Kindred Crimes

by Janet Dawson

  He sipped his coffee and went through his story again as I probed to see if he remembered any details about the car. The phone rang again. This time it was Karen. I thought I heard another person moving in the background.

  “You wanted to talk,” I said. “Does it have something to do with the vanishing act you and Rick pulled?”

  “Yes,” Karen said, sounding subdued. “It’s about Lizzie. I’ll tell you the whole story when I see you.”

  “Give me a preview.”

  “I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.”

  “That’s cryptic. What does it mean?”

  “Not over the phone. Let’s meet someplace.”

  “Your apartment?”

  “No. Vee’s shop. At six.”

  “Vee’s at six. Fine, I’ll be there.”

  “Who was that?” Mark asked as I hung up the phone.

  “Your sister Karen. She wants to talk to me about Elizabeth.”

  “You think she knows something?”

  “Yes. Look, Mark, I have things to do.”

  “I know,” he said, setting the coffee mug down on my desk. “It’s okay. I have to go to San Francisco anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “As long as I’m down here I might as well stock up on framing supplies. The wholesaler’s over in San Francisco.” He stood up and zipped his jacket.

  “Maybe we can have dinner another time,” I said, by way of a peace offering.

  Before he could say anything the door to my office swung open so hard it banged against the wall. Sid walked in looking like a grizzly bear ready to attack.

  “Don’t hang up on me again,” he said in a deceptively calm voice, his cat’s eyes glaring at me.

  “I’ll hang up on you if I damn well feel like it.” I got to my feet and glared back. Getting yelled at in my own office twice in one afternoon was twice too often.

  “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”

  “I got your messages.”

  “So you couldn’t pick up the phone and call me back? It never occurred to you that it might be important?”

  “What do you want, Sid?”

  Sid’s eyes blazed. “I thought I might inquire about your health, after what happened last night. But you don’t seem any worse for wear.” Then he looked at Mark as though he were seeing him for the first time. He jerked his chin in Mark’s direction. “Who’s this?”

  “Mark Willis.”

  Sid straightened. His eyes narrowed and he surveyed Mark as though he were wondering if there were any outstanding warrants on him.

  “Mark, this is Sid Vernon. My ex-husband. He’s a sergeant with the Oakland Police Department.”

  “Hello,” Mark said. They looked at each other like a couple of cats with their backs up, circling each other before a fight. “I was just leaving.”

  “Stay,” Sid ordered. “This may concern you too. If Renee Foster is Elizabeth Willis. Is she, Jeri?”

  “Yes. What are you talking about?” I felt something in the pit of my stomach and it wasn’t indigestion.

  “The Coast Guard pulled a floater out of the Oakland estuary last night. A woman, no identification.”

  “Drowned?” I asked.

  “Throat cut. She matches the general description Foster gave Missing Persons.”

  “Didn’t Foster leave a photo?” I said with a calmness I didn’t feel. “I’ve never met Elizabeth face to face, and Mark hasn’t seen her in fifteen years.”

  “We need dental records,” Sid said. “The coroner estimates she’d been in the water a couple of days. And the face is unrecognizable.”

  I didn’t ask for details. Anything could happen to a body floating in that busy ship channel. The color drained from Mark’s face and he sat down as Sid continued. “We’ve been trying to reach Foster at home, but there’s been no answer.”

  “Did you call his office?”

  “Yeah. This morning. Some secretary said he hadn’t come in yet. I left a message for him to call me, but he hasn’t. I thought maybe you’d know how to reach him. I’m not saying it’s her, but we need to eliminate that possibility.”

  I told Sid I’d contact Philip at his office or at his parents’ home. After he left I turned to Mark, who sat hunched in the chair, his face bleak.

  “Vee,” he said finally. “What are we going to tell Vee?”

  “We don’t tell her anything. Not until we know for sure. That body may not be Elizabeth. Go to San Francisco, to your supplier.” He started to protest, but I silenced him with a gesture. “Meet me back here when you’re finished. By then I will have talked to Philip about getting her dental records. I’ll meet Karen at six and then you and I can sort things out.”

  He nodded and looked at his watch. “All right. It shouldn’t take me more than a couple of hours. I’ll meet you here at five.”

  When he was gone I pulled the Foster file from the cabinet. Philip had given me his parents’ phone number during our initial interview. When I called Los Gatos the phone was answered by the maid. Señora Foster was not at home. I disconnected and dialed Philip’s office. The receptionist rang his office and a secretary picked up the call. Mr. Foster wasn’t in. She didn’t know if he was coming in at all.

  “Transfer me to Edward Foster,” I said, and waited. Another secretary answered and asked my name. I gave it to her and she came back on the line a moment later, saying Mr. Foster was in a meeting. Convenient, I thought. Or he had no intention of talking to me.

  “Interrupt him. It’s important.”

  “I can’t do that,” the secretary said.

  “I know Foster doesn’t want to talk to me and you’re only doing your job. But you tell him if he doesn’t take this call I’m going to swear out a complaint against him. For assault and battery.”

  She gasped and put me on hold. A moment later Edward Foster himself came on the line, his voice crackling with venom and threats.

  “Foster, you don’t like me. Believe me, the feeling is mutual. I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important, so shut up and listen.” He sputtered into silence. “The Coast Guard pulled a body out of the Oakland estuary last night. It might be Renee, it might not. They need Renee’s dental records to make an I.D.”

  I heard an intake of breath, nothing else.

  “Regardless of how you feel about your daughter-in-law, you owe it to her — and your son — to find out if that body is Renee.”

  “Who do I contact?” he asked finally.

  “The Alameda County Coroner’s Office.” I flipped through my Rolodex and gave him the number.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I’m sure you will. And Foster — I wasn’t kidding about the assault and battery charge.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. I’ll be in touch.”

  Twenty

  THE STORM BLEW INTO THE BAY AREA IN LATE AFTERNOON, dumping a steady curtain of rain from a dark blue-gray sky. Mark hadn’t returned to my office by five. I waited as long as I could, then at a quarter to six I left my office and drove through snarled traffic to Vee’s antique shop. I parked on Piedmont and walked back to the shop, a cold wind blowing rain into my face. The wind rattled the glass panes at the front of Vee’s shop as people bundled in raincoats hurried past. A sudden gust caught a man’s umbrella, breaking the supports and rendering it useless.

  Vee was surprised to see me. When I arrived, dripping, at the shop’s front door, she had her keys in her hand, ready to lock up and go home.

  “I’m supposed to meet Karen here at six,” I told her.

  “She’s not here. Come dry off. I’ll make some tea.” Vee locked the front door and turned out the lights in the front of the shop. She led the way back to her office area and plugged in the electric space heater. Soon its coils glowed red, creating a pool of warmth between the sofa and the desk. I took the towel she offered and wiped my streaming face.

  Vee
put the kettle on the hotplate. When it whistled a few minutes later, she got up to pour the hot water over tea leaves in the china pot. She let them steep, then poured us each a cup. I could have used something stronger. I knew Vee was curious about my meeting with Karen and about Mark’s sudden, unexplained visit to the Bay Area. I didn’t know what to say to her so we didn’t talk at all. The hands of an antique Seth Thomas mantel clock went slowly round its face. Outside the evening grew darker and the rain drummed steadily on the roof.

  “Would Karen come to the front door?” I asked.

  “She might. Or she could park in the alley behind my car. I leave the light on over the back door.” Vee picked up her china cup and sipped her tea. “Maybe she’s stuck in traffic.”

  “Maybe she’s not coming.”

  I set my teacup on the desk and got up, moving restlessly in the small area behind the counter. The Yorkshire terrier looked up at me from its basket, then yawned and tucked its muzzle under its forepaws. I walked between the rows of old furniture to the front of the shop and stood gazing out at the rain. A grandfather clock on the left wall bonged the half-hour, followed by the softer chime of the Seth Thomas. I checked my watch. We were all in the vicinity of six-thirty.

  “Did she say what she wanted to talk about?” Vee asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

  “Just that she wanted to talk about Elizabeth.”

  “Mark didn’t say why he came down here?”

  “Yes,” I said, but I didn’t elaborate.

  “You’re both being very mysterious. Well, I’ll be glad of the company. My husband’s still out of town.” Vee got up to pour herself some more tea.

  I stood with my elbows resting on the glass counter, chin propped on my fists. Then I straightened. I saw someone peering through the front window of the shop. In the light from the street it looked to be a woman, bundled against the rain in a tan raincoat belted at the waist. The face was obscured by a soft-brimmed rain hat. Karen, I thought. About time. I grabbed the keys Vee had left on the counter and walked toward the front door.

  As I approached I realized the figure was too short to be Karen Willis. Besides, the woman appeared to be looking at the window display. Two men in raincoats, one carrying an umbrella, passed behind her. The edge of the umbrella grazed her rainhat, knocking it askew. I saw short dark hair at the nape of the neck. She adjusted her hat with a black-gloved hand, then turned and moved quickly away.

  Through the rain-splattered windows I saw cars going by, their headlights punching holes in the rainy darkness. The bulk of an AC Transit bus stopped across the street, blocking the neon signs on buildings across the street, then went on in a roar of diesel power. The rain came down harder, a steady din on the roof. My watch read twenty to seven.

  “She isn’t coming,” I told Vee as I tossed the keys onto the desk.

  The Yorkie roused itself with a yawn and a snuffle. It stepped gingerly out of its basket and went to the back door, looked up at Vee and barked once, a gruff sound for such a small dog.

  “I suppose you have to go out, Ziggy,” Vee said. “And in this weather. Can’t you wait until it lets up a bit?” Ziggy looked at her as if to say, Of course not. She walked over and opened the back door just enough to let the Yorkie out into the alley.

  Someone knocked on the front door, rattling the glass. It was Mark. I picked up the keys and went to let him in, Vee following closely behind me. He stood on the mat just inside the front door, rain plastering his dark hair to his skull and running down his face. His jeans were soaked from the hem to the knee. He took off his jacket and let the water drip onto the mat.

  “God, what lousy weather. I’m dripping all over your floor, Vee.” Mark leaned over and kissed his aunt on the cheek.

  “It’s only water.” Vee led the way to the area behind the counter and handed him the towel.

  He dried his hair, then patted the excess moisture from his jacket. After hanging both towel and jacket on a coat tree near the back door, he took the steaming cup Vee offered. She turned the space heater up a notch and Mark stretched his legs out in front of it.

  “You were going to meet me at my office at five,” I said.

  “I just got back from the city. Traffic was a god-awful mess. I was stuck on the Bay Bridge for over an hour, waiting for CHP to clear up a three-car pileup.” He lifted the cup to his lips. “Karen’s not here?”

  “She never showed.” As if to underscore that fact, the grandfather clock struck the three-quarter hour.

  “Maybe she was stuck in the same traffic jam I was.” He sipped the tea, cradling the warm china cup in his hands. “Assuming she was coming from the city.”

  “Or she’s decided not to keep our appointment.”

  “There’s something you two aren’t telling me,” Vee said. “Mark, you usually call to let me know you’re coming. You showed up here yesterday without a word. When I asked why, you didn’t answer. I thought it was just one of your moods, but something’s up.”

  It was obvious Mark hadn’t told his aunt about the attempt on his life. “Spur-of-the-moment visit,” he said. “I needed supplies. And it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

  Vee wasn’t deterred. “It has something to do with Beth’s disappearance, doesn’t it? You know something, and you came down here to tell Jeri.”

  Neither of us answered her. I couldn’t meet her eyes in the uncomfortable silence so I stared at the front window of the shop. On the other side of the glass the rain came down in sheets, smearing the colors of the neon signs. Something was wrong and I couldn’t sort it out. Karen wasn’t coming. Or she’d been prevented from coming.

  I looked past Vee and Mark toward the back door and my eye fell on the empty dog basket. It had been more than ten minutes since Vee let the Yorkie out into the alley to do his business. The little dog hadn’t come back. It hadn’t even scratched at the door, asking to be let in from a dark rainy alley.

  I rose swiftly from the sofa and pulled open the door. Vee had left the light on above the back door, thinking Karen would park in back of the building. Several other doors along the alley had lights above them, but the pools of light they provided didn’t extend very far into the alley.

  “The dog,” I said, stepping out into the rain.

  “Ziggy?” Mark came up behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “What about him?”

  “He hasn’t come back. Vee let him out awhile ago.”

  “He doesn’t like the rain. He’s probably under a car or something.”

  “Why hide under a car when you can scratch at a door and come back to your nice warm basket?”

  He looked at my face and frowned. “It’s not about the dog, is it?”

  “No. Stay here.” I moved to the left, but he grabbed my arm.

  “You’re not going out there alone.”

  “I know what I’m doing. Stay here.” He shook his head. “Okay. You go right, I’ll go left. Be careful.”

  “What am I looking for, besides Ziggy?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  The cold rain quickly wet my hair and shoulders. Vee’s car, a Cadillac, hugged the wall immediately to the left of the shop’s back door, but the alley was wide enough for another car to pass it. I knelt and looked under the Caddy, but there was no sign of the Yorkie.

  I straightened and continued down the alley. Twenty yards farther an open door led to the kitchen of a small restaurant, throwing a rectangle of light onto the puddles and gravel. I peered in and saw a man in white pants and shirt working at a stove. Under the wet scent of rain I caught the aroma of hamburgers, grease, and onions.

  The alley provided access to houses and apartment buildings on the street that ran behind Piedmont. I saw openings in the fences at intervals, some with cars wedged into them, some with trash barrels. One such opening led to an apartment-building parking lot. As I walked toward it, a car pulled out of the lot. It turned and headed away from me toward the side street, its headlights illumi
nating another car parked farther down the alley. The parked car was white, and in the brief flash of light I thought I saw a BMW emblem on its hood.

  I walked toward the car, feeling dread in the pit of my stomach. I could see something lying along the wall of the building, in front of the tires, something black and shiny that looked like a sack of garbage, but wasn’t. It was a raincoat. Crumpled under the raincoat I saw legs and a pair of feet, one shoe on and the other in a puddle of water nearby.

  Something moved as I walked up to the car. The Yorkie was huddled next to the right front tire, about six inches from Karen’s head. I knelt and looked down at her. Her eyes were open, her surprised unseeing stare directed up at the night sky. The long platinum hair was pinned up under a rain hat of the same shiny black material as her raincoat, knocked askew as she fell.

  Her right hand rested in a puddle. I knelt and reached for it. The little dog growled and barked at me, but made no move to attack me as I felt for a pulse. There was none. I reached out and took the lapel of the raincoat gently between thumb and forefinger and pulled it aside. What had been a shirt made of some pale silky material was now dark and sodden with blood. Karen’s throat had been slashed from ear to ear.

  I pulled my hand away and watched the rain wash the blood from my own flesh. Then I heard footsteps in the gravel behind me. I straightened and turned to face Mark.

  “I thought I heard Ziggy,” he said. Then he saw her. Horror flashed across his face as he looked down at Karen’s body.

  “Call the dog,” I said quietly. “We don’t want him in the way.”

  Mark knelt and whistled. The Yorkie whined, then skirted the body and rain to Mark, who scooped the wet, shaking animal into his arms. Just then we heard Vee’s voice, calling us. I saw her step from the back door of her shop into the alley.

  “Oh, God,” Mark said.

  “Can you tell her, or do you want me to do it?”

  “I will.”

  Together we walked back up the alley and shepherded Vee into the shop. Mark set the dog down, put his arms around Vee, and told her Karen was dead. As her face dissolved into grief, my stomach reeled. I picked up the phone and called 911, giving the dispatcher the details. Then I left Vee huddled on the sofa, Mark with his arm around her, and went back out into the rain to wait for the police.