There was a slamming of car doors and a commotion of people in haste. Lights flashed in her windows and sirens were reeling.

Val’s back door flew open. Emergency medical technicians rushed to her side and immediately started to inspect her wounds. Another technician went to Howie and felt his carotid for a pulse.

“He’s dead,” Val tried to tell the E.M.T. No sound came. The man pulled his finger from Howie’s neck and came over to Val, but she couldn’t speak: she was starting to lose consciousness.

People began to shout. She had no idea who they were.

“Jesus Christ! Get a tourniquet on that leg now or she’s not going to make it.” It was last thing Val heard before the room went dark.

42

Val stayed in the hospital for almost a week. She recovered quickly and the doctors were pleased. She’d have scars on her leg and would have to walk with the aid of a cane for a while, but it looked like she would have no permanent nerve damage. Her wrist was broken. The doctor said physical therapy would help with recovery, giving her back any lost mobility. Val wasn’t optimistic. She’d heard that story before.

Right now, three weeks later, she stood outside of the one-way glass of the interrogation room. There was no way she was going to miss this. Molly Dolan was being questioned by Detective Gavin. Val wasn’t allowed in. Which wasn’t a bad thing. She didn’t want to be in the same room with that woman, even if Molly was wearing restraints.

Molly had been released from the hospital that morning. She sat at the interrogation room table dressed in an orange jumpsuit, her hands shackled to the belt around her waist. Her lawyer and a psychiatrist sat on either side of her.

“What’s your real name?” Gavin asked.

“Molly Dolan.”

Gavin sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “DNA says you’re not.”

“Your tests must be wrong.”

“That’s impossible.”

Molly laughed wryly. “You’ve been wrong before, Detective Gavin.”

“Not this time. You’re not Julia DeHaviland. You’re not Molly Dolan. And you’re not Lorelei Sebastian. Who are you?”

“If you don’t believe I’m Molly Dolan, that’s your problem not mine,” she said with an amused smile. “I can show you all types of physical documentation.”