The Burnt Island Burial Ground Part 13

Lindsay heard the squish-squish of soft-soled shoes on linoleum and a few seconds later Anna's face appeared around the curtain. "Jesus, Linds. You scared the c.r.a.p out of everybody," she said.

"What happened?" Lindsay murmured. Her own quiet voice sounded almost deafeningly loud in her brain.

Anna wrote something down on Lindsay's chart and then perched herself on the edge of the bed. "Have you ever heard of Rohypnol?"

"I don't think so."

"Roofies? That's what Rohypnol is-also known as the date rape drug."

"What?!" Lindsay said. The shock of Anna's statement made her sit up, a reaction she immediately regretted. Woozy lines crisscrossed her vision, and a wave of nausea overtook her. As she lay back and recovered, it slowly began to dawn on her just how little she really knew about her charming dinner companion.

"That's what we found in your system," Anna said. "When they brought you in, I honestly thought you were having a stroke. You were slurring and disoriented and didn't have motor control. But that wasn't it. Somebody slipped you the proverbial Mickey. Who the h.e.l.l was that guy you were you with, anyway? The dreamboat who rode with you in the ambulance? Did you hire an escort service or something? There's no way that guy lives in Mount Moriah. I'd have noticed."

"What would you have noticed?" Warren asked.

Lindsay and Anna both jumped. Somehow, Warren Satterwhite was suddenly standing at Lindsay's beside, seeming to have materialized out of nowhere.

"Warren!" Lindsay said. Again, her own voice seemed impossibly loud to her.

Although there was concern in his eyes, there was a hard set to his jaw that immediately let her know he was in full police mode. Standing beside him was Officer Freeland Vickers, a pudgy, chinless lump of a man whose eyes held a perpetual gleam of good humor.

"Hi, Warren. Hi, Vickers," Anna said. "I was just bringing the patient here up to speed on the past few hours of activity."

"What's going on?" Lindsay asked. "Did something happen?"

"What happened to you was a crime, and we're lookin' into it," Vickers explained. "Drugging somebody is a.s.sault. Rohypnol is a controlled substance."

"Is she up to answering some questions?" Warren asked Anna.

Anna looked at Lindsay. "Are you?"

Lindsay tried not to show how upset she was at Warren's aloofness.

"Do you have to be the one who asks the questions?" Lindsay asked him. "Isn't there some kind of law against investigating somebody you're involved with? Um, or were involved with?" Having been drugged was bad enough, but the prospect of telling Warren all the details of her "non-date" with Adam was a million times worse.

"There's no law against it, no. If we prosecute, it would come up at trial, but only if it can be shown to have interfered with the investigation. Anyway, there isn't much choice. Summerhays is on vacation," he said, referring to the chief of the New Albany force. "And Prendergrast's kid broke his leg pretty bad playing football yesterday. They're upstairs right now. Vickers can do it instead, if you want. That's why he's here. Or I can get somebody from the Mount Moriah force, though none of them are detectives."

"Fine," Lindsay said miserably.

"I know it's uncomfortable," Warren said, "but given that this may relate to the Swoopes investigation, I'd prefer to do it personally."

The mention of Swoopes' potential involvement cleared some of the cobwebs from Lindsay's head. She realized that even if she could avoid talking to Warren directly, sooner or later he'd listen to the recording of her interview and hear everything she said. "Is it okay if Anna stays?" she asked. She was suddenly fearful of being left alone with Warren and Vickers. She felt like she herself was the criminal, rather than the victim.

Warren nodded and took out a digital recorder. "Please state your name."

"Lindsay Sarabelle Harding."

"Now please tell me everything you know about Adam Tyrell. Like when and where did you first meet him?"

"That day when I needed my tire changed," Lindsay said.

Warren's eyes narrowed, his professional demeanor giving way briefly to a jilted boyfriend's jealousy and hurt. "That was the guy?! You never told me that you saw him again after that. How long was this going on? Were you seeing him while we were together?"

Vickers loudly cleared his throat. "Let's start the recording again," he said, gesturing to the recording device. "I don't think it picked the sound up right that time."

Warren snapped himself back into detective mode and began the interrogation again. This time, his emotions remained firmly in check.

After Lindsay finished recounting the story, she felt more foolish than ever. How could she have let her guard down? How could she have allowed herself to be alone and vulnerable with a stranger she barely knew? Worst of all, however, even though she glossed over the details, she could see the pain register in Warren's eyes as she related her encounters with Adam.

When she was at last finished, she said, "I wish I could help more, but it's all so hazy. I don't remember anything after the car stopped." She was suddenly seized by a deep terror. She turned to Anna and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Did anything, you know, happen? When I was blacked out?" Her words hung heavy with the unspoken implication.

Anna took hold of her hand. "No. I did an exam."

Lindsay let out the breath she'd been holding. "Where's Adam now? Did you bring him in for questioning?"

A look pa.s.sed between Anna, Vickers, and Warren.

"He's gone," Anna said. "He came in with you and he seemed really concerned. In fact, he was the one who called 9-1-1 in the first place. He said you'd had too much to drink. The attending physician was just going to pump your stomach and leave you to dry out overnight. It was Jesper," Anna said, rolling her eyes at the mention of her ineffectual colleague's name. "That woman would happily put a Band Aid over somebody's broken leg if it saved her time and effort. Anyway, I happened to look at the board on my way out and saw your name. I couldn't believe you'd just had too much to drink. I've seen you drunk," Anna smiled. "And this was different. Unfortunately, one of the idiot interns thought Adam was your boyfriend and told him we were running a tox screen on you and the cops were on their way to question him. Next thing you know, he disappeared."

Lindsay shook her head. "I know you're going to think this is crazy, but is there any chance Adam didn't do it? Why would he go through all the trouble of drugging me, but then not do...whatever he was planning to do? He had me alone in the car. The roads between Mount Moriah and New Albany are pretty deserted on Sunday nights. If he was going to attack me, he could've done it then."

"Maybe he chickened out," Vickers offered. "You looked real sick when we first got here. Maybe he overdid the dose, thought you were gonna die, and got scared."

"What about his mother? She may still be upstairs recovering from her surgery. Maybe she knows something," Lindsay said. She dropped her head into her hands. "Oh G.o.d. What if there isn't a mother?! I never even checked to make sure she was real."

Vickers patted her shoulder. "Don't feel bad, Miss Lindsay. You're not the first person who got her head turned by a smooth talker with a pretty face."

Warren shot him an ice-cold look. "Anna, can you check the records to see if there were any patients named Valerie admitted for GI surgery?"

Anna shook her head. "'Fraid I can't. Only the administrators and medical records staff can do system-wide searches like that. We only have access to our own patients' records unless we get special system permissions. It's to protect patient confidentiality."

Warren turned to Vickers. "Go down to Medical Records. If they tell you we need a warrant, call Judge Severson at home. Get them to check different names, and get a couple of our guys to start checking to see if the diagnosis description rings any bells with anybody just in case Valerie was a nickname or something." His phone began to ring, and he removed it from his pocket.

"I'm sorry, Warren," Lindsay said. "I know this all sounds bad. But it really wasn't like that."

Warren, however, had already stopped listening. He pushed the b.u.t.ton to answer his phone and stepped to the other side of the curtain. Lindsay closed her eyes, wishing she could evaporate into thin air.

"It's really over between me and Warren isn't it? He thinks I cheated on him with Mike and Adam. He hates me."

"I'm sure he's just worried about you," Anna said.

Lindsay opened her eyes. "I think he might've forgiven me for all the other stuff, but I kind of went on a date with a hot stranger a week after we broke off our engagement."

Anna scrunched up her face. "Yeah, that's not ideal."

"What time is it, anyway? Somebody needs to call Simmy and my dad to let them know what happened," Lindsay said.

"It's five a.m.," Anna said. "Don't worry. We already called Simmy. And Dunette is going to take her to her dentist appointment at nine and then they'll come over to visit. Your dad was here up until about an hour ago. I made him go home and get some sleep. I didn't think you'd wake up so soon. I'll call him and let him know you're okay. You don't need to worry about anything but feeling better. Speaking of which, I need to check to see if a room has opened up for you yet. I want you to stay, at least until the cobwebs clear. We should really just start keeping a room open for you here." Anna brushed a stray curl from Lindsay's eyes and smiled at her.

Lindsay smiled back, closed her eyes and let her scattered thoughts be swept along in a current of dreamy semi-consciousness. She was awakened a short time later by the sound of the curtain around her bed being pulled back. Warren stepped to her bedside. His jaw had a grim set to it, and his face had gone extremely pale.

"I thought Vickers might have come back," he said.

"I don't think so," Lindsay said. "I think I fell asleep."

Warren turned to leave, but she stopped him. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," Warren said. "It's not me I'm worried about."

"What then?"

Warren hesitated, but Lindsay reached out and took hold of his hand. "Tell me."

Warren looked down at their joined hands and said quietly, "That call I took before was my friend, the SBI fingerprint technician who always turns things around quickly when I ask her. I sent her some prints we lifted out of your car earlier tonight. You remember Terry Addison?"

"The con man who pretended to be the building inspector?" Lindsay said. Despite her brain fog, she instantly recalled the name of the man who pa.s.sed himself off as Weaponless Doer. "What was he doing in my car?"

"I'm trying to tell you that I think Adam Tyrell and Terry Addison and W. Doer are all the same person. n.o.body else's prints were in there. Yours, mine, Simmy's, and that set."

"But how can that be? You showed me his mug shot from when he was arrested in South Carolina. That heavy guy with the long hair and the goatee. It wasn't Adam."

"This is Terry Addison's pa.s.sport picture. It was taken about five years ago. Does he look familiar?" Warren held out a piece of paper with a photo printed on it. The man was younger, heavier, with longer hair and a goatee, but it was almost certainly Adam Tyrell. He also bore a pa.s.sing resemblance to the mug shot of long-haired, heavy-set Terry Addison Warren had shown her when they began looking for W. Doer.

"I think that's Adam," Lindsay gasped. "But, how can that be?"

"He's been living in Slovakia. That area's the plastic surgery capital of the world, apparently. People fly in from all over. A new nose, a haircut, a shave and a whole lot of diet and exercise, and Terry Addison becomes Adam Tyrell."

"But what about Doer? John said he was hideous." She frowned. When she looked into Warren's eyes, she immediately read his thoughts there. "You think he was disguised, don't you? I told y'all I thought it was Swoopes in disguise, but it wasn't. It was Adam." She looked away, disgusted with her own stupidity. "What the h.e.l.l is this, an episode of s...o...b.. Doo?"

"I remember you saying that once before," Warren said with a sad smile. "I compared you to Velma, and you got mad at me."

She mirrored his wistful smile. "You saved it, though. You said you liked the smart ones. Guess you were wrong about me being smart, huh? I'm not even sure I'm one of the good guys."

"We're still the good guys," Warren said. He dropped her hand, his expression becoming grave. "This guy's gone through a lot of trouble to get close to you, and I promise we're going to find out why."

Chapter 18.

Three days had pa.s.sed since Lindsay had returned home from the hospital, and there was still no sign of Adam Tyrell's whereabouts. The night of their Olive Garden dinner, he'd returned the Mercedes he'd been renting to the car rental company and checked out of the hotel where he'd been staying. Despite an exhaustive search through credit reports, criminal records, tax filings, and work histories, the police could find no record of Adam/Terry from the time he completed his parole requirements more than a decade earlier until the time he popped up in the Mount Moriah Medical Center parking lot a few weeks previously. A thorough search of the hospital's records had turned up no sign of a patient matching what Lindsay knew about his mother, "Valerie." He'd spent time in foster care, and, although the records were spotty and incomplete, there was nothing to indicate that any of what he said was true.

The police had tried to keep the details of the investigation close, putting out pictures of Adam Tyrell taken from the hospital's surveillance cameras in the media and saying only that he was wanted for questioning in relation to a fraud investigation. Lindsay tried to stay as busy as possible, taking hours-long runs each day, pushing herself almost to the point of exhaustion. She returned from one of these marathon runs in the late afternoon to find Mike sitting in a chair in her living room with his feet up and her book about the Lumbee Indians in his hands.

"I thought my fancy alarm system was supposed to keep riffraff like you out," Lindsay teased, wiping her sweaty face with a hand towel.

"Rob let me in," Mike replied.

"Rob was here?"

"Yeah, he brought over some Chinese dumplings while you were out running," Mike said, without raising his eyes from the page. "Simmy put them in the fridge."

Lindsay looked at him curiously. "Comfortable?"

He put the book down and rose to his feet. "Oh, sorry. I stopped by with some more stuff for Dunette to sign. And Rob was here with the dumplings, so we all ate some. And then Dunette and Simmy took Kipper to the dog park in New Albany. Dunette said she'd pick up your dry cleaning, too. I guess they called to say they still have some of your stuff from before Christmas, and they were going to donate it to Goodwill if you didn't get it today. And then they're going to get some groceries."

"And you decided to stay behind and brush up on your Native American history?"

"Don't look so shocked. I'm not just a pretty face, you know." He smiled, propping his reading gla.s.ses on his head. "Speaking of which, you look nice. I like how your t-shirt matches your running shoes."

"Uh, thanks." She couldn't help but be amused at the way Mike always managed to find something about her to compliment, even when she was disheveled and sweaty. She wiped the back of her neck with her sleeve. "So you're just here, reading history books and...looking pretty?"

"Actually, Owen's coming over in a minute. He left his basketball uniform in my car and he has a game tonight." He paused. "And there's something else. Something important. I wanted to see you."

"Oh?"

He studied her face for a moment. "You're wondering about it, too. Aren't you?"

"Wondering about what?" she said.

She walked back to the kitchen with Mike trailing closely behind her. Since she got back from the hospital, he seemed to have found reasons to drop by her house more frequently than was strictly required by his unofficial role as Dunette's legal counsel. All of her friends had been wonderfully supportive and subtly protective of her, but Mike's efforts had outstripped them all. He was constantly checking on her to ensure that she was physically and mentally at ease, bringing her little gifts, and finding excuses to talk to her. Warren's jealous a.s.sertion about single men doing favors for their female friends flashed through her mind.

She glanced back over her shoulder at Mike. His forehead was creased in concentration. She wasn't sure what he was getting at with all this talk of them both "wondering" about something, and she was worried that he might be about to make some grand declaration of love for her. Her mind flitted briefly to Warren's initial proposal of marriage. She'd been rushing to the hospital, doped up on pain medication, wondering if her mother and Simmy would survive their injuries. Why did the men in her life completely lack the ability to choose the right moment for romance? Then again, she thought ruefully, her own skills in negotiating the rocky terrain of romantic relationships were sorely lacking. In the past year, she'd managed to go out with a teenage Zoroastrian, ruin her relationship with Warren not once but twice, and have a brief flirtation with a convicted con man who drugged her on their first quasi-date.

"I've been thinking," Mike said. "What if Adam wasn't the one who drugged you?"

Lindsay splashed some water on her sweaty face and poured herself a gla.s.s of water, relieved that she'd misjudged Mike's intentions. "Who else would it have been? The police have already questioned the Philpots and all the wait staff at Olive Garden," she said. "Even if I wanted to believe it was somebody else, none of those people changed their appearance with plastic surgery, invented a fake mother to get to know me, a.s.sumed a fake ident.i.ty to get into my house, and then ran away from the hospital once the jig was up. And none of them has a criminal conviction for fraud."

"Look me in the eye and say you don't think there's more to all of this," Mike said. "That you don't want to find out if it ties together somehow." Their gazes locked for a long moment. Too long.

Lindsay turned back to the sink. "Even if I did, what can I do about it? Every time I get involved in something like this, I almost get myself killed. I think I've met my quota for self-destructive behavior this month."

She felt his hands resting gently on her shoulders. "I know. But isn't there a part of you that wants to do it anyway? And a part of you that knows until we get to the bottom of this, you won't be safe?"

She turned to face him. "We?"

They were standing close together, only inches apart, her face tipped up toward his. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do. I'll hire a private investigator. A bodyguard. Whatever you want," he said.

The yearning in his eyes was almost palpable. It would be so easy to put her arms around him. To feel the safety of his warm, strong embrace, the flattery of being wanted so desperately. She remembered the zap of electricity in the kiss they'd shared on the Outer Banks, an impulsive act she'd tried to banish from her mind. He was so close now. Dangerously close. Why did he always smell so d.a.m.n good? He was right there in front of her, and she wanted so badly to be rescued from herself, to give in to the illusion that happiness and safety could be had so easily.

The back door clicked open. Mike took a step backwards as Lindsay spun back around towards the sink.

"Am I interrupting something?" Jonah asked. He stared them down with his very powerful "disappointed pastor" look.

"No!" Lindsay practically shouted, almost dropping her gla.s.s of water.