The Witness

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  Fiona lifted the banker’s box from the chair onto Olivia’s desk. She lifted the top and started stacking file after file.

  “What’s this?” Olivia asked.

  “This, my dear, is the original investigation file from Cynthia’s murder. A friend at the sheriff’s office gave me copies in 1999, when I hired a private investigator after the case went cold.”

  “You hired an investigator?”

  “What else could I do? The police thought someone in my family murdered Cynthia. When the case went cold, I hired a private investigator to see if he could come up with something the police missed, maybe something to at least exonerate my family. My belief is that the murder had something to do with those coins. I’ve also given you every newspaper clipping related to the case. I thought the historical and social context might be helpful. I think it would be prudent for your investigator to start fresh, investigate each one of us. My nephew Mark, although the favored child, was driving Cynthia to the brink of madness.”

  “Do you think he could have killed his mother?”

  “I don’t know. But we’d be remiss not to suspect him, wouldn’t we? In fact, of all the family members, I would say he has the best motive.”

  “What motive?” Olivia asked.

  “Money, of course. Cynthia had grown tired of bailing Mark out financially and she made noises about changing her will. But I’m not going to influence you, Olivia. You need to conduct your investigation the way you see fit.” She pointed to the tall stack of files. “In those files, you will find everything the police did in the original investigation.”

  Olivia took a file off the top of the stack and thumbed through its contents. There were police reports, witness statements, an autopsy report, and a myriad of photographs. She had picked up her pen earlier to take notes during the meeting, and now she wrote furiously. “Do you remember off the top of your head who the medical examiner was? I’d like to try to talk to him.”

  “It’s on the report. I remember he was very young at the time. My recollection is that he was quite shaken by the violence.”

  Olivia eyed the box. She wanted Fiona to leave, so she could go through its contents by herself, without Fiona hovering and giving advice.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

  “Not at all. But I want to tell you three things first. Number one, I know the police think a family member murdered Cynthia. I don’t agree, as we discussed. What I would like to add is that the coins – the British sovereigns that my brother collected – were valuable. There were a dozen or so extremely rare coins in the collection. And my brother was proud of them. So people were aware of them.

  “Number two, I had an alibi that night, just in case you were going to ask.” Fiona stared at her lap for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “Did you know I had a lover?”

  The revelation startled Olivia.

  “I didn’t think so. His name was Herbert Hemmings. Bertie. The love of my life. He was married. It was the perfect situation for me. No strings, no man telling me what to do. Just friendship, sex, companionship, and then I was left to my own devices. We were together the night Cynthia was murdered. We had dinner at The Hilltop in Novato and then we went back to the beach.”

  Fiona paused, giving Olivia time to catch up with her note taking.

  “That night, Herbert insisted on driving home, over the hill to his house in Mill Valley. They think he fell asleep at the wheel …”

  Olivia stopped writing and looked up at Fiona. Tears welled up in her eyes. She took a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her tears. “I don’t mean to get maudlin. That was thirty years ago. I’ve learned to live with my loss, but it stings sometimes.” Fiona gave Olivia a sheepish smile.

  “I’m so sorry,” Olivia said.

  “Thank you, Olivia. You always were a kind soul.”

  Fiona stood. “I’m hoping that no one in my family is a murderer, Olivia. You and I both know Edward – Ebby – is innocent. You must discover who did this, so Ebby can be free.”

  “What do you think happened to the sovereigns?” she asked.

  “Sold. Probably to some private collector.” Fiona met her eyes. There was no mistaking the steely determination there.

  I pity anyone who gets on this woman’s bad side. Olivia waited, knowing Fiona had something else to say.

  “And thirdly, there’s something else, something I don’t like to speak about. But I’m going to tell you in the spirit of full disclosure. It probably has nothing to do with Ebby’s situation, but one never knows. And you may well find this out on your own, and I won’t be accused of keeping things back. Cynthia Engstrom and I were very close childhood friends.” Fiona stood. “Thank you for meeting me, Olivia. I am glad we have you helping Ebby.”

  The two women shook hands, and Olivia walked Fiona to the door. After she left, Olivia sat at her desk contemplating what kind of woman Cynthia Engstrom really was.

  Chapter 15

  Ebby

  Tuesday, January 6

  Ebby and Elodie were silent in the car on the way home from jail. Last night had been the worst experience Ebby had ever gone through, and if he closed his eyes, he could smell the tiny cell he had stayed in, a nauseating combination of urine, fried food, and disinfectant. There was no sleeping. Inmates were calling out to each other, not caring that they kept others awake. Now all he wanted to do was sleep.

  Elodie kept casting glances at him. She hadn’t wanted him to go to Felicity’s and had tried to convince him to stay with her. Even though he loved her more than anyone else, her smothering concern was too much for him to deal with, as he navigated this fresh set of circumstances. He had to make plans. On his own. Last night had been a sobering wake-up call. At first, he was willing to accept that he might have murdered his mother – why else had he confessed? He was willing to accept the consequences, believing the truth about her murder would set him free.

  He wondered if he’d made a mistake going off his medication and turning his back on the psychiatric help that he probably needed. He needed sleep and then he needed answers.

  “Oh, no,” Elodie said. “That didn’t take long.”

  The journos were already encamped by the gates at the main driveway. Ebby ducked, just in case, as Elodie drove by the main entrance and turned down the dirt road that led to their respective houses. So far the reporters hadn’t discovered this part of the property, but it would only be a matter of time.

  “You can park at yours and I’ll walk the trail. If they’ve discovered my cottage, I’ll just come back to you and wait for Felicity there,” Ebby said.

  “Be careful,” Elodie said. She pulled her car up next to the trailer and turned off the engine.

  “I want to thank you, Elodie, for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you for suggesting I hire Olivia, for arranging bail, for everything.” Ebby was dismayed to see a lone tear roll down Elodie’s wrinkled cheek.

  “Why won’t you stay with me? I can care for you as well as Felicity can.”

  Ebby met Elodie’s gaze and held it. “I don’t need caring for. Not anymore. I need to find out what happened to my mother, and then I need to think about my life.”

  Elodie took a wrinkled tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed at her tears. “I understand.”

  Ebby took his car key off his key ring. “Can you just move the car to your trailer within the next couple of days? I’ll come and get it as soon as I can.”

  Once he was at his cottage, Ebby sent a quick text to Felicity, saying he would be ready to be picked up in fifteen minutes. He took a moment and stood in the living room, saying goodbye to the place he had called home for so many years. Funny how the cottage that he had built with his own sweat no longer felt like a sanctuary. Now all he wanted to do was pack his meager belongings – Ebby had never been an accumulator of stuff – and get away.

  Using a footstool, he opened the closet near the front door and pulled down his big suitcase from the top sh
elf. He was just about to haul it into his bedroom, when the front door opened and Melinda stood on the threshold.

  “Ebby?”

  He nearly gasped when he saw her eye was bruised and swollen shut. “Melinda? You startled me.” Melinda had once again taken a beating from her husband and Ebby had a good idea why.

  “Sorry. I saw Elodie’s car drive by the house. You saw the reporters there?” Melinda shivered and drew her jacket tighter around her. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Why did Mark hit you?”

  “He was pretty angry with you, Ebs. You confessed to murder in front of all of our guests.”

  “Your guests? It was Elodie’s party.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t understand why Mark hit you after I confessed. What have you got to do with it? Why do you stay with him?”

  “Why did you confess to murdering your mother?” Melinda countered. “Have you remembered something from that night?”

  As a young boy, Ebby had always thought Melinda was pretty, with her heart-shaped face and bright blue eyes. Now her hair had grown lank, her skin sallow. She ate a like a bird, so her cheekbones were too prominent, giving her eyes a fevered, haunted look. Ebby felt sorry for Melinda. Life with Mark had taken its toll.

  Melinda followed Ebby into the bedroom and watched as he folded his clothes and put them in his suitcase. “Where are you going?” Melinda asked.

  Ebby ignored her. He didn’t have many clothes, and packing didn’t take long. He made his way into the living room and pulled his favorite books off the shelves: Hike Your Own Hike, A Confederacy of Dunces, and six leather-bound journals, old and weathered from the many times Ebby had read them, filled with his father’s essays and sketches.

  “Ebby? Where are you going?” Melinda asked again.

  “I’m not going to tell you,” Ebby said.

  “Why?” Melinda insisted. “We love you. Mark and I both care about you.”

  Ebby laughed.

  Melinda wrung her hands. “I know that Mark loves you and only wants what’s best for you.”

  “You actually believe that?”

  “You’re being a little harsh, don’t you think? We should all sit down and talk. This hasn’t been easy on Mark and me. Yesterday the police came to the house and searched the attic. They were there for hours.”

  Suspicious now, and certain that Melinda had an agenda, he turned to her. “Talk about what? You’re obviously here because Mark wants me to do something. Tell me what.”

  Melinda swallowed, her eyes darting side to side. “Ebby, if you murdered your mother, you did so as a minor. Mark thinks – and I agree – that you should plead guilty and let Olivia get you a short sentence. I bet she could make this go away. I mean, look at you. You’re a successful man, you contribute to society. I’m sure this can all be resolved without much fuss and embarrassment to the family. You could serve your sentence and we could all move on.”

  “I was unwell when I confessed, Melinda, and have yet to see any evidence of my guilt. But just so I’m clear, you basically want me to plead guilty to a crime I may not have committed so you and Mark won’t be too inconvenienced?” Ebby kept his voice impassive and maintained his control when Melinda let out a long sigh of relief.

  “Yes. Doesn’t that make the most sense? We can slip under the radar and save face. Olivia’s a good lawyer. I bet you wouldn’t even have to go to jail. Maybe you could be on – what do they call it? – house arrest, or something like that.”

  “I’d like you to leave,” Ebby said. When Melinda didn’t budge, he said, “Now! Please.” Once she was out of his house, he called after her, “You can tell Mark that I’m going to find out who killed our mother, whether he likes it or not.”

  He shut the door and locked it.

  Ebby and Mark’s relationship had always been strained. From the Olympian vantage point of adulthood, Ebby realized his aunts had protected him from Mark’s bullying, conspiring to make sure he wasn’t left alone with his mean-spirited brother. Despite their valiant efforts, Mark always managed to get his jabs in. He was the type of brother who looted Ebby’s piggy bank and stole his Willie Mays baseball card. Ebby knew this because he found the card in Mark’s desk drawer. At the time, he had reclaimed the card and hidden it in his room so Mark couldn’t steal it again.

  As adults, Ebby and Mark’s relationship had only deteriorated further, perhaps due to sibling rivalry. But Ebby didn’t see Mark as a rival. At one time, he had even looked up to his older brother, had tried to gain Mark’s approval. It hadn’t worked. Every time he trusted Mark with a secret or a dream, Mark would betray him or embarrass him, and take a sick pleasure in the process. By the time he was ten years old, Ebby knew the best course of action was to stay clear of his older brother.

  The two brothers couldn’t have been more different. Mark wore Italian suits to work and promised to turn his friends into millionaires. Ebby earned his living cooking for people, working shoulder to shoulder with employees he loved like family, and spent his spare time surfing and riding his mountain bike in the Marin County hills. In the spirit of family, Ebby had tried to extend the olive branch to Mark on more than one occasion, but every attempt at friendship had been rebuffed. Mark had never eaten at The No Name Diner, and, as far as Ebby could remember, hadn’t uttered a kind word in ages. Despite Ebby’s success, Mark still treated Ebby as though he were damaged, incapable of managing his own affairs.

  And now Mark wanted Ebby to take the blame for a murder he didn’t commit, so Mark could save face. Disgusted, Ebby grabbed his suitcase and hurried out the front door, eager to be away from his family once and for all.

  Chapter 16

  Olivia

  Tuesday, January 6

  After the bail hearing, lunch with Brian and Leanne, and a text from Ebby saying he was at Felicity’s and was looking forward to seeing her in the morning, Olivia couldn’t wait to cocoon herself at home. The sun was just going down as she sat before the fire, a mug of tea in hand, and the files from Fiona arranged on the coffee table in front of her. Starting with the newspaper articles, Olivia read the carefully cut out sheets of yellowed paper, worn thin with age. Many were faded and barely legible, but once Olivia started reading about the murder and the valuable coins that were taken that night, she was hooked. She blitzed through all the articles, making notes of important people who might be relevant to Ebby’s case, before she turned her attention to the police files. Although the information contained in the investigation notes wasn’t as entertaining – or sensational – as the newspaper articles, Olivia felt as though she had hit the mother lode.

  Picking up the photos of the crime scene, Olivia cast her mind to what she knew about the actual murder. She had read somewhere that stabbing in the face and throat spoke to the killer’s rage. Based on this theory, Olivia discounted the idea that Cynthia Engstrom’s murder was the result of a robbery gone awry. The murder had been too violent, too personal. The question remained: who hated Cynthia Engstrom enough to murder her?

  They’d have to start at the beginning – at the foundation, as Brian liked to call it. Olivia knew that in the spirit of leaving no stone left unturned, Brian would investigate every single family member. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he cleared them himself. He’d start with Ebby, of course, and methodically work his way through all the family members. Olivia thought of Mark’s aggression at the party. Mark had always been a bully. Like all bullies, he was a coward underneath. Did he have the nerve to murder his mother and steal the gold coins? Could he have driven home, committed the crime, and driven back to Lake Tahoe? Olivia shook her head. These tangents weren’t helpful. And as much as Olivia didn’t like Mark, she couldn’t see him doing the killing. To her mind, it didn’t fit.

  Fiona, Elodie, and Mark had all given statements that a sterling silver ornamental dagger with semiprecious stones bezel set into the hilt had gone missing after the murder. The police had speculated, and the
ME confirmed in his findings, that this dagger was likely used to murder Cynthia Engstrom.

  Olivia put all the files back in order, her Post-it Notes flagging important documents.

  The speculation about the coins captivated her, much as they had captivated the public at the time of the murder. On a whim, Olivia picked up her cell phone and called her friend Vonnie Wilson. Vonnie had spent the bulk of her adult life working for the jewelry department at Sotheby’s in London, and she traveled between Geneva and Hong Kong to facilitate the auctions of some of the finest jewelry in the world. Now she worked privately, finding gems and treasures for a handful of clients who preferred to keep their collections private and their purchases of art and jewelry a secret. Vonnie had her finger on the pulse of private collectors, and with any luck, would be able to help Olivia.

  “Olivia?” Vonnie answered after the first ring. “How have you been? It’s so nice to hear from you. I’ve been out of the country since the end of November, and I’m just now catching up on returning phone calls. I was going to call you and see if you wanted to go to the ballet. It’s Peter and the Wolf, a matinee, but the seats are good. My tickets are for the 15th of February.”

  “I’d love to go to the ballet, and I’m doing well,” Olivia said. “I know you’re busy, but I’m actually calling for some information and maybe a favor. Do you remember the Cynthia Engstrom murder in 1984?”

  “Of course I do. Wasn’t there a treasure, a cache of gold or something? Wait. I remember now. The elusive duffel bag full of gold coins. Nineteenth-century sovereigns, if I remember correctly.”

  “I was wondering if you know how I could find out if any of the stolen coins have been purchased by a private collector? I know it’s a long shot, but any help would be appreciated.”