You Can't Hide (20 page)

“So she stumbled onto the big story, only to have Cy Bremin get the byline. No wonder she wanted an exclusive.”

“An exclusive?” His short bark of laughter bounced off the walls as they steadily climbed.

“She’s crazy.” He winced. “Sorry. That wasn’t very sensitive.”

Tess chuckled. “It’s okay. I told her the same thing, only a little more colorful y.”

“More vocabulary deterioration?”

“I believe I used the word ‘Vaseline.’” She grimaced. “I’l probably regret that.”

They reached the fourth floor and he held the door open for her. A short walk led them to a sound studio where it seemed the entire cast of players waited. Spinnelli, Patrick Hurst, and Murphy stood outside the studio window while Jack stood inside, talking to the technician. “So I’m playing to standing room only,” she said lightly and Spinnelli smiled. “Where’s my name on the marquee?”

“We want to do this completely by the book, Tess. For your good and ours.”

“And I appreciate it, Marc. I hear you’re fighting appeals, Patrick.”

Patrick scowled, but he always seemed to be scowling whenever she was around. When he’d first taken the office after the last SA resigned in scandal, she’d wondered if she’d offended him. Now she knew that was his normal expression. “There were two more waiting for me on the fax this morning,” he complained.

“I’m sorry. I wish I had a way of making this al go away. For al of us.” She swallowed.

“Especially for Cynthia Adams and Avery Winslow. But you know I can’t hand over my client lists, Patrick.”

He nodded. “And you know I’ll subpoena you.”

“I’m obligated to fight it.”

Patrick shrugged. “So goes the game. I hope no one else dies while we duke it out.”

She flinched. It was a low blow, careful y aimed. “So let’s find out who’s doing this before that happens.”

Spinnelli stepped in. “That sounds like a good idea. They’re ready for you, Tess. Let’s get this done.”

Jack came through the door. “You know what you’ll have to do, don’t you, Tess?”

She drew a breath. “You want me to say the same message you found on her voice mail. I know how this works, Jack.”

“Then you know it’s not an exact science. We’l compare the printout visually then have our expert do an auditory analysis. You’l need to say a variety of sounds, also. Even when we’re done, we may have nothing definitive.”

“I thought you said your guy was good,” Murphy said, his voice tight.

“I am.” The voice came from inside the booth, making them all turn to look. The man inside opened the door and leaned against it.

“This is Sergeant Dale Burkhardt,” Jack said. “He’s my counterpart in the Technology Unit. They do R and D on all the new gadgets and gizmos. Dale exceeds the FBI standards for voice assessment. He’s the best we’ve got.”

Burkhardt’s lips quirked. “Ass-kissing won’t wipe the slate, Jack. You still owe me.” He turned to Murphy. “The theory is that no two voices are exactly alike. Voice comes from the voice cavity, throat, vocal cords, and the movement of the mouth during speech. Imitators can be difficult to

75

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

detect because even though it’s unlikely they have the same vocal cavity dimensions, they study lip and tongue position and… imitate it. Those aspects will be the same. We’l play it by ear.” His pun was good-natured and on any other day, Tess might have smiled. But not today. Too much was riding on this analysis. “Dr. Ciccotelli, if you’re ready, let’s get started.”

She fol owed Burkhardt inside and sat down in the chair he indicated. A stack of index cards lay next to a mounted microphone on the shelflike table that ran the length of the room. Printed on the top card was the message from Cynthia Adams’s voice mail. With a shaky nod, Tess picked it up. “Start now?” she asked him.

“Wait until I’m outside.” He sat at the console outside the booth and motioned her to begin. She tried, but closed her eyes when her voice broke. Hearing those hideous words aloud again made her picture Cynthia Adams listening to them, and in her drugged state, believing them. Burkhardt’s voice sounded scratchy over the intercom. “Start again, Doctor.” There was quiet, then Burkhardt’s voice again, kinder this time. “Try not to think about the victim. Try to do it like it was in the message. Kind of silky.”

Silky.
Tess straightened her shoulders and read it again.

“Better, but again. And silkier.”

She read it again, looking up midway through to find Aidan Reagan’s eyes fixed on her face. He nodded. “You’re doing fine,” he mouthed.

Her nerves still jittered, but the sick feeling in her gut calmed enough for her to manage the tone of the caller before going on to the other cards, which were a series of random words, chosen for the sounds they required the speaker to make. She read them all, then read through the stack again. And every few minutes she’d look at Reagan. Each time he’d nod. He never smiled, never said another word. Still, she felt a little less alone on her side of the glass. Finally she was done. Burkhardt stood up, his face giving away nothing. “Thank you, Doctor. You can come out now.”

Tess came out of the booth, her hands and knees steady through sheer will. But nobody said a word. The men were looking at Burkhardt’s computer screen. Not one of them would meet her eyes. Finally she could take it no longer. “Well?”

Jack shook his head. “It’s close, Tess. Real close.”

Slowly she exhaled. What had she expected after all? The voice on the machine was close enough to her own to fool her own mother. “Well, then. What next?”

Burkhardt’s look was a mix of respect and sympathy. “I haven’t even started to analyze, Dr. Ciccotelli. I figured they’d be this close. Don’t give up yet.”

Patrick draped his coat over his arm. “Call me when you have something. It would be nice if it were by noon. I have a lunch meeting with Judge Doolittle then and I’d like not to look like a complete idiot.”

Burkhardt snorted when the door closed behind Patrick. “Noon? Is he kidding?”

“No,” Spinnelli said. “We’l get to the bottom of this, Tess. Try not to worry.”

She nodded stiffly. “Right.” She’d be more successful trying not to breathe. Spinnelli left shaking his head. “Damn. I was hoping.”

Tess shrugged into her coat and picked up her briefcase. “Thanks for trying. I need to sign that wiretap release and let you gentlemen get to work.” She walked past Murphy, who’d said precious little throughout the test. He looked nearly as devastated as she felt and she was suddenly too weary to be angry with him any longer. She stopped so that she was inches in front of him and couldn’t see his face. “I understand, Todd,” she murmured. And she did. “It stil hurts that you didn’t believe me, but I do understand. I might have thought the same thing given the evidence.”

She heard Reagan and Murphy talking softly as she made her exit, then Reagan was behind her. She knew it was him, just from the way he sounded, the way his aftershave smelled. They walked to Reagan’s desk in silence. Wordlessly he handed her the wiretap release form and she stared down at it. The only words she could hear were Amy’s.
Don’t be an idiot, Tess
. She was willful y signing away her civil right to privacy. But if the woman called back, they’d have

76

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

her voice.
And not mimicking mine.
Assuming the same woman made all the calls, which at this point seemed fair. It would have to be worth the risk. Quickly she signed the form, then when she was sure her eyes were even, looked up at Reagan. “Thank you. You made it easier for me in there.”

His smile was brief, but still it sent a shiver down her back. “You’ve had a hard few days, Doctor. I’m not sure I’d have held up as well.”

This made her smile. “Have a good day, Detective. I can see myself out.”

Tuesday, March 14, 11:55 A.M.

After dealing with bank officials all morning, Aidan now understood the ever-increasing popularity of ATMs. They were impersonal, true, but the machines were prompt and didn’t have sticks stuck up their asses.

Even with a warrant it had taken some time to determine which branch Cynthia Adams had chosen to house her safe-deposit box. Finally, they were being escorted into the vault by a thinfaced woman named Mrs. Waller. She vaguely reminded Aidan of his eighth-grade algebra teacher. It was not a pleasant memory.

Mrs. Waller pulled a medium-sized box from its slot and placed it on a tall table. “You have the key?”

Murphy produced it. “This could be Geraldo breaking into Capone’s safe, you know,” he muttered while unlocking it and pul ing back the lid. “Some stock certificates. Her wil .” He handed it to Aidan who skimmed it quickly.

“Bulk of her estate goes to her sister.”

“Must not have updated it recently.” Murphy looked over at Mrs. Wal er. “When was the last time she was in the box?”

The woman folded her thin hands primly. “This past Friday.”

“Really?” Aidan frowned. “Did she take something out or put something in?”

“We don’t keep that information. We uphold our clients’ privacy.”

“You know I’m getting a little tired of everybody’s privacy,” Aidan grumbled.

“Then I’m glad you’re not defending my fourth-amendment rights.” Murphy rattled a small envelope. “I’d say she put something in.” He slit the end of the envelope and shook two microcassettes to the table. “Tiny.”

“They go in dictating recorders,” Aidan said. His sister-in-law never went anywhere without her little recorder. “Kristen is always muttering into one. One of the secretaries in Patrick’s office should have a machine that will play it.”

Murphy gathered the contents of the box. “So should Burkhardt.”

“You just want to see if he’s made a decision on the voiceprint.”

Murphy’s smile was fleeting. “The thought had crossed my mind. Let’s go grab something to eat, then go to Burkhardt’s for a listen.”

Tuesday, March 14, 12:35 P.M.

“Are you planning to stand me up?”

Tess looked up from the file and blinked to focus on the man standing in her office doorway, then the clock on the wall. The clock was an antique and so was the senior doctor of their practice, Harrison Ernst. They had a standing Tuesday lunch date. “Harrison. I’m sorry, I lost track of the time. Would you mind if we didn’t go to lunch today?”

Harrison pul ed her coat and purse from the coat tree. “I would indeed.”

“I need to finish going through these files.” She’d been at it for hours, trying to figure out which of her current clients were most at risk for mental manipulation. Now she pushed away the one she was reading with just a hint of petulance.

77

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

“You need to take a break, Tess. Your eyes are… twitching. Humor an old man.” He took her hand and pul ed her up. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

“Harrison, please.”

He flicked a glance at her desk. “You’re trying to figure out who’s next, aren’t you?”

His slightly indulgent tone had her back up. “I was.”

“Would you have suspected the two who died would be so susceptible?”

Tess closed her eyes and held on to his gnarled old hand. “No more than about half of my other patients. I can’t find any obvious link other than they both had suicidal tendencies stemming from trauma.”

“Like half of your other patients. May I suggest a different course of action?”

Somehow he’d put on her coat and had her headed for the elevator. It was only three floors down, but Harrison was no longer able to take the stairs. She could handle it for three floors. She forced a smile. “Can I stop you?”

He chuckled and hit the button for the parking garage. “Probably not. Tess, stop trying to be a mind reader. Be a psychiatrist.”

The doors closed and her pulse quickened.
Two floors. One floor more.
The elevator doors opened and she took a deep breath, not caring that the air was oily and dank. “What do you mean?”

“If you hadn’t been a suspect, and these two detectives had come to you for a consult, what would you have done?”

He helped her into his car. “I would have prepared a profile,” she said when he slid behind the wheel.

“Then do that,” Harrison said mildly and pul ed from his parking space. “And I’ll help you. Oh, I anticipate there will be reporters waiting at the exit.”

“I’m sorry.”

His glance was reproachful. “Hush, Tess. Look inside the bag.”

Tess opened the brown paper sack that lay on the seat between them and had to laugh. Inside were a black felt hat and Groucho glasses, complete with nose and mustache. “My disguise?”

His lips twitched. “I thought you might want to go incognito.”

“Do you have a fake passport and ten thousand dol ars in here, too?”

“We’re not going to Mexico, Tess. Just to lunch.”

Her heart squeezed. “Harrison, have I ever told you that I love you?”

He patted her thigh. “No, but I’d figured it out myself. Eleanor wouldn’t want you to be sitting around beating yourself up.”

Tess thought about the woman who’d taught her so much. Eleanor Brigham had been her mentor and Harrison’s best friend. Together Eleanor and Harrison had started the practice nearly twenty years before. Tess knew she’d been chosen as the heir apparent, but had been unprepared when Eleanor died of a stroke in her sleep three years before. “I miss her. I wish she was here. I’m glad you are.”

He pul ed out into traffic, never blinking at the reporters that tried to stop them. “I truly have grown to hate the media of late.”

“I know what you mean. So who is this monster, Harrison?”

“You tell me. You know more of the facts than I do.”

“I don’t know them all. Detective Reagan keeps a great deal from me.” She settled back in the seat and bit at her lip. “But I know enough to form an impression. This is a person with a need to control and a flair for both detail and drama. There is an ability to understand vulnerability and the capability to ruthlessly exploit it. They have access to my patients’ names and their police reports.”

“Male or female, Tess?”