when he reached the end of the questionnaire that she was not wearing contact lenses either. He finished making his notes, then considered her seriously, his brows lowered, and asked, “Do you know where you are right now?”
“Yes, I’m in the Texas Rangers station in Midland, Texas.”
“Who asked you to come here today?”
“Ranger Sergeant Kellen Harding.”
“What is your understanding of the purpose for coming here?”
“I’ll be hypnotized to see if I can remember anything about the murders at the Sonora Nites Diner that will help Sergeant Harding in his investigation of the case.”
Greenley’s frown softened. “Before we get started, do you have any questions?”
“No, not really. You’ve been very thorough.”
“Very good. Now, Jamie, using your own words, I want you to review for me what you do remember about that night and the events that occurred, in order, exactly as they happened.”
“Where do you want me to start?” she asked, shifting in her chair, fighting the return of the tension along her spine.
“Wherever you would like,” he said, then sat back as if he’d paid for a show.
She told him the same story she’d told anyone who’d ever asked. The time she’d clocked in, how she’d waited tables and manned the register with Julio and Elena while Lacy worked in the kitchen with Kass. She’d told him about the last customer they’d never thought would finish his burger and leave, how he’d taken an hour to read the paper, how Julio and Elena had danced up and down the aisle with their mops and brooms after they’d locked the door behind him.
She told him about Kass hurrying all of them to finish because he wanted to get home to Helen. His wife had made his favorite black-forest cake, and he wanted to sit back with a glass of milk, a huge slice of the chocolate-and-cherry layers, and watch the Celtics NBA game on his VCR. He missed Boston a lot, Kass did.
She told Greenley about it being her turn to run the day’s closeout tape on the register while balancing the till and preparing the nightly deposit of cash and checks. The credit-card slips went into a separate bag for Kass’s bookkeeper, and Jamie had been sorting them, reaching for a paper clip, when the front door’s glass had shattered from a spray of bullets and the killer had walked through.
She’d dropped to the floor, her forehead grazed and bleeding, her shoulder, too. The blood from her head wound had puddled around her profusely, and she’d taken short shallow breaths and held them as long as she could, her eyes closed the whole time. That was all she could remember, and she told Greenley that, too.
What she didn’t tell him was how she’d felt then, the fear that had been like icy fingers crawling over her skin, the blood that had trickled into her mouth and tasted of death, fearing she would vomit and the killer would realize she was alive, hearing the screams of her friends, the choking, gurgling sounds Elena made as she died.
Those things she kept to herself because they were the hardest memories, the ones that sat like a crushing weight on her chest until she could no longer breathe and went numb. It was the numbness that she hated. She should suffer unbearably for those who had died; the fact that she couldn’t caused an embarrassing guilt.
“Good. Very good,” Greenley said again, his tone attentive, respectful, his pen silent as he took notes. He looked up then, and met her gaze, smiling as if they had all the time in the world, as if they were old friends catching up on things that had happened in their lives. He made it easy not to give in to her fears and panic.
“Now, Jamie, I want you to relax. Sit back, get comfortable and close your eyes. Good, just like that,” he said when she leaned into the chair and let the cushions swallow her up, the feeling heavenly. “Let the tension drain from your limbs. Let your eyelids grow heavy. Breathe in slowly, exhale. That’s it. Very good.
“Yes, I’m in the Texas Rangers station in Midland, Texas.”
“Who asked you to come here today?”
“Ranger Sergeant Kellen Harding.”
“What is your understanding of the purpose for coming here?”
“I’ll be hypnotized to see if I can remember anything about the murders at the Sonora Nites Diner that will help Sergeant Harding in his investigation of the case.”
Greenley’s frown softened. “Before we get started, do you have any questions?”
“No, not really. You’ve been very thorough.”
“Very good. Now, Jamie, using your own words, I want you to review for me what you do remember about that night and the events that occurred, in order, exactly as they happened.”
“Where do you want me to start?” she asked, shifting in her chair, fighting the return of the tension along her spine.
“Wherever you would like,” he said, then sat back as if he’d paid for a show.
She told him the same story she’d told anyone who’d ever asked. The time she’d clocked in, how she’d waited tables and manned the register with Julio and Elena while Lacy worked in the kitchen with Kass. She’d told him about the last customer they’d never thought would finish his burger and leave, how he’d taken an hour to read the paper, how Julio and Elena had danced up and down the aisle with their mops and brooms after they’d locked the door behind him.
She told him about Kass hurrying all of them to finish because he wanted to get home to Helen. His wife had made his favorite black-forest cake, and he wanted to sit back with a glass of milk, a huge slice of the chocolate-and-cherry layers, and watch the Celtics NBA game on his VCR. He missed Boston a lot, Kass did.
She told Greenley about it being her turn to run the day’s closeout tape on the register while balancing the till and preparing the nightly deposit of cash and checks. The credit-card slips went into a separate bag for Kass’s bookkeeper, and Jamie had been sorting them, reaching for a paper clip, when the front door’s glass had shattered from a spray of bullets and the killer had walked through.
She’d dropped to the floor, her forehead grazed and bleeding, her shoulder, too. The blood from her head wound had puddled around her profusely, and she’d taken short shallow breaths and held them as long as she could, her eyes closed the whole time. That was all she could remember, and she told Greenley that, too.
What she didn’t tell him was how she’d felt then, the fear that had been like icy fingers crawling over her skin, the blood that had trickled into her mouth and tasted of death, fearing she would vomit and the killer would realize she was alive, hearing the screams of her friends, the choking, gurgling sounds Elena made as she died.
Those things she kept to herself because they were the hardest memories, the ones that sat like a crushing weight on her chest until she could no longer breathe and went numb. It was the numbness that she hated. She should suffer unbearably for those who had died; the fact that she couldn’t caused an embarrassing guilt.
“Good. Very good,” Greenley said again, his tone attentive, respectful, his pen silent as he took notes. He looked up then, and met her gaze, smiling as if they had all the time in the world, as if they were old friends catching up on things that had happened in their lives. He made it easy not to give in to her fears and panic.
“Now, Jamie, I want you to relax. Sit back, get comfortable and close your eyes. Good, just like that,” he said when she leaned into the chair and let the cushions swallow her up, the feeling heavenly. “Let the tension drain from your limbs. Let your eyelids grow heavy. Breathe in slowly, exhale. That’s it. Very good.
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