Until Death. Sandy Curtis
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'No.' The lie came easily from the patchwork of her memory.
The doctor questioned her further, and she kept telling him she couldn't remember. Finally he smiled kindly. 'Sleep is the best thing for you now.' He put his stethoscope back in his bag.
'The blood tests?' The other man had spoken again, and Libby wondered at the frown creasing his forehead.
'Would you agree to some blood tests, my dear?' the doctor asked her.
Libby nodded. 'If it will help find out what's happened to me.' She would agree to anything that would help explain this nightmare.
'Perhaps you should go to the police. Someone may have reported you missing by now.'
Police? Badge ... on the man who said she had to die. If they called the police he would find her. 'No!'
The doctor seemed startled by the vehemence of her refusal. She glanced at his companion, saw the calculating look in his eyes, and wondered what he was thinking.
'Conor said you had no purse with you,' the doctor continued as he took a hypodermic syringe from his bag. 'Perhaps there is something in your pockets that could help identify you?'
'I've looked,' Conor said, causing Libby and the doctor to stare at him. He shrugged. 'I was trying to find out if there was someone I could call.' He glanced at her right hand. 'Perhaps there is an inscription on her ring?'
Libby looked down at the silver band, its etched bird in flight barely discernible. Her father had given it to her on her thirteenth birthday, just a month before ... She waited until the doctor had finished drawing blood, then twisted the ring off and handed it to Conor.
'To Libby, love Dad,' Conor read out. He looked down at her, dark eyes assessing. 'Does that jog your memory?'
'Libby.' She said the word as though trying it on for size. 'I guess it must be me.' She looked at the band of white skin on her finger. 'I've obviously been wearing it a long time.'
'Yes,' Conor said as he handed the ring back, 'obviously.'
There was nothing in his tone to suggest suspicion, but Libby somehow knew that he didn't trust her. The feeling was mutual.
'Your accent is American, but not quite American.' He frowned. 'Perhaps you've been living in Australia for some years?'
'I don't know,' Libby replied, feeling the strain of lying. She closed her eyes. 'My head hurts. Could we talk more after I've had a sleep?'
'I'll give you something for the pain.' The doctor's voice was kind, but Libby could sense the tension emanating from Conor.
'Well, Pascual?' Conor stopped at the front door and turned to the doctor.
'The bruising on her face suggests she has been punched, and quite hard. But I don't think the injury to her head is severe enough to cause total amnesia. However, she could be suffering from amnesia brought on by emotional shock. She could be in an abusive relationship, or she could have been mugged. She could also be mentally unstable or on drugs. There are injection marks on her arm, but no tracks such as an addict would have.' Pascual looked at Conor with concern. 'She needs professional help, Conor. You can't keep her here like an abandoned kitten,' he added as a large grey and white striped cat uncurled itself from the lounge in the adjoining living room and stalked into the hall.
A smile almost touched Conor's eyes. 'I hardly think there's a comparison.'
'No? You make no friends in case you have to move on in an instant. That way there's no-one to miss you if you disappear. But it also means there's no-one for you to miss. You let a starving kitten into your heart because it's safe, you don't have to divulge your secrets, and if you leave, it will find another home. You look at that urchin in there with the same expression, my friend. You are lonely, and too long without a woman's touch.' Pascual shook his head. 'But she is no kitten. And someone could be anxious for her welfare. I should take her to a hospital or the police now.'
'They would ask questions you will not be able to answer, Pascual. She can stay here for a day or two. If she remembers nothing, then she can go to the police by herself.' He placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder. 'Thank you for coming. Remember when you drive home to check if you're being followed.'
'You have lived here in peace for seven years, surely you can relax now.'
Sadness etched deeply on Conor's face. 'I thought that once before,' he said, 'and look what happened.'
Pascual sighed. 'For you, the son of my most favourite cousin, I will check not once, but two times.'
Conor couldn't stop his smile this time, but it quickly faded as he opened the door and watched the doctor walk out to his Holden Statesman and drive away. He locked the door, checked it, then looked down at the cat. 'Come, Thomas, let's check out this kitten that's turned up on our doorstep.'
Wesley Scanlan drove into his apartment car park as the haze that passed for Sydney's dawn began to clear. His hands trembled as he unlocked his apartment door and rushed inside. His phone was ringing and he knew he had to answer it, but the urge to wash his hands was greater.
The face that stared back at him in the bathroom mirror was haggard, its usual handsomeness marked by sweat-streaked dirt, bloodshot eyes, and cobwebs sticky on his fair hair. He scrubbed the feel of death from his fingernails, then flung the brush down and hurried to the phone when it began to ring again.
He cleared his throat as he picked up the receiver. 'Hello.'
'I've cleaned up. There's no evidence left, including Vanessa's car. Did you dispose of ... your parcel?'
'Yes,' he shuddered. 'But what are we going to do about Libby?'
'I've already checked the taxi companies. A woman answering her description was picked up not far from the house and taken to the airport. I have a contact there - he'll check the records and see if she caught a flight anywhere.'
'But ...'
'She left her passport in her bedroom, so wherever she's gone she's still in Australia. We'll find her.'
Wesley wiped at his face, and recoiled in disgust at the dirt that came off onto his hand. 'What if she goes to the police?'
'We don't know how much she saw, or even if she saw anything, but even so, she won't remember much. Bloody inconvenient of Vanessa to turn up before she was supposed to. Just when the stupid bitch was finally out of the way.'
'Are you sure Vanessa won't be missed?'
'It could create a problem, but we'll deal with that when the time comes. At least she didn't have any friends in Sydney.'
'What about the woman she went to see? Why didn't she stay with her as long as she'd planned?'
Wesley flinched at the exasperated hiss in his ear. 'I can't find out everything. I have to be discreet.'
'I'm sorry, Mal, I know that. It's just that Vanessa's death wasn't something we planned on.'
'You panicked, Wesley. You should have asked Vanessa to come into the office and meet me.'
'But you were altering Libby's computer records. What if she'd seen -'
'It wouldn't have mattered. We would have had to dispose of her anyway once she'd seen Libby. Now turn your bloody mobile on and switch this phone over to the answering machine. You're supposed to be on your honeymoon, remember? I'll call you as soon as I've found out where she's gone.'
As the Holden Statesman pulled into the ground floor car park of Brisbane's Anzac Square Building, the security guard looked up. For three months he had been watching Dr Pascual Recio, reporting the doctor's movements and anything he said that might be of importance.
Ten years ago the guard had joined the security firm, a legitimate and well-respected company. With his impeccable background and natural ability, he had quickly gained the confidence and respect of his employers. But his training had begun long before that, and his real work was carried