Double Blind (17 page)

I stood beside my mother, gazing around the
kitchen. At the table, the counters, even the floor. No drawing. No bagged note.

“Maybe they're in your bedroom. Or mine.” But I didn't believe it. I'd seen them on the counter as we left. I'd bet on that.

Had someone been watching my apartment building, just waiting for us to leave?

My hands fisted. If someone had done that, he'd violated my private space—and my mother's. Without her, I'd have been beyond petrified. She could have stayed in Denver, but she'd come here to help me. Stepped into my life, and now look what had happened. She wasn't even safe in my own apartment.

What if that someone was still here?

“We should leave,” Mom said. “Call the police.”

“And tell them we're missing a drawing? They'll want to know what it is.”

Mom twisted her lips.

“I'm checking the bedrooms.”

“No.”

I turned toward her and spread my hands.

“Not alone, you're not.”

“Come on, then.”

We ventured into her bedroom first. My legs trembled, but my outrage outweighed the fear. The drawing and note weren't there. Not on the bed, the dresser, or anywhere near the computer. And no one hid in the room. I eyed the closed closet door, nerves spitting. He could be in there. We could have surprised him . . .

Before I lost courage I strode over and flung the door open.

Mom gasped.

I shrank back, cringing. But the closet was empty.

Breath returned slowly. I sagged against the wall, willing my legs to stop shaking.

We forced ourselves into my bedroom next. Then the bathroom. We found nothing. And the drawing and note were gone.

Nothing else had been touched. My purse still sat on the kitchen counter, with cash and credit cards. In my bedroom what jewelry I had was untouched. My wedding rings still lay in the drawer.
Thank heaven
. I put them on.

We stood back in the living room, not knowing what to do. Mom pressed a fist against her jaw. “How stupid I was not to make a scan of that drawing!”

“It wouldn't matter. He'd have just taken that too.”

“But if I'd hidden it . . .”

“Why would you do that? How could we have known?”

Mom licked her lips. “Why didn't he take our computers? At least mine, if he wanted to see what we've been up to online. It's so easy to grab.”

I had no idea.

She looked toward the door. “Your lock hasn't even been tampered with. It looked perfectly fine.”

“Maybe he has a key.” The mere idea unglued me.

“Or he's a very good lock picker.” Fear shone in Mom's eyes. Either scenario left us easy targets.

I shuddered. “When we left I didn't bolt the door from the outside. I should have done that.”

“Who knows if it would have helped.”

If he'd have gotten through the deadbolt I'd be trembling all the harder. “So what now?”

“Call the police.”

“Mom, no
.
And tell them what? That the only two things missing are a drawing and a threatening note? We don't even have proof they existed.”

“We have proof of the drawing. Agnes can vouch for that. As for the note, at least she can say she found the envelope. And I still have the recording of the other threatening message on my phone at home.”

“You didn't erase it?”

Mom shook her head. “Something told me not to.”

My body swayed. I headed for the couch and sank into it.

“You know what else?” Mom came to stand before me. “I can even play that tape for the police from here. I can call my answering machine remotely.”

“You're kidding.”

“Want to hear it?”

I shot her an incredulous look. “Why didn't you tell me? If it was Jerry Sterne or one of the other interviewers, I'll know the voice.”

She screwed up her face. “Of course. I don't know why I . . .”

Mom hurried to the phone. She punched a few numbers, listened, then hit a few more. “Here.” She walked the receiver over to me.

I pressed it to my ear. Heard a click, then a clipped, unfriendly male voice:
“Alice Wegman, I'm calling from Cognoscenti in California, regarding your daughter, Lisa Newberry. I have a crucial message for her:
Don't
do it
.”

The line went dead.

I pulled the phone away, veins sizzling. No wonder Mom had hopped a plane. That voice clearly meant me harm.

But it didn't belong to Jerry Sterne. Or anyone else I recognized.

Mom took the phone from me and set it on the coffee table. “Know who it is?”

My head shook.

She sat in my armchair and stared at the floor. “I'm telling you, we should call the police.”

I still couldn't imagine it. “If we do we'll have to tell them
why
. . . everything. And they won't help. Cognoscenti warned me the company will say I'm some crazy, vindictive woman.”

Mom was already reaching for the phone. “Even if they don't believe us now, we can at least get it on the record for later—when we know more about the murder.”

“
Wait
, Mom.” I leaned forward. “Don't.”

Her arm hung midair. “We have to do this. If we don't, and we later claim someone broke into your apartment, the police will want to know why we never reported it. It'll be one more thing to make them suspicious of our story.”

I bit my lip, wavering. But an unfamiliar stubbornness rose up. “This is
my
apartment. My life. You can't make this choice for me.”

My mother and I faced each other, gazes locked. I could see the indecision in her eyes.

Slowly, she put down the receiver.

I exhaled. Pressed a hand to my temple. Something major had just happened here, but I didn't have time to examine it.

A minute ticked by. My mother waited.

I picked up the phone.

Chapter 21

Within half an hour a policeman stood at my door.
Waiting for him, I'd nearly cancelled the report a dozen times. Things were spiraling way out of control. Once the police were brought in, everything would change. I couldn't call the shots anymore.

Ted Bremer, the policeman, was tall and big-boned with short salt-and-pepper hair. Around my mother's age. His brown eyes seemed to drill right through me, taking in my bandaged head. That cop aura hung about him, confidence mixed with wariness. I wanted to take back the report more than ever.

My arm waved him inside. Mom stood back, sizing him up. As soon as his gaze landed on her she broke into an endearing smile. “Thank you for coming. We're so grateful for your time.” She held out her hand. “I'm Alice Wegman, and this is my daughter, Lisa.”

The policeman shook Mom's hand. “Officer Ted Bremer.”

Mom gave him a gracious nod. The policeman's eyes lingered on her, clearly impressed. Maybe my mother would charm him into believing us.

“Officer Bremer, we have a story to tell you.” Mom spread her hands. “I admit it's rather unusual. But what can we do; facts are facts.”

Bremer pulled a pen from his pocket. “Let's start at the beginning. You reported a break-in?” He tore his eyes off my mother and looked around the apartment.

“That was me.” I threw Mom a sideways glance. I'd made the move to call the cops; now she needed to let me do the talking.

“And nothing missing but two important documents, you said?”

“Right.”

The policeman gestured toward the door. “No sign of forced entry there.”

“No.”

Bremer nodded. “I'll check the windows. Not as likely, you being on the second floor. But we'll look at everything.”

I hadn't even thought of windows. But a man on a ladder in this neighborhood—in daylight? No way.

“What were the documents?” Bremer asked.

Here it came. I swallowed. “Want to check the apartment first? Because the explanation's going to take awhile.”

Bremer's eyes flicked from me to my mother. She gave him an encouraging nod, as if he should take his cues from us. But he merely shrugged. “All right.”

He found nothing, of course. No evidence at all that anyone had broken into the apartment.

We sat at the kitchen table. I tried to tell Bremer only part of the story, but the sketchy details didn't make sense. Bremer asked hard questions and little by little pulled it all out of me. My surgery and confrontation with Cognoscenti, my memories of the murder. How we'd narrowed down the general date of the crime. And now we knew
where
it had happened, unless I was totally wrong about the house.

Bremer took lots of notes, his face a mask.

My throat had run dry. “Do you know about this case?” Surely Bremer did. Surely he could tell me who the people were. “I haven't watched local news in a long time. Maybe somebody found the suitcase. Or maybe the woman's still missing.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Atherton's not my jurisdiction.”

“But it's so close! You must have heard something.”

“No. Doesn't mean it didn't happen. But I don't watch local news either. I
live
it every day. And I'm busy with my own caseload.”

I surveyed him. Was he telling the truth?

Why
had I called the police? I didn't even trust this man.

Bremer moved on with more questions. He asked Mom to call her answering machine so he could listen to the “don't do it” tape.

Would he believe even that? He could claim we'd staged it.

I pulled out my camera to show him pictures of the man's car and house. I saw the last two photos, and my heart sank. “Oh, no.” I looked at Mom. “We never got the man's face.”

Her eyes closed briefly. “How about the car?”

“Sort of, but not good enough.” The picture of the car backing out had been aimed too high. The license plate was cut off. And Mom's shot of the car's side only included the back seat to the rear bumper.

I had managed to take a decent shot of the house.

Bremer looked at the pictures. “What's the address?”

“Ten Amethyst Lane. In Atherton.”

“Would you e-mail those pictures to me?”

For whatever good they would do. But I nodded. He gave me his e-mail address.

The phone rang.

“Go ahead.” Bremer gestured toward it.

I stood, wrung out, and walked to the counter. The ID signaled Sherry. Great time for her to call. “Hi.” I turned my back to the policeman.

“How
are
you?”

“Okay. Listen, I really want to talk to you. But a policeman's here. We had a break-in, and—”

“What?”

“—we're giving him information. I'll have to call you back.”

“Are you
kidding
? Was anything taken? Are you okay?”

“We were gone.”

“A break-in. I can't believe it. Do you think it has anything to do with . . . everything?”

“Yes.” My throat clogged. “But I can't talk right now.”

“Oh, Lisa!”

“I'm not alone. Mom's still here.”

“I'm glad for that.”

“Yeah.”

Sherry breathed over the line. “Call me back soon as you can.” She sounded frightened. “Please.”

“I will.”

We hung up. I shuffled back to the table. Mom cast me a look, as if Sherry was an intrusion. I glared back. We were all in this together, like it or not. Mom had to learn to deal with my best friend. I
missed
Sherry.

Bremer tapped his pen against his notes. “I'll need the contact information for the forensic artist.”

My mind blanked. “Where did we put Agnes's card?”

“Over there.” Mom went to the microwave. The card sat on top. She handed it to Bremer. He wrote down the information, then focused on me. “And you say she didn't see the letter.”

Mom opened her mouth. I cut her off. “We didn't read it until she left. But she did see the envelope. Like I said, she found it. It hadn't been there when she arrived.”

Bremer's gaze fell back to his notes. He scratched the side of his nose as if trying to make sense of it all.

He raised his head. “You say you're better after the chip implant?”

“Much. Without it I'd be under the covers right now.”

Except that—without it, I wouldn't be in this situation.

“But they're telling you it's a placebo.”

“They're lying.”

The policeman surveyed me.

“There's no point in your calling them. I've already told you what they're going to say. And no doubt they'll come up with some paper to prove it's a placebo, just like they showed me. Doesn't mean it's true.”

Bremer tapped his pen some more. “In the end, does it matter?”

“What do you mean?” Mom asked.