The Unforgivable Fix Page 20

  “This your friend?” His tone didn’t suggest he was interested in an introduction. Lydia made one anyway and the detective shook her hand.

  Allie picked up her sundae and spoon. She tilted her head to the booth across the way. “I’ll be right over there.” Her smile had a hint of the pixie who had no trouble manipulating not only her father, but any man who crossed her path. “You two kids have fun.”

  Paul Bauer pushed Allie’s jacket and purse aside and slid into the booth opposite Lydia. He pulled out a small notebook and got right to it.

  “You know Henry Trow? Goes by the name of Hank?” His eyes locked on to Lydia. “And before you start in with that stone-faced, ‘I can’t say a word’ bullshit, I got you covered. A, Mr. Trow was more than adamant about letting me know he wasn’t a patient of yours; and, B, just in case, I had him sign a release.” He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a signed and witnessed form, and slid it across the table.

  “Mr. Trow’s right. He’s not a patient of mine.”

  “Hank’s a great guy. Just met him this morning. One of those salt-of-the-earth types. Works hard, plays by the rules. What my mother would have called a God-fearing man.” Bauer’s voice had the deep rumble of sleeping lion.

  Lydia nodded. “I only met him once, but I’d have to say I’m of the same opinion. I hope he’s not involved in any trouble.”

  “Hank came to see me because he’s confused. He wanted to get to the bottom of things. After our talk, I’d have to say I’m a bit confused as well.” He pointed to Lydia’s ice cream. “Go ahead and eat that. It looks too good to end up a melted mess.”

  She shoved the bowl aside. “Why don’t you tell me how this involves me, Detective?”

  “Call me Paul. I already call you Lydia.” He flipped his notebook open. “Hank’s daughter, Brianna Trow…name ring a bell?”

  Lydia knew exactly who she was. But the release Bauer gave her was signed by Hank, not Brianna. She had no authorization to speak freely about his daughter.

  The detective shifted his position and his jacket strained against broad shoulders. As well as he wore that suit, Lydia got the impression he was a man who was far more comfortable in a Saturday morning sweatshirt than formal business attire.

  “Let me refresh your memory. Brianna sees your associate, Dr. Zach Edwards.” He looked up at her and his eyes revealed flecks of ash floating in a stormy sea. “That would be the same fella who did Emma Sorens’s interview, am I right?”

  Lydia remained silent.

  “Now, old Hank comes to me with a story. All about how he loves his daughter, and the hard times she’s fallen upon…mostly due to her stomach problems and how she can’t hold a job due to the pain. Tells me he’s marched her from one doc to the next. They can’t find anything, so they ship her off to the specialists…the ones who handle head cases.”

  Lydia had heard the same story from Hank himself. She stayed calm and quiet on her side of the booth.

  “Hank has this theory that the medical establishment has abandoned his daughter, given her inability to pay. But somehow she ends up at your practice. Now”—he flipped a few pages in his notebook—“I’ve done my homework on you, Lydia. You are about as far from the budget-priced shrink as one can imagine. You got the rep. You got the awards. Doesn’t make any sense Hank would scoff at his daughter ending up at your joint.”

  Lydia didn’t react. She wanted to hear everything he had to say.

  “But Hank tells me Brianna isn’t seeing the great Dr. Lydia Corriger. She’s seeing her student. Of course, I already know all about your rookie, given our last conversation. So now I get why a person on medical assistance is seen at your place.”

  “I’m waiting to hear the reason you’re sitting here, Detective. If Hank is right, if his daughter is seeing Dr. Edwards, then you know I can’t say a thing.”

  Bauer’s nod was deep and slow. “Hank tells me his daughter wants nothing to do with him. All of a sudden. Cuts him right out of her life, and from the way he describes it, each of them is about all they have in the world. Why would she do that, I wonder. Then Hank clues me in. Says Brianna has suddenly remembered that Hank sexually abused her while she was a child. Says that Dr. Edwards has helped her recover memories that she buried a long time ago. Hank swears up and down he’s done no such thing.” He tapped his large hand on the Formica table. “And I gotta tell you, Lydia. I believe him. I’ve been at this game a long time. I’ve developed a nose for people. Like I’m sure you have.” He paused. “Do you get the impression Hank was capable of raping his daughter for years?”

  Lydia thought back to her brief meeting with the man. He’d been so distraught, arriving unannounced and demanding to see Zach. His story of raising his daughter alone following the death of his wife saddened her. But what Lydia knew, and what Detective Paul Bauer couldn’t know, was that she’d listened to every tape of every session Zach had with Brianna. Not once had the topic of childhood sexual abuse come up. She was as clueless as to what was behind Brianna’s allegations as Hank and Detective Bauer were, or for that matter, Zach Edwards. She decided to tread lightly.

  “I think you’re asking me to make a serious judgment based on limited information. To assess whether or not a man is capable of such a serious crime takes time. If you’re investigating Hank’s abuse of his daughter, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  Bauer’s smile gave no hint of warmth. “You’re mistaken, Lydia. I’m not investigating any charges against Hank. None have been filed. The man simply came to me wanting to tell his story and learn what his options are.”

  Her gut tightened in warning. “Then why are you here, Detective? What are you investigating?”

  Bauer reached across the table and pulled Lydia’s nearly melted bowl of ice cream toward him. He dug her spoon into it, pulled out a small scoop, and closed his eyes as he savored the taste. “God, I love this place. Shame to waste such good stuff.” He put the spoon down and locked his eyes on hers. “I’m not investigating anything, Lydia. I guess what I’m doing is satisfying a curiosity.”

  “About what?”

  “Like most cops, I’m always intrigued by coincidences. Here I am, in the middle of investigating the Kenton Walder case and Hank comes in to see me.”

  “What does one have to do with the other, Detective?”

  Bauer shrugged. “Two daughters screaming about daddy raping them. Two dads saying it never happened.”

  “I’m sure you’re aware of the high rate of denial in sexual-abuse cases. I’d hardly call that a coincidence.”

  Bauer nodded. “Maybe. But I got something else. I got a common thread. Both these girls were seen at your place, Lydia. Both by the same guy. Now that’s the coincidence I find intriguing.” He pulled himself out of the booth, straightened his jacket, and tossed a ten dollar bill on the table. “For the ice cream. Maybe next time we can finish a bowl together.”

  Chapter 39

  Lydia looked at the clock again. It was nearly midnight. Mort hadn’t called. He should have been back hours ago. Allie had been leaving him text messages every twenty minutes for the past two hours. She’d even called her brother in Denver to see if Mort might have checked in with him.

  He hadn’t.

  They’d gotten back around four clock. Lydia had hoped to have heard from Mort by then. She was eager to have her houseguests gone, and the arrest of Patrick Duncan was a major step toward that goal. Initially, Allie hadn’t seemed so eager to hear from her father. Lydia assumed she saw Duncan’s arrest as the evaporation of the last excuse keeping her from talking to the DEA. With Duncan in custody, Allie had no bargaining chip. Despite Mort’s promises to his daughter, Lydia knew Allie’s assessment was probably correct. It was highly likely charges would be filed against her. Aiding and abetting an international felon could cost Allie several years in a federal penitentiary. Obstruction of justice could add even more. Lydia understood when Allie wanted nothing more than to go to her room and wait for her father’s r
eturn.

  Lydia’s mind had been more focused on her interaction with Paul Bauer. Mort had told her Bauer had a reputation as a good cop. Her conversation with Bauer had left her rattled. He sensed something was wrong. He seemed like the kind of investigator who wouldn’t stop until he found it. So far, he had found nothing beyond her academic and professional record.

  She didn’t need him to go digging any deeper.

  When Allie closeted herself in the guest room, Lydia headed downstairs to her study. She listened again to the tapes of Zach’s sessions with Brianna Trow, this time with a keen ear for something, anything, that would suggest the young woman had given Zach any indication she’d experienced sexual abuse at the hands of her father.

  Lydia heard again Brianna’s complaints of stomach and digestive problems. She heard Zach respond. There he was, coming through Lydia’s headphones with explicit educational offerings outlining the various ways the body could physically react to emotional stressors. While Lydia heard Brianna balk at the suggestion that her ailments might have psychological origins, the young woman did agree to try Zach’s interventions. From there, for the next four sessions, Zach’s time with Brianna was nearly textbook. He explained ways Brianna could reduce her stress. He demonstrated relaxation techniques. Soon Brianna sounded like a woman on the mend. She was reporting fewer symptoms, her tone of voice became more enlivened, and she was able to discuss several activities she was looking forward to.

  Lydia heard nothing to suggest Brianna was reporting sexual abuse.

  Lydia took to her keyboard and ran the digitized recording of Zach’s sessions with Brianna through the converter. In less than twenty minutes, she had transcribed copies of each of Zach’s six meetings with Brianna. As one last check to assure herself all was well, Lydia had the program search the transcripts for the words Hank, father, dad, sex, and rape. Hank was identified only once, at intake when Zach asked the name of her parents. Father was identified four times and dad twice. Lydia read and reread those passages of the transcripts. Each reference Brianna made to Hank, whether she called him father or dad, was warm and loving. The words sex and rape resulted in no hits. The words had never come up in six sessions between Zach and Brianna.

  Still…Paul Bauer sensed something.

  Lydia came up from her study to find a frantic Allie pacing the living room. Only then did Lydia realize the time, and how unusual it was not to have heard from Mort. Lydia shifted into damage control. She offered Allie some dinner, only to be declined. Allie didn’t want to watch television, listen to music, play cards, or talk. All she wanted to do was obsess about what it might mean that her father hadn’t returned from what was supposed to have been an uneventful arrest at two thirty that afternoon. She did accept a glass of wine around eleven thirty. At 12:13, headlights appeared in Lydia’s driveway. Both women went to the kitchen window to watch a car approach through a steady downpour, and both let out an anxious exhale when Mort’s Honda came into view.

  Lydia opened the door. Mort walked in, not bothering to hurry his steps to get out of the rain. He said nothing to the two of them as he took off his raincoat. Lydia also kept quiet, surprised at the relief she felt at seeing him…safe and returned and hanging his wet jacket in her hall closet.

  “What happened?” Allie’s tone was a mixture of frenzy and irritation. “I’ve been waiting for hours. You have no idea what you’ve put me through.”

  Mort pointed to the wineglass Lydia held. “You got something stronger?”

  “Name it.”

  “Scotch would work. No ice.” He lumbered past her into the living room and sat on the sofa. Allie followed him.

  “Talk to me!” She stood over him with one hand on her hip. “What did Patrick say about me?”

  Mort accepted the tumbler of scotch Lydia offered and drained half the glass in one swallow. Lydia didn’t like the pallid tone of his skin or the defeated look in his eye.

  “He didn’t come.”

  Lydia was certain she’d misunderstood him. “What did you say?”

  Mort drained his scotch on his second swallow and set the empty glass on the side table. “Duncan didn’t show. He’s gone. I’ve spent the afternoon, evening, and half the night getting my ass chewed out by the DEA, FBI, Seattle narcotics, the chief…hell, I think even Daphne had a few choice words for me.” He slumped back. “Either that or one of the cleaning guys. It all became a blur of pointed fingers and mud after a while.”

  “Are they blaming me?” Allie’s voice was shrill. “You were with me when I called. He said he was coming. I did my part. What’s going to happen to me?”

  “Allie, stop it.” Lydia shot her a look that froze her in her spot. “Give your father some space.”

  “Don’t you see what this means?” Allie started pacing again. “If they don’t have Patrick, they’ll come after me. They’ll need a head on a platter, and if it’s not Patrick’s, they’ll take the next best thing.”

  “Allie, sit!” Lydia pointed to the chair across the room. “And shut up.” Lydia sat down next to Mort. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Mort stared straight ahead. His voice was that of a man running on fumes. “We were all there. Ready. The time came. The time went. A delivery boy walked up to my houseboat carrying a package. For his trouble, he got cuffed and scared shitless by a thundering posse of law-enforcement officers screaming at him with guns drawn. Poor kid. The only sign of Duncan was a note on the potted plant he sent me.” He turned to Lydia. “He knew. Duncan knew we were laying for him and decided to make a game of it.”

  They were all quiet for a while. Lydia had been there when Allie made the call to Patrick Duncan’s private number. She’d done what was asked of her. Patrick sounded eager to reunite with his lover and had promised to meet…complete with romantic vows and admissions of love. Allie had been nearly hysterical once she’d hung up. It had taken both Mort and Lydia hours to calm her. Since then, Allie had been with either Mort or Lydia every hour of the day. There was no way Allie had warned Patrick off.

  But someone had.

  “What are the theories?” Lydia asked.

  Mort shook his head slowly. “Not a clue. We got a read on the activity of the number Allie used to call Duncan. There have been no calls to it or from it since the one Allie made. Which leaves a very short list of people who knew about the call in the first place. The three of us, Jerry Gehrking and Rachel Sampson from the DEA, their immediate supervisor, and the chief of police. No one else had been briefed on what was going down until this morning.”

  “So now the investigation shifts to the names on that short list.” Lydia stared at him. “They’ll go looking to see who’s on Duncan’s payroll.” She reached out, placed her hand over Mort’s, and squeezed. “They’ll find out everything.” For a fleeting moment, the fear in Mort’s eyes matched hers.

  He patted her hand reassuringly. “There’s nothing to find out on this end.” Mort turned to his daughter and forced a smile Lydia knew was solely for Allie’s benefit. “You did your job well, sweetie. No one is suspecting you of tipping off Duncan. We’ve all listened to the tape of your call to him again and again. And I’ve convinced them that as long as Duncan’s out there you’re still not safe.” He turned back to Lydia. “Looks like we’ll be bunking in with you for a while longer.”

  Lydia nodded. “Of course. What’s next?”

  Mort got up off the sofa and crossed over to Allie. He took her hands in his, pulled her upright, and wrapped her in a bear hug.

  “Now we all go to bed.” He kissed his daughter’s cheek and watched her as she stormed down to her room without a word or backward glance. When her door was closed he turned to Lydia.

  “Keep your gun handy, Liddy. This isn’t going to end well.”

  Chapter 40

  It had been an endless night. Lydia made an attempt at sleep, but it was worthless. Patrick Duncan was still on the loose, and he knew Allie had set him up to be arrested. Every small sound warned Lydia th
at Duncan, or any number of his crew, might be out there. After a fruitless hour spent tossing in bed, she gave up, went into her kitchen, and found Mort sitting at the table staring out into the dark night. She started a pot of coffee, got out a deck of cards, and dealt the first hand of what would be a five-hour gin rummy marathon between two armed sentries.

  When the sky lightened behind low clouds, Lydia wasn’t surprised to find she wasn’t tired. The long night of caffeine and adrenaline left her energized. She’d experienced the phenomenon before. The Fixer had spent many sleepless nights surveying her target, needing to be alert the next morning. She left Mort to stand guard while she showered, and offered the same for him when she was finished. At eight o’clock, they were both dressed and ready to meet the day; the closed door to Allie’s room indicated she’d had no trouble putting the previous day behind her.

  “Go to work, Liddy.” Mort’s voice betrayed no sign of fatigue. “When she’s upset, she sleeps. She might be in there till noon. No sense both of us being bored.”

  Lydia wasn’t eager to leave him alone. “What about Duncan?”

  “He won’t come here. I wasn’t followed last night. As far as he knows, the cops have Allie in protective custody. If he knew this place, he would have made his move last night.”

  She wasn’t so sure. Two men, as yet unnamed and undiscovered, had found the place.

  “Go on,” Mort urged her. “Go to work. Stamp out some mental illness or whatever the hell it is you do.”

  She had left him reluctantly, but now, three hours into her morning, she was glad she had. There was nothing like a bustling psychology practice to refocus a person’s mind away from her own craziness. Phone calls from patients kept her busy for more than an hour. Back-to-back sessions with Tim Jenkins and Krystal Piekarski trained her mind on their issues and off hers.