Page 106 of It's One of Us
It’s crazy how life meanders on. Tragedies happen. People die, or go missing, but unless you are primary in their lives, somehow, it fades from your consciousness. Those little shocks, those little moments of remembrance hurt, badly, at first. But even those lose their sharp edges over time. Pain is numbed. The immediacy of it tempered, forgotten. Hearts find ways to heal.
It’s not that Joey has forgotten about Jillian Kemp; if anything, the opposite is true. She’s been obsessed and searching relentlessly for both Kemp and Peyton Flynn. But the Nashville media has already moved on to the next sexy, bloody thing, the murder/suicide of an up-and-coming country music star. Nature of the beast, especially if the beast is pretty and young and wronged.
Out of gossip and recognizing Joey’s reflective mood, Osley works the phone, gleaning what details he can, which are sparse. Kemp is still being treated; no one official has spoken to her yet.
This is it, Joey knows. Whatever has happened with Jillian Kemp, they’re about to find out so much about their suspect. That the woman is alive is sweet icing on the cake.
Osley revisits the craziness at Bender’s place, the alarm security breach, the intrusions, the theft, the flowers. Peyton hasn’t been seen anywhere near the house; the security system upgrades have made sure of it.
“This kid is too smart for his own good,” Osley says.
“He’s a daredevil. He wants to get caught. He’ll out himself, and we’ll get him.”
“You think?”
“Well, once we talk to Jillian Kemp, we’ll know more. But yes. He knew he would be caught on camera going in and out of the Bender house. I get the sense he’s been playing with fire just to see how badly it will burn. If his mother is to be believed, he’s not stable. Which means we have to be doubly careful, because he could decide to go out in a blaze of glory and take all of us with him.”
“Like all those fire metaphors, girl.”
“Screw you,” but she smiles. Osley always knows how to make her laugh.
They pull into the hospital parking lot exactly one hour and ten minutes after leaving Nashville, having made exceptionally good time—driving a hundred miles per hour down the interstate has a tendency to make that happen. Inside, they’re directed to the emergency room, where they find Major Aldridge and a few other troopers hanging around in the hall outside a closed door.
Aldridge is in uniform, sports a military-grade high and tight, and looks like a former football player, thick through the shoulders, a solid neck, hands like dinner plates. He and Osley size each other up and find some common ground that leaves them both guffawing within moments. Granted, Osley could find common ground with a paper bag, the man’s too outgoing for his own good, but that’s fine. She wants cooperation. She’s not paying attention to the details anyway. She’s trying to listen to what’s happening inside the room.
Stymied, she turns to the men.
“Has she said anything?”
“Not yet. We’re—”
The door opens, and a doctor emerges. Fortyish, her hair is in an ashy-blond ponytail, and she looks like she might enjoy a glass of wine or two after work. Joey likes her on sight.
“I’m Detective Moore,” Joey starts, but the doctor holds up her hand.
“I’ve seen you on TV, Detective. I’m Dr. Jones. Ms. Kemp is on the phone to her partner right now. As soon as she’s done, you can talk to her. She is one seriously pissed off lady.”
“Is she hurt?” Loaded question, but she has to ask.
The doctor grins. “Physically, no. But she does think she killed him.”
“Could we get that lucky?” Osley drawls, joining them.
“Will,” Joey warns, and he puts up both hands. “Just saying. Where’s he at?”
“That’s the issue. She’s not sure. He’s been drugging her, so she’s a little squirrelly on the timeline. Just FYI, I gave her a sedative as well, just to take the edge off, so she might be sleepy. She’s undergone a major emotional trauma. She’s tough, and she’s as brave as they come. Regardless, I’m sure I don’t need to warn you to take it easy with her.”
“I will. You have my word.”
They hear a voice call from within the room. “Dr. Jones? Are the police here?”
“See what I mean?” Dr. Jones smiles at Moore, and points toward the door. “Be my guest.”
Osley hesitates. “I think I’ll let you go in alone. Just in case...you know. I’ll listen.”
Joey does know. The last thing a recently traumatized woman needs is to come face to face with another strange man who must ask intimate details of her experience. Osley is a good guy, and she appreciates his sensitivity. She punches him on the shoulder in thanks and heads in.
The room is typical hospital, but the sun is shining outside, so it’s filled with light and not quite as depressing as it could be.
