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  “Yeah, we looked inside. Didn’t see much. A couple of beer bottles, some fast food wrappers. Her shoes aren’t in there. Forensics can tell us for sure.”

  “Do you know who owns this blind?”

  “Not yet, but we’re on it. She’s been here a while—you can see that by the level of decay. That’s all I can tell you so far.”

  The sun was incredibly hot, beating down on their heads and making them perspire. It had to be ninety degrees or more, probably closer to a hundred. And she wasn’t used to the heat. Sweat rolled down her forehead, and she wiped it off with the back of her hand as she turned and looked at the pleasure boats speeding around the lake, many of them pulling skiers. A handful of boaters were anchored nearby, including a party barge, the passengers sitting around and watching them go about their grisly work.

  “Somebody needs to get those people out of here,” she told Steve Clemons.

  “No problem. We’ll take care of it.”

  “You’re back to yourself, all right,” Bud said to her. “Nick’s gonna be pleased.”

  Claire wasn’t so sure about that. All she knew was that this was what she lived for. This was the best medicine she could take. Past happenings were being triggered right and left, lots of them disjointed, true, but she was remembering. One thing she was sure of, though: She knew her job. She enjoyed her work. And she was very glad to be back to it.

  Chapter Eight

  It didn’t take long for the Canton County forensics team to show up. Claire didn’t recognize any of them, not a face, not a voice, nothing. Disappointing to say the least, but hey, she did know Bud had that book, was bitten by a rattler, and dated somebody named Brianna. However, they must’ve been fairly close friends of hers, because they all erupted with whooping and hollering and yelling out hellos and glad you’re backs before they even got out of their boat.

  The first one to her said his name was Buckeye Boyd, who she knew to be the chief medical examiner. He looked a lot like that guy, Bob Keeshan, on the old reruns of Captain Kangeroo. White hair, black beard and mustache, looked to be in his late fifties, sixties. Jeez, how could she remember old reruns and not her best friends? This was as freaky as all get out, but she smiled and tried not to show how upsetting it was.

  “I know you don’t remember me yet, but man, am I ever glad to see you working again. I was beginning to think that you were never gonna wake up.”

  Returning his engaging smile, Claire wracked her brain for any tiny, inconsequential tidbit about him, but to no avail. She was totally blank on him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Boyd. I just don’t remember you yet.”

  “Mr. Boyd? Wow, you are out in stranger territory. Nick said you were struggling with some memory issues. Wish I could help.”

  Buckeye Boyd meant that, there was no doubt in Claire’s mind. His dark eyes were full of kindness and understanding and encouragement. “Yeah, he says I’ll remember everything. So I guess we’ll all have to be patient and wait it out. It’s not easy, though.”

  “That’s my gal. Well, under the circumstances, I guess I’d better introduce you around. Like I said, I’m Buckeye, but you usually call me Buck. I’m the M.E. here. We’ve been friends ever since you moved out here from Los Angeles.” He glanced around. “And by the way, we go bass fishin’ together whenever I can get you out of Black’s clutches.” He grinned. “Which isn’t very often, unfortunately.”

  Claire laughed uncertainly. So she spent all her downtime with the good doc. It also seemed that her friends liked him. Good enough, she supposed. It appeared they were all one big happy forgotten family.

  “This here crazy guy is Shaggy. He’s our criminalist and does one hell of a good job. I think it’s safe to say that he’s missed you like crazy.”

  Claire looked at the young man who had just walked up. He was giving her a huge goofy smile, and before she could blink, he had her in a bear hug and was squeezing her and talking at the same time. “God, Claire, this is weird shit. You really can’t remember me, nuthin’ ’bout me? That’s so not cool.”

  When he let her go, Claire stared hard at his face, trying to get past the black bolted door blocking out her life. Again, frustration hit her hard. It was utterly demoralizing, because the memories were right there, in her reach, but too foggy, like trying to remember how to spell a word or recall who won Best Actress last year. It made her want to scream in sheer helplessness. She finally said, “You look really familiar, Shaggy.”

  That much was true. Shaggy Becker had some serious dreadlocks going on, reddish-blond, lots of earrings, eight or nine maybe, and he was dressed in long biker shorts and a garish green-and-red-and-white Hawaiian shirt. He was his own man, all right, and eccentric, no doubt about it. But he had to be good for the M.E. to allow him such leniency in office dress. Everyone else had on polo shirts with the M.E.’s logo on the pocket.

  “This here’s Vicky, our office photographer.” An older woman stepped forward, nodded and smiled shyly. She was about five-six and curvaceous, with a dark complexion and brown hair caught in a bun. She got right to work and snapped pictures of the victim’s body.

  “And here’s our new colleague. Name’s Nancy Gill. She hails from way down yonder in New Orleans. She’s been assisting me this summer, and I’m going down there next fall to work at her office for a time. Sort of a medical examiner exchange program I’ve gotten into.”

  Nancy Gill was the girlfriend that Monica had mentioned. The girl whose uncle owned the place called Jeepers. She came straight up to Claire and held out her hand. Claire took it, and they shook hands. Nancy was a very pretty girl, as tall as Claire was, maybe an inch or two taller, with the most beautiful chestnut brown hair and cinnamon-colored eyes almost the exact same color as her hair. The woman’s smile was friendly, and somehow understanding, as if she knew what Claire was going through. Claire took to her immediately. Maybe it was because Nancy hadn’t known her before, and she hadn’t known Nancy before, either. They were starting out on equal footing. Both were surrounded by virtual strangers.

  “It’s a real treat to meet you, detective. I’ve heard an awful lot about you, all good, too, even way down yonder in bayou country as Buck likes to say. You’re a famous lady, I guess you know, for takin’ down all those serial killers. Or maybe you don’t know, not quite yet.”

  “No, not yet. We have a mutual friend, I believe. Monica Wheeler? In fact, I’m going out with the two of you next Friday night.”

  “Yeah, she told me she was gonna ask you. Well, that’s great. We have lots of fun out at Jeepers.”

  Everybody went to work, and Nancy immediately joined Buck beside the body. But Claire did like her. Maybe the two of them could be friends. Maybe they would have fun, would laugh, and Claire wouldn’t have to remember anything about her.

  Buck called back to Claire and told her the names of the newly arriving water patrol officers. None looked even remotely like anybody she’d ever seen before. She did like all these people, but she was beginning to feel more and more isolated and alone, like she’d landed on Mars. I will remember, she told herself sternly, I will. But would she really? And what if she never did? Then what? Start over? Make a new life?

  “So what do we have here, Claire?”

  Grateful that Buck was now back to business, Claire jumped right in, pleased she remembered how to investigate a murder. That was one thing she could pour her full concentration on without getting depressed or distressed.

  Claire told them what they knew so far. “A Caucasian female. I estimate she’s probably early or mid-thirties. A group of kids out skiing noticed the body while circling back to pick up a skier. They called it in, and water patrol made it to the scene in less than ten minutes. No means of ID that we can see. No purse or other personal items. Nobody’s touched the body. A report of a missing person came in few weeks back. What was the name on that, Bud?”

  “Miriam Long. Real estate agent out of Camdenton. Fits the basic description so far.”

  “I reckon no
body can say you’ve forgotten your stuff, Claire,” Buckeye noted, but his eyes were now focused on the corpse. “Maybe we got your missing gal, right here. Okay, let’s get started and get this poor woman out of here.”

  Relieved the attention was off her and onto the victim, Claire moved back into the stern of the boat and watched Vicky snap pictures of the body from every possible angle with the departmental digital camera. Then she picked up her video cam and filmed the duck blind, inside and out, and moved carefully around the corpse, including a shot of the law enforcement officers observing the retrieval from their secured boats. Finished, Vicky moved to one side. “Okay, Buck, she’s all yours.”

  Buck and Nancy Gill donned protective gear and climbed down closer to the waterline and took a moment with their initial examination of the deceased.

  Buck said, “Well, she wasn’t killed here. Somebody took a lot of time to pose her just so. Probably for some fetish known only to the killer. He had to be fairly confident that nobody was around to see him lift her out of a boat and carry her up here. Any witnesses yet?”

  Seems Claire was designated to do the talking. Bud stood back and watched, no doubt letting her get her feet wet. She liked him better for it. He was all right.

  “No, but there are lots of ski boats around here. Somebody might have seen something. Nothing reported yet that we’ve been told.”

  A minute later, Bud did venture his opinion. “Probably dumped her here late at night when it was nice and dark and nobody was around.”

  Nancy Gill spoke up. “At least a couple of weeks ago, I’d say. Her legs are discolored and bloated. The skin’s degrading fast, sloughing off on the exposed surfaces. She’s been out here in the sun and heat a good long time, you’re right about that. We get this kind of thing in the bayous. Heat accelerates the decomp.”

  Buck unclasped the woman’s left hand and examined her fingernails. Then he turned the hand over and examined the fingertips. “I might be able to get some prints off her, but it’s iffy. Maybe we’ll get lucky, though.” Shaking his head, he stood up and looked at Claire. “We had another case similar to this, a couple of years back. Remember any of it, Claire?”

  “Not a lot.” She felt sure he was talking about the girl she’d remembered, the one sitting at an underwater table, but she kept that to herself. “So you think it might be the same perpetrator?”

  Everybody looked at her, then at each other, but nobody answered for a moment. Now that kind of behavior can rattle an amnesiac’s nerves. Shaggy finally spoke up, without the wide grin, serious for the first time. “That dude’s dead. Killed in that car crash, the one that knocked out your memory.”

  Well, that was news to Claire. The guy obsessed with her had struck before. She started to demand details, but wasn’t sure this was the time or the place. Apparently, Buck was reluctant to get into that, too.

  “Let’s finish this and get her bagged,” Buck ordered, and then turned to his photographer. “Vicky, be sure you get a clear view of the retrieval on video. We don’t want any sloppy procedures for some slick defense lawyer to pick apart.”

  Claire stepped closer. “Doesn’t look like she was raped. The clothes are all tucked in place. The pose has got to mean something.”

  Buck took hold of the corpse’s hair and lifted the head. He grimaced and blew out a quick breath. “Looks like that’s the only break this poor lady got.”

  When he moved aside, they all got a view of her face, or what little was left of it.

  Bud groaned. “Oh, God. He beat the hell out of her face.”

  Buck knelt and gave them his initial appraisal. “She’s unrecognizable, so I hope I get those prints. There’s a deep laceration at the center of her chest. Coupla inches deep, it looks like. Maybe three or four inches, actually. Could be she was stabbed first, and then beaten up once she fell down. God, this is brutal. Lord, the killer sure didn’t show her any mercy. These lacerations on the face go down to the bone. The blade wound is severe, but this victim died from the beating, I’m pretty sure. I’ll know for certain after we get her downtown. God, this never gets easy.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a beating this severe. If I had to guess, I’d say the murder weapon was a hammer or an iron bar, or maybe a bat, something like that.”

  Claire said, “Looks personal to me. Rage against a wife, maybe. Or a girlfriend. Somebody he knew very well.”

  Buck nodded, looking up at her. “Yeah, Claire. Somebody lost control, all right. It took a while to do this much damage to the facial bones and skull. Most of the blows landed on the face and side of her head. The body looks relatively untouched. Except for that one deep gash at chest level.”

  Glancing around the lake, Claire tried to determine what had happened. He had to have used a boat, but where did he put in? It could’ve been a hundred different places, private and commercial. When she caught sight of a large, sleek motor yacht anchored in the far distance, she pointed to it. “Anybody know who owns that boat over there? See it?”

  The guy named Shaggy laughed out loud, then sobered instantly when his boss gave him a severe glare. Shaggy looked hangdog. “Sorry, Claire. It just surprised me that you didn’t know. I forget that you don’t remember much.”

  Bud spoke up. “That’s Black’s boat, Claire. You used to spend some time aboard with him. You know, before all this happened.”

  Claire felt idiotic and stupid and at a loss for what to say. But hey, she had a double knock on her head. What did everybody expect?

  “You’ll remember all this stuff one of these days.” That was Bud again. Being sweet.

  The whole interchange was downright embarrassing, so Claire changed the subject. “Maybe somebody onboard saw or heard something. Is it always anchored way out here in the middle of the lake? Has Black been out here onboard?”

  Bud shrugged. “I doubt it. He’s probably been staying at home with you.”

  “So it just sits out here waiting for him? Nobody uses it?”

  “Pretty much. It’s a mini getaway, I think.”

  “Wow, must be nice to have something like that to fish off of.” That came from Nancy Gill.

  Claire said, “Well, let’s go check it out, Bud. See what the crew has to say. Call me, Buck, if you get anything else off her.”

  They took off, but said little to each other over the roar of the water patrol boat’s motor. Thank God, she had something worthwhile to do with her days. Even if it turned out to be a horrendous and brutal murder to start off her shiny, spanking-new life. Unfortunately, she had a feeling it was pretty much par for the course in her past life, too.

  Jesse’s Girl

  One week after the accident

  Sweet little Monica Wheeler was just so unbelievably easy to move in on. She was starved for attention, and affection, too, no doubt about it. But he liked women like that. It was very difficult for him on their first few dates, however, because all she talked about was Nicholas Black. How wonderful he was, how dedicated to Claire Morgan, how he sat beside her bed all night, talking to her, trying to get her to wake up, totally dedicated, totally in love with her. That’s what Jesse needed to do. Let Annie hear his voice. That would bring her awake. Annie loved him as much as Jesse loved her. She just wouldn’t admit it.

  Jesse waited until the security guard was peering out the door at some rowdy teenagers, then pressed his body against Monica’s, pinning her up against the wall beside Nicholas Black’s private penthouse elevator door. Not that he was worried about getting busted by the guard. Jesse was hotel staff and had hotel credentials, and best of all, he was usually with Monica, who was a good friend of Nicholas Black’s. Jesse kissed her mouth until she was breathless and wanted more. He felt nothing, of course, but convincing her that he cared was necessary to his plan to rescue Annie. When she finally pulled away, she murmured softly, her breathing hard and turned on, “I don’t want to, but I’ve got to get upstairs. The doctor’s in a meeting, and he doesn’t want Claire left alone longer than
a few minutes.”

  “Hey, let me go up with you. I’ve never seen anybody in a coma. C’mon, Monica, he’s in a meeting. He’ll never know.”

  “No, no, he’ll fire me on the spot!”

  Monica jerked loose from his grip just as the elevator doors slid open. She ducked inside and waved. “Tonight. I’ll see you at six when I get off.”

  Just as the doors started to slide together, Jesse quickly slipped in sideways and grabbed her back into an embrace.

  “Stop, Jesse, I mean it. There’s a camera in here,” she cried, but her resistance was halfhearted, and he silenced her complaints with his mouth. She’d started calling him that name, and he liked it. And whoever manned the cameras would think it was just two kids making out. Monica had the run of the place; nobody would cause her grief.

  Monica seemed weak-kneed and deliriously happy when he pulled back. “He’s in a meeting, like you said. C’mon, he’ll never know.”

  On the top floor, when the elevator opened, he could hardly contain his excitement. Annie was somewhere nearby, and he was going to find her. He followed Monica out into a wide black marble hall. Lots of floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a view of the hotel grounds and the lake. The apartment was totally silent; everything was clean, expensive, and shiny. No wonder that jerk doctor could make Annie think she loved him. He had everything she could ever possibly want. It made him want to vomit.

  “Where is she?”

  Monica clutched his arm and put her fingertips over his mouth. “Ssh, keep your voice down! Dr. Black’s office is right down there around that corner.” Poor Monica was a nervous wreck.

  “C’mon, show me where she is. Let’s get out of the hallway before he hears us.”

  Monica grabbed his hand and pulled him to a large bedroom, heavily draped and dark. The drapes were closed, making everything dim except for a white lamp sitting on a table beside the bed. And there was his Annie, eyes shut, lying so very still and pale. It did seem like she was just asleep. All kinds of monitors blinked with red lights and flashing digital numbers, and IV tubes were taped to her arms. And they’d tied her arms to the bed with white cotton restraints. He had tied her up once so she couldn’t leave. But this, this was so wrong. She was Black’s captive. Oh, Annie, my poor little angel. What has that monster done to you?