Remembering That Night. Stephanie Doyle
folded his arms across his chest and she could see his expression was serious. “I’m afraid I do know something you don’t. The sheriff called last night. I didn’t want to upset you, but you’re going to need to talk to some detectives in the ACPD this morning.”
Her heart thumped hard in her chest. “Why?”
“I don’t want to alarm you...but there’s been a murder.”
* * *
“I DO KNOW SOMETHING you don’t.”
“I don’t want to alarm you.”
It had been seven hours since he’d said that to her. He’d only mentioned the murder. As if it was just an inconsequential detail.
“There’s been a murder. You need to go in for questioning. I shouldn’t have told you that much but...well, I guess I did.”
It was all he’d given her. Not the rest of it. Not the most important part. Not even her name.
He wouldn’t make the trip to Atlantic City. Which was fine with her. She didn’t need him anymore. Now that she knew who she was.
“Ms. Dunning? Do you understand what I’ve told you?”
She stared at the detective sitting across from her and nodded her head.
Her name was Eliza Dunning, but she went by Liza. She was an accountant. She was on the payroll of The Grande Casino. She was also known to be a close personal—there had been a subtle emphasis on that word—friend of Hector D’Amato’s.
Hector D’Amato was dead. Shot and killed with a bullet to his face.
Liza looked down at her lap. She’d had to turn in her dress to the police as evidence. Her attorney agreed. Liza confessed to washing it, wanting them to understand that it hadn’t been an intentional attempt to hide evidence. The ACPD already had the original piece the Brigantine sheriff had taken and they didn’t seem concerned with the compromised evidence.
Now she was in a pair of too-big sweatpants and an Atlantic City P.D. T-shirt but she felt more comfortable in this than she would have if she’d still been wearing Greg’s clothes. At least the sweats and T-shirt were honest.
Liza turned to her attorney who was sitting calmly next to her at the table. Chuck had introduced her to Elaine Saunders and told her she’d be representing her during the questioning. They had picked her up at her office on the way to Atlantic City. Elaine worked on the other side of the Ben Franklin Bridge in New Jersey.
Just her and Chuck and Elaine. Because Greg apparently didn’t go to Atlantic City. Ever.
She’d listened with half an ear during the drive down while Elaine—a short woman dressed in a severe, professional suit, with an odd pairing of shoes—traded barbs with Chuck the whole way.
Elaine criticized Chuck’s clothing, his driving, his goatee. Liza might have felt sorry for him if Chuck hadn’t fired back regarding Elaine’s makeup, hair and clunky silver loafers.
Then Elaine had dismissed him altogether and called Greg. She’d listened intently to what he was saying on the other end before ending the call with a “Got it. I’ll call you after we finish.”
At the time Liza had thought how thoughtful it was that Greg had arranged a lawyer for her.
He lied to you. He knew who you were last night and didn’t tell you. Why?
“Ms. Dunning?”
“Yes.”
“You understand everything I’ve said?”
“Yes. I understand what you said, but it doesn’t mean I remember anything. I don’t know why I was at the casino so late Saturday night or on the highway the next morning. I don’t know whose blood it was. I don’t remember anything before hearing the sound of a squad car pulling up next to me on the side of the road. Do you understand that?”
The detective, a large black man with kind eyes, sat back as if reassessing her. Abruptly, the kindness vanished from his eyes and they reminded her of Greg’s, how they had looked the first time he questioned her.
“You don’t remember visiting with D’Amato that night?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember that you worked as an accountant for his casino?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember the man who was rumored to be your lover?”
“No.”
“Detective, do we really need to go any further?” Elaine interjected. “My client has explained to you she has a medical condition. A condition which she would very much like to have treated. You can sit here all day asking her questions she doesn’t have the answers to, or we can seek the treatment she needs.”
The detective’s scowl was menacing, but Liza saw that Elaine wasn’t intimidated in the least.
“Because we both know you’re not going to charge her.”
“I’ve got a dead guy, witnesses who place your client at the scene—”
“You mean her place of business. You have witnesses who saw my client at work.”
“Late Saturday night?”
Elaine shrugged. “Casino hours. It’s open 24/7. The fact that there are witnesses around the place proves that. Who knows what her normal business hours are.”
“Then, hours later, she’s picked up on a highway not far from here covered in blood.”
“Strange. As is her current medical condition. But you don’t have a witness to the crime, you don’t have a weapon, you can do a gun residue check...”
“I’m guessing since she was covered in blood she’s probably taken a shower since yesterday.”
Elaine smiled without humor. “What you have is a circumstantial, albeit strange, case. Let me take her to a doctor. Let’s see what he can tell us about her condition first.”
The detective pointed to Liza. “You don’t leave the area.”
“No, sir. But...is there any way... Does anyone have my address? Where I live? I would like to go home, if that’s possible.”
The detective left the interrogation room and came back with a sheet of paper and a large oversize handbag that Liza suddenly knew was hers. He pushed it forward on the table that stretched between them.
“You left it in your office at the casino.”
She took it and hugged it to her. It felt like a lifeline, something she actually recognized. One more piece of her puzzle. She was tempted to empty the contents right there and then and study everything inside, but she didn’t want to do that in front of the detective. Not that she could be sure he hadn’t already thoroughly searched it.
He passed her the piece of paper with her address, although she could have just checked her driver’s license. Reading the sheet, she discovered she lived in a small upper-middle-class historical town not forty minutes west of Atlantic City. How did she know that? How did she know the town, but not remember that she lived there?
“Jog any memories?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I know the town was founded in 1692. I know there’s an exclusive country club a lot of people belong to. I don’t know why I know either of those two things. I can’t picture what my house looks like from the outside, or any of the rooms inside.”
There was nothing but facts and emptiness. No memories at all. She turned to Elaine. “Please, will you take me home?”
Elaine gave her a hard look, and the skepticism she’d seen in Greg’s face that first day was there, too. Then, suddenly it was gone and she was reaching out to pat Liza’s hand rather