Stephanie Doyle - Remembering That Night

“She’s going to need to try harder.”

Greg picked up on the ominous note in the sheriff’s voice that implied he knew something. He wished the man would skip the dramatics and get to the point. This was probably the most excitement the sheriff had had in a long time. “Why is that?” Greg asked.

“There’s been a reported murder. In Atlantic City. Witnesses report seeing a woman with long blond hair walking away from The Grande Casino early Sunday morning, covered in blood and wearing a gray dress. It’s a pretty good bet that’s our girl.”

“Who was killed?”

“See, this is where it gets interesting. You ever hear of Hector D’Amato?”

Greg’s stomach clenched. Sure he’d heard of Hector. The last time Greg had been in A.C. D’Amato’s thugs had invited him—in a memorable way—to never come back. In one respect, he was grateful to them because that last beating put him over the edge. The pain of it had been nothing compared to the humiliation.

Besides owning and running one of the largest casinos in AC, D’Amato was rumored to be involved in drugs and prostitution. Only no criminal charges against him had ever been able to stick. D’Amato’s assertion had always been that he was clean and his only crime was running a successful casino and having an Italian last name.

“Yeah, I know who he is.”

“He’s our victim. Found dead in the alley between his casino and the Plaza. A bullet through his skull. Lots of blood.”

“You suspect our Jane Doe.”

“That’s the thing, she’s not a Jane Doe anymore. Her name is Eliza Dunning. The witnesses who saw her walking away from the hotel knew her. She was an employee of The Grande, but the people we talked to implied there was more between her and D’Amato than that, if you get my drift.”

Greg did and didn’t like the feeling that came with it. A mobster’s mistress? He couldn’t picture it. Although, if she was present at his death—whether as a participant or a mere witness—it would be a pretty good basis for a traumatic reaction that could bring on hysterical amnesia.

If she was telling the truth.

“You’ve been with her all day. Do you still think she’s telling the truth about not remembering anything?”

Greg thought about her reaction in the hospital. Then what she’d looked like coming out of the bathroom, clean of blood and wearing fresh clothes. He had seen relief. Because she felt like she was getting away with murder? Or because her hair was no longer coated with blood? It was hard to know.

“I can only tell you I can’t detect any subterfuge. No physical signs of lying, anyway. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean she couldn’t be the best liar there ever was.” Good enough to fool even him.

She wouldn’t be the first. Tommy, one of his former patients, held that tragic honor.

“You need to bring her back down.”

“To AC?” That wasn’t going to happen. Greg was never going back there. Ever. Chuck could go with her if she needed someone to take her.

“Yes. It’s their case now. I let the detective know we found her and where she was staying. He’s okay if you want to bring her down tomorrow. If she doesn’t come willingly, he’ll issue a warrant for her arrest and have the Philadelphia P.D. pick her up.”

“She’ll come down, though I’m not sure how useful the questioning will be.”

“How useful does it have to be? She knew D’Amato. D’Amato was plugged in the face. She was covered with blood and found walking down a road twenty miles outside of Atlantic City. Seems pretty clear to me that she knows something about it.”

Damn it. It did to Greg, too. “Okay. We’ll have her there in the morning.”

“Thanks. And, Chalmers, I would appreciate if you don’t give her a heads-up about what will go down tomorrow. The ACPD deserve to be able to question her without advance warning, if you know what I mean. I can remind you, since we called you in, that you are a consultant to the police force...”

“You don’t have to. I’ve got the message.”

Greg ended the call and stared at the phone in his hand. D’Amato...really? He didn’t see it. There was something in her face that was too open. Too unguarded to have survived being associated with him. Of course, that was assuming the rumors about his criminal behavior were true. To date no one had proved anything. Was she playing him? Had it all been a perfectly executed performance? A way to set up her defense when she was brought to trial? Hysterical amnesia. Greg wasn’t sure how that would help if the evidence of her guilt was compelling enough. He should cut his losses now. Call the PPD, have them pick her up and hold her overnight. They could transport her to AC in the morning and the most he would have to do was give his testimony, if it even went that far.

So why was he hesitating? Simply put, he didn’t think she was lying. There was nothing in her actions, words or expressions that suggested she was playing a game. No physical signs that her amnesia was anything but real.

If he was being played, then it was because she was a master. And if he was being played by a master, he intended to beat her at her own game. Greg had been wrong once, but since then he’d rededicated himself to perfection.

But if he wasn’t being played, then the woman who just taught Chuck how to eat pasta with a spoon might need his help.

He wasn’t sure what was worse. Keeping her with him so he could study her, or keeping her with him because he wanted to be some kind of hero. Greg didn’t do hero. Not anymore.

Speaking of heroes, an antihero type came to mind. Someone who might be able to unravel the mystery of Eliza Dunning’s past. Interesting that Dunning wasn’t an Italian name after his original assumptions about her and her presumed connection to D’Amato. Of course it would be stereotypical to assume that anyone affiliated with the mob had to be of Italian heritage. The organization was so much more inclusive these days. All they cared about now was having hardened criminals willing to do bad things. Greg knew enough about D’Amato to know even he wasn’t fully Italian. His mother had been Puerto Rican.

Greg hit his contact list and tapped a name. He waited until Mark answered.

“Yo.”

“I need a favor.”

“Awesome. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

“Why?”

“Ever since you helped JoJo deal with her past I feel like I’ve owed you. I hate owing people.”

“Wouldn’t it be JoJo who owes me since she was the one I helped?”

“She already paid you back today by vouching for your character. Which, had I known, I would have advised her against, if only to make it more difficult for you. I can only assume you’re calling about the same woman? We’ve been waiting to hear this story. Anyway, JoJo’s debt is my debt, too. It’s a married kind of a thing you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, really. And you’ve been married for what, three weeks?”

“Three amazing weeks...hey, is that it? Are you ready to follow in my footsteps? Do you need me to do a background check on your Match.com date?”

“I so wish I had called JoJo right now.”

“She would have told me, anyway. Fess up. What’s going on?”

“I need you to find anything you can about an Eliza Dunning and Hector D’Amato.”

“I know D’Amato by reputation. He owns The Grande in Atlantic City. Rumors are he’s connected.”

“Was connected. He’s dead.”

“Holy shit. Are you telling me the woman staying with you is involved?”

“Up to her eyeballs. Eliza Dunning. Everything you can find out about her, her past and any connection she had to D’Amato, as fast as you can get it to me.”

“Do I need to be worried about you and Chuck being alone with a woman who may potentially be dangerous?”