Murder In New York
Chapter 6
09 August
Holiday Inn Midtown
0100The meeting was like many such meetings; three hours of bullshit, poor food and too many drinks yielding perhaps five minutes of suggestions to take back to their respective bosses.
Finally, it was time to go. Several of the men suggested that they adjourn to another bar and discuss possibilities some more, but she begged off and grabbed a cab before any of them could insist. That late at night was one of the few times that a cab ride was quicker than walking.
The lobby was deserted except for one security guard and the night clerk, who was on the phone. She pulled her key card from her purse and stepped into the elevator. She tried to sort out the evening in her head, but she couldn’t help but remember the elevator ride of this afternoon, AJ’s lips on hers, his body molded to hers. Just the thought of him sent a hum through her, driving the recent four-hour meeting from her mind. "I wonder if he’s still up there? Should I call him?" She sighed to the empty corridor as she made for her room. She slipped the key card in and out and then levered the door open. Her room was flooded with light from the open curtain, not from the light from the bathroom. She had left the one closed and the other on. Before she could reach for her gun his low rumble caressed, soothed and enflamed her. "About time you got back, Cassandra."
Silhouetted against the open window, slouched like a graceful cat in the one overstuffed chair in the room, he waited for her. One foot rested firmly on the floor; the other leg was outstretched. The lights from the city cast eerie, fleeting, almost sexual shadows across the room. She couldn’t even make out the gleam in his eye. The hungry gleam that his voice told her was there.
She could have demanded why he had broken in. But instead she came and stood before him. She looked across the city and knew that any number of perverts might conceivably have night binoculars trained on them. She had read the reports on the way military-grade spy equipment had already made their way into the private sector. She found herself turned on by the thought. Turned on even more than she already was. Both of them knew exactly where this was going.
Instead of answering his question she stepped back and reached behind her. Years of living alone had made her agile and she worked the zipper down her back and let the demure dress pool at her feel.
"Very sexy, Cassie. For whom did you wear it?"
"You." She gasped as his hand reached up and a finger trailed over her gossamer covered mound. "Wore it for you. Knew you would come."
The low chuckle tightened her nipples. "Sure of yourself, aren’t you, Agent Ryan?"
"Sure of you, Admiral Chegwidden." She moaned as he leaned forward and buried his face in the apex of her legs. She held his head, running her hands over his sweat dampened pate as he used the flat of his tongue to prove to himself just how much she had missed him; missed this. She cursed as he pushed her away from him to send her sprawling on the bed.
"Sure of me, Cassie?" His voice cut her like a whip across her belly, sending shock waves to her core. The sound of his belt being pulled off sent waves of desire through her.
"Please, AJ."
"Please what, Cassie?" He dragged the heavy leather across her sex, along her belly and around her breasts. She writhed underneath him. And a sure realization hit her. She hadn’t been a nun before she met AJ Chegwidden, but no one but he had really brought out her sensuality. Everything before had been just so much gymnastics. Already her breath was coming in soft painful bursts.
AJ played with her; watched her arch up into the belt caressing her. Making love to her was the biggest turn-on in his life. She was a playful lover but she willingly submitted to him. "Sit up Cassie." It was an order snapped out with all the command that JAG Corps personnel were used to. "Take off my pants."
She almost came from the growl. Inching forward, she rubbed her hand over the rough denim. He was so hard. Carefully, she freed him. As his pants pooled around his feet, she found further proof that he had planned this all along. Quickly, she glanced around his legs and saw his shoes and socks neatly lined up next to the chair. He stepped out of his jeans, running his fingers through the long braid until he worked her red-gold hair loose. He tried to pull her back up, but she struggled against him and pressed her lips and nose into his groin. One hand held his hip the other stroked his cock and then caressed his balls.
"Christ, Cassie!" He took a shuddering breath as she licked the head of his penis. Before she could engulf him though he regained his control and pulled her to his lips. The kiss was brutal and demanding and she opened to him. His tongue plundered her mouth and she fisted the material of his shirt. Frantically she tried to open it, but he pushed her back on the bed. "Lie there and wait for me." Numbly she nodded, doing nothing but stare at him.
"You don’t know how much I like looking at you naked, do you, AJ?" She sighed as he pulled the last article of clothing from his muscular body.
"No more than I like looking at you, darlin’." He covered her body with his and kissed her hard and long. When he moved lower she was gasping to take in enough air to stay conscious. He ripped the flimsy bra off her and she didn’t mind a bit that it had cost twenty dollars on the Victoria's Secret sale rack. His teeth tormenting her nipples forced all the air from her lungs again, and she saw stars as her orgasm took her. Tender kisses and his tongue soothed her and she settled down only to begin surging again at the sound of his whispered laugh. "Jesus, I love being able to do that to you."
Running her fingernails down his back she giggled. "I-I-I like that y-you can do this to me." That was her last complete sentence as he proceeded to reduce her to babbling entreaties. When his tongue parted her labia, she arched off the bed. Once soothing fingers now plunged into her core as she came yet again. Before she could come down from the white-hot high, he plunged into her, burying himself deep; filing her completely.
"God, how did I live without this, Cassie? I won’t do it again. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, yes, yes. Anything, oh please AJ, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeeeeeease," she cried as he hammered into her, bringing her yet again to the brink. Somehow she managed to find the strength to wrap her slender legs around him, holding him tight as he finally ground into her one last time.
Holding her, he rolled them until she lay on top of him, his cock deep inside of her.
She couldn’t get enough of him. She had missed him so much this past week, staying at work long past exhaustion, coming home so tired she should have fallen asleep immediately but just sitting by her window until the sun was already brightening the sky. "AJ?"
"Hmmmm." His hand slicked back her damp hair.
"We’ll work it out."
"I know darlin’."
"I mean everything. Webb…and my mother."
His laugh barely jostled her. "Even your mother, darlin, now go to sleep."
: :
09 August
1130 Hours
West 111th Street"This is ridiculous," Mary Perkins said to Cassie. "If I believed in such things I’d think little green aliens deposited him at his hotel, fully clothed."
Cassie scanned the street they were canvassing. "What a waste of three and half hours," she agreed. They were hot and sweaty even this early in the morning.
She and AJ had arrived moments apart at the meeting and only Harmon Rabb seemed to have any clue as to what had transpired the night before. Of course, AJ hadn’t bothered to go back to the apartment. He had used one of her disposable razors and the hotel brought up a disposable toothbrush. She was relieved when AJ himself suggested that he and Rabb partner for the canvas. "I doubt if anyone will notice, but if we run into any cops double checking the facts, then it will be natural for his defense attorneys to be doing the same."
"But you’re the lead on the case, ‘Mr.’ Chegwidden," one of the agents pointed out. AJ just shrugged.
Sarah MacKenzie burst into the room her breathing a little ragged. "Sorry. Traffic was so bad I jumped out of the cab and ran the last three blocks. I really want to know what’s going on, but Dr. Greenwood wants me there today. I-I keep him calm." Chegwidden readily agreed and they took a few extra minutes showing her the grid they had laid out.
"We are all armed with pictures of Palmer and Webb." Cassie chewed her lower lip. "It is imperative at this point that we keep as low a profile as possible. If any police stop you, wanting to know what you’re doing, you have your stories. What ever you do you MUST NOT show the police Webb’s picture. We don’t know how good a beat cop’s memory might be, but Webb’s picture has been all over the papers and will be again. Remember, you tell the citizens that you are private detectives working for the defense."
Since AJ and Rabb were already known there, they were given the quadrant anchored by the bar. They would work their way toward the other quadrants. Cassie thought it would take a solid three days to cover the entire area.
Now, only three hours later, Cassie was getting discouraged. Not one person had recognized Webb except – occasionally - as that cop killer. "I can’t figure out the sense in it all." She sighed. "Did you read the report?"
"Yes ma’am."
"Don’t ma’am me, Perkins. In fact, for all I care, Cassie is fine. Okay…Mary."
"Works for me. Now what about the report?"
"What kind of clothes did he have on?"
"Second-hand." Mary grinned when she saw what Cassie was staring at. "Sorta like what you would get at a Goodwill Store."
As they approached the storefront directly across street from where they had been standing, Cassie said a silent prayer. «Please just a little break.»
"Oh, of course I recognize Mr. Palmer. I can’t believe he could do such a thing. He was such a nice man; so polite. Not at all like some of the poor souls that come in here. I understand the circumstances that make men destitute make them coarse, but I could tell that Mr. Palmer had come from better stock." Cassie and Mary stood in awe of the little bundle of energy before them. Cassie was immediately reminded of Mrs. Fergesen from the village just outside her stepfather’s property - sweet, kind-hearted and nosier than a three-month old puppy. There was nothing that Cassie could do while spending her college-years summers at Adair House that Mrs. Fergesen didn’t know about. There was no one who listened to her woes with more kindness.
"So when did he come in here, Mrs. O’Toole?" Mary firmly tried to quash the testimonial.
"Oh, several times, dear; usually to buy a clean shirt. We make sure all our clothes are very clean, well, as clean as they can be. We don’t get out stains and…"
"When was the first time you remember seeing him, ma’am?" Cassie asked.
"Hmmmm. Let me see." Mrs. O’Toole began to pace back and forth, straightening clothes, humming to herself. Perkins started to say something to focus the woman back to them, but Ryan touched Mary’s arm and shook her head. ‘Wait’ she mouthed. "Oh, of course!" Mrs. O’Toole smiled triumphantly. "July 17th."
"Just like that?" Perkins exclaimed.
Cassie took over. "Why do you remember the exact date ma’am?" She wasn’t really sure she wanted to know.
"Well, you see we had just received a new shipment. We always get our shipments in on Wednesdays. And I remember that Miss Helen – she’s the fortuneteller down the street, not that I believe in such nonsense, but she’s a very nice lady – well, Miss Helen came in and had her hair done in corn rows, you know what those are?"
"Yes, ma’am." Cassie managed not to grit her teeth. Her glare warned her partner not to either.
"Well Miss Helen only has her hair done up in corn rows after the fourth of July but she couldn’t have had them done before the 17th because she was still in jail." Mrs. O’Toole smiled brightly and neither woman had the guts to challenge her on her reasoning.
"So what do you remember about Mr. Palmer?" Cassie wondered if it would be worth the time and knowing it probably would be.
"Well he seemed awfully confused. Like he just woke up."
"Was he nervous or jumpy?" Mary asked.
"Do you mean, ‘did he look like a junkie?’"
«Well, well, well. Mrs. O’Toole, you seem to know the sort of people you deal with everyday.» Cassie held the little woman’s gaze. "Yes, ma’am."
"No. Not really. He seemed confused and tired and even scared."
"What did he buy?" Said Cassie.
"Oh, you mean besides the shoes?"
"Shoes? What was wrong with his shoes?"
"He wasn’t wearing any."
"What?"
"No, poor dear. At first I thought he was a drunk who got rolled. You know that happens all the time up here, but he didn’t smell like he was a drunk. You know what I mean?"
"Yes ma’am." Cassie was looking quite pleased. If the cops on this beat had any sense they should definitely cultivate Mrs. O’Toole. "Did he say anything?"
"Oh, he was very nice. And thanked me profusely for suggesting he buy a clean shirt and socks. He came back the next day and bought slacks and another pair of shoes and another shirt too."
"Ma’am?" Mary was looking through the metal gate-covered windows. "I don’t suppose you saw from which direction he came? I mean before he entered the store, the first time."
"From the east," Mrs. O’Toole said with certainty.
"And you remember this, why?" Mary asked before Cassie could stop her.
"Well, you see out that window."
"Yes ma’am."
"It was sunny that day. In the afternoon, when he stopped in - I know it was the afternoon because the delivery doesn’t get here until noonish and I was almost done unpacking everything so it had to be the afternoon. Anyway the sun is blinding that time of day and I wouldn’t have seen him at all if he came from the West and I remember thinking he would stop in and…"
"Mrs. O’Toole. We believe you. You don’t ever remember seeing Mr. Palmer before that day." Cassie sighed. They would have to backtrack and question people more closely. "Come on, Perkins." She turned, muttering, "Now all we have to do is find out where he went next."
"Oh, I’m sure it was to the Amboy Arms." Mrs. O’Toole supplied.
"Excuse me?" Cassie spun around.
"You said you had to find out where he went next. He asked me where he could find a nice cheap room. Well I knew he couldn’t have much money so I suggested the Amboy Arms. It’s a flophouse three blocks to the West. Not very nice, I’m afraid, but I didn’t think he had too much money. I read in the papers that he was staying at the Viscount. That’s a little bit better. I understand they have better locks on the doors there."
"Mrs. O’Toole, you’re a gem." Cassie pulled out her card case and handed the woman her card. "If you ever need any help, ma’am, call me. I owe you big time. Come on, Perkins." She hurried out the door, reaching for her cell phone as she did.
"Wait a minute." Mary called. They hadn’t shown Mrs. O’Toole the picture of the real Palmer as yet. "Ma’am, how about this guy? You ever see him?"
Mrs. O’Toole studied the picture and her forehead scrunched up in thought. "Oh dear, yes."
"WHAT!" Mary tried to keep her voice calm, but even Cassie came back quickly at her shout.
"AJ, hold on a minute." She held the phone down at her side and demanded. "What happened?"
"Mrs. O’Toole remembers Pal…I mean this guy too," Perkins said excitedly.
"Here? This man was here too?"
Mrs. O’Toole, still holding the picture began to pace again. Both women could see the effort the old woman was putting into her recollection. "Where was it? Oh dear, oh dear." She walked all the way to the front of the store and stared out the window. Both women clearly saw the sigh that relaxed her body. "Of course. It was such a long time ago though. Before the Fourth of July. No, longer than that even. It was over on 99th Street. We have another store there and I was taking some paperwork to the manager there. Tamara Scott, she’s the manager, asked me to take a bag of canned goods back with me. The food pantry is just two blocks from here. It was a heavy bag and I was struggling with my coat – it was raining that day – I was coming out the door and wasn’t watching where I was going." She turned to look at the two agents and smiled ruefully. "I almost knocked him into the street. He could have been killed, a truck was speeding down the street." She frowned. "He was very sweet about it though. Helped me pick up all the cans, even went and got me two shopping bags from the grocery next to the store. I remember him very clearly. I mean, who could forget ears like that."
"AJ! We’ve got something." Cassie shouted eagerly into the phone. "Have you got anything?"
AJ stared at the phone in surprise. He and Rabb had steadily worked their way around the block that The Lucky Chance was on. They had gathered very little information. Few people admitted having seen Webb. The ones who did insisted they had only noticed the ‘white guy’ walking down the street toward the bar, always coming from the same direction. They even talked to the bus driver who stopped at the corner. "No man. I noticed him sometimes walkin’ but he never rode the bus." AJ calculated that Webb was walking about a mile each way. Considering that he probably left the bar around 2:00 am every morning it was a real wonder he had never been mugged. But other than that, no could say anything about Webb’s actions or movements. Rabb suggested that they would need to return at 0200 hours.
"We probably meet a whole different sort at that time, si…AJ."
"Yeah."
Excited that they might actually have a lead somewhere, AJ demanded, "What have you got? Should we meet you?"
He listened carefully and made a note on the small tablet that until this moment had been completely blank. "Got it. We’ll meet you there. What about the other agents?"
He hung up the phone and hurried to the car the FBI had provided them. Rabb quickly hopped into the passenger seat and waited for the explanation. "Cassie says she found an old lady who not only saw Webb but Palmer too."
"Damn! Is the old lady in danger, you think?"
"Doubtful, but Cassie will know better."
"Where are we going?"
"A coffee shop on 111th Street."
"What else?"
"I don’t know, Rabb. Let’s wait till we see Cassie. Call the office though. Check in with Harriet."
"Sure, si…" At AJ’s quick glare, Rabb grinned sheepishly. "Sorry…AJ."
The connection was fine and he was quickly connected with Harriet Sims. He listened carefully made a few notes and fewer comments. Then he listened some more. "What? When?" He looked quickly at his CO. "Harriet, you want to talk to him?" AJ looked away from traffic for just a moment and saw the confused look on Rabb’s face. "No. Okay, I guess. Gee, Harriet, I don’t know. Damn it, let me ask him."
AJ had just stopped at a light. He turned to Rabb and demanded, "What?"
"Sir, AJ, I don’t, oh for Pete’s sake." Rabb spoke back into the phone. "Look, Harriet, call him on his cell, tell him to go to the apartment. It will take him a minimum of four hours to drive it. No, I’ll tell him and you should warn Gunny he’ll likely be getting an irate call. Yeah, give him my number and the Admiral’s. Jeez. Sure Harriet, yeah, as soon as he parks…" His conversation was interrupted by the angry blare of several horns behind them. He looked at AJ. Damn he hated seeing that look. "Uhm…sir."
AJ sighed and took his foot off the brake.
Harm returned to Harriet. "Man, I don’t want to be in Gunny’s shoes."
Harm hung up and AJ drove several more blocks. Finally, he gritted out, "Tell me. Which Gunny? We have a new Gunny?"
"Uhm…si…AJ, we’re almost there right. I mean isn’t that it right there?"
AJ saw the garish sign announcing Kareem’s Koffee and found a parking place three doors down. Before the engine was off, Rabb was out of the car. AJ locked the car and stepped right up into Rabb’s personal space. "Tell me."
"Yes, sir. Inside, okay?"
"Why, you think I won’t explode inside?"
Rabb backed away and whispered. "Hope not, sir." Before AJ could say anything else, Rabb quickly led the way into the restaurant. He was thrilled to see the two women sitting in the back booth.
Cassie started to say something, but her excitement dimmed considerably at the look on AJ’s face. "What’s wrong?"
Perkins moved over and Rabb quickly sat next to her. Cassie and AJ did the same. A waitress came up and Cassie quickly ordered. "Just more coffee."
Sensing the tension, the woman scurried away.
AJ leaned back and studied Rabb and waited.
Looking around, Rabb leaned forward. "Well first of all, Gunnery Sergeant Galindez is home on leave. He stopped in this morning to say hello to Harriet. Evidently Bud was going into the office and insisted that Gunny come with him and meet all the new people." Rabb took a quick drink of his coffee, earning himself a low impatient growl from his CO. "At 1100 hours, Francesca came storming into JAG ops demanding to know where you were. She was really upset. Turner tried to calm her down; Harriet tried too. Finally, Gunny pulled her into your office. The next thing anyone knew Francesca was running out of the office, Gunny close behind her. Harriet said he had a really angry look on his face. Harriet said Turner stopped him and asked what was going on. According to Harriet, Gunny told Turner that Francesca was really scared about something and she had to talk to you and when she found out that you were in New York, she decided to drive up here."
"WHAT!" AJ and Cassie cried together. Mary Perkins just looked confused.
"What the hell is wrong? Why didn’t she just try and call me. Damn it!" AJ stood up and grabbed his phone out of his pocket. He started to stalk outside, but just as he reached the door the cloudburst that had been threatening all day suddenly poured down. Muttering his curses, he returned to the table.
"AJ, for goodness sakes, just make the call. It’s not like you can sit at another table." All the other booths were filled with people, most of them staring at the very angry man glaring at no one in particular.
AJ took a shuddering breath and met Rabb’s fearful gaze. "No. Not here. There’s nothing I can do anyway." He waited while the waitress refilled the cups, ignored her look and then took a careful sip. "What have you got, Cassie?"
Chapter 7
9 August
New Jersey Turnpike
1530 HoursGunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez spared a moment to glance away from the heavy traffic to look at the very upset woman beside him. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. He never did anything impulsive. Even his return to combat status had been a well thought out, though emotional, choice on his part.
He had only met Francesca a few times when she had stopped in at JAG ops to see her father. If he remembered correctly, the last time had been right after he had returned to duty after his long recovery from the knife wound inflicted on him why he was in jail during the investigation of the murder of Sherilee Cloud. Even though the meeting had been short, he had dreamed about Francesca’s incredible brown eyes. Now they either sparked with anger or filled with tears. "Miss Paretti, Francesca, please just tell me why you think your mother is in danger?"
Francesca sniffled and stared out the window. "I told you, Victor, men. Men have been following her, questioning her friends, questioning my friends, and then, poor Tony was beaten very badly."
"Who’s this Tony?" Victor asked gently. He had no idea why he had insisted that he come with her. It had been sheer serendipity that he had been at JAG ops at all. He had just stopped by to say hello to Lieutenant Simms and some of the other people he used to know. He was on furlough and not scheduled to return to Afghanistan for two more weeks.
"He was my boyfriend. Not any longer, you understand. Tony was not a very nice man really. He had a very loud temper. But they beat him very badly."
The cell phone lying on the dash, the cell phone that he had wanted desperately to turn off or toss out the window, finally bleated. He doubted seriously that it was Lieutenant Simms checking on them. "Galindez."
Even through the static he could hear the angry breathing, could sense the effort that it was taking the Admiral to maintain his control. Gunny was rather surprised by the soft, "Is she okay?"
He gulped, looked at Francesca and then with more calm than he felt, answered his former CO. "She’s much calmer now, sir."
"Why is she upset!" AJ felt his control slipping away. He was sitting in the parked car, the humidity finally abated a little, but he had closed the windows in case he felt the need to bellow, not that he ever did. He saw Cassie, Mary Perkins and Rabb standing together, not talking; looking everywhere but at the rental car.
"Sir, something about her mother being followed and her friends being questioned. I really can’t get much more and I don’t suggest you try over the phone. She…she, oh hell, sir, she starts crying…"
AJ heard the gasp and the muttering and finally his daughter’s voice. "Papa!"
"Francesca. Honey, what’s…"
"Papa, I’m so afraid. I don’t understand it. Mama doesn’t understand it. But she thinks you can fix it, Papa. That’s why I was driving to New York."
"Francesca, I’m in the middle of something right now, I don’t know what I can fix from New York."
"Papa, you have to talk to Mama."
"Fine, Francesca. I’ll call her as soon as I get back to the hotel."
"You can’t, Papa."
"Why!" The anger and frustration was very evident in his voice and obviously on his face because a shadow fell across the car and when he looked up she saw Cassie staring in at him, her concern and fear evident.
"Papa, Mama knows you’re in New York. I don’t know how she found out, she wouldn’t tell me, but she is flying into Kennedy. She will be there at five o’clock. Victor says he knows how to get there and how to…to…" She looked over at Victor for help.
He reached out and took the phone. "Sir, I’ll get her there and pick up Mrs. Paretti. What do you want us to do then?"
AJ threw back his head, trying to think. "Take down this address." After he listened to Victor slowing repeating the information to Francesca he softly continued. "Gunny."
"Yes, sir?"
"I want you to know I appreciate this. I have no idea what’s going on but…"
"Don’t worry about it, Admiral. I…I owe you one. More than one, sir."
"Do I need to call your CO or anything?"
"No, sir. I’m on two-week furlough. Just happened to be there. It’s no problem at all."
"I still appreciate, son." AJ signed off and opened the car door.
"AJ?" Cassie kept her voice cool and calming.
"I don’t know, Cassie. Something happened to Marcella that she thinks I can fix."
"What?"
"Cassie, I don’t know. She’s flying in tonight. Francesca and Gunny will pick her up at the airport and bring her to the apartment. I need to find some place for them to stay. The apartment isn’t small but…"
"I’m on it." Cassie walked away from them, already dialing her cell phone.
"Sir?"
"Later, Rabb. We need to backtrack over where Cassie and Perkins went this morning."
"I think that we have a good chance of finding an ‘afternoon’ person that might have seen him," Mary said.
"Let’s hope," AJ sighed.
Cassie walked up. "I found two connecting rooms, and one down the hall, at my hotel. They’re confirmed, so it doesn’t matter what time they show up. Are you going to the airport?"
"No. I’ll meet them at the hotel. I’m sure Gunny will call when they get in." He took a deep breath. "Come on, you guys take that side of the street, we’ll take this side."
: :
Havenhurst Hospital
1600 HoursMac knew that Doctor Greenwood felt it was a breakthrough of sorts. All Sarah wanted to do was lash out at all of them and spirit Clay away from the office, the hospital, the whole damn city. She sat on the floor rocking Clay, trying to calm him. Soothing words did little; he tried to jerk away from her touch.
Greenwood took a step toward them. "Just stay away from him, you bastard!" She was shaking with rage. Greenwood had hammered at Clay since early that morning, demanding that he remember what had been done to him. He had started out gently. Talking about the club and Ada. Clay had been happy enough to tell how much Ada Marshall had helped him. Letting him play for her, getting him dope to keep him calm, making sure he wore clean clothes.
Mac fought to keep her emotions under control. She vowed silently to have a very long talk with Miss Ada Marshall this very evening. Harm had said the singer hadn’t been seen in a couple of days but that they were checking out several sources.
After several hours slowly working backward, Clay began to get more and more tense. Dr. Greenwood had given him Valium to help him sleep and function, but she could see the need for the drugs was making him more and more nervous. She hated to suggest it, but finally, just before lunch she pulled the doctor aside. "Can’t you give him something? Methadone? I don’t know. Something?"
"No, Colonel. Actually, he’s doing pretty good. I wonder how much Carter cut the heroin he was selling to Webb. The terrible withdrawal symptoms don’t usually start right away. It’s not like you see on television and movies. But he’s less jumpy that I expected. I think we will break for lunch and let him play a bit before starting again."
"Can’t we break for the day?" she started, but then sighed, "No, you’re right. We have to do this."
They actually had a pleasant lunch. She filled him in on all the happenings at JAG. She told him about the one and only ‘vacation’ that they had taken together. "Remember Clay? We went out to the beach and opened the cottage. Your mo…your cottage in Hyannis Port." Just in time, she kept from mentioning his mother. The doctor wanted to wait on that for a bit. Clay just smiled and nodded and began to look longingly around the room. She led him down to the piano. Today the pleasant room held several other patients sitting around with orderlies or family members. He sat there for nearly an hour playing several classical numbers, most of which Mac couldn’t identify. It calmed him until Frank, his daytime orderly, came and led them back to Greenwood’s office.
That’s when everything went to hell. They had worked their way back to when he had arrived at Viscount hotel, but everything after – or before – that made Clay more and more edgy. He admitted to staying ‘somewhere’ else but couldn’t or wouldn’t remember exactly where. He shook as he told them of a man attacking him and having to fight him off. He told them he had bought clothes and he spoke about the nice lady at the store, but, again, he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell them exactly where.
"Mr. Webb, what were you wearing?"
"When?" He barely flinched at the mention of his name, but they could see he still didn’t like it. Pain seemed to skitter across his face each time one of them said it.
"When you bought clothes the first time? Why did you have to buy clothes?" Greenwood waited.
Webb struggled, trying to help. She had told him it was necessary, that it was important, but… "Hurts. Hurts to think. Don’t want to think about it. Please, can I play the piano?" He knew better than to ask for the dope.
"Clay. Baby, please, try." She soothed. He looked into her eyes and tried hard to understand why she was helping him, touching him. It felt good when she touched him. "Please tell us what you were wearing when you bought your other clothes."
He took several deep breaths just like the doctor had shown him this morning. It helped a little. Her hand in his helped more. "I-I-pants."
"What kind of pants?" Greenwood demanded.
Webb shrugged. "Just pants."
"Like these?" Greenwood stood up and crossed to stand in front of Webb. He took Webb’s hand and had him feel the worsted wool of his suit. "Like these?" He put Webb’s hand on his own thigh to touch the khaki material. "Or, like these?" Greenwood ran Webb’s hand up Mac’s jeans covered leg. "Which one."
Clay was shaking so hard that Mac thought he was going to lose it. "No!" he shouted. "No, no, no!"
"What kind, Mr. Webb?" Greenwood gripped him by the shoulders.
"No. His…his…they were his…I…took them. I took them, I took them." With each admission he grew more and more upset, his voice rising to a scream and Mac had finally pushed Greenwood out of the way and embraced Clay letting him sob into her shoulder. She could feel the muscles in his shoulders and back knot and knot again. She feared he was going to go into convulsions, but all he did was pull her to the ground and continued to cry.
Greenwood stood over them and softly said, "Colonel, I know it hurts you to see him in pain, but he just admitted he was with Palmer. We need to go on."
"No," she whispered, already knowing they would have to. Kissing the sweat-soaked hair she forced Clay to look at her. "I’m so proud of you, Clay. You remembered something. That’s really good."
Her soft voice barely reached him, but he calmed somewhat and fought for control. Somewhere deep inside him he remembered being in control once. A flash of memory of a cold grey metal corridor, a snide remark made to cover the wound of some man’s accusation. «'How do you sleep at night?' 'On my right side.'» It hadn’t been her. Someone else had said it. Who? He tried hard to calm down and finally they were able to help him back into the chair.
"Very good, Mr. Webb." Doctor Greenwood went and sat back behind his desk.
"Why do you keep on calling me that? Is that really my name?" Webb asked dejectedly.
"Of course it’s your name, Clay," Mac soothed.
"Clayton Webb is a very bad man." He looked at her, needing to know.
"Clay!" Mac started but Greenwood stopped her and leaned forward, clasping his hands on top of his desk.
"Why do you say Clayton Webb is a very bad man?"
Clay sighed, sorry he had asked the question. He looked around the room. He studied the artwork on the walls. "Is that a real Monet?"
"Why, yes, it is, Mr. Webb. A minor work, but a cherished gift from a friend." From the way he said it Sarah knew that Clay was the man who had given him the painting. "Why do you think Clayton Webb is a very bad man?"
"I don’t." Clay tried another track. Maybe they would just leave him alone.
"Why do you think Clayton Webb is a very bad man?" Greenwood repeated.
Webb snarled and stood, his fists braced on the desk, he leaned forward toward Greenwood, who just sat there calmly. "Because, damn you. Clayton Webb kills people - lots and lots of people. He blows them up. He puts bombs in their houses and he shoots women."
Mac sat there stunned waiting for what Greenwood would do. She was rather surprised when Greenwood nodded. "Sit down, Mr. Webb." She tugged at his arm until Webb settled back into the leather chair. Then he sat there, head bowed, ignoring them all. Mac saw Greenwood open his top drawer and take out a folder. "According your personnel file, Mr. Webb, you have killed exactly ten people in your career – seven of them in Afghanistan. You ran operations in which a total of 35 people died. Would you like the details?"
"No," Webb whimpered and clutched the arms of the chair. "Please, don’t"
"No. I think you need to hear this." Greenwood picked up a paper. "In 1993 you ran an operation in Almaty. You were given the assignment of getting a scientist and his family out of Kazakhstan. Six people, all ex-KGB operatives – all intent on killing you, your team and the professor, his wife and their three small children – died. Tell me, Mr. Webb do you think Professor Petrovic and his family thinks you are a bad man?"
Greenwood waited to let the information sink in. He really didn’t expect much. He thought he knew what course of torture had been perpetrated upon Clayton Webb. It would have been highly effective, if the program had time to be carried out properly. However, from what he and Moriki had researched, most successful regiments of this type of brainwashing took a much longer time than Palmer had held Webb. Greenwood needed to get Webb to open up to how he came to be in possession of Palmer’s pants. If indeed, the ‘he’ Webb referred to was Palmer. He could see that Webb had processed the information that he had given him about Petrovic and he accepted that, for now, the information meant as much to Webb as it did to MacKenzie, information that had no immediately relevancy. He might believe the information but he didn’t remember it. Until they had a true revelation, until Webb could remember some fact about himself, it was all just so much data waiting to be remembered.
He picked up another piece of paper. "I understand you remember killing Teresa Marcello?" He didn’t wait for confirmation. "You also killed another kidnapper that day. Do you remember why you killed Marcello?"
Clay just shook his head violently.
"Do you remember who Timothy Fawkes is, Mr. Webb?"
Again Clay just shook his head.
"Well I think that will be all for tonight Mr. Webb, but think about the Petrovics and think about Timothy Fawkes, Mr. Webb. Had you not killed those two Italian TERRORISTS, Mr. Webb, the man you think of as a mentor and perhaps as a surrogate father, would be dead now. I know it hurts you to think, but you must. Go back to your room. Dinner will be at 7:00 tonight. You may play the piano before retiring."
"Now. I want to play it now, please."
"No. Mr. Webb, I want you to think about what we have talked about. No one here will hurt you." He sighed. "No one will show you bad pictures and make you see things you don’t want to, but you must think about what we’ve talked about today. Frank, take Mr. Webb back to his room, and see that he gets a shower and fresh clothes. I think you should dress up for dinner tonight, Mr. Webb. Colonel MacKenzie will wear a nice dress. A moment, Colonel." He stopped her as she started to follow Clay and Frank from the room.
He held up his hand stalling her questions. Picking up a phone he punched a button and murmured. "Send her in as soon as Webb is in his room." Mac paced back and forth until they heard a quick tap on the door. When it opened Mac stood and waited until Porter walked up to her and embraced her tightly before breaking down for her own cry.
The two women hugged each other for a bit before settling down into the chairs in front of Greenwood’s desk. While Sarah composed herself, Greenwood quickly ran down the day’s progress with Clay’s mother. Porter merely nodded but Sarah demanded. "What you told him, the cases, was that the truth?"
"Yes. It will do no good to lie to him, and I hope you realize that what you heard was classified and not to be…" He stopped as she dismissively waved her hand at him.
"Do you…do you think it went well today?" Porter whispered.
"Yes, we didn’t have to restrain him. He seems to be maintaining control much better than I expected. "I think we need to wait a little longer before re-introducing you into the picture, Mrs. Webb."
"Of course, doctor. Is there anything I can retrieve from home that might help?"
Greenwood considered it. "Yes. I think a favorite object or two might be of help. Do you want to send for it or will you get it yourself."
Porter considered the question then smiled sadly. "Thank you, Dr. Greenwood. Most people wouldn’t recognize your motives. But then most people would be insulted. I, however, am grateful."
"Indeed Mrs. Webb, for what?" Greenwood shyly asked.
"Come now, doctor. I have little to do here but pace. This will give me a chance to feel I am really helping and will get me out of your hair."
"You haven’t been in my hair, Mrs. Webb. As far as I know…" His voice trailed off at her smile. "Regardless, the objects you are referring to will be helpful and by going in person and actually searching your house for the perfect memento you are apt to find something that you don’t even realize exists now."
"Of course, doctor. I will catch the next shuttle out. However, I will not return until I have found that perfect catalyst to my son’s memory." She rose and took Sarah’s hands in hers. "I know you are good for him, Sarah. I know this is hard for you. But keep this thought close to your heart. At least he can stand to be in the same room with you." She quickly left, knowing that both people knew she was crying.
Sarah fought her own tears. "This is killing her."
"Yes, and we must do everything that we can to offset the indoctrination techniques used by Mr. Palmer." For the first time since meeting him, Sarah saw emotion and anger flash across Doctor Greenwood’s face. He picked up a pen and studied the folder in front of him. Chewing his lip he regained control and said, "You know, he really is doing better than I expected. The Valium seems to be doing the job. In fact…I want to check on something."
"What?"
"Didn’t the report say that when he was arrested, they found two nickel bags of heroin on him?"
"Yes, that was in the charge papers yesterday."
"I want to know how potent the heroin was."
"I’m sure that the bags are in the evidence room. I’ll get the information."
"Thank you." Greenwood started to straighten his papers.
"By the way," Mac asked, "why are we dressing up?"
Greenwood just shrugged. "His mother suggested it. Tell me what you think. When you think of Clayton Webb, the man, not just as your lover, what’s the first image that comes to mind?"
Mac pursed her lips and nodded. "A year ago, my answer would have been three-piece suits with a power tie and a trench coat. Okay, doctor, we’ll try it. I just wonder if he’s going to freak, or want to sleep in it."
"We’ll see soon, Colonel."