small frown puckering the skin between her finely arched brows. “She’s still quite disoriented and badly shaken. She knows there are things she can’t remember, and the dread of what they might be is terrifying her. She wants to remember and is scared to death at the same time. She’s very frightened, Rebecca.”
Rebecca recognized the cautionary tone in Catherine’s voice and responded defensively, “I’m not going to interrogate her, Catherine.” She immediately regretted her flash of temper when she saw the surprise in Catherine’s eyes.
Hell, I’m too sensitive around her
.
I can’t run an interrogation being worried that I’ll offend someone.
Still, she placed her hand on Catherine’s arm, leaning toward her slightly as she spoke. “I’m sorry. I just want to find out how much she can remember. I won’t push her, I promise.”
Catherine covered Rebecca’s hand lightly with her own, very conscious of the pressure of Rebecca’s fingers on her. Even that innocent touch sent her pulse racing.
“I trust you, Rebecca. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you see her.” She pressed Rebecca’s hand again and stepped away. “Come on, I’ll take you to her.”
*
Janet Ryan, a twenty-five-year-old computer analyst, lay propped up on several pillows. The narrow, slatted hospital blinds were drawn against the afternoon sun, allowing stripes of light and shadow to fall across the bed like bars. The television, perched on the wall opposite the bed, was tuned to a TV talk show. The hostess raced up and down the aisles, thrusting her microphone at the members of the audience. There was no sound.
The left side of the young woman’s face was swollen and discolored. Her eye was a mere slit, the lashes caked together with dried blood. Fine black sutures closed a series of lacerations on her forehead. She clutched the covers up to her breasts despite the heat. Her hands were covered with cuts and scratches. Looking at her, Rebecca thought she was probably very attractive. Her body under the light sheet appeared trim and her bare arms were muscled as if she worked out or had a passion for sports. Rebecca thought that she must have put up a hell of a fight, too.
Catherine went immediately to the bedside and took Janet’s hand. “Detective Frye is here.”
Janet nodded her head slightly, carefully, as if the small motion hurt. “Please stay with me.”
“Of course,” Catherine said, pulling a chair up to the left side of the bed.
Rebecca dragged a similar worn plastic chair next to Catherine’s and sat down, opening her notebook as she did so. She leaned forward so Janet could see her face.
“Ms. Ryan, I’m Rebecca Frye
.
I’m a police officer. I’m trying to find out what happened the night you were injured.” She watched the young woman carefully, looking for any unspoken reactions to her questions. “Can you tell me what you did that day
,
Tuesday, three days ago?”
Janet glanced at Catherine, who nodded encouragement. Then she began to speak in a slow, halting whisper. “I was…late…I missed the train. So, I drove…to work.”
“Where is that?” Rebecca asked. She knew the answer, but she liked to get a witness comfortable with the interrogation process before she pressed them for more important details.
“Compton Building. I’m a software programmer…” She halted uncertainly, her grip on Catherine’s hand tightening.
“Go on,” Rebecca urged.
“It was a normal day. Barb…called at lunch…I told her I’d be home around seven.” A single tear slipped from between her lashes and dampened her cheek.
Rebecca reached for a tissue and pressed it into Janet’s free hand. She waited a moment, then asked, “What did you do after work?”
“It was beautiful outside. I…I decided to go home on the Drive, even though the traffic is slower…” She stopped again, a slight tremor noticeable in her hands. “If I hadn’t…”
“It’s all right, Janet,” Catherine said
Rebecca recognized the cautionary tone in Catherine’s voice and responded defensively, “I’m not going to interrogate her, Catherine.” She immediately regretted her flash of temper when she saw the surprise in Catherine’s eyes.
Hell, I’m too sensitive around her
.
I can’t run an interrogation being worried that I’ll offend someone.
Still, she placed her hand on Catherine’s arm, leaning toward her slightly as she spoke. “I’m sorry. I just want to find out how much she can remember. I won’t push her, I promise.”
Catherine covered Rebecca’s hand lightly with her own, very conscious of the pressure of Rebecca’s fingers on her. Even that innocent touch sent her pulse racing.
“I trust you, Rebecca. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you see her.” She pressed Rebecca’s hand again and stepped away. “Come on, I’ll take you to her.”
*
Janet Ryan, a twenty-five-year-old computer analyst, lay propped up on several pillows. The narrow, slatted hospital blinds were drawn against the afternoon sun, allowing stripes of light and shadow to fall across the bed like bars. The television, perched on the wall opposite the bed, was tuned to a TV talk show. The hostess raced up and down the aisles, thrusting her microphone at the members of the audience. There was no sound.
The left side of the young woman’s face was swollen and discolored. Her eye was a mere slit, the lashes caked together with dried blood. Fine black sutures closed a series of lacerations on her forehead. She clutched the covers up to her breasts despite the heat. Her hands were covered with cuts and scratches. Looking at her, Rebecca thought she was probably very attractive. Her body under the light sheet appeared trim and her bare arms were muscled as if she worked out or had a passion for sports. Rebecca thought that she must have put up a hell of a fight, too.
Catherine went immediately to the bedside and took Janet’s hand. “Detective Frye is here.”
Janet nodded her head slightly, carefully, as if the small motion hurt. “Please stay with me.”
“Of course,” Catherine said, pulling a chair up to the left side of the bed.
Rebecca dragged a similar worn plastic chair next to Catherine’s and sat down, opening her notebook as she did so. She leaned forward so Janet could see her face.
“Ms. Ryan, I’m Rebecca Frye
.
I’m a police officer. I’m trying to find out what happened the night you were injured.” She watched the young woman carefully, looking for any unspoken reactions to her questions. “Can you tell me what you did that day
,
Tuesday, three days ago?”
Janet glanced at Catherine, who nodded encouragement. Then she began to speak in a slow, halting whisper. “I was…late…I missed the train. So, I drove…to work.”
“Where is that?” Rebecca asked. She knew the answer, but she liked to get a witness comfortable with the interrogation process before she pressed them for more important details.
“Compton Building. I’m a software programmer…” She halted uncertainly, her grip on Catherine’s hand tightening.
“Go on,” Rebecca urged.
“It was a normal day. Barb…called at lunch…I told her I’d be home around seven.” A single tear slipped from between her lashes and dampened her cheek.
Rebecca reached for a tissue and pressed it into Janet’s free hand. She waited a moment, then asked, “What did you do after work?”
“It was beautiful outside. I…I decided to go home on the Drive, even though the traffic is slower…” She stopped again, a slight tremor noticeable in her hands. “If I hadn’t…”
“It’s all right, Janet,” Catherine said
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