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  Chapter Seven

  Once they were inside the cool white halls of the sheriff’s department, Bud and Claire walked together to the detective bureau, where she was greeted with a quick and impromptu standing ovation. Startled, to say the least, Claire nodded to the men and women applauding from their desks, but she was glad they didn’t gather around and slap her on the back and say stuff like good job, glad you’re awake, cool beans, etc. It was touching, to be sure, but also bewildering. She didn’t know them, didn’t even know exactly why they were so glad to see her. Grinning like a proud papa, Bud led the way back to the sheriff’s private office.

  The brass plaque on the wall was engraved with the name Sheriff Charles Ramsay. A tiny little munchkinlike secretary was on her feet and around her desk in nothing flat, hugging Claire before she could get out a word. The older woman reached to about Claire’s shoulder, despite her five-inch heels. She was even smaller than the diminutive Monica, and that was saying something. She wore a lobster-red business suit and a black blouse with a red-and-white striped scarf knotted around her throat. She looked to be in her sixties, or maybe early seventies, and she had a nice smile and black rectangular reading glasses hanging on a chain. She hugged Claire as if she’d never let go.

  “Hi, Madge, how’s it goin’?” Bud said.

  Madge ignored him. “Claire, Claire, thank God you’re all right. I was so, so, so worried about you. My Red Hats have prayed for you at all of our meetings.”

  What the hell were Red Hats? “Thank you. I’m feeling pretty good now, as you can see. Up and walking around, ready to go back to work.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful, you poor little thing. But you look good, and pretty as ever, even after all that terrible stuff that happened to you.”

  As far as Claire could remember, which wasn’t all that far back, a couple of days, in fact, nobody had ever called her a “poor little thing.” Maybe it was because she still wasn’t armed like all the other deputies and had that ugly bald spot with some noticeable ex-stitch marks on her scalp.

  “Hi, Bud,” Madge said to him. “Charlie said for you to go right in. Welcome back, Claire. Everyone’s missed you so much.”

  So right in they went, and Claire got more little shivers of déjà vu as a man stood up from where he’d been sitting behind his large oak desk. He was smiling, too. Everybody was extraordinarily glad to see her. She must’ve been a good person. Well, that was an encouraging sign. They could’ve all booed her when she walked in and made her feel like crap. Sheriff Ramsay came around his desk to meet her, too, but he just grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously. He was not much taller than she was and had some serious bulldog jowls going on and some rather bloodshot blue eyes, too. But his smile was big and genuine and pleased. Despite that pleasant expression, he looked strong and capable and tough, certainly not one to be trifled with.

  “You look great, Claire, just great, absolutely as good as new. Can’t tell you how glad I am to see you up on your feet and already back here at the office. I was planning to come see you again after work today, but you beat me to the punch.” The sheriff took a deep breath while he held her by both arms and gazed at her. “I wasn’t so sure there for a while, but Nick always said you were going to make it.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I’m very glad to be here, believe me.”

  “You remember much yet?”

  “Some things. It’s coming back, bit by bit.”

  “Well, good, good. Sit down, sit down, both of you.”

  They sat down, and silence reigned until Sheriff Ramsay said, “I’ve got to say I’m surprised you’re up and about so soon. Nick has released you to go to work, I take it.”

  “I have released myself, sir. I feel fine, and I’m ready to do my job. I don’t remember everything that happened during the last couple of years, but I remember how to work a case. I can do my job, Sheriff. My memory loss doesn’t affect that.”

  Charlie Ramsay considered her as he picked up his pipe, tamped the tobacco down with his right thumb, and struck a match. He sucked on the pipe for a moment, making it glow slightly. Bud and Claire sat patiently, breathing in the gray smoke curling around his head and waiting for his lighting-up enjoyment to wane. Luckily, the pipe smoke didn’t smell all that bad. Not real good, either, but not stomach turning. Finally, he said, “It feels a little soon to me. I’d feel better if Nick writes you a clean bill of health.”

  “With all due respect, sir, Dr. Black is not in charge of my life. I’m not in the hospital, and I’m not his patient anymore. I’m just staying at his place for the time being.”

  Charlie couldn’t hide his shock. Lowering his pipe to an octagonal glass ashtray on his desk, he said, “Dr. Black? You mean to tell me that you don’t even remember Nick?”

  “I remember some things about him, but I’ve got a ways to go. It won’t interfere with my job performance.”

  Bud said, “She seems just fine to me, Sheriff. I’m swamped with work. I sure could use her help.”

  “So you remember your job training, but not a lot of your past interactions with people? That what you’re sayin’?”

  “Yes, sir. Dr. Black says that’s normal for some people who’ve suffered head traumas.”

  Charlie looked at Bud, apparently still thrown off by her Dr. Black references. She better lay off that from now on, and just call the guy, Black. “Very curious. You look good, though, Claire, considering.”

  “I am fine, sir. But I feel naked without my guns and badge. Bud says you have them here. I’d like to get them back now, if that’s all right with you.”

  More hesitation. What did he think? That she was going to grab them and shoot up the place if somebody yelled boo?

  “You went through an awful lot, detective. Are you absolutely certain you want to put this added stress on yourself this soon?”

  “I don’t remember the accident, or the aftermath. Black is going to continue to work with me and, as my partner, Bud will be with me when I’m on duty. In case I need him.”

  Chagrined, Claire picked up the hint of desperation in her own voice, but she couldn’t help it. She felt anxious, all right. “I’ll go crazy if I have to sit around much longer doing nothing, Sheriff. If I feel overwhelmed, I’ll back off, I swear. If I think it’s too much for me and might put Bud in danger, or any other fellow officer, I’ll hand over my badge and take more medical leave. I won’t be a risk to your other deputies, sir.”

  Sighing, Charlie puffed some more. They watched some more. The smoke was making intricate swirling designs in the air, like oil in water. “I just hate to see you get hurt again. This wasn’t the first time, you know.”

  “I’ll be fine, sir. You’ve got to believe me. I’m not going to do anything stupid or reckless. As I understand it, the perpetrator who was after me is dead. So that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Charlie swiveled his gaze to Bud. “Davis, you agree to stay close to her for the next few weeks, help her along the way, if she needs it?”

  “Yes, sir. No problem.”

  “Well, okay, but for just half a day at first, and by that, Claire, I mean half a day. Don’t abuse it. You need to ease back into work. I know that, Nick knows that, and I think you know that. Can you abide by that directive, Detective Morgan?”

  Claire didn’t like that directive, not one little bit. She ought to be the one who decided how much she could take now, or in the future, or any other time. However, she could also see the writing on the wall, and since she could be pragmatic when she had zero other options, she said, “Yes, sir. Half a day. In the beginning.”

  Charlie’s face had skeptical written all over it. He turned to Bud. “Davis, I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Glancing at Bud, Claire read his expression to be: What? Me? She’s the one with the amnesia.

  “Okay, Claire, your badge and your weapons are right here. I kept them close because I knew you were going to beat this thing. Not this soon, maybe, but I knew yo
u’d be back.”

  Pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk, he fished out her Glock 9mm and .38 snub nose. Claire was so glad to see her guns that tears almost welled; it was like seeing two long-lost, protective friends. Both weapons were snug inside their holsters, the belts wrapped around them. Charlie’s phone rang just as he was sliding them across the desk. He picked up the receiver and swiveled his chair around to face the windows. Claire quickly grabbed the weapons, handled them with some reverence and loving care, and then shoved a clip in the Glock and shrugged her shoulder holster into place. Just as she was fastening the Velcro holster on her ankle, Charlie swung back around and looked at her.

  “We got a body out on the lake, hung up in a duck blind. Our jurisdiction. You two want it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Claire said, before Bud could open his mouth. She was eager and rarin’ to go. She felt happier already, ecstatic, even. This is what she wanted, more than anything.

  “You’re absolutely certain you’re up to taking on a homicide this soon?”

  “Yes, sir. In fact, I think this is the best I’ve felt since I woke up.”

  “You up to it, too, Bud?”

  “Yes, sir. Investigating the crime scene won’t be too dangerous for her. The guy’s already dead.” Bud and Claire smiled. Sheriff Ramsay didn’t. He handed Claire her badge, still hanging on the chain, and gave them the location of the body. She looped it over her head and felt truly whole again.

  “Don’t make me regret this, Claire. Half a day, no more.”

  “Yes, sir. You won’t be sorry.”

  The two of them got out of there in a hurry before he thought better of the idea. But he’d made the right decision. She was all healed up, bored stiff, ready to go to work. Her hunch was that she’d remember a lot more of the last two or three years hard at work on a case, instead of sitting around Black’s luxury digs staring out the window and feeling sorry for herself.

  Luckily, this late in the day, a lot of the other detectives had gone home and their desks were empty and she wouldn’t have to face another embarrassing round of applause. They walked outside and climbed back into Bud’s Bronco and were on their way within minutes. Claire had no idea which way to go. “Do you know where we’re headed, Bud?”

  “Yeah, Buckeye and I fish out that way. I’ve done some duck hunting with Harve out around there, too. The boat’s at the department’s marina.”

  “How is Harve?”

  “You remember him?”

  “I remember that we were partners in L.A. I don’t recall being here with him.”

  Bud took a right onto a busy highway and signaled over into the inside lane. “He’s doin’ okay. He’s worried about you. He’ll be glad to see you. Maybe we can drop by there when I take you to your place.”

  “He lives close to me?”

  “Just down the road.”

  Bud wasn’t babying her, not tiptoeing around on eggshells, and Claire appreciated that. She concentrated on remembering where she lived on the lake and did remember a house. An A-frame sitting right on the beach. She loved it there. She knew that. Black had said so, too, but she felt it. The idea of going home made her feel happy and eager to get there and check it out. Already, she was feeling more confident about things working out okay. Coming back to work was turning out just fine.

  As they drove along a highway that skirted the lake and wound its way up and down the spines of high forested hills, Claire could see shining glimpses of the lake and welcomed the awesome views. She remembered driving this road, remembered kidding around with Bud. She asked him a few questions along the way and continued to be grateful that he wasn’t saying much, just sitting back and letting her sort things out in her own mind. Yep, she liked him better all the time. They must’ve been good friends. The idea brought another picture blooming up inside her mind. “You were bitten by a snake.”

  Bud glanced over at her. “You got that right. A timber rattler. Wasn’t much fun, either.”

  “On a case.”

  “Yeah, a real nasty one. Lots of snakes and creepy crawly things.”

  More memories flooded back, of a dim cave, of the smell of sulfur, and the disconcerting sense of extreme anxiety. The images vanished as soon as they came, and she let them go. Black said not to force the traumatic things, that they’d come back in time and that was soon enough. Fine by her.

  Bud turned left and drove down a steep, winding road to the lake. “The water patrol’s got a departmental boat at the marina below here. We can ride it out to the scene.”

  A guy that Bud introduced as Al Pennington was waiting, already inside the speedboat and manning the controls. He had on his brown patrol uniform; his blond hair was cropped short in a military cut, and there was a big grin spreading across his sunburned face. He had biceps about the size of small Christmas hams, straining the seams on his short sleeves. “Welcome back, Morgan. I heard you were gonna make it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Claire’s colleagues weren’t pushing her and asking her a lot of nosy questions, and that was a giant relief. She didn’t have any answers, anyway. They climbed aboard, and Pennington maneuvered the craft out of the marina and didn’t open it up until they hit the floating markers on the main channel. After that, they seemed to fly over the choppy water, bumping atop waves caused by the wakes of speedboats. Claire pulled down the brown departmental cap that Pennington tossed to her, snugged it tighter on her head, held it with one hand, and was jolted by another tidal wave of the past. Black had a boat, a blue-and-white one, larger and more powerful than this one. He came to her house in it. She got a mere inkling that she had a physical fight aboard it, but she didn’t see whom she fought with. Probably not Black, though. Guess her protective little mind was in action again, shielding her from the evil things still crouching in their dark hidey-holes.

  It was a beautiful place, she decided, this unknown lake she lived on. She already liked it a lot better than L.A. The roar of the boat’s motor drowned out any conversation. She was glad about that, too. She watched the horizon, until a ring of identical police boats came into sight, moored around a duck hunter’s blind built up out of the water on wood pilings. As they neared, she got a glimpse of the body. It was propped up against the stand in a sitting position. It looked like a female, but the victim’s head was down, the chin resting on the chest, so she couldn’t tell yet. Minutes later, Pennington shut off the motor and the boat’s wake washed them up closer to the crime scene. They immediately picked up the sickly sweet and awful odor of the decomposition of human flesh. Bud tossed a line to the water patrol officer standing on the deck of the rather large duck blind.

  “What can you tell us about the victim?” Claire asked the officer, as soon as the boat was secured. The patch on his breast pocket said Lt. Steve Clemons.

  “Not much yet, detective. We got a white female. My guess is maybe mid-thirties. No visible ID, no sign of sexual assault, but the M.E.’s gonna have to determine that. The call’s in to him. Buckeye should be here with his team any minute now.”

  Claire got a picture in her head of the man, Buckeye. She almost smiled because memories were coming back, one at a time, maybe, but they were coming back. It couldn’t be soon enough, either. She was ready to roll, ready for the needle to point right at normal. Today, right that moment, she felt like a million dollars.

  “Any identifiers that you can see? Tattoos, jewelry?”

  “Can’t say yet. We haven’t moved the body. She’s fully clothed. Sitting up, head down. We might get lucky and find something when we move her.”

  “She’s out of rigor?”

  “She’s been dead a while. She’s in decomp. Some flesh is sloughing off.”

  Bud was looking at Claire. “I do believe you’re back in the game, Morgan.”

  “I told you I didn’t forget how to do my job.”

  “Well, I, for one, am glad you’re here.”

  Bud had that cheesy grin back in place. His perfectly styled hair and silk
tie were now fluttering about in the wind. Almost without thinking, Claire said, “How’s Brianna?”

  Bud’s smile faded instantly. A look of chagrin overtook his face. That made her nervous. What had she said wrong?

  “You remember Bri, Claire?”

  “I remember that she’s your girlfriend, right?”

  “She used to be. She moved away, but we keep in touch. I’ll tell you all about it someday.”

  But not today, Claire thought. Bud was extremely hesitant to discuss the woman named Brianna, and she could take a hint. “Okay, let’s take a closer look at the victim.”

  They moved into the bow, where they could get a better look at the position of the corpse. The dead woman was wearing a long-sleeved white silk blouse and a short black cotton skirt. The bottom of the blouse and top of the skirt were stiff with a dried brown substance, probably blood from a wound hidden by the long matted hair flowing down over her bowed head. She had been posed, hands clasped, legs demurely crossed. The soft breeze was picking up some of her hair and blowing it around. Her legs and feet were bare and darkly tanned. Both her shoes were gone.

  Claire said, “I guess she could be a victim of a boating accident and somehow managed to crawl up here to die. Any reports of collisions?”

  Al Pennington shook his head. “Nope. Nothing like that around this area.”

  Claire looked back down at the body. “She’s not dressed like a woman out fishing or boating.”

  Bud said, “Could be she’s an office worker, or lawyer, a professional woman. That’s my guess.”

  Claire turned to Steve, the water patrol officer. “Have you guys checked out the inside of the duck blind? Maybe the assault took place right here.”