The Memory Killer by Kerley J. A

Author:Kerley, J. A. [Kerley, J. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, thriller, Mystery, Fiction, Suspense, Crime, General
ISBN: 9780007493685
Amazon: 0007493681
Goodreads: 25167339
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2014-06-01T07:00:00+00:00

33

Traveling home and back was not normally difficult, two hours I could use to mull over cases. Often I worked from home, advising smaller departments about what to look for in cases where mental aberrations played a role. I became almost adept at teleconferencing, and had even taped a large map of Florida behind my desk at home – a few random pins affixed – giving my televised image a gravitas beyond my initial efforts, backgrounded by a large portrait of Miles Davis holding a trumpet and looking mildly stoned.

But to put the hours to better usage, I had spent last night at the Palace, taking Miz Morningstar to the roof, she to sip wine as I had read reports by flashlight and tried to find method in Donnie Ocampo’s madness.

We were up early in the morning and Vivian went to work and I to the hospital to check on our victims. Dale Kemp had pulled from his stupor, his mind dark save for recollections of alien insects with giraffe legs and being trapped somewhere under a pyramid. When shown the altered photos representing Donnie Ocampo he had stared blankly and shaken his head.

Harold Brighton was being kept sedated as he underwent various operations on his remaining leg, basically a tube of mangled meat filled with bone meal. If all went well he was to be awakened tomorrow.

Jacob Eisen was still deep within himself, Lonnie Canseco at bedside whenever time permitted. I had twice called Brian Caswell, Brianna, who reported he was trying to get back into performing, but found difficulty recalling lines. He had no further recollections to report.

I was walking from Eisen’s room when I saw Patrick White waiting in the hall, anxiety written in the green eyes. He cleared his throat. “Can I talk to you for a moment, Detective?”

“Take all the time you need.”

He spoke low, his voice touched with fear. “I’m worried about my best friend, Billy Prestwick. He was supposed to meet me last night at a bar, but he never showed up.”

I nodded to a vacant waiting area, a couch, two chairs and a table scattered with National Geographic and People magazines. I sat in the chair, him the couch.

“He’s gay?” I asked. “Your friend?”

“I guess you’d say very.”

“You’ve tried to reach him everywhere he might be?”

“His home, friends. I’ve sent him text messages, Facebook messages, tweeted for his whereabouts. No one’s seen him.”

“First off, has this happened before?” I said. “Not showing up for a get-together?”

“Yes, but not for months. He’s become more reliable, or maybe less erratic.”

“Has he been under any stress … financial, personal? Anything that might make him want to get away for a while?”

“Billy doesn’t do stress. He’s so carefree he cures stress in others.”

“This bar you were supposed to meet at … was he there before you, maybe went off with someone?”

“He wasn’t there. People know him, plus he’s hard to forget.”

I was about to give him my mollification speech, but the fear on his face was past that.

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