Final Words (25 page)

“Emma!”

“He didn’t see me.” She pulled the list from her jacket
pocket. “Look. These names that we connected to him were in his files. All the
matches had small blue crosses stamped on the inside covers. I found other
names with crosses in his files that aren’t on my list. According to his
session notes, they were all criminal suspects.”

“He could have caught you.” The urge to hold her, to keep
her safe nearly overwhelmed him. “Emma, if he is a killer—”

“I know, I know.” Stepping close to him, she leaned her
forehead against his chest. “He could have killed me too.”

Jason surrounded her with his arms and he felt her
trembling. “Emma.”

“Please help me run down these other names,” she murmured,
her breath warm through his shirt. “Please.”

Feeling her grow still and melt against him—feeling his
heart melt in response—he sighed. “I’ll run the names. And then I’ll track down
Layne.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

She lifted her head. “But—”

Jason cut her off with another kiss. When he knew he’d
gotten her attention—and a moment before his own began to wander hopelessly—he
lifted his head and frowned at her. “I don’t want you to go near Sanders
without me.”

Stubbornness creased her forehead but she nodded. “I won’t.
But I do have an appointment to speak with another psychiatrist tomorrow. Dr.
Tamburello. You remember. His name showed up on our list as a consulting
psychiatrist. His office is in Paul’s building.”

He frowned. “When are you supposed to see him?”

“Three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“I have to be in court at one but I should be able to wrap
it up in time to go with you. You wait for me here.” He paused as her
stubbornness increased. “Please.”

For a moment, she looked as if she might balk. But then a
sly smile curled her lips. “I like this protective streak. And don’t tell me
you’re just doing your duty.”

He pulled her closer still. “I thought you figured that out
Saturday night. And Sunday morning. And Sunday after—”

“Well, you did raise my suspicions.”

“Emma.” He kissed her gently. “I would do anything for you.”

Hope glittered in her eyes. “Really?”

“Really.” Determined to prove his faithfulness, Jason kissed
her again. This time, there was nothing gentle about it and he let his mind
wander where it wanted to go.

“You’re humming.” Edgar stood in Emma’s office doorway. “Could
your good mood have anything to do with a certain police detective I’ve heard
rumors about?”

She smiled over a stack of lab reports. “Can’t a girl keep a
secret around here?”

“No and I’m glad to hear this particular secret.”

Emma was glad too. She’d proven to herself that she
could
trust her own judgment about men. Jason didn’t try to control her as her
ex-husband had done. He was strong, he had opinions but he knew that she had to
make her own choices.

“I heard another rumor.” Edgar tucked his hands behind his
back. “About your ex-husband. You must have been devastated.”

Devastated enough to go for what I really wanted
, she
thought, considering whose arms she’d wound up in that night.

“I’m fine,” she said and meant it. “It’s a relief to know
who killed Brian and hurt me. And to know that I was right to end my marriage.”

“I’m glad to see you have such a good attitude about it.”
Edgar waved as Emma’s telephone rang. “I’ll see you later.”

As he left, Emma lifted her phone. “Emma St. Clair.”

“Dr. St. Clair, hello. This is Pamela Ives from Dr. Sanders’
office.”

A chill crawled through her despite the woman’s warm voice. “Oh.
Hello.”

“I found your credit card here in the office. I was putting
away some files and found it on the floor behind Dr. Sanders’ desk.”

“Oh.” Emma’s mind threatened to stop functioning. “I must
have dropped it when I was there for my last appointment. I hadn’t even missed
it.” Realizing her voice was shaking, she paused to take a deep breath. “Thank
you, Ms. Ives. I’ll pick it up next time I come in, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll keep it in my desk for you.”

“Thank you.” Hanging up, Emma sank back in her chair and
prayed that Pamela wouldn’t mention the card to Paul. He might not buy her
simple excuse so easily.

“You okay, Doc?” Skitch peered around the door frame, his
brow furrowed in an all-too-familiar expression of concern.

“I’m getting a headache,” she replied honestly.

“Well, pop an aspirin. We just had three bodies delivered
and every one is a rush.” Striding into her office, he dropped a typed list on
her desk. “Here’s this afternoon’s menu. Pick your entree.”

Emma pressed a hand against her nervous stomach. “Skitch.
Please don’t refer to the deceased as items on a menu.”

His smile turned sheepish. “Sorry.”

She glanced at her watch. She had a couple of hours before
her appointment with Dr. Tamburello. Picking up the list, she ran her gaze down
it. Her eyes fixed on one familiar name.

Heart pounding, she shifted her attention to her own list
lying face up on her desk. There was a name she’d taken from Paul’s files—a
name that hadn’t been on her own list before.

“Let’s start with this one,” she said. “Leonard Fletcher.”

* * * * *

Jason paced the corridor outside the courtroom. If Marta
didn’t call him soon, he’d be late meeting Emma. As it was, he’d have to talk
fast once he got on the stand. Such haste would make his testimony sound
nervous. The evidence in this armed-robbery-turned-homicide case that he and
Charlie had chased down a few months earlier seemed flimsy enough without him
coming across badly on the stand.

And he was already distracted. He’d spent the previous
afternoon looking for Layne. She hadn’t checked out of her hotel but none of
the staff there had seen her in days. He’d even driven to Houston and convinced
her landlord to let him into her apartment. The place had a stale air about it,
as if no one had been there in weeks. Jason had then called her captain at HPD.
The man hadn’t heard from her since she’d gone to Clear Harbor.

He’d also been evasive about Layne’s trip to the coastal
town and Jason was just as evasive about why he was interested. After all, he
had no proof that Paul Sanders was involved in her disappearance. But he’d
given the captain enough sense of Layne’s state of mind that the man had put
out a bulletin on her. For now, that was all Jason could do for Layne.

Emma was another story.

Pulling out his cell phone, he punched in her office number.
The phone rang three times before rolling to her voicemail. Worried that she
might visit the other psychologist without him—and possibly run into Paul
Sanders again—he hung up and then called Charlie’s cell phone.

“Garcia,” his partner answered.

“Charlie, listen. I need for you to drop by the morgue and
keep Emma in her office.”

Charlie’s chuckle vibrated across the line. “That’s a
strange request. Wouldn’t you rather do it yourself?”

“I promised to take her somewhere today but I’m stuck at the
courthouse and I don’t want her leaving without me.”

“I will do what I can.”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“You owe me several, my friend.”

* * * * *

Resting one hand on Leonard Fletcher’s cold shoulder, Emma
looked up to see a youthful figure appear beside her. It was so close that her
body warmth siphoned away.

“We’ll have to talk fast,” she said before the apparition
could speak. “My assistant will be back in a minute and two other autopsies are
going to start soon.”

Watching her with puzzled eyes, Leonard lifted one hand
tentatively to his forehead. “I cracked my skull, didn’t I? Clumsy, that’s me.
My old man always told me I’d probably kill myself tripping over my own big
feet.”

Looking down at his body, Emma studied the purple lump on
the youth’s forehead. “That blow was enough to knock you out, Leonard but it
didn’t kill you.” Gently, she turned the head of the corpse so that the spirit
could see the bloody indention at the back of the skull. “Do you know what
happened to you?”

Confusion shadowed his semi-transparent face and he looked
at his body as if looking into a mirror. “I was leaving a bar on Fifth Street.
I must’ve been really drunk. I tripped. I thought I fell face-down and hit my
forehead on the curb. But…I remember tumbling down that little hill too.”

Emma returned the head to its original position. “You have a
criminal record, don’t you, Leonard?”

“Yes, ma’am. But I did my time.” His confusion twisted into
a frown. “I couldn’t find a job, though, so figured I’d pull another robbery. I
needed to eat, ya know? I got a gun and picked out a convenience store to knock
off. I was headed there from the bar, when I fell and…” He glanced around the
autopsy room. “I wound up here somehow.”

Emma had hoped he could tell her about his death but he didn’t
seem to realize he was dead. That happened occasionally. “You were a patient of
Dr. Paul Sanders, weren’t you?”

“He was the shrink the DA made me talk to.”

“Did you see Dr. Sanders at the bar last night, Leonard?”

His gaze fixed on her. Through his pupils, she saw the
glimmer of the light fixture in the transcription room at the end of the
autopsy suite. The light gave him an eerie expression that sent a deeper chill
shuddering through her.

“You know, there was someone at a back table who looked like
him. After I fell…” His breath started to labor. “After I fell the first time,
I got back up on my feet and then something
did
hit the back of my head.
I remember now. I was starting to turn and saw someone move behind me. I threw
up my arm but not quickly enough. Somebody hit me and I fell down the hill.
Then I…was looking down and…I saw a man walking away.” He looked at the body on
the table again. His voice fell to a whisper. “Walking away from…me.”

Emma leaned toward the spirit. “Do you think it was Paul
Sanders who hit you after you fell?”

“Don’t know.” He continued to stare at the body. “Maybe. You
might be able to find out.”

“What do you mean, Leonard?”

“He hit me with a pipe.” His brow furrowed. “He must’ve
dropped it ’cause it fell down the hill with me. I don’t think he meant for it
to fall ’cause he started after it. But then something scared him off.”

“Did the police find the pipe?”

“I don’t know. It fell pretty far. I saw it land in some
rocks near the shore.” Tilting his head, he studied the still figure on the
table with dawning realization. “I was joking before, Dr. St. Clair. But now I
think…I really am dead, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Leonard. But it’s all right.”

“It is all right.” He looked at her and guilt flashed
through his spectral eyes. “I guess I got a lot of sins to pay for.”

“We all do.”

“Ya know, I was doin’ fine until I ran my car up on the
grass of some apartment house a couple of years back. I’d been drinkin’ that
night too. I didn’t see the girl until it was too late.”

Emma’s heart lurched into her throat.

“I hit her,” the spirit continued. “I was so scared, I just
drove off and left her there. I was scared t’get the car fixed, so I dumped it
in the bay. I heard later that she died. I feel real bad about that.”

It couldn’t be…

“Where in the bay?” she asked.

“East of town. Off that abandoned pier near Waterside
Estates. Water’s deep there. I don’t know why I told you all that. Just felt
the need to get it off my chest, I guess.” A smile curled his lips at last and
the shadows faded from his eyes. “Thanks, Dr. St. Clair. Sorry I couldn’t help
you but I didn’t see who hit me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Leonard,” she answered quietly.

He was still smiling as he faded away.

“Hey, Doc.” Skitch breezed into the autopsy suite. He’d
changed into a fresh lab coat and carried the folder Emma had intentionally
left on her desk. “I’m back.”

The last of Emma’s chill warmed away and she stripped off
her gloves. “I have to take care of something.”

Reaching the table, Skitch frowned. “What about this guy?”

“I won’t be gone more than a couple of hours.”

“But, Doc—”

Emma didn’t hear the rest of his words. Already tossing her
lab coat into the laundry bin, she hurried out of the room.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later she stood on the street above the hill
down which Leonard Fletcher had fallen. Police tape cordoned off the sandy
slope. Blood stained the curb. A police officer stood a few yards away,
guarding the scene even though the crime scene investigators had already come
and gone. Emma had identified herself to him and he had agreed that she could
look around as long as she didn’t cross the tape.

What she wanted lay well beyond the tape. Concrete
rubble—some of it the size of boulders—lined the base of the hill, protecting
the sandy dune from the waves.

Stepping around the taped area, she walked down the hill
toward the concrete “rocks”, as Leonard Fletcher had referred to the rubble.
The hill leveled slightly just above the concrete and she moved down to stand
there. Trash and debris from the sea littered the area but she saw nothing that
looked like the weapon that had killed Leonard.

Emma moved closer to the rubble. For the next hour, she
turned over every piece of concrete she could move and peered into every hollow
along that makeshift seawall but no pipe turned up. Finally, knowing she had
little time left to make her appointment with Arthur Tamburello, she gave up.
Leonard Fletcher’s spirit had been mistaken. There was no pipe.

And what might that mean about the rest of his story?

* * * * *

Jason answered his cell phone on the second ring. “MacKenzie.”

“Jason?” Static punctuated the query.

“Charlie?”

“I couldn’t…called away…”

A lump formed in Jason’s stomach. “Are you with Emma?”

“Had to…docks…”

“Charlie, you’re breaking up.” Ignoring the curious glances
of others waiting outside the courtroom, Jason raised his voice. “Is Emma with
you?”

“Damn phone…meet me when…”

The connection went dead. Lowering his phone, Jason looked
at his watch again. Emma’s appointment with Dr. Tamburello was in about twenty
minutes. He didn’t want her to miss it.

Easing open the courtroom door, he peered inside. The
defense attorney, a notorious windbag, had settled into one of his rambling
sessions of questions for the current witness. It could easily be another hour
before Marta called him. Or it could be one minute.

Letting the door close silently, Jason shoved his cell phone
inside his jacket pocket and headed for the stairs.

* * * * *

Emma frowned as she left Arthur Tamburello’s office. After
spending less than twenty minutes with the elderly psychologist, she’d realized
that he couldn’t tell her anything helpful. Pretending to be researching a
murder victim who’d been his patient a year earlier, she’d managed to bring the
conversation around to the general topic of suspect assessment. Dr. Tamburello,
himself, had mentioned Paul.

“A fine doctor,” he’d said. “Works right here in this
building. He’s helped many people.”

Helped them to their deaths, Emma thought and quickly ended
the interview.

Gripping her purse strap now, she entered the elevator
outside Arthur Tamburello’s office suite. As it closed, the mirrored door
caught her reflection. Lines of stress etched her forehead and silver gleamed
at her temples. Before this ended, she’d probably look ten years older.

The elevator stopped on the ground floor and the door slid
open. Emma’s heart slammed against her ribs when she saw Paul cross the lobby.
Unfortunately he saw her too.

“Emma.” Approaching, he smiled at her. “What a nice
surprise.”

Bright light fell through the atrium above, making his pale
blue eyes seem paler. A fading scratch on his cheek and the furrows in his brow
gave him a sinister look.

“Do we have an appointment today?” he asked.

“No. I was just…” What to say? “Seeing my…gynecologist. He
works here in your building.” She tightened her grip on her purse and stepped
to one side. “I’m sorry but I have to run.”