Dark Whispers. Debra Webb
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months ago, she started insisting that someone was coming into her house at night. Every time she told the story it was a little different. The brother decided she was hallucinating. Apparently that can happen with TBIs. This morning she called 9-1-1 and claimed she’d shot a man. We arrive and there’s no body. No blood. No signs of an altercation. Nothing. There was no weapon found on the premises, yet she swears she discharged a .38 at an intruder. She also swears she left him bleeding on the floor.”
Jess exchanged a look with Buddy.
“You believe she imagined the whole thing,” Buddy said.
“At this point, yeah, that’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
“Thanks so much, Lieutenant.” Before ending the call, Jess assured him she would pass along any information she might discover relevant to the case. To Buddy she said, “Whether she shot anyone or not, it sounds as if Ms. Drummond needs our help.”
“I guess we have our first case.” Buddy came around to the front of his desk and offered his hand. “I’ll leave the logistics to you. I have another investigator to interview over at Cappy’s.”
Jess took his hand and struggled to her feet. Cappy’s Corner Grill was a cop hangout over on 29th that served the best burgers in town. Local cops, private investigators and bounty hunters frequently used Cappy’s for unofficial staff meetings.
“Clint is the right investigator for this one,” Jess said, the wheels inside her head already turning. She remembered well how cocky the detective had been when he’d first joined her major crimes team, but time had softened his hard edges.
Buddy shot her a wink as they exited his office. “Good thing, since he’s our only investigator.”
“True.” Jess turned to the office at the end of the hall where Clint was interviewing their first client. Whatever troubles Natalie Drummond faced, real or imagined, Jess would see that she received the help she needed.
No one should have to fight her demons alone.
Southwood Road
Mountain Brook
6:00 p.m.
Clint pulled into the driveway behind Natalie Drummond. He surveyed the place she called home and blew out a long, low whistle. If the lady lived here—the estate looked more like a castle than a home—then she was loaded. He should have realized she was related to the Drummonds of Birmingham.
He climbed out of his Audi and strolled up to her BMW as she opened the door. When she emerged her lips tilted the slightest bit with a shaky smile. “I appreciate you being able to start right away. I was afraid it would be days or even weeks before I could retain the services I needed.”
“I’ll work as quickly as possible to get to the bottom of the trouble, Ms. Drummond. No one should be afraid in their own home.” Even if it was large enough to host the next governor’s summit.
“You should call me Natalie.” She exhaled a big breath and sent a worried glance back at the street.
“Natalie,” he repeated. “As long as you call me Clint.”
She nodded, and then led the way to the front door. When she fished the keys from her bag, he reached for them. “Why don’t I go in first?”
Obviously relieved, she turned over the keys.
As he opened the door the first detail he noted was the lack of a warning from the security system. “You don’t arm your system when you leave the house?”
“With all that happened this morning, I suppose I forgot.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Like I said, I didn’t go back in the house after the police left. I couldn’t.”
He handed the keys back to her, placed a hand at the small of her back and ushered her across the threshold. He surveyed the entry hall. The ceiling soared high above a grand balcony on the second floor. A large painting hung on the broad expanse of wall that flanked the ornate staircase. He recognized Natalie as a child of around ten or twelve in the painting.
“My family,” she said, following his gaze. “My parents are both gone now. There’s my younger sister, April, and my older brother, Heath. Heath runs the family business and April is a trophy wife who specializes in fund-raising.” She said the last with something less than pride as she placed her purse and keys on a table near the door. “The kitchen is on the right at the end of the hall. That’s where...it happened.”
Clint hesitated, the sticky notes on the mirror above the hall table snagging his attention. There were several yellow notes and one pink one. Leave the keys and your purse here. Lock the door. Arm the security system. The pink note read Check the peephole before opening the door.
“I don’t need them as much as I used to,” she said with a noticeable resignation in her tone. “My short-term memory gets better every day.” She locked the door. “It’s certain parts of my long-term memory that still have a few too many holes.”
He gestured to the notes. “This was part of the process of getting back into your normal routine?”
She nodded. “I’m not sure anything about my routine will ever be called normal again, but I manage.”
“I imagine the journey has been a challenging one.” Clint moved toward the kitchen. “Back at the office you said your sister spent a great deal of time helping you get back on your feet?”
“She stayed with me every night for the first year. When she wasn’t with me there was a nurse.” A weary sigh escaped her lips. “For ten months I was fine on my own, and then...the voices started. April stays the night whenever I need her despite my brother-in-law’s insistence that he needs his wife at home.”
“Your brother-in-law is...?”
“David Keating, the son of Birmingham’s new mayor, who sees himself as governor one day. He’s running for state representative and insists that April should be at his side at all times. You haven’t seen the billboards plastered all over the city? Vote for Truth and Family Values.” Natalie shook her head. “Personally, I believe he’s worried that I’m losing my mind and he doesn’t want his wife too close to anything unpleasant that might end up attached to his name in the news.” She paused. “Sorry. I’m being unkind. In truth, David has been very thoughtful since the fall. Forgive me if I’m a little too blunt at times.”
“No apology necessary. Do you and your siblings get along?”
“As well as any I suppose.” Her heels clicked on the marble floor as they continued toward the kitchen. “Five years ago, after our father died, I think people expected there to be dissention, but we all felt the terms of the will were remarkably well thought out. Heath inherited the family business, which made perfect sense since he was the only one with any interest in overseeing it. He was Father’s right hand. I inherited the house and April was endowed with the largest portion of the family financial trust. Father was well aware of my younger sister’s love of spending. The trust pays out slowly over her life so there’s no fear of her ever being destitute in the event her marriage to David doesn’t work out.”
They reached the wide arched entrance to the kitchen and Clint paused. “You’re an attorney?”
She stared at the sleek tile floor. “I was. It remains to be seen if I will be again. I feel more like an assistant now. Two years ago I was up for partner at Brenner, Rosen and Taylor. I would have been the youngest partner in the firm’s history. Most of the past two years I’ve been on extended disability leave. I returned to work a few weeks ago. I review other people’s cases to see if we’re doing all we can for each client. I’m certain the partners fear that giving me a case of my own at this point would be premature, perhaps even detrimental to the firm’s reputation. After what happened this morning, who can blame them?”