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“Yes. She’s still with me. I told you I would watch over her.”
“Well, you’re going to need to bring her back in for questioning. We’ll need her clothes, too.”
“What good is questioning her going to do if she doesn’t remember any of the answers?”
“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?”
“Do you really think Chuck and I can’t handle a woman?”
“Is she hot?”
Freaking Mark. He should have called JoJo.
“Your hesitation assures me she is. Which means that Chuck definitely can’t handle her. You, maybe not, depending on how much she needs you. Does she need you, Greg? Because you strike me as the type to be helpless against a woman in need.”
Greg had to swallow his first answer for something less inflammatory.
“It doesn’t matter if she does or not,” Greg said, trying to sound blasé when he felt anything but. “I’m not in the business of helping people anymore, remember? Hardened cynic, lie detector. That’s all I’m good for these days.”
“Yeah, I wish I could believe that—I would be less worried about you and the damsel in distress. I’ll get to work. I trust you and Chuck can hold it together for...how long?”
“She has to go in for questioning tomorrow. ACPD wants to talk to her.”
“You going with her?”
“Probably not.” Definitely not. But he didn’t want Mark to know that the idea of returning to Atlantic City sent him into a near panic.
“Do you care enough to make sure she has a lawyer?”
Greg winced. “Hell, I would care enough about you having a lawyer if you were going to be questioned by the ACPD. They’re not exactly warm and fuzzy with murder suspects down there.”
“Can you blame them?” Mark asked. “How would you like to be a cop in a city of vice? You should call Elaine.” Mark disconnected the call and Greg considered his advice. He was already there.
Elaine was going to be his next call. Elaine Saunders worked for the Tyler Group on a contractual basis, helping out when Ben needed legal assistance. However, she also ran an independent practice for criminal cases. With the money she made working for Ben, she could afford to take only the cases that struck her fancy.
Elaine was a crusader who believed more in fighting for justice for the innocent, than making sure the guilty had access to legal representation. If she looked at this case on the surface, he couldn’t see her jumping on it. The amnesia would make her skeptical.
That was the problem with amnesia. It was an easy thing to lie about, because it couldn’t be medically determined, so no one ever believed it was real.
Greg attributed it to the fact that at some point in everyone’s life they had consumed too much alcohol, done something stupid and then lied about remembering it when questioned. Hell, he’d spent four years in college avoiding girls who wanted more than one-night stands with his patented, “Oh wow, did we hook up last night? I totally blacked out.”
Which made him an ass back then, but he certainly wasn’t alone in the crime of faking a blackout.
Amnesia, however, was slightly more complicated to pull off than a blackout. Greg telling Elaine he didn’t see any physical signs that Eliza was lying might intrigue her. That he was going to ask her to take on the case as a personal favor would seal the deal.
The people who worked for the Tyler Group were an eclectic bunch. Together they had lots of talent in lots of different areas. But they all had one thing in common. At some point in each of their lives they had fallen on hard times and Ben, the leader of their group, had been there to pick them up. It created a bond among them. They all knew where they had been and how hard they had worked to crawl back up from the bottom.
Greg hit his contact list again and found Elaine’s name. After a few rings her voicemail came on. After the beep he gave a brief synopsis of the situation and asked about her schedule for tomorrow. He finished with a request to call him back as soon as possible, but given that it was Sunday night he wouldn’t blame her if he didn’t hear from her until morning.
The ACPD was going to have to wait then. Eliza wasn’t going anywhere without Elaine by her side.
Chuck wasn’t going to be pleased about it, either. Elaine might possibly be the one woman on the planet Chuck didn’t have on his list to seduce. At least not anymore.
A couple of months ago Greg had consulted on a case for Elaine. She’d come by to review notes with him and Chuck had made some feeble attempts at hitting on her, until she put him firmly in his place. Greg remembered being amused by their interaction. Then something happened. Chuck did the completely unpredictable thing and started treating her as a person he wanted to get to know, not someone he wanted to have sex with and forget about.
Greg knew that Chuck didn’t believe he could wow a woman physically, but he did believe he could wow women with his mental prowess. The come-ons, the one-liners, were designed to showcase his cleverness.
With Elaine he’d been different though. With Elaine he’d been...himself. Greg thought they made a good match.
Then one night, Chuck came back to their place drunk. Greg knew he’d planned to meet Elaine that night but when he asked about her, Chuck had nearly bitten his head off. He’d been mad at the world and had refused to talk about it. Since then, Chuck and Elaine had been at each other’s throats.
Greg had tried to find out later what happened, as Elaine was someone who Greg needed to work with occasionally. But for someone who typically held nothing back, Chuck was surprisingly closemouthed about whatever had gone down between them.
He would have to get over it. Elaine was the best and Greg needed her.
He walked out of his bedroom to find Chuck and Eliza—no, Jane. He needed to think of her as Jane, at least for tonight. The two of them were washing dishes at the sink. Jane washing, Chuck drying. Jane laughing, Chuck flirting.
A piece of aluminum foil had been placed on top of Greg’s plate to keep it warm. Since he doubted Chuck even knew they had aluminum foil in the pantry, Greg knew who had put it there.
“Hey, sorry about that. Another contract I’m working on.”
Jane turned around and smiled. Her long hair, now dry, shifted along her shoulders when she moved. It was pretty the way it did that. “I hope it’s okay that we went ahead and ate without you. Chuck didn’t want to wait and I didn’t want him to eat alone. I can sit with you, though, if you’d like. Chuck says there’s ice cream.”
“There will be ice cream,” Chuck corrected her. “I’m going to run out and get some.”
“You’re going out to get ice cream? It’s after eight on a Sunday. Really?”
Chuck shrugged, evading Greg’s eyes. “What? I’ll find someplace open. A man needs ice cream every once in a while. You said you liked chocolate, right?”
“I think so,” Jane answered. “It sort of hit me that chocolate ice cream would be amazing. But you should get whatever you want.”
“No, no. Chocolate is my favorite, too.”
“What a coincidence,” Greg drawled.
Chuck didn’t bother to respond and darted out of the apartment like he was on a mission for the government. Greg sat down to finish his dinner, peeling back the foil and watching as the steam rose up into his face. It was a nice thing to do, keep his dinner warm. Something a mobster’s mistress would have done? Did mobsters have nice mistresses?
“I hope Chuck isn’t pestering you. He’s really fairly harmless.”
“I like him,” she said, sitting at the table, her hands wrapped around a damp dishcloth. “He’s so...open. Out there. You know what I mean.”
Out there was a pretty good way to describe him.
“I don’t think I’m like that.”
Greg pinned her with his gaze. “You remember something?”
“No. It’s just, when Chuck was talking and making all these silly memory jokes, I had a sense that I wished I could be more like him. More open with people. Which made me think I’m not.”
Her expression grew serious as she turned her thoughts inward. She looked exactly like a woman trying hard to recall something. As if she could squint out the memory through her eyeballs.
“Then you got a craving for chocolate ice cream,” he said trying to distract her.
