Williams was ratcheting higher. Her only hope for a way out was finding Private Number. For that she needed Mort Grant and a way to stay close to his investigation.
She walked into the bar of The Olympia Oyster House at 3:00 sharp. When Mort looked up and waved her over to a booth in the far corner, she was surprised the smile she put on wasn’t completely forced.
“Thanks for meeting me.” Mort’s face bore the lines of fatigue and frustration. “We need to talk.”
“About the case?” She slid into the booth and slipped off her parka. “How can I help?”
The waiter came before he could answer. Mort ordered a latte. She asked the waiter to bring her the same.
“You look as beat as I feel,” he said. “You’re off duty, I hope.”
“I’m fine.” She liked the way he was with her. Relaxed. Not afraid to show his weariness. “What are we talking about?”
“You.” He leaned back against the leather upholstery. “I didn’t want to do it over the phone.” He rubbed his hand over his face and Lydia’s pulse quickened. “When you came to my office, wanting to get involved with the Buchner investigation, my radar went off.” He looked her hard in the eye. “I knew you were lying. I just didn’t know why.”
Lydia glanced around the room and located the three nearest exits. “I told you. My reasons for wanting to be involved are my own. I hope you can respect that.”
He held her gaze. “It’s time to stop the bullshit, Lydia.” His voice was a notch above whisper. “You’re not Nancy Drew. You’re not Lois Lane.” He shook his head. “And Lord knows I’m not Superman. But right now I’m all you got.”
The arrival of their coffee allowed her a moment’s distraction. Mort waited for the server to leave before asking his next question.
“You think Savannah killed Buchner, don’t you?”
Lydia checked his face for deception and saw none. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s more bullshit.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “I’m a cop, Lydia. I’m investigating a murder. The time for secrets is long gone. Tell me what you know about Savannah’s role in all this.”
She kept her eyes away from his, ran a hand over the heavy linen tablecloth, and calculated her next move.
“Lydia, this thing with Buchner is bigger than you know and I’m afraid if you go it alone you’re going to end up hurt. Maybe worse.” Mort crossed his arms on the table and leaned toward her. “Here’s how it looks on my end. Tell me where I’m wrong.” Mort shifted in his seat. “Buchner’s murdered. You come to me out of the blue wanting to help. Next thing I learn is Buchner’s been mapquesting directions to your house and office.”
Lydia took in a sharp breath.
“You didn’t know that, did you? So much for those keen observational powers of yours.” He took a sip of his coffee. “So I ask myself, ‘What’s going on here?’ and I run a little background on you.”
Lydia shot a look to the nearest door and calculated the distance.
“All I come up with is a law-abiding citizen. And yet I’m still stuck with the link between you and Buchner.” Mort leaned back against the booth. “Which leads me to the next thing you don’t know. Buchner’s murder is tied to another one. Did Savannah ever mention the name Fred Bastian to you?”
She snapped her head up. He’d made the connection. She forced her hands and her eyes back to her lap.
“I see she has.” He drew in a long breath and took his time exhaling. “Imagine my surprise, when I find myself questioning Childress about the Bastian murder, you walk right into the interview. I learn Bastian’s right hand man has a fiance and you’re her shrink. I mix that information with some other stuff I’ve got and I come up with only one answer.”
“What’s that?” she whispered.
Mort’s eyes softened. She wondered if he could sense her fear.
“We know about Savannah’s involvement with the politics over at Neuroscience. Her fiance told us and we’ve verified his story with the professors who hired her.” He shook his head. “Interesting line of work she’s in.”
Lydia didn’t respond.
“Buchner was in possession of a recording of someone putting out a hit on Bastian,” he said.
Lydia forced herself to keep her eyes down despite her rising panic. Mort had Private Number’s synthesized voice from that night in the warehouse. What else did he know?
“Let’s say this someone’s hired gun was seeing a shrink down in Olympia,” Mort continued. “Said someone finds out, starts wondering what gets disclosed during all those confidential sessions, and decides to check you out.”
“Sounds like quite a story, Mort.” She did her best to keep her face passive.
She could feel Mort’s gaze. “The way I see it, Savannah kills Bastian. It might have ended there, but like the song says, she fooled around and fell in love. She wants to stay in Seattle and build a life with Childress, who, I’m sure, doesn’t have the faintest notion about his fiance’s murdering ways. But there’s a bump in her road. Buchner could put an end to her happily-ever-after fantasy with one phone call to us about what’s on his recorder. So she decides to close the loop and shoots his face off.” Mort leaned forward. “I think Savannah let enough drop in your sessions that you started to wonder if your patient was a killer. And that’s when you decided to come see me and find out what was what.”
Lydia sat still as stone. “I don’t know what it is you want me to say.”
He waited a few moments before he scooted closer. His voice was soft, apologetic. “Maybe it’s time for me to put my cards on the table. Lydia, I know who you are. I know it all.”
Her bowels rumbled and she felt the bile rise in the back of her throat. Her breath left her as she frantically scanned the bar. No uniformed officers. No obvious back-up.
“What do you mean? Of course you know who I am.” She hoped her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
Mort kept his eyes on his coffee. “You were born Peggy Denise Simmons. Your mother abandoned you when you were nearly dead from her neglect and abuse. I’ve read your entire file. I know what you went through.” Mort looked up and Lydia saw compassion in his eyes. “I understand why you’re guarded, but I’m asking you to trust me.”
The cold winter rain of shame washed over her. She started to shiver. Mort reached behind her and pulled her parka up over her shoulders.
“You deserved better than you got,” he whispered. “But that was then and this is now. Let’s work together, Liddy. I’m afraid if you keep going it alone you’re going to find yourself in a heap of hurt.” He smiled. “I don’t want that.”
Lydia blinked her tears out of her eyes.
“Now how about you put your stealth shield down and let’s talk?”
She ran a hand through her hair and stared at the gentle man sitting next to her. A surge of warmth relaxed her core. She bit her lower lip and gave him a slow nod.
“That’s better.” Mort leaned back and took a sip from his mug as though the last few minutes hadn’t happened. As though the ignominy of her childhood had no impact on his view of her. “As soon as she’s able, I have to talk to Savannah. She’ll never know we’ve had this conversation.”
Lydia blinked and tried to find mental footing. “You don’t know? Mort, Savannah’s dead. Never regained consciousness.”
Mort reared back. “No one called me. Of course, why would they?” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen. “I’ll check back with Childress.” He put his hand on her arm. “Liddy, I’m so sorry. I’m sure you helped her all you could.”
She didn’t know what to think about that. All she knew was her patient was dead.
“Talk to me, Liddy. Tell me about Savannah.”
Lydia looked down at her hands and contemplated the gravity of revealing a patient’s confidence. Especially Savannah’s.
“You seem to know a lot about my past, Mort. Did you learn about my time in juvenile hall?”
He set his notepad aside. His voice soft again. “I did. Your record says you took a baseball bat to your foster father.”
