David Morrell - Assumed Identity

“Very observant. So what do you think, Ted? Doesn’t fit me too bad, huh? Here’s your key back.”

Holly tried to distract them. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Right away. Ted isn’t very good at this.”

“Hey,” Ted said.

“All right, I can understand why you’re angry,” Holly said. “When I saw you coming, I should have helped with the bags. I knew you’d just been released from the hospital. I’d have gotten out to help a friend.”

“Well, this guy isn’t a friend,” Ted said.

“Ted,” Holly said in warning. She turned to Buchanan. “Look, I’m sorry. Remember, it was your idea to check me out of that hotel. If you want to go in for melodramatic gestures to try to scare me, you can’t expect me to cooperate in the tactic.”

“Then maybe we ought to go back so I could introduce you to the fellow waiting for you in the lobby.”

Holly’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a joke, right?”

“He didn’t look like he had a sense of humor.”

“This is all bullshit,” Ted said.

“Right, Ted. Bullshit,” Buchanan said. “I don’t care what happens to you, but until Holly and I get some issues settled, I’d just as soon she stayed in good health.”

“Quit trying to scare me,” Holly said.

“Where to, suh?” The driver had gotten back into the taxi and was waiting.

“That errand wore me out.” Buchanan rubbed his sweaty forehead. “I came here to enjoy the sights. I think a river cruise would relax me. Why don’t you take us over to Toulouse Street Wharf? It’s almost two-thirty. Maybe we’ve still got time to get on the Natchez. ”

As the taxi pulled into traffic, Holly said. “For a man who claims he was never in New Orleans before, you certainly know a lot about the tourist attractions.”

“I studied them in a guidebook.”

“Right. When was that? When you were unconscious?”

As its calliope whistled “Way Down South in Dixie,” the colorfully trimmed paddlewheeler eased away from the wharf and began its tour along the Mississippi. Hundreds of passengers crowded the railings on the three decks, enjoying the breeze off the river, studying the docks they passed, warehouses, a refinery, a War of 1812 battlefield, and a pre-Civil War plantation mansion.

While the passengers seemed to enjoy the strength of the sun, Buchanan’s eyes were still sufficiently sensitive that he stayed in the shadow of a canopy at the stern. Holly sat next to him. Since most passengers were at the railing, there was little chance that their conversation would be overheard.

Holly shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why a steamboat cruise?”

“Process of elimination.” Buchanan sipped from one of the Cokes that he’d bought for Holly and himself when they came aboard. “I need time to think, a place to think.” After swallowing two more Tylenol, he shut his eyes and tilted his head back.

“You should have stayed in the hospital longer.”

“Too much to do,” Buchanan said.

“Yeah, like watching the muddy Mississippi. Ted didn’t like it when you made him stay behind with my bags.”

“You said you wanted to talk. The thing is, I don’t want company while we’re doing it. This way, he can’t follow. And pretty soon, we’ll be far enough that those two-way radios you mentioned won’t be able to communicate with each other. By the way, where are you hiding yours? In your purse? Or maybe. .?” Buchanan gestured toward the open neckline of her dress.

“Okay.” Sounding discouraged, she reached inside her dress, unhooked a tiny microphone and miniature transmitter from her bra strap, and handed it to him. “You win.”

“Too easy.” Buchanan shut the transmitter off, feeling her body heat on the metal. “How do I know there aren’t others?”

“There’s only one way to be sure. But if I wouldn’t let you search me in your train compartment, I’m certainly not. .”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“For starters, who do you think tried to kill you? And please, don’t give me that guff about a walk-by random stabbing.”

“Who? Yes, that’s the big question, isn’t it?”

“One of them.”

The issue had been preoccupying Buchanan since he’d wakened in the hospital. If he addressed it out loud, he’d also be distracting Holly from his role in Scotch and Soda. “Open your purse.”

She did.

He didn’t find a tape recorder.

“Okay, I’ll tell you this much. I wasn’t lying when I said I came to New Orleans to see a friend.” He debated whether to continue. “A woman.” He thought about it. “None of this is classified. I don’t see any reason not to. . It’s been six years since I heard from her, but recently she sent me a message that she needed help. My friend is very independent. She’s definitely not the type to ask for help unless the problem’s serious.”

“This friend, was she your lover?”

“Are you a reporter or a gossip columnist? I ought to tell you that’s none of your business.”

Holly waited.

Buchanan bit his lower lip. “Could have been my lover. Maybe should have been. Maybe we’d have gotten married.”

“But. .?”

“Well, let’s just say I was having some problems figuring out who I was.” Past tense? Buchanan asked himself. “Anyway, I was supposed to meet her last night, eleven o’clock, at Cafe du Monde. She didn’t show up. But that guy did with his knife.” Leaning back in the deck chair, feeling his handgun behind his belt and against his spine, Buchanan suddenly realized that the only reason his wound hadn’t been more serious was that the gun had deflected the blade. As he appreciated how close he’d come to dying, he started sweating again.

In contrast, his mouth became dry. Disturbed, he swallowed more Coke. “Is it a coincidence that the man happened to show up and pick me as a victim while I was looking for my friend, who happened not to show up? I try to keep an open mind. I do my best to have healthy skepticism. But the coincidence is too hard to ignore. I have to believe that my friend and the man with the knife are connected.”

“And he was trying to stop you from helping your friend?”

“Unless you can think of a better explanation.”

“Well, one part of your logic troubles me. Since she didn’t show up, you wouldn’t have been able to know what she wanted, so it wouldn’t have been necessary for you to be stopped.”

“Or maybe-”

Buchanan’s heartbeat matched the thump-thump-thump of the paddlewheeler’s engine.

“Maybe someone was afraid that when she didn’t show up, I’d become so upset that I wouldn’t stop until I found out where she was and why she needed me.” Buchanan’s voice hardened. “If so, they were right to be afraid. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

The steamboat rounded a bend.

“At the hospital, you said you had something for me to look at.”

Holly straightened. “Yes. But you wouldn’t give me a chance.”

“Because I wanted my belongings back. Now I’ve got them.” Despite his headache, Buchanan mustered strength. He had to keep playing the game. “I’ll look at whatever it is you want me to see. Anything it takes to settle your suspicions. I need to help my friend. But I can’t do it if you keep interfering. Ask the rest of your questions. I want to be done with this.”

Holly opened her purse, studied him as if doubtful about something, then pulled three folded newspaper clippings from an envelope.

Puzzled, Buchanan took them and glanced at the date at the top of the first one. “Six days ago.” He frowned.