Kathleen Creighton - Memory of Murder

“After my baby died, I had an operation-it’s called a tubal ligation. I had my tubes tied, in other words. So I couldn’t get pregnant again-ever. I couldn’t stand to go through that again-the pain. I just couldn’t. Other people seemed to be able to have miscarriages, lose babies, and try again and again. But not me.” Her voice seemed to clog up, slow to a trickle, so she continued in a whisper. “It cost me my marriage…broke my parents’ hearts.” She paused once more, gathering strength. “And I’ve always convinced myself I was right to do what I did. But the truth is, I was just not brave enough. I was a coward, Alan. Afraid to take the chance.” She made that surreptitious little movement again, brushing at tears. “Please…don’t do what I did. Don’t cut yourself off from relationships just because one didn’t work out for you. Give-this-us-a chance.”

What could he say to her? Lie to her? Make her promises he wasn’t sure he could keep?

In the end he said nothing except to murmur her name, and gathered her into his arms even knowing that doing so may have been as much a lie as saying the words out loud. But to leave her to weep uncomforted seemed to him too great a cruelty. And besides, he needed the comfort as much as she did.

He made love to her again. It solved nothing, she knew-and she was fairly certain he knew that, too-but it felt so good, and for a short while, at least, it did make the pain go away. His hand between her thighs…his mouth on her breasts…his big body solid beneath hers, on top of hers…every place he touched her, every way he touched her-a little rough where her body craved roughness, gently, delicately, carefully where any but the lightest touch might have brought pain-gave such exquisite pleasure. There was no room for thought or feeling. He really did make the world go away-and at that moment, it was all she asked of him.

Then, like an uninvited guest, a line from another song, one neither of them had mentioned, popped into her mind. Something about raindrops blowing against windows, and then: Make believe you love me…

Longing sliced through her, sharp and bright and hot as a blade. She gasped; her body arched and opened to him, and he responded to her urgency as if he knew exactly what she needed. He drove himself into her, hard and deep, and her body clenched and tightened at first until he covered her mouth with his, claimed her with his mouth, his hands, his body…filled her completely, and drove everything else from her mind.

Much later, exhausted and hovering on the edge of sleep, she heard him groan, then whisper, “ Damn. Forgot the condoms again.”

She laughed, and fell headlong into oblivion.

“I keep coming back to it-the question Holt asked.” Lindsey shook her head, then leaned it back against the headrest but didn’t close her eyes. “Why?”

They were driving south on the 405 Freeway in light Sunday morning traffic. The storm had moved on east. Somewhere off to their right the Pacific was living up to its name, for once. On the left, distant mountains sported caps of new snow. The color palate was crisp and bright, the sky overhead a brilliant blue, dotted with artist’s clouds. A chamber of commerce postcard day.

When Alan didn’t reply, she looked over at him. His profile was sharp-edged, his eyes narrowed and focused on the road ahead. He was all cop this morning, and she was actually glad. It made it easier to put the night that had passed between them into its own compartment in her mind, something rare to be locked away…protected…kept separate from real life.

“I know you think my dad is guilty, that he’s the one who kidnapped the McKinneys-” she still couldn’t think of that young couple as her parents “-and shot them and threw them into the Chesapeake Bay…”

“Your mother says he did,” Alan said quietly. “You want to believe she’s confused, that she made a mistake. But she was right about everything else-having a different husband, a child named Jimmy, being shot, floating-why would she be confused about that one thing? The most important thing, maybe.”

“But, why? It doesn’t make sense. It seems pretty certain my dad was the man who showed up at the hospital and claimed Jane Doe as his wife, Sally Phillips. It’s absolutely certain he’s the man who raised me and made a happy home for me and my mother for the next forty years.” Her voice was tight now, with the anger that constricted her throat and chest. “You tell me-how does it make any kind of sense that he’s the same person who shot her in the first place?”

There was a long pause, and then Alan let out a slow, exasperated breath. “It doesn’t. I know it doesn’t.” He threw her a quick, intense glance. “But, there is an answer to that question, and the only person who knows it is the man who calls himself Richard Merrill.” His voice was hard, and she could see the muscles in his jaw clench. “I’m going to have to talk to him, Lindsey. You know that, don’t you?”

She turned her head to look out the window and didn’t reply.

Yes. I’m going to have to talk to him.

“But,” Alan continued, “I need to have as much information as I possibly can before I do. The photos alone aren’t enough. Which means I have to wait for everything from the Richmond PD, as well as Bob Faulkner’s files-the Baltimore files on the McKinney case-to get here. He’s sending them overnight, but because of the weekend they won’t get here until at least Monday.” He paused, then said, “Lindsey?” in a warning tone. And paused again. “He cannot know about this-do you understand me? You can’t tell him what we know, or ask him about it yourself. In fact, you’d best stay completely away from him, if you don’t think you can keep secrets from him. Okay?”

She couldn’t seem to make herself utter a sound. She nodded, watching San Clemente slip past and the Pacific come into view beyond her window.

“Lindsey? Promise me you won’t try to talk to him. Stay…away…from him. Got it?”

San Onofre nuclear power plant loomed ahead on the right, a giant pair of female breasts pointing at the sky. She stared at them with burning eyes. “Got it,” she said.

Neither of them spoke again until they were pulling into Lindsey’s driveway. Instead of dropping her off, Alan got out and walked her to her door, looking around him the way cops do, checking out the surroundings. One hand even went automatically to his right hip, she noticed, where his holster would be, if he’d had a weapon with him.

Remembering the last time we were here, she thought. And Dad was here…coming down the driveway. My Dad. And now he’s wishing for his gun?

At her door, he took her face between his hands and looked into her eyes, and she thought for a moment he would kiss her. Instead, he said gravely, “Stay away from him, Lindsey. Please. There’s no telling what he might do if he knows we’re on to him.”

“Dad would never hurt me,” she said thickly.

She pulled away from him and put her key in the lock, opened the door and went inside. He didn’t say anything more, or try to stop her. She closed the door, locked it, then leaned against it and let the tears come.

“I don’t trust her,” Alan said.

At the other end of the cell phone connection, Carl Taketa was silent for a moment. Then: “Do you really think she’d confront Merrill on her own?”

“She didn’t promise she wouldn’t,” Alan said grimly. “And even if she did promise, I still wouldn’t trust her. She’s desperate for answers, and he’s the only one who’s got ’em. And, he’s her daddy. She truly doesn’t believe he’d harm her.”

“Do you think he would?”