You Only Die Twice

Chapter SIXTEEN





“I did do something wrong,” Patty said.

She was sitting in James Coleman’s study, the walls of which were lined with bookcases filled with law books and, in one corner of the room, a space reserved for the popular thrillers he enjoyed.

It was a masculine-looking room. The Coleman’s house was a large Victorian that dated back to 1870. A true New Englander, probably owned not by one of Bangor’s former lumber barons, whose mansions mostly were found on a small portion of West Broadway, but by somebody in higher management who could afford a more reasonably sized home with the finer details she saw now.

The wood never had been painted and it gleamed dark against the light green walls. Above them was an ornate tin ceiling and, where the walls met the ceiling, intricately carved molding. Light in the room was dim because the windows faced west. Later in the day, it would be ablaze with sunlight. The inlaid floor was a mix of maple and mahogany. It gleamed with a high-gloss sheen, as if it recently had been refinished.

James Coleman was sitting opposite her in the same sort of leather wingback in which she sat. “There are layers of wrong,” he said. “Human layers that, depending on your perspective, are subjective and not necessarily wrong. What do you consider wrong?”

The sense of shame she felt was almost crippling. “We got a little drunk last night.”

“I’ve been drunk several times in my life. Mostly, I enjoyed it. Sometimes, the next morning, not so much. Was I wrong to do it? Subjective, but I don’t think so.”

“I did something stupid.”

“We all have.”

“Not like this,” Patty said. “I left with a man last night. I left Cheryl alone at the club. I took him to my house, something I’ve never done with a stranger, in spite of what this town thinks of me. I was drunk. I was attracted to him. I took him home and I left her there. Now, she’s nowhere to be found.” She paused. “And it gets worse.”

He was looking at her intently. “How does it get worse?”

“The man I took home? He drugged me. He raped me. He made me do sick things I don’t remember doing. He caught it all on camera and then he placed the photos on a website. He told me that if I don’t kill myself for my sins as a whore that he would send my family, my employer and my friends that link. He said it would confirm who I was. He said when it came to my ‘friends,’ the link would go viral and the rest of my life would be akin to a public stoning.”

James Coleman stood. “You said he drugged you?”

“I know he did. He must have.”

“And he raped you?”

She nodded.

“You’ve showered, so there might be an issue gathering evidence, but there’s always a chance, so we need to try because it could tell us who this person is if he’s on record. I need you to go to the hospital with me. They will perform a procedure to see if they can get any of his DNA from you. They also will do a blood test to see what he drugged you with. This is a crime, Patty, and it’s something you must do, but time is of the essence.”

“This will go to the press?”

“Probably.”

She sat with that knowledge for a moment, and then she shrugged. “So, everyone will finally get their confirmation letter about me. Whatever. I’ve dealt with this for years and I’ll deal with the fallout now. It’s Cheryl who matters. We need to find her.”

“So, we call the police now,” he said. “I have a good friend there. A detective. In a bit, we’ll tell him what happened. He and others will then begin their investigation at The Grind. I’m assuming you left Cheryl there?”

“In the parking lot.”

“Then they’ll check the parking lot. And they’ll question the owners. And they’ll question the regulars the owners know by name to see if they were there last night and saw anything unusual. I’m sorry, Patty. This is awful―I understand that. But you didn’t do anything wrong. Between us, Barbara wasn’t exactly the first woman I had relations with. When you’re in the Army and away from home and living in Paris, as I was in my early twenties, things happen and I don’t regret any of it. Especially Eveline. But when Barbara and I married? That was that. You’re a single woman and a consenting adult who had a crime committed against her. Those are the facts. You did nothing wrong. All right?”

“All right.”

“Now, we need to follow procedure and we need to act quickly. Are you willing to do that?”

“I’ll do anything for Cheryl.”

“That’s good to hear, but soon you’re going to have to start doing things for yourself. You matter as much as Cheryl does. Are we clear on that? What happened to you last night was terrible. We’ll get to the bottom of it. We don’t know where Cheryl is now, but we’ll find her. I need you to believe that. That girl is as special as you are. We will find her.”

He got up from his desk and called downtown to one of his detective friends. “Steve,” he said. “James. Fine, fine. It was good seeing you and Mary last week. I know―he tends to get that way. Listen, I have an issue. I need you to meet me at the emergency room at Eastern Maine in ten minutes if you can. I’ll be there with a Miss Patty Jennings.” There was a silence and in that silence, James Coleman frowned. “I’m not sure if she’s the Patty Jennings you know of, Steve, but we’ll see you there in ten? Good. And Steve? A favor for an old friend? I’ve come to you with this for a reason. For as long as possible, would you keep this quiet for me? I understand. But whatever you can do would be appreciated. See you soon.”

He hung up the phone and looked at her. “Are you ready?”

“Do you think he’ll call the press?”

“Not right away, but eventually, if Cheryl does go missing for more than twenty-four hours, it will come to that. At that point, she’ll be a missing person and the two stories will become one.”

She stood. “So, let’s do this,” she said.