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“Ms. Dunning?”
“Yes.”
“You understand everything I’ve said?”
“Yes. I understand what you said, but it doesn’t mean I remember anything. I don’t know why I was at the casino so late Saturday night or on the highway the next morning. I don’t know whose blood it was. I don’t remember anything before hearing the sound of a squad car pulling up next to me on the side of the road. Do you understand that?”
The detective, a large black man with kind eyes, sat back as if reassessing her. Abruptly, the kindness vanished from his eyes and they reminded her of Greg’s, how they had looked the first time he questioned her.
“You don’t remember visiting with D’Amato that night?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember that you worked as an accountant for his casino?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember the man who was rumored to be your lover?”
“No.”
“Detective, do we really need to go any further?” Elaine interjected. “My client has explained to you she has a medical condition. A condition which she would very much like to have treated. You can sit here all day asking her questions she doesn’t have the answers to, or we can seek the treatment she needs.”
The detective’s scowl was menacing, but Liza saw that Elaine wasn’t intimidated in the least.
“Because we both know you’re not going to charge her.”
“I’ve got a dead guy, witnesses who place your client at the scene—”
“You mean her place of business. You have witnesses who saw my client at work.”
“Late Saturday night?”
Elaine shrugged. “Casino hours. It’s open 24/7. The fact that there are witnesses around the place proves that. Who knows what her normal business hours are.”
“Then, hours later, she’s picked up on a highway not far from here covered in blood.”
“Strange. As is her current medical condition. But you don’t have a witness to the crime, you don’t have a weapon, you can do a gun residue check...”
“I’m guessing since she was covered in blood she’s probably taken a shower since yesterday.”
Elaine smiled without humor. “What you have is a circumstantial, albeit strange, case. Let me take her to a doctor. Let’s see what he can tell us about her condition first.”
The detective pointed to Liza. “You don’t leave the area.”
“No, sir. But...is there any way... Does anyone have my address? Where I live? I would like to go home, if that’s possible.”
The detective left the interrogation room and came back with a sheet of paper and a large oversize handbag that Liza suddenly knew was hers. He pushed it forward on the table that stretched between them.
“You left it in your office at the casino.”
She took it and hugged it to her. It felt like a lifeline, something she actually recognized. One more piece of her puzzle. She was tempted to empty the contents right there and then and study everything inside, but she didn’t want to do that in front of the detective. Not that she could be sure he hadn’t already thoroughly searched it.
He passed her the piece of paper with her address, although she could have just checked her driver’s license. Reading the sheet, she discovered she lived in a small upper-middle-class historical town not forty minutes west of Atlantic City. How did she know that? How did she know the town, but not remember that she lived there?
“Jog any memories?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I know the town was founded in 1692. I know there’s an exclusive country club a lot of people belong to. I don’t know why I know either of those two things. I can’t picture what my house looks like from the outside, or any of the rooms inside.”
There was nothing but facts and emptiness. No memories at all. She turned to Elaine. “Please, will you take me home?”
Elaine gave her a hard look, and the skepticism she’d seen in Greg’s face that first day was there, too. Then, suddenly it was gone and she was reaching out to pat Liza’s hand rather awkwardly.
“It’s going to be okay.”
Liza didn’t see how. She was found covered in blood hours after a man she was supposed to know had been shot. She agreed more with the detective than she did her own lawyer. What were the odds that she wasn’t somehow involved in his shooting?
Slim. Maybe zero. But she knew she wasn’t the one who killed him. She wouldn’t have killed anyone. All she had was her gut reaction to what the detective said when he told her about Hector being shot in the face and that reaction said it wasn’t her.
Chuck was waiting for them in the lobby. Together, the three of them left the building and didn’t linger on streets that weren’t really safe even in the middle of the afternoon. The difference between life in the casinos and life on the streets of AC was vast. Several of the casinos had even gone so far as to build passages both above and below ground so if a person wanted to hop from hotel to hotel in an attempt to change their luck, they never had to venture outside.
As soon as they were in the car, Chuck handed Elaine his phone. “He’s waiting for your call. Thinks it was taking too long.”
“I have him in my phone,” Elaine said as she hit a few buttons. “You should take the Black Horse Pike, it’s more direct.”
“And slower than mud. I’m taking the AC Expressway.”
Elaine huffed. “Why do I have the feeling if I had said to take the AC Expressway you would have taken the Black Horse Pike?”
Chuck considered that. “Probably because I would have. Why do you feel the need to determine which route the driver is going to take when you are, in fact, the passenger?”
“Because having been your passenger more times than I would like to remember I know from experience you have a lousy sense of direction.”
Chuck was about to fire back when Elaine stopped him with a raised finger.
“Greg, it’s me. Hey, we’re done. I’m taking her home first. Yes. No. I don’t know...that’s the best that I can give you. But I can tell you it’s a lot more than when you told me the situation this morning. She’s very convincing...”
Liza clenched her teeth, feeling a burst of rage surfacing. She wanted to hit her fists against the seat in front of her to remind Elaine that she was there. But she didn’t. Instead, she simply said, “I’m sitting behind you in the backseat. It’s not polite to talk about people in front of them like that.”
Her attorney thought she was convincing. Liza didn’t imagine that was a good sign because it began with the premise that Liza was trying to convince someone of something when all she was doing was experiencing what was happening to her.
Just because Greg had decided Elaine could represent her didn’t mean Liza had to retain her as her lawyer. There were other lawyers. Maybe other ones she knew personally. Maybe when she saw the town where she lived and her house, it would be the thing she needed to bring her life back. Once that happened she could function again.
“He wants to talk to you.”
Liza stared at the phone. She thought about simply refusing. He’d helped her, yes. But then he’d withheld information from her. It felt like a betrayal. She didn’t owe him anything as a result.
Then she changed her mind, her anger still dictating her actions.
She wanted to tell him she didn’t care if he believed her or not. She wanted to tell him not telling someone what her name was when she’d forgotten it was the cruelest thing she could imagine. She wanted to tell him he could take his doubt and his judgmental eyes and go jump off a bridge.
She took the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I was instructed not to. The police wanted to be able to see your reaction firsthand. I shouldn’t have even told you about the murder, but I didn’t want you to be completely blindsided.”
“Screw you. This is my life you’re playing with.”
“Hey, I’m the one who helped you, remember?”
“Yes. It’s very easy to remember every detail when your whole life as you know it consists of a little more than twenty-four hours. You knew who I was, you knew my name and you didn’t tell me.”
“Eliza. Wake up. You’re a murder suspect. Do you get that?”
She was an amnesiac, she was not stupid. “It’s not Eliza. It’s Liza. And, yes, I get it. What I don’t get is why you care.”
Liza ended the call and handed the phone through the seats to Elaine.
“I appreciate you representing me for my interrogation but I’ll no longer be needing your services. You can send me a bill for your time this morning.”
Elaine turned around in the front seat and looked at her with a frown. “You don’t want to do that, honey. I’m the best. I get why you’re ticked at Greg, but, honestly, he didn’t have a choice.”
“He could have told me my name. He could have given me that much.”
“Maybe,” Chuck said. “But if he had, would you have been satisfied with that? Listen to Elaine. You need help. Serious help. And she’s right about being the best.”
Elaine’s head snapped toward Chuck. “Did you just compliment me?”
“Hell, no. I save compliments for two things. My mother’s cooking because I want more of it and sex because I want more of that, too. Telling Jane...Liza, I mean, that you’re a good attorney is a fact. You wouldn’t be part of the Tyler Group if you weren’t.”
“I’m taking it as a compliment, anyway. And reminding you that you’re talented enough that you could be working for the Tyler Group, too.”
“What and give up the squirrels?” Chuck shook his head, clearly exasperated. “That is so like you. First, I tell you it’s not a compliment but you can’t accept that because everything has to be your way. Second, you think it’s okay to tell me I’m wasting my talent on squirrels.”
“Because (a) you are wasting your talent on squirrels, and (b) my way more often than not is right.”
“Please,” Liza interjected. Their fighting was giving her a headache. “Thank you both. I’ll consider what you said, but I would really like to find someone who believes me. I understand why you all don’t, but I would rather be alone than have to look at another person who wonders if I’m just a talented actress.”
Elaine turned and studied her again. Liza turned her head away and stared out the window instead.
“I don’t think you’re an actress.”
Liza met her stare directly. “Thank you.”
“I do, however, think you know something about Hector D’Amato’s death.”
So did Liza. She knew she didn’t kill him. She trusted that much. But what if she’d somehow inadvertently caused his death?
Because as much as she didn’t want people looking at her and believing her to be an actress, she really didn’t want people thinking she was a murderer instead.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE SUN STARTING TO SET behind him, Greg stood at the end of the stone walkway and looked at where Eliza Dunning lived. The house seemed very normal. A ranch-style house, and probably the smallest one on the block of fairly large colonials, it should have stood out like a sore thumb, but there was a stately elegance to the brick house.
It looked solid, too. Like he could huff and puff and never blow it down.
Only he wasn’t the wolf. Greg never played the part of the wolf. He was the good guy in those stories. Or at least he used to be before he gave all that up and turned to a life of gambling instead.
Now that he’d given that up, too, he wasn’t sure what he was anymore. Neither hero, nor villain. Maybe interested observer?
That was as good a reason as any to be standing in front of Liza’s front door. He was merely curious about the woman who claimed to have no memory. A story that crazily enough was now even more credible after talking to Mark, who had dug up some interesting information about her.
Apparently, this wasn’t the first time Eliza Dunning had lost her memory.
He rang the doorbell and waited.
The door opened slowly, which meant she’d already identified who was on the other side of it. She had good reason to be cautious.
“What are you doing here?” Her suspicion was evident, but beyond that he sensed hurt. As though he’d disappointed her. Which was pretty much his specialty these days.
“I came to talk.”
“Not apologize?”
He looked down at his feet. “You hung up on me.”
“You didn’t tell me my name!”
Greg lifted his head. “Look, I know you’re upset with me but we are talking about murder. I was told by the sheriff not to tell you anything, so I didn’t.”
“I know what we’re talking about. I’m living it. Your part is done, isn’t it? I mean, the police hired you to consult and you did. So, like I said, what are you doing here?”
Curiosity. It had to be the only reason he was there. It couldn’t be because he wanted to help. Or offer her friendship. He’d purposefully made his world small and he wanted to keep it that way.
Since he didn’t think she would appreciate being the object of his curiosity, he decided to play his ace. “I have more information about your past. JoJo, who you spoke with yesterday, is a detective. She and her husband have their own firm. I hate to admit it, but Mark is a master when it comes to gathering information other people overlook.”
“Overlook?”
“Can’t find.”
She tilted her head. “You mean don’t have access to.”
Greg smiled. She was in the middle of a mental crisis, but it wasn’t impacting her acuity. “I don’t ask too many questions about how he comes across the information he does. He found quite a bit on you. You might want to hear about it unless you’ve remembered...”
A tight shake of her head told him all he needed to know. He imagined her walking through her front door, hoping it would trigger everything only to realize that it hadn’t. She would feel like a stranger standing in someone else’s space.
If she was telling the truth.
She stepped back from the door and let him inside. He was struck at once by the home’s aesthetic. The foyer opened up to a room filled with comfortable furniture in soft pastels covered with bright pillows and afghans. Nothing overtly cute or immature but certainly a room designed for a woman.
