Page 46 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

Dante frowned. She didn’t note that? That was a strange way to put it. He set the pencil down. “All right, look. I know what you saw was a terrible shock, which can make it hard to remember the details. Can you do something for me?”

She wrapped her arms around her bent legs. “What?”

“Take three or four slow, deep breaths.”

Jules complied. When the tension in her body appeared to ease a little, Dante said, “That’s good. Now, I know this might be difficult, but I need you to close your eyes and imagine the scene. Take your time and let it slowly come into focus, and then simply tell me what you see.”

He started to reach for the pencil but stopped when she said, “I can’t.”

“I understand that it’s hard, but…”

She shook her head. “It’s not that it’s hard. It’s impossible. I can take all the time in the world, but I will never be able to picture in my mind what I saw in that alley last night.”

Frustration and curiosity tangled in his head like hissing, feral cats. In the end, curiosity edged out frustration just enough for him to be able to speak calmly when he asked, “Why not?”

“Because I have aphantasia.”

“Aphantasia.”

“That’s right.” She played with the edge of the gray blanket, working it between the fingers of one hand.

“What does that mean?”

“I have no mind’s eye. I can’t visualize anything in my head. I tried to explain that to the other officer, but he didn’t seem to believe me.”

Yeah. Hoover. Not the greatest bedside manner.

He wouldn’t have hesitated to tell Jules he thought she was lying.

Dante’s forehead wrinkled. Did he believe her?

Was this aphantasia actually a thing? It did sound vaguely familiar, like he’d heard something about it a long time ago, although he’d never met anyone with the condition.

Certainly not the sole witness to a violent crime.

“So, when you said you didn’t note what color hair he had… ”

“That’s how I remember things. I take note of them in my mind.

Memorize facts. Log them into inventory.

Last night, after what I had seen and with the guy advancing toward me, I wasn’t able to note much.

Only that he was big and that he was a white guy.

Other than that, I only remember the smell of the garbage in the dumpster and the sounds I heard—the woman screaming, scuffling, and then that creepy ringtone. ”

A shudder rippled through her, as though the smell and the sounds she remembered carried strong emotions along with them. Was the use of senses other than sight to help recall a situation the way people with this… condition compensated for their lack of mental visualization?

Before he could ask, she let go of the blanket and buried her face in her hands. “I should have tried to get to her. I could have done CPR, revived her, maybe.”

The agony in her voice ripped through his chest. Dante leaned over the table a little. “Jules. Look at me.”

For a few seconds, she didn’t move. Then she slowly lowered her hands, resting her forearms on her bent knees. “What?”

“You couldn’t possibly have gotten to her. The murderer was between you. If you had tried, he would have killed you too. There was nothing you could have done.”

Her shoulders slumped a little, and she nodded slightly. “Where do we go from here?”

“Think hard. You didn’t note anything else about the man? His eyes, the shape of his face, his nose, any distinguishing marks?”

Her head jerked a little. “He had scratch marks on his cheeks. From the woman. His arms too, I think. I did note splatters of blood on them.”

“He was wearing short sleeves, then.”

Her eyelids fluttered as though she was attempting to flip through those notes she’d made in her head. “He must have been.”

“Okay. That’s good, Jules. If we’re able to track him down, those details could be helpful. Anything else?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve given us what you could.”

“Am I free to go?” Jules lowered her feet to the floor and unwrapped the blanket from around her shoulders.

“Of course. Do you want me to drive you home?”

She blinked at that, as though she hadn’t expected that it was police protocol to drive witnesses home from the station.

Which, of course, it wasn’t. Despite how terrible their encounter had gone the night before, Dante was worried about her.

It sounded as though the guy she’d seen in the alley had gotten a really good look at her, and it was unlikely he had aphantasia.

No doubt he’d memorized every detail of her face.

He’d also shown an astounding lack of concern about her seeing him, which was a bad sign.

What did he plan to do, come after her? Silence her the way he had the other woman before Jules had a chance to testify against him in court or identify him in a lineup?

Could she do that, with her condition? She must be able to recognize people when she saw them again, even if she couldn’t recall their faces when they were apart, right?

Otherwise, she’d never know a friend or a family member when she saw them.

Of course, she’d known him as soon as he walked into the room. Could be because he’d dragged strong emotions in with him as well—and not the pleasant kind.

A memory drifted through his mind, of her holding her phone in Dante’s face when she first walked up to their table, his own image staring back at him.

It made sense now that she’d had to keep glancing at it as she searched for him in the pub, if she couldn’t picture in her head what he looked like.

“Dante?”

He blinked. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Yeah. I said thank you, but my car’s parked right outside the station. I’m fine to get myself home.” She folded the blanket neatly and set it on the chair.

“All right then.” Dante unsnapped the flap on the pocket of his shirt and dug around in it until his fingers closed around a business card. “If you think of anything else, call me, okay? This number goes straight to me.” He held the card out.

“Okay, thanks.” When she reached across the table for it, her fingers trembled.

Exhaustion, no doubt, on top of everything else.

She unzipped the bag she still wore across her chest and stuck the card in it.

“Oh, speaking of calling you, did anyone find my phone? I dropped it in the alley when I heard the woman scream.”

Hope sparked inside him. “Your phone? Any chance you took any pictures before you dropped it? Or video?”

She shook her head. “No. I was talking to my friends when I heard the scream.”

His eyebrows rose. “Talking to them? As in on the line? Could they have overheard anything?”

“No. We were messaging each other.”

The brief spurt of hope fizzled. “Ah. Well, I’ll have to check with the investigators when they get back to the station. I’m sure someone would have picked it up. Is there another way I can get hold of you if I need to?”

“Here.” Jules pulled the notepad closer and scribbled something in the top corner. “My email address.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know when you can come here to get it. Since there’s a slight chance the suspect might have seen it and picked it up after you left, they’ll probably need to log it into evidence and dust it for prints.”

“Ugh. If he did touch it, you’ll let me know, right? I won’t want it back if that happened.”

“I promise I will.”

“Okay then.” Jules rounded the table and headed for the door.

“Jules?”

“Yeah?” She stopped in the doorway and looked back, one hand pressed to the frame.

“My email address is on that card as well, in case you need to contact me before you get your phone back.”

“All right.”

“Be careful, okay?” A deep uneasiness had settled in his gut. He shouldn’t let her go. He had no grounds on which to keep her here, though. Certainly, she wouldn’t voluntarily stay simply for the pleasure of his company, not after the way he had treated her earlier.

Her brow furrowed, although she nodded. “I will.” Pushing away from the door frame, Jules added, “I guess I’ll see you around.” She disappeared into the hallway before he had a chance to respond. The same way he’d left her at the table in the pub.

Dante glanced down at the notepad, reviewing the few details she’d been able to provide.

Like her vague, non-committal farewell before she took off, they were slightly better than nothing, although precious little to move forward with.

Dante shoved that thought from his head.

He needed to focus on the case and not let anyone or anything—including a mesmerizing pair of turquoise eyes—distract him.

Hopefully the CSI team would have better luck gathering evidence at the scene than he’d had getting anything from their one witness tonight.

If not, Dante had a sinking feeling that Jules Adler could find herself in the crosshairs of a man whose face she couldn’t visualize but who likely had every one of her features permanently etched into his brain.