Driven (11 page)

“When I clap my hands three times you will awake rested, unafraid, and able to remember everything you have seen and said.
Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Katz clapped three times and Karianne opened her eyes.

“How do you feel?” Katz asked.

“Confused. Like I just had the strangest dream of my life. Only I’m not sure it was a dream,” she said.

Katz smiled at her. “You did fine,” he said.

“I did fine? I don’t feel like I did anything. I felt like a spectator, at least for most of it. I heard you asked questions
I didn’t know the answers to, and then I heard myself answer them.”

“At what point was that?” Katz asked.

“When you asked me the killer’s name. I didn’t know it, but then I did. It became like a strange dream. I was seeing faces
and places I’ve never seen before,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears.

“Now, now. What you experienced was perfectly normal,” Katz said, reassuringly. “You simply entered your subconscious. That’s
why it seemed dreamlike. In fact, it’s quite possible some of what you experienced was a dream state. You were in and out
of rapid eye movement.”

“But it all seemed so real,” she said.

“Well, hopefully some of it was,” Chris interjected. “You gave us a name, and that’s primarily what we’re after.”

Katz nodded in agreement. “Yes. But it’s possible there is much more than simply a name within our grasp. You revealed a previous
encounter with this man and probably know much more about him than you think.” He motioned for the envelope on Chris’s lap.

“Do you remember now the face of the man you called Krogan?”

“I think so,” she said.

Katz pulled the sketch from the envelope and dangled it before her. “Is this him?”

Karianne gasped reflexively. “That’s him,” she said, shaking her finger at the picture. “That’s the man I saw in my dream.
I mean my mind. I mean… oh, I don’t know what I mean.”

So much for the suggestion Katz had given her that she wouldn’t be troubled, Gavin thought.

“Why did she answer some of the questions in another language?” Amy asked.

Katz smiled knowingly. “The mind is a fascinating thing. She probably entered a semi-dream state and allowed my questions
to merge with her knowledge of Hebrew.”

“Hebrew? I don’t have a knowledge of Hebrew,” Karianne said.

Katz frowned. “But you must. Maybe not a direct knowledge, but some connection must exist. Maybe through the airlines or a
childhood friend long forgotten.”

Karianne shook her head. “None. I speak Norwegian, English, a little German, but definitely not Hebrew.”

“How about ancient Hebrew?” Amy said.

“Ancient Hebrew?” Katz said as all heads turned toward Amy.

“Yes. I’m sorry I was late, but today’s research took a little digging. As it turns out,
shadahd
is a verb—an extinct form of another ancient word that means… ,” she held up her notebook, “to ruin,
destroy, deal violently with, devastate, despoil, wreck, waste.” She put down the notebook and scanned the silent room.

Gavin remembered Karianne grinning eerily after speaking the ancient word. Were she and this Krogan character part of some
secret satanist cult that got off on senseless destruction? Was that why she was so conveniently forgetful while conscious,
afraid her own life would be in peril if she exposed the members? But why hadn’t she recognized the guy when she first saw
him at the bar? Was the cult large enough and secret enough that its own members didn’t know each other without this ancient
password? If so, why had she not recognized the password until she’d had more to drink?

“What do you mean by extinct?” Katz asked. “Most of ancient Hebrew is only a read language, studied by theologians and historians,
unused in normal conversation.”

Amy nodded. “Let’s put it this way. If the word were any older, no record would exist. It was already out of use before Moses,
possibly Abraham. According to my research, there are some who believe the roots of Hebrew contain the planet’s first language.
For all I know, its origin could date back to, I don’t know, the Garden of Eden, if there was such a place.”

With the exception of Dr. Fagan, who was grinning sarcastically and shaking his head, all expressions were blank. Fagan, who
had been so quiet he could have been mistaken for a lamp, uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “You know, it wasn’t bad
enough you had to jeopardize the woman’s physical recuperation. Now you set her brain on end with crazy conjecture so obviously
irrelevant to your case that all it can do is heap fear onto an already steep pile of confusion.”

Even knowing Fagan might be correct, Gavin still had to suppress a retort. Obtaining evidence and connecting data was not
an exact science; the road to truth was rarely the straight and narrow in the homicide department. Still, Gavin had to admit
they were
about as far out on a limb as he had ever been. He knew Amy meant well, but did she have to mention the Garden of Eden? She
might as well have mentioned Atlantis or Asgard as far as Fagan or Katz were concerned—to those two, any of the above was
indicative of a myth.

Amy caught Gavin’s attention and motioned she was going to visit her sister. Gavin nodded.

“I can appreciate your concern, Doctor,” Katz was saying, “but I believe we are on the brink of something substantial. What
we need is another session after Karianne has some rest. I would suggest tomorrow at the latest, if that’s all right with
you, Karianne.”

“The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned,” she said, appearing ready for the session to take place immediately. “How
can I rest knowing I’m connected to that… beast?” She hitched her chin toward the police sketch of Krogan.

Gavin, too, was anxious to press on. He looked at Katz. The man was deep in thought. The fact the man had shown more than
a little surprise several times during the session had Gavin concerned they were stretching past the psychologist’s boundaries
of experience. He hoped he had the right man for the job.

G
avin called headquarters only to find they had no record anywhere of anyone named Krogan, either as a first name or a last.
He decided to check on Amy and Amber. When he walked into the room, Amy was on her knees crying at the side of her sister’s
bed, her forehead against the mattress as she held her sister’s limp hand. She had apparently not heard Gavin enter. He started
to leave her to her grief, but hesitated. Watching her made him want to take the sketch he held and blow it to pieces at the
shooting range, shot after careful shot. But, no, he needed it—he planned to advertise Krogan’s face throughout the metro
area like a politician on Election Day. Someone out there had to be able to connect the face with the name. And Gavin knew
Gasman would jump at the opportunity to print that name… right over the sketch.

“Amber, Amber,”Amy was crying over and over. She looked into her sister’s face—peaceful, beautiful, asleep. “You need to wake
up. I need you to come back.”

Again Gavin thought of leaving. He’d never seen Amy so weak and vulnerable. Maybe she needed him. Maybe she wouldn’t want
him there. After a moment’s struggle, he walked over and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She startled, but when their
eyes met she relaxed and put her hand over his. Gavin couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so comforted by his
presence. He felt privileged… wanted.

“I love her, Gavin. She’s part of me.”

“I know,” he said quietly, softly squeezing her shoulder.

“Have you heard from Reverend Buchanan yet?”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t. I need to check the machine. Either way, I’ll call again,” he said.

Amy leaned over and kissed her sister on her cheek, then spoke a few words in Japanese to her. After giving Amber a final
kiss she stood up and turned to Gavin, her wet, green eyes blazing. “I want Krogan. I want that animal.”

“We’ll have him soon,” he said. “But the line forms behind me.”

T
HE RECEPTIONIST
at
The Daily Post
put down the phone and looked up with a smile at Gavin, then at Amy, who was standing next to him. She appeared to be in
her early twenties, with short, straight hair that showed her black roots. Her perfume could overpower Lysol.

“Can I help you?” she said, her overly made-up eyes remaining on Amy in an obvious compliment to her looks.

“Mel Gasman, please,” Gavin said.

“Mr. Gasman is in an important meeting and won’t be available for another half hour. If you like, you can wait over there.”
She extended her gaze to a black leather couch behind a table of loosely strewn magazines.

Gavin looked at his watch and shook his head. It was already four-thirty. “I think Mr. Gasman would like to know Detective
Pierce is here now, but by five I’ll be at the
Times
and he’ll have lost his exclusive. And I can assure you, he wouldn’t be very happy to hear that.”

The receptionist paused, then held up a finger. “Let me see how the meeting’s going,” she said and disappeared through a heavy
oakveneer door that closed with a loud click.

“If I know Gasman, he’ll be right out. Let me do the talking. He
has a nose like a bloodhound when it comes to a story, and there’s a lot here we don’t want him to know, at least not yet,”
Gavin said.

“No sweat,”Amy replied. “Like I’ve told you all along, you won’t even know I’m here.” Gavin rolled his eyes.

Moments later the door opened again. Gasman looked first to the couch, then quickly to the receptionist counter where Gavin
and Amy were still standing.

“Whoa!” he said with a broad smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“A coin flip,” Gavin said. “Best two out of three.”

“And who won the first toss?”

“You did.”

Gasman laughed nervously. “You’re such a kidder. And who is your new partner? Quite an improvement over the old model,” he
said, surveying Amy.

“None of your business,” Gavin replied, then pulled out the sketch. Gasman’s gaze locked on the envelope like a dog anticipating
a steak. He reached for it, but Gavin pulled it away. “Don’t smudge. Only touch the edges.”

Gasman nodded eagerly, slowly taking it with a tweezerlike hold on the top edge. His eyes widened. “Oh…”

“I should have figured you’d have strange worship habits,” Gavin deadpanned.

Gasman ignored the joke, transfixed on the sketch. “Is this for real?”

“Would I make it up?”

“You couldn’t. If I told the art department to draw me the scariest dude they could, it would look like Little Miss Muffet
compared to this. This is gold, baby. If this mug goes on the front page we’ll sell out.”

“Your priorities are so predictable.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why they pay me the big bucks. Let me make
a copy of this and then we’ll sit and talk,” Gasman said, leading them through the doorway he’d entered by. They followed
him down a corridor lined with framed photos of faces and awards, some old, some new. The hallway emptied into a large, florescent-lighted
room buzzing with activity. Support columns rose over dozens of cubicle offices. The partitioned walls rose only about waist
high, affording a good view, and most of the occupants’ necks craned toward Amy as they walked by.

Gasman’s office, though nothing to brag about, was a step above the others they had passed. At least he had a door, and his
partitioned walls were permanent, with glass on top to help keep the sound down. He pulled a seat away from the wall for Amy
and pointed Gavin to its match, then walked around his desk and sat down, quickly locating a yellow pad. He looked at them
and smiled.

“Now then. Does it have a name?”

Gavin cleared his throat, looked at Amy, then back to Gasman. “Uh, we have a name we’d like to try.”

“Try?” Gasman said, tilting his head slightly.

“We think it might be an alias or nickname.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Krogan.”

“Krogan? That’s it? No first name?”

“That’s it.”

“Fantastic. He kind of looks like a Krogan.” Gasman eyed the sketch on his desk. “Krogan the Terrible. Krogan the Hun. Hulk
Krogan. Man, oh, man. That name, this face… Oh, baby! There is a God.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Earth to Gasman. I’d like you to subtly present the name as a possible alias, not a billboard for
a monster movie. If the name is wrong, it might confuse someone who really does know whatever his correct name is.”

“Sure, sure. No problem. Whatever you say. What makes you think Krogan might be his name?”

“I’d rather not reveal that information at this time,” Gavin said.

“Come on, Pierce. You promised me details. Are you gonna give me the story or not?” Gasman whined. “You know me; I’ll work
with ya. What happened? Did your witness get her memory back? Did she finally confess? Was she calling his name in her sleep?
At least tell me what you’re afraid of.”

“Forget it, Gasman. Take it or leave it.”

Gavin spent the next half hour sharing information and updating Gasman on the condition of Chris and Karianne. Gasman continued
to beg for more hard details, but Gavin refused. There were simply too many loose ends. And the last thing he wanted was to
have to explain to the lieutenant why Karianne Stordal, a Norwegian flight attendant, had been speaking ancient Hebrew, a
language she didn’t know, while being interviewed under hypnosis.

“I don’t want any surprises,” Gavin said, echoing the lieutenant’s warning as he and Amy left Gasman at his desk staring at
the sketch.

“Hey, Pierce, you won’t mind if I make copies of this for holiday presents?” His laughter followed them down the hall.

A moment later Gavin and Amy were descending the broad, weathered granite steps of
The Daily Post
building.

“So now what?” Amy asked.

“What do you say we get something to eat and then go boot up your machine and see what we can find on the name Krogan.”

“Do you think you can stand my cooking two nights in a row?” Amy asked.

G
AVIN SUNK
into overstuffed cushions, sipping green tea at Amy’s small Manorhaven home while she busied herself in the kitchen. He had
asked if he could help, or at least watch, but was chased out
with a wooden spoon. Fine. He would use this time to rest; with the restless sleep he’d been having lately and the pounding
of the pavement all day, he wouldn’t mind a small nap and the promise of awakening to what looked to be a delicious dinner.

“Hey,” Amy called from the kitchen. “While you’re doing nothing, why don’t you call your answering machine and see if you
got a return call from that Reverend Buchanan.”

“Funny, I was just thinking of that.”With a sigh, he reached for the phone and after a short series of codes and beeps found
his machine empty.

“Zippo,” he said.

“Well, you still have the paper I gave you with his phone number, don’t you?”

Gavin smiled to himself. He liked her feistiness. “I don’t need your paper. I remember the number.” Surreptitiously he pulled
Amy’s paper out of his wallet and dialed up Samantha’s Farm again.

“Hello?” answered a deep, raspy voice.

“Is… is this Samantha’s Farm?” Gavin said.

“Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

“Is this Reverend Buchanan?” Gavin said.

There was a pause. “And who might you be?”

“Detective Gavin Pierce. I called you last night but got your machine.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. I was wondering what somebody with your area code wanted with us. I don’t believe you mentioned you
were a detective.”

By that, Gavin figured the man had not intended to return the call he’d made last night. “I was hoping I might be able to
ask you a few questions.”

“About?”

“I’m looking for information on a case.”

A moment of silence. “Well, I’m just an old dairy farmer, Detective. I don’t know how I could help.”

Gavin exhaled. “Well, to get right to the point, I think I’m after the same man that killed your family in Norway five years
ago. This guy has the exact—”

“I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t know how you found me, but this is not a subject I can talk about, except to tell you I can’t
help you.”

“Sir, whatever your fears are, I can assure you complete protection. Besides, you are one of many whom this man has affected,
myself included. He won’t even remember you. Five years is a long time.”

“Detective, you are correct when you say I am one of many. More correct than you know. But you are very wrong about five years
being a long time. Time means nothing to the one you’re after… I’ve already said too much. I truly feel for whatever harm
you’ve been caused and I’ll keep you in prayer. Again, I’m very sorry. Good-bye.”

“Wait!
Please.
There’ll be a sketch of a suspect in tomorrow’s
Post.
Won’t you at least confirm if it’s the same man who assailed you?”

“Sorry.”

“But why? What harm—”

“I won’t recognize the face.”

Gavin paused. “How do you know that if you don’t look?”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Anything I have to tell you would be of no use to you, so please, let me go.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. Good-bye, Detective.”

“But—”

Click.

“Hello? Hello?” Gavin said through gritted teeth. He hung up, feeling like he now knew less than before he’d called. What
had the reverend meant by “More correct than you know”? He knows of others? And what did he mean about time meaning nothing
to Krogan? Gavin cursed. He hadn’t even been able to ask if the man knew the name Krogan.

Gavin picked up the phone again and hit the redial button. The machine picked up. He disconnected halfway through the little
girl’s message. He would have thrown the phone if it were his own. He was going to talk again to the Reverend Jesse J. Buchanan.
But next time he would not get hung up on.

“Did you reach him?” Amy asked from the kitchen.

“I spoke to him,” Gavin said. “But I didn’t reach him. Not yet.”