Unidentified Woman #15 (8 page)

That’s when I saw it, a white Toyota Corolla parked across the street.

I might have blown it off as a coincidence except there was a serious-looking young man sitting behind the steering wheel. I might have blown him off, too. I couldn’t identify him as the driver of the Toyota that followed me the day before—if I had been followed. He most definitely was not the man who tailed us across the Stone Arch Bridge. However, the engine was running even though it was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere; clouds of exhaust were being snatched by the wind and pushed across the street. He was just trying to stay warm as he watched—what? I stopped and tried to work out the angles. From where I stood, yeah, he could be conducting surveillance on the front doors of my building as well as the entrance to the underground garage.

I went back down the avenue, crossed at the light, and came up behind him, debating my options as I walked. The one I settled on was getting his license plate number and running it past Bobby. I slipped the cell phone out of my pocket, took a couple of shots as unobtrusively as I could, and kept walking. The young man continued to stare at my building. He didn’t turn his head to look at me—or anyone else, for that matter.

I crossed again at the light a block ahead and moved directly to the building, fighting the impulse to glance over my shoulder to see if he was still there. Once I was inside, the security guards swarmed toward me. Smith was the first to speak.

“We’ve monitored a car driving around the building,” he said. “It circled us four times.”

“We don’t believe he was looking for a parking space,” Jones said. “There were plenty available.”

“A white Toyota Corolla?” I asked. I recited the license plate number. “It’s parked a couple blocks down with a clear view of the doors.”

Smith and Jones glanced at each other. Disappointment etched their faces.

“I told you we should have walked the perimeter,” Jones said.

“Do you want us to run the plate?” Smith asked.

“I got it.”

“Are you sure?”

I hesitated. They both seemed so earnest, so wanting to be involved. Well, it probably is boring being a security guard watching locked doors all day.

“Do you have resources?” I asked.

“Yes,” Smith assured me. “Oh, yes. We do.”

“Run the plate, then. Don’t do anything foolish, though, okay?”

I was concerned because not too long ago a woman sued the state for invasion of privacy after she discovered that nearly every law enforcement officer that she had ever encountered—over a hundred guys!—had pulled her record at one time or another for no better reason than to learn her name and marital status. Yes, she was that attractive. She was awarded a million-dollar settlement, and the Department of Public Safety had been clamping down ever since.

“We’re on it,” Smith said.

“Just a name and address for now, guys. If we need more, I’ll let you know.”

Smith and Jones were both smiling when I caught the elevator.

Spreading joy wherever you go, McKenzie,
my inner voice said.
What a guy.

*   *   *

The TV was on when I entered the condo; TCM was broadcasting a John Garfield film. I loved old movies and stopped to watch a few scenes. Fifteen was lying on the sofa facing the screen, sound asleep, the remote in her hand. Somehow she had managed to work it, amnesia or no. I slipped the remote from her hand, turned off the TV, and covered her with an afghan that I took from the back of a chair. I went to the PC and started compiling a list of names, one hundred in all, half alive, half dead—it was actually a lot harder than it sounds. While I typed them into a Word document, the landline rang. The sound of it woke Fifteen, who looked around as if unsure where she was or how she got there. Her head snapped toward me when I picked up the receiver and said, “McKenzie.”

“Mr. McKenzie,” Smith said. “We ran the plate.”

“Go ’head,” I said. I deliberately ignored his name for fear that Fifteen would know who I was talking to.

“The owner is Doug Howard, age twenty-four. His permanent address is on Portland Avenue in Richfield, Minnesota. His driving record is clean. Not so much as a parking ticket. Is that helpful?”

“Very much.”

“Should we try to get a look at his criminal record?”

“Not now,” I said. “Maybe later.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for calling.”

“Anytime.”

I hung up the phone. Fifteen cocked her head as though she expected an explanation.

“My insurance guy,” I said. “We’re still working out the details on my car.”

Fifteen nodded as if she knew it all along.

How did you become such a good liar?
my inner voice asked.

Practice, practice, practice, I told it.

“So, how do you feel?” I asked.

“Much better. Almost normal.”

“Ahh, to be young again with all recuperative powers still intact.”

“You’re not that old.”

“It’s like a used car. It’s not the years, it’s the mileage that counts.”

Fifteen didn’t say if she agreed or not.

“Did you see your friend?” she asked.

“I did.”

“What did she say?”

“She said pretty much what you told me she’d say. She’d still like to see you, though.”

“Maybe later, okay?”

“Okay. In the meantime, one thing Jillian told me is that your memory loss might not be complete. You remember the price of things.” I gestured at the HDTV above the fireplace. “You remember how to use a TV remote.”

“Actually, it took me a while to figure that out.”

“She gave me a simple test that might give us an idea of the extent of your memory loss if you’re up to taking it.”

Fifteen lifted her hands and let them fall to her sides. “Sure,” she said. I had the impression that she was trying to humor me. I explained the test without mentioning that it was designed to detect malingerers and started in.

“Abraham Lincoln.”

“Dead.”

“George Washington.”

“Alive.”

“Rod Carew.”

“Alive.”

“Brett Favre.”

“Dead.”

“Woodrow Wilson.”

“Dead.”

“Otis Redding.”

“Alive.”

It went on like that for the first fifty names and I noticed she was batting nearly .500—half right, half wrong. That’s when I decided to be a smart guy and threw her the splitter down and away.

“Doug Howard”—the only nonfamous name on the list.

She stumbled, started to say “Alive,” corrected herself and said “Dead.”

I kept going as though nothing had happened. She knew I was onto her, though. In the next fifty names, she got thirty-two wrong and only eighteen correct.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll give the results to Jillian later and hear what she has to say.”

I stood up and stretched, trying to appear unconcerned.

“The names,” Fifteen said. “Were they all famous people?”

I knew exactly what she was fishing for and gave it to her.

“Not all,” I said. “Doug Howard—the security guys caught him circling the building earlier and asked if I knew who he was. I didn’t. Do you?”

“I don’t think so. At least I don’t remember. You say he was watching the building?”

“That’s what the security guys think. They’re keeping an eye out for him.”

“Do you think he’s watching because of me?”

I could have lied, but I wanted to see how she would react.

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“How would he know I was here?”

I shook my head.

“I thought I was safe,” Fifteen said. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

It was her turn for some head shaking.

“No,” she said. “They’re not going to let me alone; they’re not going to let me go. Sooner or later, they’re going to take me and it’ll be the same damn thing all over again.”

“Who are they?”

“The men who tried to kill me the first time.”

“Who are they?” I repeated.

“I don’t remember.”

“Fifteen, what you need to know, Nina and I are on your side. Especially Nina, so don’t worry about me being friends with Bobby Dunston, okay? If there’s a choice to be made, I’ll go along with her every time. Besides, I’m not a cop anymore. I’m not in the business of arresting people for their past crimes.” I emphasized the word
past.
“If there’s anything you want to tell me, it won’t go further than this room. I promise.”

Fifteen nodded, yet I don’t think she believed me.

“Who are these men?” I asked. “Why are they trying to kill you?”

“I don’t remember.”

“According to the twelve-step programs, there are two days you should never worry about. One of them is yesterday. Yesterday is gone.”

“What’s the other day? Tomorrow?”

“That’s what they say, except I worry about tomorrow all the time.”

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…”

“Exactly right. If you want to take care of tomorrow, fix today. I will help you if you let me.”

“Why? Why would you help me?”

“I believe in the promise of spring.”

Fifteen drifted to the huge windows and looked out at the frozen world beyond.

“I guess we all do,” she said. “We wouldn’t live here if we didn’t.”

We both stopped talking after that until the silence became too loud.

“Feel like going down to the gym and working out?” I asked.

“My knee is aching again.” Fifteen grabbed her knee and massaged it to emphasize her point. “You go, though. I’ll be all right. I need to think.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

I went into the master bedroom and changed my clothes. Fifteen was still staring out the window when I returned.

“Be back in about forty minutes,” I said.

“Take your time.”

“Fifteen? If it helps, what you said the other day, about the soul? I think you’re on to something.”

*   *   *

Thirty minutes later, Smith ran into the gymnasium. He was woefully out of shape for a security guard and spoke between labored breaths.

“The girl,” he said. “She left the building. Went out the door. Carrying a backpack. We tried to call. You didn’t have a phone. Saw you on camera…”

My first thought was to chase after Fifteen, but in shorts and a T-shirt, I wouldn’t last ten minutes on the streets of Minneapolis in March.

“Where did she go?” I asked.

Smith shook his head.

“Jones is following her,” he said.

“Good man.”

I had just gotten the words out when Jones spoke to Smith over the radio that was attached to the lapel of his jacket.

“I lost her,” Jones said.

“What do you mean you lost her?” I said.

Smith repeated my question into his mic.

“Target was headed to the train station. I thought she was going to get on the Green Line to St. Paul. She didn’t. She—she disappeared. Just now. I looked. She’s gone.”

“Dammit,” I said.

I guess she didn’t believe you after all,
my inner voice said.

Smith asked a question then that impressed me for the simple reason that I hadn’t thought of it myself.

“The man in the white Toyota—Howard. Did he see her leave?”

“I don’t know,” Jones said. “The car is gone.”

“Is that a good sign or bad?” Smith asked me.

“Hell if I know.”

*   *   *

I searched the condo when I returned to determine what Fifteen might have taken with her in the backpack. Afterward, I made three phone calls. The Minneapolis Police Department was the first to respond.

I was filling out a theft report with an officer when Nina burst into the room, leaving our door open behind her.

“What did you do?” she wanted to know.

“Sit. I’ll explain in a minute.”

Only Nina didn’t sit. She stood there glowering while I finished with the officer. The officer told me where and when I could get a copy of the report online and left the condo. He had to step around Bobby Dunston to get out.

“What did you do?” Bobby wanted to know.

“I screwed up. Twice. The first time was when Fifteen arrived. I let her see me going into the man cave.”

The bookcase door was still open, and I led Bobby and Nina inside.

“What good is a secret room if you don’t keep it secret?” Bobby asked.

“None at all.”

“What did she take?”

“Four guns—a .25 Colt semiautomatic, .38 Smith & Wesson wheel gun, nine-millimeter Beretta, and my Walther PPK. They’re all registered. I gave the numbers to the Minneapolis cops.”

“Why did you do that?” Nina wanted to know. “They’ll arrest her. Is that what you want?”

“It’s the only excuse we have to search for her,” Bobby said. “Except for the guns, Fifteen has committed no crimes that we’re aware of.”

“I don’t want her arrested.”

“I’ll withdraw the complaint after we find her,” I said. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll hire my own lawyer to defend her; G. K. can discredit me on the witness stand.”

Nina’s expression suggested that she’d pay real money to see that. Yet having an excuse to search for Fifteen was only part of the reason I called the police, and Bobby knew it. The other part—I needed to protect myself in case the guns started showing up at crime scenes.

“Why did she leave?” Nina asked. “McKenzie? She was safe with us. I told her that. Didn’t you tell her that?”

“She didn’t believe us. When she heard me use Doug Howard’s name, she didn’t believe us at all.”

“Who’s Doug Howard?”

“Is that what made her run?” Bobby asked.

I told them about my morning.

“Ahh, McKenzie,” Bobby said.

“You thought she was lying about having amnesia. Now we know for sure.”

“How did Howard know Fifteen was here?” Nina asked.

“Probably followed her when she left the hospital.”

“What are we going to do?”

Bobby ignored the question and asked, “What else did she take?”

“Five thousand dollars in cash,” I said. “I didn’t tell the MPD about the money, though.”

Bobby nodded his head as if he understood perfectly.

“What are we going to do?” Nina repeated. “Fifteen is all alone. She’s all alone and she’s scared. She’s probably trying to hide.”