Fixed in Blood (8 page)

“So nothing new?” Mort asked.

“Hold on. I go back later expecting the same treatment. Bruiser’s chomping at the bit when we pull up, ready to mope for more cookies. We get ten steps in the store when the manager trots up to see me. Says no one there wants to talk to me. Tells me I need to leave immediately and by the way they don’t allow dogs in the store. Bruiser’s heartbroken. I ask the lady what’s changed. She gets all sheepish and lowers her voice. Whispers to me that the head honcho got his yell on when the morning ladies told him about my visit. Screamed that no one was to talk to the cops about anything that goes on at his store. Tells the manager that if I want to talk to anybody, I better have a warrant.”

Mort glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. “Let’s call it a night and start fresh tomorrow. Jim, give Micki that list Schuster gave us. Mick, check out those film sites. Find the crew who worked on this piece of filth.” He turned to Jimmy. “Stores open at nine tomorrow morning. Let’s you and I drive on by the Shoe Stop and start that owner’s day with a little chat.”

Lydia jolted awake. On instinct she pulled her bedside drawer open and rested her hand on the Beretta PX4. She heard the sound again, sat up, and turned on the light. There had been times when the sounds in Lydia’s night were sinister, but tonight it was only her phone. She cleared the sleep from her throat and answered.

“This is Bella from the answering service. I have an emergency call for Dr. Lydia Corriger.”

Lydia’s alarm clock announced it was 4:23
A.M.
“This is Dr. Corriger.”

“I have Delbe Jensen on the line. Says she needs to talk with you. I tried to take a message and let her know you’d get it first thing, but she said she wanted to say goodbye. She sounded pretty upset.”

Lydia snapped wide awake. “Put her on.” Four seconds later the line clicked over. “Delbe? Are you there?”

Her voice was barely audible. “It’s me, Dr. C. Thanks for taking my call.”

“It must be pretty important if it’s interrupting your beauty sleep. What’s up?” Lydia pulled her cellphone onto her lap. If Delbe was actively suicidal, she’d need to contact the police while she kept her patient talking on the landline.

“I’m so sorry I woke you.”

“Then let’s not keep either of us awake any longer than we need to,” Lydia said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I have to leave, Dr. Corriger. I can’t stay here anymore. I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done. Not just with me not being able to sleep. For the other stuff, too.”

“It doesn’t seem like I did a bang-up job helping you snooze tonight, does it? Tell me what has you awake at this hour.”

Delbe’s voice cracked. “There’s no other way. Remember you said we’d figure out a way to fix things?”

“I do. And we will.”

“Well, there’s a new plan and it means I have to be gone.” She broke into full sobs. “Oh, Dr. C. I’m so scared.”

“Delbe, where are you right now? Are you home? Is your mom or dad there?”

“They went to Ocean Shores. I’m glad they’re not here.”

Lydia activated her cellphone. “Tell me about your suicidal thoughts.”

Sounds of crying came through the receiver.

“Talk to me, Delbe. Have you hurt yourself?”

A whisper finally broke through. “No. I feel so weak. Like I can’t breathe.”

“That’s despair you’re feeling. Overwhelming, right? Trust me, it’ll pass.”

“No, it won’t. I have to go. There’s no other way.”

Lydia tapped 911 into her phone and rested her thumb over the call button. “Delbe, do you intend to hurt yourself? I’ve got to hear it. Yes or no, okay?”

A sarcastic chuckle broke through the sobs. “I can’t damage the merchandise.”

“Yes or no, Delbe. Are you going to hurt yourself?”

“No.” Her patient’s voice sounded drained of hope. “I’m so scared. They branded me, Dr. C. I’m a piece of beef and he’s shipping me off to market.”

“What are you talking about? Delbe, are you sober? Are you alone?”

Several tense heartbeats pounded in Lydia’s chest before she heard a reply. “I have debts to pay, Dr. C. No more little blue sheets to sign. No more promises he knows I can’t keep.”

“Where are you, Delbe? Tell me.”

“I’m not going to kill myself, Dr. C.” Delbe’s voice, stuffy from tears, was firmer now. “My body doesn’t belong to me anymore. It’s not mine to damage. I just wanted to…I wish I’d met you five years ago.” Another sob broke through, but Delbe quickly squelched it. “You’ve been kind to me. It’s been a long time since someone has.”

“You deserve kindness. Tell you what, swing by my office this morning. I have an opening at ten thirty. We’ll have some coffee. How’s that sound?”

Her answer took a while. “I’ll think of you at ten thirty. That’s the best I can do. Goodbye, Dr. Corriger.”

The line went dead.

Lydia immediately called the answering service. “Bella, I need the number where that call originated.”

“Certainly.” Lydia heard buttons clicking. “Sorry. That number was blocked by the caller.”

Lydia cursed under her breath. “How about automatic redial. Can you do that?”

“Sorry again,” Bella sounded professionally apologetic. “It’s been a busy shift. I’ve taken three calls since I forwarded Delbe Jensen to you. Auto redial would only get me to my last caller.”

An ugly wave swept over Lydia. She identified the emotion. It was the one she detested most: helplessness.

“Thanks, Bella. I’m up for the day now. You can put all calls through to my direct line.”

Lydia threw off the covers and headed into the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She focused on the familiar gurgles of her brew pot and stared out the window, zeroing in on the present moment in an effort to ground herself after Delbe’s distressing call. It was still hours before sunrise and her view offered nothing but black emptiness.

They branded me
…Her patient’s words raced through her mind as she tried to make sense of Delbe’s terrified call…
I have debts to pay…He’s shipping me off to market…I’m so scared…I’m so scared…I’m so scared…

Lydia left the kitchen, passed through her entryway, and keyed in a code on the door leading to her lower level. Once downstairs, another code opened a locked panel, this one opening to her study. She placed her palm on a glass tile next to her computer. Four lights blinked acceptance of her identity and she was booted and ready to roll in three seconds. Lydia never regretted the not-so-small fortune she poured into keeping her communication center equipped with the latest gear. Her work as The Fixer had been lucrative enough to buy her technological power many governments couldn’t afford. For years she’d needed it to make sure she knew what theories the authorities, both domestic and international, were leaning toward to explain the deaths that followed in The Fixer’s wake. Her computing power had proven valuable when Mort dropped his daughter in her lap. She’d been able to unravel Allie’s plot from this desk.

But none of that mattered to Mort. He believed his daughter’s lies…it didn’t matter how much evidence piled up.

Lydia shoved away thoughts of Mort. She touched the icon on her computer screen for access to her clinic files. A synthesized male voice asked how he could help.

“Delbe Jensen,” Lydia said. A microphone embedded into the screen picked up her command and instantly brought to view the entire record of her patient. Appointment schedules…insurance…medical records…authorizations…and, what Lydia needed at the moment, all contact information. She picked up the secured phone next to her computer and called Delbe’s cellphone number. Her voice mail kicked in immediately.

“You know who I am and you know what the beep means. Go for it and let’s see what I do.”

Delbe was either on another call or had her phone shut off. Lydia waited thirty seconds and redialed the number. Again, her call was routed to voice mail before the first ring. She waited another half minute. The message this time shot a cold spike of fear down her spine.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please verify that you have dialed correctly.”

Lydia glanced at the clock: 5:17
A.M.
Pacific Daylight Time. Delbe’s phone had been working a few minutes ago. If her service provider was located on the East Coast, it was possible her phone service could have been discontinued at the start of the business day. It would be just after 8
A.M.
there. And Delbe did complain about always being behind in her debts. It could be coincidental that her service was cut moments after her dramatic call to Lydia.

But Lydia was never one for coincidences.

She turned back to her computer, reviewed Delbe’s file, and welcomed her good fortune. Delbe had first come to see her for problems sleeping, dragged in by her mother, who said she was sick and tired of hearing her daughter roam the house all night. Among the paperwork signed at intake was a release authorizing Lydia to discuss her case with her mother. Lydia called the number provided on the document.

“What the hell?” a woman answered after four rings. “This better be good.”

“Mrs. Jensen?”

“This is Roz Jensen. Who the hell is this calling me at this god-awful hour?”

“It’s Dr. Lydia Corriger. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“Do I know you?” The voice on the other end sounded disgusted. “My God. Is this about Delbe? She in the emergency room? If she wrecked my car, I swear I’ll—”

Lydia interrupted her. “Mrs. Jensen, we met when you brought Delbe in to see me a couple of months ago. Regarding her insomnia.”

Recognition dawned in Delbe’s mother’s voice. “You’re the shrink. Oh my. You about scared me half to death. Here I had my girl plowed up against some tree. You know, the phone rings in the middle of the night and you don’t know what to expect.”

Again Lydia interrupted, fearful a defensive rant was about to commence. “I certainly don’t mean to alarm you. I’m wondering if you’ve heard from Delbe tonight. She told me you were in Ocean Shores?”

“That’s right.” Roz Jensen sounded more apprehensive. “Bud and I like to come here couple times a year and try our hands at the slots. Something wrong with Delbe?”

“You haven’t spoken to her this evening?”

“I haven’t talked to her since we left town yesterday morning. What’s this about?”

“You’re expecting her to be home when you return?”

“Tell me what this is about or I’ll put my husband on the phone.” Lydia heard anger mixed with fear in Roz’s voice. “Is Delbe all right?”

Lydia calculated her words carefully. While she had a release to speak with Delbe’s mother, she didn’t want to break confidentiality any more than necessary.

“I have no reason to doubt she’s anything but fine, Mrs. Jensen. We were speaking a little while ago and our connection was lost. When I tried to call her back, I was told the phone was no longer in service. I’m wondering if you have another number where I might reach her.”

“The connection was lost? That doesn’t make any sense at all. I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Excuse me?”

“Delbe’s bad with money,” her mother said. “Always has been. You’d think she was the U.S. Congress. Keeps getting farther and farther behind. I tried to warn her, but I guess you can’t tell kids anything. Just like that time she dropped out of school—”

“Mrs. Jensen.” Lydia bet Roz was used to folks interrupting her. “Delbe’s phone?”

“I pay for Delbe’s phone. She’s on our what-do-you-call-it…our bundle. Delbe’s phone is on our bundle. If it wasn’t, she’d never have any service. I pay my bills on time. Always have, ever since I borrowed thirty cents from my sister to buy my first Monkees record.” Roz chuckled. “ ‘Last Train to Clarksville.’ God, I loved Davy.”

“Mrs. Jensen, please. Do you have another number where I can reach Delbe?”

Delbe’s mother sighed. “I’m trying to tell you. No. There’s no other number and the one you have sure as hell isn’t disconnected. We’re on the bundle. If one service gets cut, they all get cut. and I’m sitting here in my nightgown chatting with you, aren’t I? Girl probably dropped the phone down the toilet or something. She never did have the sense God gave a goose.”

One shower and two cups of coffee later, Lydia watched the clock in her kitchen click over to 6:30
A.M.
She called up the contact list on her phone and touched a favorite number. He answered on the first ring.

“Good morning, Lydia.” Paul Bauer could dial his voice to pure seduction no matter how early it was. “How are you this fine June morning?”

“What time do you need to be at the station? I could grab some bagels and be at your place in half an hour.”

“That depends. Is it like that or you need a cop?”

Lydia liked the way he purred into the phone.

“This time I need a cop.”

“So there’s nothing the police can do?” Lydia had filled Paul Bauer in on the general outline of her concerns regarding Delbe Jensen’s situation.

He swallowed the last bite of the asiago cheese bagel Lydia brought him. She made sure it had a schmear of sun-dried tomato cream cheese, just the way he liked it. “Not unless there’s something you’re not telling me. As I understand it, you have a woman, of full legal age, who calls you and announces she’s going away. You, being the super psychologist you are, ask her point-blank if she intends to hurt herself, and she, good little patient that she is, tells you point-blank no. She thanks you for your help and bids you adios.” He shook his head. “Unless you tell me she’s got outstanding warrants or you have evidence she’s involved in some sort of criminal activity, there’s not a thing I or any other cop can do.”

“Paul, she was despondent. Scared. She talked about how she was in debt and now there was a new plan.”

“She’s young and impulsive. Her new plan probably involves skipping town, maybe grabbing a fake ID, thinking she can start all over.” He shook his head. “You can’t outrun a computer. You’d think someone her age would know that. You have any idea who she owes?”

Lydia shook her head. “She said she started borrowing a few years ago. She’d left Olympia to follow her dreams…like you said, she’s impulsive. She borrowed money, couldn’t pay, and the amount grew. Something about signing little blue sheets over and over.”

Bauer took a long sip of coffee. “Sounds like she got caught up with one of those payday loan places. That’s the basis of their whole gimmick. Grab somebody so desperate they’re willing to pay sky-high interest. Poor schmucks always believe they’ll catch up at the end of the week.” He shook his head. “Too dumb to know better or too naïve to know different. Either way, they get caught in that spider’s web of interest and fees. Next thing you know, they’re in bankruptcy court, ruined for years, and the same scumbags that roped ’em in are always the first in line to get whatever blood’s left in the stone. You know, back when I joined the force, loan sharks on the street charged less interest than what these bottom-feeders do. And we put
them
in jail.” His green eyes were sympathetic. “My hunch is your patient decided to run away from them. Stupid plan, but I get it.”