I just bet he did, she muttered.
We dont have officers to spare, with a murderer at large, Chief Trent said, his tone annoyingly reasonable. Chief Garrison was kind enough to offer his services as your security guard. You wont get a better offer.
Jane tugged at the neck of her T-shirt. Whats keeping me from packing my bags and getting the hell out of this town? If Im not under arrest.
We can hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you with anything, you know. Trents voice hardened. Id prefer that you cooperate voluntarily.
Ive told you all I know.
Then consider this, Joe interjected, pulling up the chair across the table from her. He turned it around and straddled it, resting his arms across the rounded back and pinning her with his hard gaze. Theres a guy running around out there who didnt think twice about slitting your friends throat because she got in his way. And from what you tell us, he wants you. Do you really want to be out there on your own right now?
Jane looked down at the scuffed table, running her finger over a nick as she tamped down a flood of fear at his words. No.
Then the Buena Vista it is. Trent slapped his hand on the table, sealing the deal.
Jane bit her lower lip, her insides twisting into a painful knot. She felt trapped, shackled by the iron will of the lawmen and by her own blank memory.
Ill make the arrangements. Trent rose and headed out of the interrogation room, leaving Jane alone with Joe Garrison. Joe gazed at her over his folded arms, clearly content to let her squirm beneath his scrutiny.
Do you usually get your way? She couldnt keep a thread of bitterness out of her voice.
No, he answered.
I dont believe that.
If I always got my way, my brother wouldnt be dead and I wouldnt be here in Trinity babysitting the last person to see him alive.
Who was I to your brother? she asked, fearing the answer.
Joe dropped his gaze for the first time, focusing on the nicked wood tabletop. You worked for him.
Doing what?
He looked up sharply at her wary tone. You kept his house for him. Helped him with the business end of the ranch. Odd jobs-whatever he needed done.
She took a deep breath and asked the question she dreaded most. Were he and I
Joe shook his head. No. He was a recent widower. Not over his wifes death yet. You werefriends.
She didnt miss the bitterness of his tone. Or so he thought, huh? Isnt that what youre thinking?
You tell me.
I dont remember.
I dont believe you.
She slapped her hands on the table in front of her, venting her frustration. Her palms stung and she balled her hands into fists. Why? What did I do to you to make you believe Id kill your brother? That Id lie about not remembering?
Because you lied about who you were, for one thing. His voice was quiet. Calm. But she heard anger roiling beneath the placid surface. It made her feel queasy.
How do you know? She couldnt help but lean closer to him, eagerness overcoming wariness. Do you know who I really am?
He leaned away from her, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the back of his chair. No. I just know youre not someone named Sandra Dorsey. The Social Security number you gave Tommy belonged to a deceased woman by the same name.
Do you think I killed her, too?
The corner of his mouth quirked. No. Sandra Dorsey died in a car accident in Trenton, New Jersey, four years ago. I think you paid someone to give you a new identity, and they stole her name and Social Security number to make you into a new person.
Jane looked away from his hard gaze, her chest tight with tension. Why had she gone to such obvious trouble to change her identity? What kind of woman was she?
The man you saw at your apartment-did he seem familiar to you? Joe asked.
No. But he knew me. She forced herself to look at him. Do you know who he is?
Joe shook his head. No. I dont.
Maybe hes the one who killed your brother.
Maybe thats what youd like me to believe.
And you wont even entertain the possibility that I wasnt the one who killed him.
You disappeared the day he died. You were gone by the time the neighbor found Tommys body. He stumbled over the words, his gaze dropping away.
Jane felt the ridiculous urge to reach across the table and put her hand over his, to lend him what little strength and comfort she had.
He took a deep breath and continued, his voice threaded with steel. Your bags were gone. Your clothes. Everything. It was like youd never been there in the first place.
That was eight months ago, right?
Joe nodded.
So, where was I between then and this past December when I showed up here in Trinity?
I dont know yet.
Howd you find me?
I got a fax from the Trinity Police Department, seeking information on a Jane Doe.
The door to the interview room opened, and Chief Trent walked in before Jane could respond. All set. Im afraid we have to keep the bag we found packed in your living room. For evidence.
What do I do for clothes? she asked.
My sister Erica runs clothing drives for one of the local churches. Shes agreed to raid their stash for a few things your size, Chief Trent answered. Shes left it for us at the hotel.
Ready to go, then? Joe asked.
She frowned at the impatience in his voice but gave a swift nod, falling in step in front of him as they followed the police chief out of the room.
BY THE TIME Joe led Jane from the police station, the sun had dipped behind the Sawtooth Mountains, leaving only a faint orange glow in the western sky. Streetlamps along the towns main streets had already come on, battling the chilly gloom of twilight.
Joe motioned toward his truck, parked in a visitor slot in front of the station. Jane managed a weak smile. Did you drive over from Wyoming or did you rent that truck at the Boise airport?
I drove, he answered tersely.
Her forehead creased. Did I say something wrong?
No. He couldnt exactly tell her that she used to tease him about his truck and his Stetson and everything that went with being a Wyoming cowboy. Back then, shed said it with such affection he found himself laughing with her. Now he wondered if it had all been an act, all the smiles and the jokes and the easy charm. He hated not knowing what was real and what was a lie.
Maybe the smartest way to deal with her was to assume everything that came out of her mouth was some sort of lie.
Could we stop by the River Lodge Diner? she asked as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Silverado.
Why? he asked as he settled behind the wheel.
I want to let my friend Doris at the diner know Im okay. She buckled her seat belt and looked across at him. Shell know about Angie by now, and shell probably be worried about me.
There was a hint of wonder in her voice, as if she was surprised to know someone cared about what happened to her. He recognized the look. Hed seen it on her face when he first met her almost two years ago, as she told him about the way Tommy had taken her in, no questions asked, when she showed up on his doorstep needing help.
Tommy shouldve asked questions.
They all shouldve.
He started the truck and gave a brief nod. The River Lodge Diner it is.
OH, JANIE! Doris Bradley engulfed her in a bear hug as soon as Jane entered the diner, drawing the curious gazes of the handful of customers whod opted for the diners home cooking rather than the lodge restaurants more cosmopolitan fare. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Ive been worried sick about you ever since we heard the news about Angie.
Im okay, Doris, Jane assured her. But Im not going to be able to work for a while. Boyds going to have to find two new waitresses, Im afraid.
You cant work? Why not? Doris stepped back, holding Jane by the shoulders. She looked her up and down. Youre not hurt, are you?
No, Im fine! Jane glanced at Joe, who stood a few paces away, watching her with hard gray eyes. Shed asked him not to tell anyone at the diner about her involvement in the case, and hed agreed, but she didnt know if she could really trust him to keep his word.
Hed lied to her more than once already, however good his reasons might have been.
Is Boyd here? she asked Doris. I guess I should really tell him myself.
Sorry, hon. Boyd hasnt been here all afternoon. He got a call from his sister a little after one. Doris lowered her voice to a half whisper. I think maybe shes having another one of her episodes. You know he doesnt like to talk about it.
I guess Ill just have to drop by tomorrow sometime. Ill need to pick up my last paycheck anyway. She gave Doris another hug and turned to look at Joe again.
Ready to go? he asked.
She felt Doriss curious gaze on her, but she didnt stop to explain. She could hardly tell her co-worker that she was basically under house arrest at the Buena Vista Hotel under the watchful eye of Cowboy Joe. Word about her situation would get around soon enough as it was.
Episodes? Joe asked as they headed away from the diner toward the Buena Vista.
What?
Your bosss sister has episodes?
Oh. Shes a paranoid schizophrenic. She does well when she stays on her medication, but she doesnt always stay on it. Boyds all she has in the world, and as big a jerk as he can be, he works himself to the ground to help her have some sort of normal life. So when she calls-
He goes running, Joe finished for her.
She glanced at his profile, outlined by the yellow glow of streetlamps lining Main Street. Family, I guess.
He cut his eyes her way. Family, he agreed.
The well-lit facade of the Buena Vista Hotel shimmered against the dark blue backdrop of the Sawtooth Mountains as Joe pulled the truck into the guest parking lot. He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to look at her. I know Ive made it pretty clear that I dont think youre telling me the truth. About your memory or about what happened a year ago or six hours ago.
No! Really?
But I dont believe you were the one who killed Angela Carlyle. The evidence argues against it.
She felt a ripple of relief. So you believe me about the man?
I believe a man killed your roommate. Who or what he is to you is still a question.
For me, too.
He shot her a sidelong look. My point is, the man is still at large, and if youre the only witness to his murder of your friend, he might want to shut you up.