“Yes, I know,” Savich said. “You ordered a cosmopolitan.”
“Yes. I liked the taste, and she was right. It loosened everything up, made what I wanted to say come out easier. I laughed a lot, with the second one. And then she wanted to leave, go to her apartment, said we were going to have a fantastic time.” He stopped, ran his tongue over his lips. “And then it simply stops, I don’t remember anything more. I woke up the next morning in my own bed in my apartment.”
“I want you to picture you and Mia leaving the restaurant, asking the valet to fetch your Toyota.”
He slowly nodded. “Yes, I see him, a really young kid, with acne scars. He stared at Mia, but I was used to that, all the guys did. He brought the car around, and I helped Mia into it. We were laughing. I don’t know why, everything seemed so funny. I was driving, and she put her hand on my leg and started talking about what we were going to do in her bedroom.”
“You drove to her apartment in Carlan Heights.”
He nodded. “She lives”—he swallowed—“lived, on the third floor. Usually we take the elevator, but that night she wanted to climb the stairs, and we kissed all the way to her apartment door.” He paused, his face lighting with the memories. Then his face tightened, and he swallowed hard.
Savich squeezed his arm. “It’s okay, Saxon. You’re walking down the hall, kissing, laughing, and then you’re facing her front door. What color is it?”
“It’s red.”
“Did you unlock the door?”
“No, she did. She did it while she was kissing me, and the door opened, and she grabbed my tie and pulled me into the apartment. I nearly stumbled. I remember now. I was getting woozy and I guessed it was the cosmopolitans, but I was so happy. Well, tired, too, I guess.”
“Did you tell Mia you were woozy?”
“Yes. She laughed, said that was part of the fun, it didn’t matter. And she started taking off my shirt and pulled me to her bedroom.”
“Did you make love?”
45
Saxon licked his lips again, frowned, and slowly shook his head. “No, I felt weird, not drunk weird, I know what that feels like, but her bedroom was spinning and there were three of her and her laughter was too loud and I wanted to throw up and sleep at the same time. I don’t remember anything after that, really, it’s all gone—”
Sherlock lightly laid her hand on Savich’s shoulder, and he moved back. She leaned in close, took a leap. “Saxon, do you remember me?”
“Yes, you’re Agent Sherlock. You have beautiful hair.”
“Thank you. Now, Saxon, I want you to look at Mia. Really look at her. You feel rotten, you’re dizzy, but you still see her clearly. Do you see anyone else?”
He blinked, shook his head. “I don’t know—wait, yes, there is someone. I don’t know where he came from, but he’s there, in her bedroom, standing behind her. He has his hand on her arm and he’s turning her around to face him.”
“What does he look like?”
“I can’t see him clearly. All I can think about is throwing up.”
“Forget your nausea, your dizziness, Saxon. You aren’t feeling that now. You feel fine. Picture the man. Focus on him. Do you see him?”
“Yes, I can see him, but he’s blurry.”
“Describe him to me.”
“He’s older, in his forties, I guess. And he has this weird widow’s peak, you know, his hair sort of spears forward, then he’s bald on either side of it.”
Sherlock took a shot. “That’s good. Saxon, don’t look away from him. Watch him. Is he talking? What is he saying? No, don’t shake your head. Focus. Listen. Can you hear him now?”
“Okay, yes.”
“Good. What is he saying to Mia?”
“He’s asking her why I’m not under, asking her how she could screw it up. Why she hadn’t done what she was told.”
“Does he sound angry?”
“Yes, but not screaming anger, more like ice-cold anger, the kind my dad used on my mom that makes you shrivel up. That’s why she left, I think.”
“Okay, I understand. What did Mia say?”
“She said to give her a minute and I’d be out and he could take all the photos he wanted.” He frowned. “I don’t understand. Why was this man there? Why was Mia talking about photos?”
“Don’t worry about that now. Think back. What happened next?”
Saxon fell silent. Sherlock knew he was trying to remember but she wasn’t surprised when he shook his head. After a few more questions and rephrasings, Sherlock guessed he’d fallen unconscious then, too deep for memories or impressions.
“When you woke up the next morning, you were in your own bed?”
“Yes.”
“What were you wearing?”
“I still had my pants on, even my shoes and socks, but my tie and shirt and my undershirt were gone. I couldn’t find them. I felt really bad, a killer headache. I tried to remember how I got home from Mia’s, what happened, but everything was—blank.”
“Did you call Mia?”
“I did, half a dozen times, but her cell phone went to message. Then a friend came over—Ollie Ash. He was my roommate in college. He wanted to go to breakfast, tell me about the AI program he was working on, but I didn’t want to, I felt too bad.
“Ollie said I should go take a shower and some aspirin. I felt a little bit better after that, but I was worried. I knew something was wrong. While I was dressing, I heard the news on the TV from the living room.” He stopped dead, then whispered, “The newslady was talking about a woman’s murder, and she gave the address, Mia’s address. I remember thinking, how can she possibly be saying those things?”
“I came running out of the bedroom. I’d told Ollie I was seeing an amazing girl, but I hadn’t told him her name. I stood there, not wanting to believe it, but that newslady went on about her, kept showing her picture.”
“You said Ollie didn’t know about Mia. What do you mean?”
“Only my dad knew about her.”
“Why was that? Was keeping secret her decision?”
“Yes, I wanted to shout it to the world, to all my friends, but she said there was an ex-boyfriend and she didn’t want him to know she’d found someone she really liked so quickly after she’d booted him out. She said she didn’t trust him, he had a bad temper and was still mad at her. I offered to speak to him, but she wouldn’t tell me his name. So I agreed, and we kept it quiet, except for meeting my dad. She was really happy to meet my dad. I remember she said meeting people high up in politics would help her with her deviant-personality course. I laughed.”
“Go back now, Saxon. Your dad called you that morning, right? Before you could do anything?”
“No, he showed up at my apartment, told Ollie we were leaving, and took me home with him. I couldn’t process it—that Mia was dead. It made no sense. Dad held me, and I cried, but Mia was still dead. I told him I couldn’t remember anything and my shirt and undershirt were missing, and for all I knew I was the one who killed her, but he said no, that wasn’t possible. I could never kill anyone. It sounded to him like I’d passed out from drinking too much. Someone else must have murdered her. But who? Why?”
Saxon’s hand was a fist on the chair arm. Sherlock laid her hand over his fist, smoothed out his fingers. “Listen to me now, Saxon. The man who killed her, he was the man you saw behind her, the man with the widow’s peak. And we will find him.”
She looked at Dillon, raised an eyebrow.
Savich had no more questions, shook his head. Dr. Hicks said quietly, “This is a great deal for him to take in.” He leaned over Saxon and said in his soothing voice, “Saxon, you will wake up on the count of three. You will open your eyes and you will remember everything. You will understand it was Mia who drugged you. You will also know that Agents Savich and Sherlock will find this man. You will feel better now that you understand what happened; you will feel more at peace. One, two, three—”