describing seemed
more like a monster than anything human.

“Is there anything else you can remember?” Gavin finally asked.

“Well, there was something else that struck me as peculiar,” the bartender said, massaging his chin. “When the big guy first
came in, I could tell the lady didn’t know who he was, but after a short while they were acting like they knew each other.”

“What’s so peculiar? After enough drink, everyone knows everyone,” Gavin said.

“I know; I’m a bartender. But there was more to it. They even had a word they used when they clicked glasses—something I’ve
never heard before. It was a funny word. In fact, I probably wouldn’t even remember it if they hadn’t said it a few times.
And they said it loud when they left.”

“What was it?” Gavin said impatiently.

“They were slurring, but it sounded like…
shay-dod
. Or
shah-dod.
”

Gavin made a note of it as best he could. Finally. The case should wrap up fast now with as many clues as the big boy was
leaving around. A little artist rendition and a little jogging of the flight attendant’s
memory and he would probably have a name and address. It was almost beginning to seem like business as usual. Almost.

G
avin was surprisingly glad and scared to see Amy’s bike in the driveway as he drove in. Cedar stood at the gate dancing and
wagging his tail. Beyond him on the lawn, laying on her side and leaning on her elbow, was Amy. Her lack of expression had
him reciting to himself all the reasons that had made him late for their first date.

He got out of the car and walked to the gate, where Cedar was twirling in circles whining with joy.

“If you think I’m going to give you that kind of reception, forget it,” Amy said.

“I’m sorry, but it couldn’t be helped. We’ve got a decent description from a witness who saw them together before the crash
and tomorrow when we hypnotize the girl we might be able to tag on a name and address.”

“Hypnotize?”

“She didn’t remember a thing.”

“She’s lying.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, you’re still late. And for punishment you have to tell me
every little detail. And then I’ve got a few things to tell you. But first, I want to eat.”

“No. Let’s talk first, and then eat,” Gavin said.

“You don’t know me. I can’t concentrate on anything when I’m hungry. Low blood sugar and high metabolism or something like
that. All I’ll think about while you’re talking is food.”

“Okay, okay. I can’t even believe you’re still here.”

“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. Whatever it takes, remember. Besides, Cedar was good company and he told me
a few things about you I can’t believe.”

“That so? How did you know his name? Did he tell you that, too?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm.” Gavin took Amy’s outstretched hand and pulled her up.

“Just point me to the kitchen,” she said, following Gavin into the house.

“Over there,” Gavin said, motioning straight ahead. “Excuse the mess. The maid hasn’t been around for a while.” He started
up the stairs to his bedroom to change.

Amy looked around, impressed at the cleanliness. “She hasn’t?” Women were always impressed at the way he kept his kitchen.
At least any women who got to see it, which lately was none.

Gavin continued to his room and five minutes later was stepping briskly down the stairs in khaki shorts and a T-shirt. His
bare feet were breathing for the first time all day. Amy sat on a stool at the kitchen counter with her fingers steepled under
her chin. The sight of a woman in his house was both alluring and troubling to Gavin. The fact that the woman was Amy Kirsch
magnified his conflict.

“You get an A-plus in housekeeping. You also have all the fixings for a great meal. The only problem is you’ve got nothing
to fix,” she said.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you this morning. What would you like?”

“Fish?”

“I’m picky with fish,” Gavin said.

“So be picky. I’m not. We’ll get whatever fish you love,” she said, hopping off the stool and heading for the door. As she
passed Gavin she grabbed him by the elbow. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

“At least let me get something on my feet,” he said.

On the road, Gavin was barely able to keep up with Amy and her mountain bike. She had a tendency to go up curbs and through
debris that Gavin would have avoided. Gavin couldn’t tell if she was showing off or just having fun. Either way, she exhibited
a zest he could only envy. Maybe if he hadn’t been so personally involved with the case, he would not feel so alien to her
free spirit. He wondered, as she waved for him to keep up with her, what held the reins that kept him from being free with
her? Was he really the head case some people said he was? Maybe if he hadn’t become so tarnished by death he could share her
enthusiasm for life.

So why, then, had he agreed to dinner with her? He could have been more resistant. But, on the flip side, how could he not
be attracted to her? She was kind of pleasant—in a headstrong, slightly alarming, sort of way.

When they got to the supermarket, Gavin dismounted his bike, but Amy rode hers right to the door and waited for it to open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gavin said, walking toward her.

“This baby goes wherever I go,” she said.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No, I always do this.”

Gavin shook his head in disbelief. “If you’re afraid it’ll be stolen we can lock it to the lamppost.”

“Nope,” she said smugly.

“Well, what do you expect me to do, chase you through the store? Race you to the seafood section?”

Amy smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

“Not to me.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“Fun?” Gavin said, as if the word belonged in another universe. If God was interested in him ever having fun he would not
have stuck him in a world with so much calamity. “I knit.”

“Come on, Gavin. Let go a little. Where’s your wild side?”

“I don’t have one.”

Amy’s eyebrows raised. “That’s not what I’ve read.”

“Read? Where?”

“Your files.”

“Department files?”

“From what I read, you can be quite aggressive when you want to.”

“You should be arrested.”

“Then cuff me,” she said with dare in her eyes.

“Believe me, if I had cuffs with me I’d lock you and your bike to a parking meter.”

“I’ll tell you what, if you beat me in arm wrestling, I’ll leave my bike out here.”

“I give up. Bring the bike, but please walk it.”

“Yes, sir, Officer, sir,” Amy said, saluting. “But soon enough you’ll see everything my way.”

“Really. What makes you think so?”

“An old Japanese saying: ‘Those who run with wolves learn to howl.’ ”

“That’s Japanese?”

“Uh-huh,” Amy said, nodding confidently.

“But there aren’t any wolves in—” Gavin stopped when he saw
Amy’s eyebrow rise again. “Never mind. Let’s get the food. I’m starving.”

As it turned out, he had to admit to himself, and then begrudgingly to Amy, her bike was less of a disturbance than he anticipated.
Maybe there was something to her Japanese sayings, or whatever they were. He wondered just how much she was used to getting
away with. Even the cashier had met her with a smile. The bike might as well have been a cute baby.

Back at the house Gavin poured them something to drink while Amy made a sauce to go with the fish.

“That smells delicious,” he said.

“ ‘The best sauce is a good appetite,’ ” she replied.

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me. Another old Japanese saying?”

Amy smiled and nodded.

“What can I do to help?” he said, not used to watching someone else work in his kitchen.

“Nothing. Sit at the table and relax,” she said, then turned to him as he stood there. “Relax!”

Gavin’s dining room was small and simple, as was the old, re-finished oak table on the stripped-oak floor. Amy found an old
half-burnt candle on a kitchen shelf, lit it, and placed it on the table, where Gavin had found a seat. Cedar was lying down
by the rear door, his eyes spending equal time between Gavin and Amy. Gavin wondered if the Golden Retriever-smile the dog
was wearing displayed his approval of Amy or his relief that dinner was finally happening. Gavin guessed it was the dinner,
since he could never resist giving Cedar a few morsels, even though it meant putting up with an occasional whine for more.

Although they had settled on catfish, Amy’s method of sautéing the fish over onions in olive oil and garlic looked great,
especially when her grandmother’s secret sauce was added. The fish was set
on a bed of rice with a side of lightly cooked shredded broccoli and carrots. As soon as the plates hit the table, they quickly
sat and Gavin topped off their drinks. He raised his glass.

“To the hands that prepared this feast.”

“To teamwork,” Amy said, then clicked his glass with hers. “ ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’ ”

“Japanese?”

“Of course.”

They both ate heartily, not saying much until their plates were empty. Gavin had looked up from his dish several times to
see Amy’s bronze glow in the flickering candlelight. On the last glance, she caught him, acknowledging his gaze with a smile.

Apparently deciding it was time for business, she finally asked Gavin to detail his day. He retrieved his notes while Amy
cleared the table of everything but their glasses.

Gavin knew the main tool of his trade was information. Information meant control and power and, in the end, validation. Under
what he would consider more normal circumstances, he would have felt the need to establish a longer, more trusting, relationship
before revealing what he knew. But he had no time for building trust. He had information and apparently so did she.

He swallowed what was left in his glass, pushed it aside, and asked her to resist asking questions until he was done. She
agreed, eagerly bouncing back into her seat, readying herself for some note taking of her own. Gavin proudly presented the
information his police computer had provided on Karianne Stordal, confident anything Amy had retrieved would only be redundant.
Amy remained quiet throughout, though obviously straining not to interject when Gavin spoke about the hypnosis scheduled for
noon. Finally, when told of the bartender’s description of the killer, she ended her vow of silence.

“He didn’t hear him tell her his name?”

“No,” Gavin said, looking through his notes. “But there was a strange word he overheard. Oh, here it is.
Shay-dod
or
Shah-dod,
he said. And he said they repeated it several times.”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe he heard it wrong. Could mean anything. A name, a place… who knows.”

“I’ll check it out first thing tomorrow morning,” Amy said. “My turn now?”

Gavin nodded and sat back with folded arms.

“Well, the fact Stordal was in an almost identical crash five years ago in Norway is just the beginning.”

Where had she found that? Gavin decided he didn’t want to know.

“The vehicle that her car crashed into had five people in it. Three of them were killed. But one of the ones who survived
not only saw the driver who escaped, but actually admitted to knowing his identity. The other survivor was the man’s granddaughter.”

“He knew him?”

“Yes! But,” Amy said, raising her finger, “he refused to reveal the identity.”

“Why?” Gavin said incredulously.

“The report surmised a possible fear of retribution.”

“Really? He thought they would try again?”

“Sort of. He didn’t want his survival or even the fact he had a granddaughter to become public knowledge. He was obsessed
with keeping her within his sight at all times.”

“The Mob?”

“I don’t think so.”

“A little temporary insanity?”

“More than a little and more than temporary. The entire rest of the time he was there, which was another week in the hospital,
he
refused to eat anything and even gave them a hard time when they tried to hook up the intravenous.”

“Why the fuss?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about his granddaughter?”

“I don’t know. All they say was he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.”

“Back up. What do you mean by ‘the rest of the time he was there’? Was he visiting Norway?”

“Yeah. And that’s the good news: we won’t have to learn how to speak Norwegian to talk to him. He’s from New Jersey. A preacher
who was visiting Norway on some kind of ministry engagement.”

“New Jersey? That’s close enough. Maybe he was suffering from some kind of temporary paranoia and now that he sees his granddaughter
has been safe for the last five years, he might open up to us.”

“Maybe, but New Jersey was also five years ago. He moved. He’s no longer right around the corner. After the accident he sold
everything he owned and moved upstate New York to a small town called Hamden, just west of the Catskills.”

Gavin frowned in disbelief. “What did you do, tap into the Norwegian police department and the U. S. Postal Service?”

“Actually, the Norwegian police
was
one of my stops. But the IRS had more on him than the Post Office. Translating from Norwegian took a little time.”

“You speak Norwegian?”

“Of course not. I get a little help from my friends,” she said with a wink. “Anyway, the guy’s name is Jesse J. Buchanan.
Reverend Jesse J. Buchanan.”

“Good job, Amy. I’ll give him a call. Or are you going to tell me you’ve already done that and he’s standing outside right
now?” Gavin said.

Amy laughed. “I wish. Actually, I was hoping we might take a ride to the country and pay him a visit.” She pushed back her
chair, took her glass, and relocated herself on the living room couch. “It’s not all that far away.”

“A ride in the country sounds nice, but I wouldn’t be much fun,” Gavin said, picking up the cordless phone from the table.
He punched in 411. “Yes, Hamden.”

Amy handed him a folded piece of paper. He opened it and read, “Samantha’s Farm.” There was a number. He hung up and looked
at Amy, his right eyebrow raised. She was ahead of him at every turn.

“Let me guess: Reverend Buchanan?” he said, motioning to the paper.

“Yup.”

“You know, you’ve got to at least let me feel like I’m accomplishing something,” he said. “What’s Samantha’s Farm?”

“He lives there, according to the local general store. There’s no phone number under his name.”

“Maybe it’s unlisted,” he said, refilling his glass and following her to the couch.

Amy shook her head. “Not even. Besides, his granddaughter’s name is Samantha Buchanan. I wouldn’t be surprised if she owns
it outright. Either way, he’s not an easy person to find. Maybe he wants to be left alone. Maybe he’s hiding.”

“Only one way to find out,” Gavin said.

“You’re calling him now?”

“Why not?” he said as he dialed.

The phone rang twice before an answering machine picked up with the voice of a child. “Hi! My name is Samantha and this is
my dairy farm. Please leave the usual information at the beep. Thank you. Good-bye.”

Gavin left a message and his number, then hung up and looked
at Amy. He pressed the redial button and handed her the phone. “You’ve got to hear this.”