The First Wife (16 page)

She couldn’t find her voice and Logan stepped in. “What do you want, Billy Ray?”

The lawman glanced at him, expression dismissive. “Give us a couple minutes.”

“Alone?” One corner of Logan’s mouth lifted. “Not happening, Williams.”

“As a sworn officer of the Wholesome Police Department, I have every right to interview
your wife regarding the events of Wednesday, April sixteen.”

“And I have every right to refuse to leave her side.”

“I don’t want this to get ugly.”

“And neither do I.”

“Stop it, please. It doesn’t matter because I don’t remember anything!”

Billy Ray seemed to freeze. “What did you say?”

“She has traumatic amnesia,” Logan said. “She doesn’t remember any of it.”

Billy Ray looked as if he had been punched in the gut. He turned to her. “Is that
true, Mrs. Abbott?”

She nodded. Her chin trembled.

“Bailey, Mrs. Abbott, you came into the hospital with a lot of blood on you.”

“I had an injury. My head—”

“A lot of blood.”

“I told her,” Logan said.

“Do you have any memory of how that came to be?”

“My head injury?”

“Yes, but not what your husband might have told you. Not a guess. Your own memory
of the event.”

“No. The last thing I remember is three days before the accident.”

“Three days?” He all but snorted in disbelief.

“It’s true!” She glanced at Logan, then back at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Henry Rodriquez is dead, did your
husband
tell you that?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Did he tell you he was murdered?”

“Williams! That’s enough—”

“I bet he told you it was a hunting accident.”

“Yeah, I did. Because it’s what the Saint Tammany sheriff’s detective told me.”

“Even though it’s not hunting season. You don’t find that strange?”

Bailey’s head hurt. She wanted them to stop.

Please … please … stop …

“No, I don’t. My property is posted no hunting and no trespassing, and that doesn’t
stop folks from doing both. A month ago, I found deer parts dumped in the creek. Just
last week, Henry found a wounded hog not far from his cabin.”

“And you reported both to the sheriff’s office.”

“Of course! For this very reason.”

Please … it hurts …

“Touché, Abbott. Very well thought out. Down to the little woman’s amnesia.”

“What the hell are you trying to say? That she’s faking it? Talk to her doctor, you
son of a bitch!”

“I will, believe me. But right now—”

“Stop it!” she cried. “My head hurts! That’s all I know.”

Both men stopped and looked at her. She blinked, seeing them both clearly, her thoughts
flooding with something dark. Disturbing. She shuddered and turned her face away.
“I’m tired,” she managed, voice quivering. “Please go.”

“Mrs. Abbott, if you remembered something—”

“You’re done here, Williams.” Logan left her side, crossed to the door and opened
it. “Get out.”

Billy Ray looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he said, “You and me, Abbott. In
the hall. Now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Saturday, April 19

5:25
P.M.

The door snapped shut behind them. Billy Ray faced Logan. “What kind of bullshit is
this, Abbott?” he said, keeping his voice low. “Amnesia?”

“Not bullshit. Sorry for your great disappointment.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe. Talk to Dr. Bauer. He’ll give you the details.”

“I will. Count on it.”

“Grow up, Billy Ray. This isn’t a school yard competition.”

Billy Ray smiled. “That would imply this is a game. I assure you, it’s not.”

“Oh, yes, it is.” Logan leaned closer, so close Billy Ray felt his breath on his face,
saw the glitter of fury in his determined gaze. “You’re playing a very dangerous game
with my wife and my life. If you think I’m going to stand back and let you destroy
what I have, you’re in for a very nasty surprise.”

“That’s the thing, Abbott. Nothing you could do would surprise me. Not anymore.” Billy
Ray smiled. “Excuse me, I’ve got a neurologist to talk to.”

Luckily, the neurologist had just finished evening rounds when Billy Ray caught him.
“Dr. Bauer? Chief Williams, Wholesome P.D. Could I have a moment of your time?”

The doctor checked his watch, then nodded. “This must be about Bailey Abbott.”

“How did you know that?”

“You were standing outside her door earlier.”

“Of course.” Billy Ray cleared his throat, feeling foolish. “I understand you diagnosed
Mrs. Abbott with amnesia.”

“Yes.” He motioned to the nearly empty seating area behind them. “Why don’t we sit
down?”

They did and Bauer picked up where they’d left off. “Mrs. Abbott is suffering from
an amnesia associated with a traumatic brain injury.”

“Basically a bump on the head.”

“Basically.” The neurologist’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Times a hundred. People die
from these kinds of ‘bumps’ on the head.”

“I get it, they’re serious.”

Bauer hesitated a moment, as if irritated, then continued. “It’s called TML—”

“Which is?”

“Traumatic memory loss. There are two types. Retrograde and anterograde. With retrograde
amnesia, the patient loses a portion of memory of events before the injury, with anterograde,
events after the injury.”

“And Mrs. Abbott is suffering from retrograde amnesia?”

“That’s my diagnosis.”

“And how did you come to that diagnosis?”

The neurologist smiled slightly. “She took a serious blow to the head. She was unconscious
for seventy-two or so hours and she doesn’t remember the events leading up to the
accident. It’s pretty simple, Chief Williams.”

Condescending. Typical doctor
. But what Dr. High-and-Mighty didn’t understand was that it was never simple. Not
when Logan Abbott was involved.

“Will her memory come back?”

“In her case, almost certainly. Her TBI was mild, which doesn’t negate the seriousness
of it, but speaks to long-term prognosis. And how quickly her memory will be retrieved.”

Billy Ray made a note. “The milder the trauma, the more quickly she will retrieve
those lost memories?”

“Yes. In Mrs. Abbott’s case it will be relatively quickly. A day. Maybe a week.”

“So, how does it happen? Does she just wake up one morning and remember?”

“Maybe in the movies. In real life, the memory loss becomes shorter and shorter and
typically returns in bits and pieces, jogged by some sort of memory key.”

“Such as?”

“A word or phrase. A sight or sound. And actually, Chief Williams, the memories don’t
‘come back.’ They’re there the whole time. The patient is simply unable to access
them.”

Billy Ray digested that. “Could Bailey Abbott be faking it?”

“Pardon me?”

“Mrs. Abbott, could she simply be pretending not to remember?”

His eyebrows shot up. “And why would she want to do that?”

“It’s just a simple question, Doctor. Could you be fooled?”

The doctor’s expression went from patient to irritated. “Chief Williams, I have over
twenty years of experience in the field of memory loss. And in that time, no one has
faked a case of amnesia.”

“As far as you know.”

His face reddened. “Why would she pretend not to remember?”

“This is a police investigation, Dr. Bauer. A man is dead. You tell me.”

“I suppose someone could. But it would be difficult to pull off.”

“Why?”

“Let me ask you a question, Chief Williams. You’re a professional lawman, correct?”
Billy Ray nodded and Bauer went on. “As such, how easy is it for a criminal to fool
you?”

“Difficult.”

“You see my point then.” He glanced at his watch. “If there’s nothing else, it’s my
wife’s birthday and we have reservations.”

“Just a couple more questions. A few moments ago, you said Bailey Abbott’s amnesia
was brought on by her fall. Can this kind of memory loss be caused by anything else?”

“Absolutely. It can be brought on by highly emotional, stressful or traumatic events.
We see it a lot in soldiers with PTSD. Victims of crimes, horrific accidents, things
like that.”

Billy Ray gazed at the man, the information reverberating through him. As if plucking
a chord. “And it’s called the same thing?”

“It is. Although that type of TML falls to treatment by a psychiatric clinician.”

“Because it’s emotional, not physical.”

“Exactly. The loss of memory is a form of self-protection. The event, whatever it
was, is simply too painful for the conscious self to deal with. So the psyche hides
it.”

“But it’s still there.”

“Yes.”

Choosing not to remember, Billy Ray thought. Conscious or not, he could see Bailey
Abbott doing that.

After all, how did you admit you married a monster?

“Is there a chance Mrs. Abbott’s amnesia is stress induced rather than injury induced?”

Bauer looked surprised. “Certainly. However, my professional opinion is that it’s
not.”

“Why?”

“Because the pieces all fit. The accident. The force and location of her injury. The
amount of time she was unconscious, her responses on the Glasgow coma scale, the fact
that although she has bruising of the brain tissue, there’s neither bleeding nor swelling.”
The neurologist stood and held out his hand. “Good luck with your investigation.”

Billy Ray took it. “Thank you for your time.”

The doctor started toward the elevator, Billy Ray stopped him. “One last thing, have
you ever had an amnesia patient who’s also the suspect in a criminal case?”

“I can’t see how that’s pertinent.”

“You don’t have to, Dr. Bauer.”

The man’s expression hardened with dislike. Billy Ray didn’t care if the man hated
his guts, he had a job to do.

“No,” Bauer said. “Not to my knowledge.”

“What about a witness to a crime?”

“Again, not to my knowledge.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bauer.”

“Chief Williams?”

Now it was Billy Ray’s turn to stop and look back.

“Time’s on your side. Just be patient, she’ll remember.”

But Billy Ray had been patient for three frustrating years. That time had come to
an end.

Billy Ray exited the hospital and made his way to his cruiser. He climbed in, started
it up and just sat, engine running, thoughts racing. Choosing to forget things that
were too painful to remember. He’d made a lifetime of it. Like the sound of his father’s
rage. Or the smell of whiskey and sweat, and what often came with the mingling of
those two.

Billy Ray shifted into reverse and eased out of the parking spot. And what of letting
go of the unbearably sweet? Memories so pure they brought an ache a thousand times
more brutal than his old man’s drunken rage.

Memories of True.

No, he amended. She had been sweet. But his memories of her were bittersweet, indeed.
Of not being able to put her out of his thoughts. Of thinking of her day and night,
dreaming of her. That she needed him. That she was in danger.

And in the end, it seemed, she had been. If only he’d done more. Been more insistent.
Whisked her away. She would be here today. Safe.

But he hadn’t been insistent enough, hadn’t whisked her away. So now, all he had left
was the ability to make it right.

Something terrible had happened in those woods, something just too painful for Bailey
Abbott to remember. And he meant to find out what.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Sunday, April 20

11:15
A.M.

Sunday mornings Billy Ray slept in. He worshipped at First Baptist’s nine-thirty service,
then stopped and ate a big breakfast at Faye’s. She always had a place at the counter
waiting for him; he always left the waitress a big tip and on his way out always stopped
at a half-dozen tables for a hello and handshake. Today had been no different.

Now he stepped out into the bright spring day, slipping on his shades. It was going
to be a muggy one, he thought, ambling to the cruiser. The radio crackled as he settled
behind the wheel.

“Chief, you there?”

He snatched it up. “Ten-four, Robin. What’s up?”

“Travis Jenkins just called. He’s worried ’bout his youngest, Dixie.”

“What about her?”

“She didn’t come home the last two nights and Jo-Jo from the Dairy Freeze told him
she’d seen Dixie’s Mustang parked up at The Landing. Saw it on his way to work yesterday
and on his way home, too. Travis doesn’t think that’s right. He called the friends
she went out with Friday night, Katie Walton and Lea Johnson, but they hadn’t seen
her since then.”

“I’m heading that way now. Have Earl meet me there.”

The Landing was a honky-tonk just inside the Wholesome city limits. A popular spot
for farmhands and horse folk, the down-on-their-luck and the high-and-mighty. They
served up cold beer and country music, a powerful combination after a long, hot day
in the sun.

He should know, a Saturday night didn’t go by without at least one call to break up
a fight.

He had a pretty good idea how this was going to turn out. Dixie had a wild streak
about a mile wide and liked men, probably more than she should. No doubt she hooked
up with someone and the last thing on her mind had been Daddy worrying over her whereabouts.

Billy Ray reached the bar and saw that Earl had beat him there. The youngest officer
on the force, Earl Stroup had graduated from Covington High a scant two and a half
years ago. Tall and gangly, the twenty-one-year-old hadn’t even grown into his frame
yet.

Billy Ray stopped his cruiser beside Earl’s. Sure enough, Dixie Jenkins’s battered
red Mustang sat all by itself in a back corner of The Landing’s parking lot.

Earl met him and together they crossed to the ’stang. They reached the passenger side
first, and Billy Ray peered inside. Keys in the ignition, driver’s-side door cracked
open.