The Witness

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  “She’s fine,” Ebby said. “Getting ready for her party. You’ll be there tomorrow?”

  “Her eighty-fifth? Of course I will,” Olivia said.

  Ebby looked at Olivia with concern. “Actually, she’s the one who suggested I come and speak to you.”

  Olivia waited.

  “It’s about my mom’s murder,” Ebby said. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  The murder of Cynthia Engstrom and the theft of a respectable number of gold sovereigns from the Engstrom home had startled the Larkspur community in December of 1984, thirty years ago. Thinking back, Olivia remembered the murder occurred the year she graduated from law school. Although she had followed the newspaper accounts of the subsequent investigation, she had been living in Berkeley at the time and was focused on passing the bar exam.

  Ebby stood and paced around the room for a second until he wound up at the window, his back to Olivia, his hand in his pocket, jiggling his change. When he turned around, Olivia was surprised to see tears in his eyes. He wiped them with the back of his sleeve. “I’ve been an emotional wreck these past few weeks. I think I’m starting to remember what happened the night my mother was murdered. It’s like I see someone stabbing her, then I’m covered with blood. It’s so vivid.” Ebby shivered. “Yesterday, I had an episode at the restaurant. I collapsed in the kitchen. Thank God no one got hurt. Anyway, the episodes are happening more and more often. I want you to help me. No, I need you to help me,” Ebby said.

  “Help you how?” Olivia asked.

  “I’m worried it was me,” Ebby said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “What?” Olivia almost laughed. She’d known Ebby as a child and had spent enough time with him to know, without question, he was no killer.

  “I’m hoping you can talk to the police, maybe go over the evidence and look at the case. Maybe we could get the police to reopen the investigation?”

  “To prove you didn’t kill your mom? Ebby, please don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe you need to see a doctor,” Olivia said, careful to keep her voice neutral.

  “That’s what Elodie said. And I’ll tell you what I told her: no. Definitely and without question, no. I thought maybe if I could find out what the police know, what they did, some facts, it might help me remember. I’ve tried over the years to look at the files, but I’ve always been told that isn’t procedure. And before you tell me to ask my family, you should know that I’m pretty convinced Elodie is hiding something from me. I want to know if I was a suspect.”

  “Are you saying you don’t remember what happened that night?”

  “No,” Ebby said. “I suffered – and still suffer from – a case of what’s called dissociative amnesia.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Olivia said.

  “When Elodie became my guardian, she was more than a little protective. Still is. The fact that she didn’t tell you or your mother is a testament to her dogged determination to keep this information within the family. Elodie didn’t want me to suffer any more than I already had.

  “My mother wasn’t exactly well loved, but I had more reason to dislike her than most.” After my dad died the previous June, she took my dog Lucy to the vet while I was at school and had her put to sleep. When I came home, she told me Lucy got hit by a car. But Elodie found out what happened, and I overheard them arguing. I felt so betrayed by my mom, so angry with her. Killing my dog gives me a motive, doesn’t it? Thirteen-year-old boys become rather attached to their dogs.”

  Although Olivia’s mother had been friends with Ebby’s aunts, Elodie and Fiona, Olivia had only met Ebby’s mother, Cynthia, a couple of times and had found her demeanor cold and snooty.

  “What has Elodie told you about the night your mom died?”

  “She’s giving me a watered-down version of the truth, I can tell. She’s holding something back, and it’s infuriating. Can’t you just investigate for me? On your own, without the police? You could speak to my family, interview witnesses, things like that.”

  Olivia hesitated. “You know Brian Vickery, right? He’s moving into an office here today. He was a detective at the San Francisco PD. He’s doing PI work now. Do you mind if we involve him? He may have some ideas.”

  “Yeah, okay. I know Brian. He eats at my restaurant all the time. He’s a private cop now?”

  “Here he is,” Olivia said. She caught a glimpse of Brian as he opened the door, and immediately her heart began thumping, her cheeks growing hot. His hair was longer than was fashionable, his eyes full of warmth as they connected with Olivia’s just a second more than was necessary.

  “Good morning,” Brian said before he turned to Ebby and held out his hand. “Ebby. Good to see you.” The two men shook hands.

  “Ebby needs our help, Brian. Do you have time to speak to him?”

  “Sure,” Brian said.

  Ebby gave Brian an apologetic look before he sat down in one of the guest chairs. “I didn’t mean to drop in without an appointment.”

  “What’s going on?” Brian said.

  “You recall my mother’s murder, in 1984?”

  “Only from what I read in the newspapers. I know that a cache of gold was stolen and the murderer was never caught.”

  “That’s true. But what you don’t know is that I was at a party at a friend’s house. I left and rode my bike home. According to Elodie, she found me under the window of my mother’s study, curled in a ball, lying in the rain. They brought me into the house and put me to bed. I woke up the next morning and couldn’t remember anything after I left my friend’s house.

  “Of course, I was seen and evaluated by every pediatric and forensic psychologist in the San Francisco Bay Area. I was diagnosed with dissociative amnesia. The police were desperate to find out who killed my mother, and given where they found me, it was assumed that I witnessed the crime and repressed the memory. I was a minor, so this information was kept out of the papers.”

  Brian sat in his chair, listening with that stillness and total concentration that was so uniquely his.

  “Here’s the thing,” Ebby continued. “I think I’m starting to remember what happened in bits and pieces, out of order, like a jigsaw puzzle. And the memory that is coming back is not anything like the story Elodie told me. I see someone stabbing my mother, but I’m in the house, in the hallway. And the blood – I am covered in blood.” He paused for one heavy moment. “I’m wondering if there’s a chance that I killed my mother. It would be just like Elodie to protect me. If I did, I want to know.”

  “Have you told a doctor about this?” Brian asked.

  “No. And I’m not going to. I’m done with psychiatrists. And there’s more. I used to have dreams about that night, but now I’m having these hallucinations during the day. The last one happened at the restaurant right before the lunch rush. I collapsed in the kitchen and had to be driven home. I could have hurt someone. It’s like I’ve got something inside me that needs to get out. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know who to turn to.”

  “What about your family? What about your aunt?” Brian asked.

  “Elodie? She’s eighty-five years old. She’s the one who suggested I speak to Olivia. Of course, she’s worried about me. I need to find out what happened independently of my family. Elodie is protective. I don’t want her involved. She could very well keep the truth from me. I guess I really just want to start with some sort of a plan.”

  “A plan for what?” Brian’s question echoed Olivia’s thoughts.

  “Any eventuality,” Ebby said. “One of these days, I’m going to remember. I can feel it. When that happens, I want to be ready to go to the police and push to get the case reopened. I know my memory won’t be considered evidence, but it might persuade the police to take a look at the old investigation with fresh eyes.”

  “If you killed your mother, do you want the police to know?” Brian asked. Olivia could tell from his tone that he didn’t take Ebby seriously.

  “Yes,” Ebby said.
“I want to know what I did. I’ll take my punishment. God knows, my life is hell right now.

  “Our house had an alarm back then, thirty years ago – one of those deals where you use the key and then you have twenty seconds to enter the code. The one thing I do know about the case was there was no forced entry and the alarm was disengaged, so whoever killed my mother knew the code to the alarm. If it wasn’t me, it was someone else in, or close to, my family.” Ebby gave Brian and Olivia an imploring look. “Please, I’m asking for your help.”

  “Do you mind if I speak to Olivia for a minute?” Brian asked.

  ***

  They stepped into Olivia’s old office.

  “What do you think we can do for this kid, Liv?” Brian asked. “He needs psychiatric help.”

  “You and I both know he didn’t murder anyone. And he’s a grown man, Brian. He wants to know what happened to his mother. We have to help him,” Olivia said.

  “You see a grown man. I see a thirteen-year-old boy who is still haunted by tragedy and may have a fair share of psychiatric issues. Amnesia? This is really a matter for the police or a psychiatrist.”

  “He’s suffering. There’s got to be something we can do.”

  Brian leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no way the police will let us look at their files. That just doesn’t happen. But if you’ve got your heart set on this, there might be other ways we can dig a little. We could interview witnesses, read the old newspaper articles, things like that. At least we can look at the facts of the case, prepare a written report, give the kid something to cling to. But here’s the thing: if Ebby didn’t murder his mother, someone in that family likely did, especially given the no-forced-entry issue. Despite your valiant efforts in your own case last October, this is different. Civilians – like you and me – have no business inserting themselves in a murder investigation. And I have grave concerns about Ebby’s state of mind. If we agree to help Ebby, you’re going to have to let me lead.”

  “I understand that. I don’t mind taking direction from you. Let’s just start digging. If we don’t find anything, we’ll let it go. I think Ebby needs us more for moral support anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Brian said, as he pushed away from the door. “I agree with you on that one.”

  They filed back into the office reception area, where Ebby remained on the couch, an expectant look on his face.

  “We’re going to help you, Ebby,” Brian said.

  Ebby exhaled and smiled. “That’s a relief. Thank you. Can I ask how?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Brian said. “I’d like you to write down everything you remember from the night your mother died. Start with the morning, or even the day before, if you are able. Don’t leave anything out. I’d also like you to write down what you are seeing in your hallucinations, if that’s not too painful. That may give us something to go on. I need to be clear that we’re not making any promises. It’s very likely that nothing will come of this. The police will never give us access to the original files, and given the murder took place thirty years ago, it’s highly unlikely any new evidence still exists. You need to understand that. I don’t want you operating on any false assumptions.”

  “I understand.” Ebby stood. “I’m just relieved to have told someone what’s been happening. Thank you both.” He shook hands with Brian and Olivia before he headed out the door.

  “I have a feeling this is going to get interesting,” Brian said.

  “Agreed,” Olivia said.

  ***

  An hour later, Olivia and Brian were in Brian’s office, clearing out more of the junk that Olivia had accumulated during her years of practice and sorting the boxes of papers and old books. Brian picked up a stack of books and put them in one of the empty boxes. “Are you sure you want to get rid of these?”

  “Those books are outdated. Plus, I do all my research online these days. I should have tossed this stuff years ago.” She threw a stack of old pleadings in a bag for the shredder.

  “Liv, I feel guilty taking over your big office. I’ll be just fine in the smaller of the two.”

  “Nope. I need a change.” Olivia thumbed through another pile of old pleadings. “And you’re the one with the clients, not me.” She stood and stretched. “Clients like to think their investigator is successful. Gives them confidence.”

  Brian chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

  The front door opened and Brian stepped out in the hall. “We’re back here.”

  Olivia was wiping her grimy hands on her jeans, when Leanne came into the room, dressed to the nines in a forest-green cashmere coat and hat that set off her auburn hair. Olivia guessed Leanne Stoddard to be in her mid-fifties. She was the type of woman who turned heads and knew it. She hurried next to Brian and kissed his cheeks. “You were right. This office is hard to find.” She looked around, her eyes registering the chaos but missing nothing.

  “Hey, Leanne,” Olivia said.

  “Hello, Olivia,” Leanne said.

  “This is a nice office. I like the window and all the natural light.”

  Olivia marveled at how easily Leanne lied, acting as though she had never been in the office before.

  “I told you it was nice,” Brian said.

  Olivia tried to focus on the junk on top of the desk as Leanne snaked her arm around Brian’s waist, pulling him close to her and leaning up against him. “I’ll just use the restroom and then we can go.”

  “Down the hall and to the right,” Brian said. When Leanne was gone, Brian turned to Olivia, his eyes shining. “I’m glad you like her, Liv. I’m hoping you two can be friends.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be great friends, Brian. If she makes you happy, that’s enough for me.” Olivia felt like weeping. Instead, she plastered on a fake smile and kept it there until Brian and Leanne left for lunch. She watched them walk out of the office, arm in arm like a couple of teenagers.

  Chapter 3

  Brian

  Saturday, January 3

  Brian and Leanne were the only two people sitting outside at The Left Bank. The waitress had seated them under one of the heaters, and they kept their winter coats on to stave off the cold. Leanne pulled some fingerless gloves out of her purse and was putting them on when the waitress approached.

  “Let’s get a bottle of champagne,” Leanne said.

  “Okay. Do we have something to celebrate?”

  “We do.” Leanne ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. After the waitress left she said, “My travel contract has been extended. I’ll be at Marin General until at least March.”

  “That’s great,” Brian said. He’d enjoyed getting to know Leanne, but as he sat across the table from her, he realized that he had let himself get friendly with her because he knew she wouldn’t be staying long. She worked as a travel nurse, and when they had first started dating, she’d told him she would only be in Marin County through Christmas. Christmas had come and gone and now she was going to stay until March. A frisson of worry started at the back of Brian’s mind. He didn’t want to get serious with Leanne, but he didn’t quite know how to bring up the subject with her. Although their relationship was heating up, they had yet to sleep together. Brian knew once that happened, things would get complicated. Fast.

  “Why are you so distracted? Aren’t you glad I’m going to be around?”

  Brian set his champagne glass down and met Leanne’s unflinching gaze.

  “Oh, God. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “It’s just that I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about – well, about us.”

  “What are you trying to say, Brian? I hope you don’t think I’ve been too pushy.”

  “No, it’s not that—”

  “Is this about Olivia? I swear she doesn’t like me. Honestly, I think she has feelings for you. So whatever she’s said about me, just keep that in mind.”

  His heart gave an extra thump at the thought that Olivia could have feelings for
him. “Stop, please. Leanne. Let me explain, okay?” Brian reached across the table and took Leanne’s hand in his own. “I think you’re lovely. I really do. You’ve reminded me how nice it is to share my day-to-day with someone. But I’m not ready for a relationship.” As he spoke the words, Brian felt the tension he had been carrying in his neck and shoulders release. “It’s too soon after Maureen. I just don’t want you to think I’ve been leading you on.”

  Leanne picked up Brian’s other hand and kissed it. “Oh, honey, I understand. We just met. Let’s get to know each other, build a friendship. That’s enough for me. We’re in the same boat in a way. My husband died three years ago, but I still miss him. In fact, I only took my wedding ring off this year. My friends are always telling me I need to get out in the world, meet people and embrace life. That’s why I took the travel nurse job. A change of scene was needed. Let’s start with a friendship, okay? I’m not looking to marry you. Just have some fun.” She held up her champagne glass.

  Brian raised his.

  “To new friends,” Leanne said.

  “To new friends,” Brian repeated. As they clinked glasses and sipped their champagne, Brian’s thoughts strayed to Olivia.

  Chapter 4

  Ebby

  Saturday, January 3

  The tension was so thick in the Engstrom house that Ebby almost called off the family dinner. But Melinda, his beleaguered sister-in-law, had been so touched by Ebby’s offer to cook, he knew he couldn’t back out of his commitment. The time had come to tell his family what he intended to do. As he moved around the kitchen prepping the ingredients necessary for the chicken piccata, Caesar salad, bruschetta, and chocolate soufflé he was preparing for his family, he worried how everyone would react. Elodie and Fiona, his spinster aunts who were eighty-five and eighty-seven respectively, would in all likelihood support Ebby in his endeavor to independently discover what happened to his mom. Melinda was too cowed by her husband to form her own opinion. Mark would no doubt blow a gasket. Ebby didn’t care. He started to chop garlic, psyching himself up to do battle with his domineering older brother, when Melinda came into the kitchen.