Memory of Murder

going to be for her. “When is your birthday?”

He heard her soft intake of air. “My birthday? May twelfth, 1970-why?”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead and his voice even, he told her. “According to the hospital records, Jane Doe, aka Sally Phillips, was approximately four weeks pregnant when she was fished out of the Chesapeake Bay in early September, 1969. She might not have even known herself she was pregnant, at the time. But her baby would have been born, most likely, sometime around the first to the middle of May…1970.”

The silence inside the car seemed profound, even eclipsing the roar of freeway traffic beyond the windows.

Alan said, “Lin-” but got no further before she interrupted, shaking her head vehemently “Don’t. Just…don’t…say anything.”

He waited patiently while she struggled with it, and wasn’t surprised when she finally drew a reinforcing breath and spoke in a calm voice, tight with self-control. “I don’t care what you think. I will not believe my father-my dad-could have done anything to hurt, much less kill, my mother. Maybe he did claim her at the hospital, even gave a fake name-and you don’t have any proof he did, by the way, do you?” Alan shook his head. She settled back in her seat. “Even if he did, that doesn’t mean he was the one who shot her.”

“She says he is,” Alan reminded her.

She dismissed that with a gesture. “She’s confused. Why on earth would he try to kill her, then-” her voice wobbled and she caught a breath in an unsuccessful attempt to control it “-take her home and…care for her all those years? Why would someone do that? He loved her. He loved me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

The tears in her voice were hard to listen to. He felt them like a weight on his shoulders, and shifted irritably, trying to ease the burden. “Dammit, Lindsey, I know it may not make sense to you. But the facts-”

“Facts? You don’t have facts, you have theories!”

“Theories that fit the facts. Face it-your father, the man you know as Richard Merrill, has been lying to you all your life. He’s not who you believed him to be. When are you going to accept that, and deal with the truth?”

She turned to him in a fury. “And when are you going to understand? This is my father. The man who was always there for me. How would you feel if it were your father? Your dad who-”

“My father,” Alan lashed back, “was an abusive jerk who drove my mother to drink and eventually to suicide. He was never there for either one of us, and quite frankly, it’s been a long time since I felt anything for him whatsoever.”

Silence once again enveloped the car. For several minutes the only sounds he was aware of were the thumping of his own heartbeat and the voice inside his head reading him the riot act for unloading on Lindsey like that. He wished he could say he didn’t know where his outburst had come from, but of course he did know. Hearing his old man’s voice after so many years had definitely stirred up some sleeping demons. But she sure didn’t deserve the fallout.

He was searching for a way to apologize to her when she drew a quick, unsteady breath and said, “Well. I guess that explains a lot.”

Yeah, he supposed it did. He gave a humorless snort of laughter and didn’t say anything, but he was thinking it was a damn good thing he’d told himself no, earlier, when he’d been on the brink of making a huge mistake. There was just no way in hell it was ever going to work between him and Lindsey Merrill, no matter how much he liked, respected, admired and wanted her.

And God help me, I do want her. Still.

They made good time. Traffic was open and fairly free-flowing all the way into downtown L.A. Since it was still early enough, they didn’t have to contend with Music Center traffic. There was some congestion around the I-5/101 interchange, which Lindsey imagined was pretty standard, even early on a Saturday evening, but at least it wasn’t raining. The Alaskan Express seemed to be holding off, for the moment.

When they exited the freeway onto Hollywood Boulevard, she was startled to see the streets already festooned with holiday decorations beginning to sway, now, in the winds that heralded the storm’s imminent arrival. Christmas had seemed a long way off in San Diego-or maybe she’d just been too preoccupied with her own troubles to notice.

The first raindrops smacked onto the windshield as they turned onto Laurel Canyon Boulevard where, thankfully, most of the traffic seemed to be going the other way, as residents of the Valley headed for the entertainment centers in Hollywood and Los Angeles. Even armed with a Mapquest printout and with Lindsey helping to search for house numbers, they drove past the address the first time and had to go up to Mulholland Drive to turn around. But at last they pulled into the miniscule driveway in front of a street-level garage tucked up against the steep side of the canyon.

Alan turned off the motor, and for a few minutes they sat, not talking, listening to the ticking of the cooling engine, the patter of rain on the roof of the car, and the swish of cars passing by on the street behind them, neither of them, apparently, quite ready to face what lay ahead. Lindsey watched Alan’s fingers tapping restlessly on the steering wheel, then looked over at him. Silhouetted intermittently against the headlights, his profile seemed tense…even grim.

“What’s wrong?” she asked after a moment. What aren’t you telling me?

He shook his head but didn’t reply.

“Alan?” Unexpectedly, her voice had begun to tremble. “Okay, you’d better tell me why we’re here, because I’m not getting out of this car until you do. You told me this man is a private investigator who once looked into the case of that couple missing from Baltimore. You said he might have some details, be able to fill in some blanks.”

“That’s true.”

“What else?”

He turned to look at her, finally, and his eyes seemed intent in the half-light. “Didn’t you wonder why he was looking into the couple’s disappearance? What his interest was?”

She shook her head, not understanding-quite-but beginning to. “I didn’t-I guess it didn’t-I just thought…”

He let out an exasperated breath. “Lindsey, this guy’s name is James Holt Kincaid.” He paused while she took that in, and when he went on, his voice was gentler. “He was looking into the disappearance because James and Karen McKinney were his parents.” Another pause. “He was five years old when they went missing.”

Lindsey stared at him. She didn’t say anything because she couldn’t. Couldn’t speak, couldn’t even seem to breathe. She felt cold-with shock, perhaps-then slowly began to shiver, but with anger, not cold. She swallowed once while he waited patiently, then again, fighting for control. After several moments she managed to say quietly, “You think this is ’Jimmy,’ don’t you?”

He wouldn’t look at her. Staring at the windshield, he gave a cautious shrug. “It’s a possibility. Or, it could be a coincidence. Jimmy’s a pretty common name.”

The initial shock of the bombshell was wearing off, and the full implications of what he’d told her were sinking in. “Which would make him my brother, if everything else you’ve told me is true.” She paused…waited. Willing him to look at her. At last she said thickly, “When were you going to tell me?”

He didn’t answer…still wouldn’t look at her. Rage buffeted her, echoing the gusts of wind that now were slamming into the car. She lifted a hand and clenched it into a fist, wishing it was in her to actually hit him with it. Instead, she let it fall limp into her lap and drew a sobbing breath. “When, Alan? Were you going to tell me?”

He gave himself a little shake, and his voice, when it came, was gruff. “I wasn’t sure. I wanted to get your impressions of the man, without any interference…from emotions. I’m sorry. I guess I just couldn’t do it.” He threw her a look she couldn’t read in the dim light and yanked at the door handle. “One thing’s for sure. We aren’t going to find those answers sitting here. Let’s go talk to Mr. Kincaid.”

What could she do? Still shaken, still furious, battered by emotions she didn’t know how to deal with- I have a brother? Oh, my God, Can it be true? I have a brother!-Lindsey opened her door and stepped out into the wind and spattering rain.

There was an iron gate to the right of the garage. When they approached it, a floodlight came on. Alan pressed