by Janet Dawson
“Obviously she did.” He folded his arms across his chest. “She wasn’t very happy. She and George were a mismatched couple. He was very stolid, phlegmatic. She told me once they got married because she was pregnant with Mark. People did that in those days, married and owned up to their responsibilities. Nowadays they just have abortions.”
The admiral’s sense of morality seemed to have a large blind spot when it came to sleeping with his neighbor’s wife.
“When did it start?”
“A couple of years after Beth was born. Lenore and I were having some problems. George and Franny were very understanding. I used to go over and talk. Sometimes when Lenore and I would fight, I’d end up spending the night. In the den, of course.” He paused. “After a while it was obvious that Franny felt the same attraction I had for her. One thing followed another.”
“Was it a steady relationship, or once in a while?”
“We both knew it was wrong,” he protested. “We tried to break it off. We didn’t even see each other for a year while I was in the Philippines. But every time we were together we felt that pull.”
“Did you ever think of leaving your wife for Franny?”
He shook his head. “No. At that time the Navy was a lot more traditional than it is now. Divorce was frowned upon. How would it have looked if I left my wife and children for a fellow officer’s wife?”
“The threat of a black mark on your fitness reports. Is that the glue that held your marriage together?”
“Of course not.” Indignation colored his face. “I care for Lenore. She and I grew up together, in the same town. She’s the mother of my children.”
“Not all of them. When did you find out Karen was yours?”
“We were living in the same neighborhood in San Diego,” he said, the words coming slowly. “I was on staff duty at the air station and George was on a carrier. He was out to sea. Franny came to see me one evening, while Lenore was out. She told me she was pregnant, that it was my child. She wanted me to leave Lenore.”
“But you didn’t. For all those high-toned moral reasons. How did she feel about that?”
“She was angry. We had a terrible quarrel. She threw a vase at me. Later I told Lenore I’d knocked it off a table. Franny said she and George had nothing in common, that they were just going through the motions. She wanted to... how did she put it? Cut her losses and start over. I told her it was out of the question. I had orders to Pearl Harbor and Lenore was having some medical problems. I broke it off.”
“You went to Hawaii and left Franny holding the baby, while George was out to sea. You’re a real piece of work, Admiral.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Leaving my wife and children for a fellow officer’s wife wouldn’t have solved any problems. It would have been disastrous, for everyone.”
“Disastrous for your career, you mean. When did you see Franny again?”
“George got orders to Pearl Harbor. As my wife told you last week, we seemed always to be stationed in the same places. We remained friends with the Willises.”
“Did you resume your relationship with Franny?”
“Not exactly,” Franklin said, turning his head away. I moved into his line of vision.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Either you did or you didn’t.”
“We were together a lot. Franny took up golf. By the time we came to Alameda she and I played together regularly.”
“Did you sleep together?”
“You’re disgusting.” He stood up and glared at me, trying to intimidate me with his stare.
“You don’t exactly smell like a rose, Admiral.” I leaned into his glare. “You’re the one who sent the caddy to break into my office. I know you’re running for the state senate. That tells me this has very little to do with protecting your family with the knowledge of your affair with Franny Willis. You’re covering your ass so you’ll look good to the voters.”
Franklin sputtered at me in rage. I pressed home my point.
“If the cops haul in the caddy he’ll talk. And I’ll press charges. You’ll definitely get some pointed inquiries from the newspapers about where you fit into all of this. I think you’d better answer my disgusting questions. Did you and Franny Willis resume your sexual relationship after Karen was born?”
“No,” he said, controlling himself with an effort. “There were times when I thought we were headed that way. I would have been willing to resume it. But she always brought me up short.”
“She teased you, then.”
“Yes. I suppose you could call it that.”
An interesting sort of revenge, I thought. Franny got next to the admiral, only on the golf course instead of in bed. It must have made for some tense mornings on the fairway.
I didn’t have any more disgusting questions for Admiral Franklin. I left him at the twelfth hole, looking as though he’d like to keelhaul me. He insisted that Karen didn’t know he was her father, but if Mark had figured it out, Karen may have too. Of course, Mark was nine years older than Karen and the affair between his mother and Franklin had been going on under his nose.
Karen knew something, I thought, hearing her say she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. That something got her killed.
Twenty-three
I FOUND CASSIE IN HER OFFICE, ON THE TELEPHONE. I helped myself to a cup of coffee from the law-office pot and waited in the reception area until Cassie finished her call. I was nearly to the bottom of the cup when she appeared in the doorway and beckoned me into her office.
“What’s the story on Mark? How did it go?” I asked, taking the seat in front of Cassie’s desk. She settled into her own chair before answering.
“The framing supplier says he thinks Mark left his shop at four-forty. But he’s not sure. The accident on the bridge happened about ten minutes later. It’s likely Mark got stuck in that traffic mess.”
“Likely,” I repeated. “That doesn’t sound airtight.”
“It’s not.” Cassie looked thoughtful. “Mark could have made it onto the bridge in five minutes, which means he could have made it past Treasure Island right before that accident. Sid’s still convinced Mark killed Karen. His case is circumstantial, but you know how pigheaded he can be. I don’t think he’ll make an arrest until he’s got more evidence. He let Mark go for now, but told him not to leave town.”
“What about the body they pulled out of the estuary?”
“Edward Foster did call the coroner’s office. He’s having Elizabeth’s dental records sent up for comparison. When I talked to the medical examiner, the records hadn’t arrived yet.”
I got to my feet. “I don’t think Mark killed anyone, Cassie. Maybe not even his parents.”
“But you’re not sure,” Cassie said seriously. “You like him a lot, don’t you, Jeri?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, for whatever it’s worth, I don’t think he killed anyone either. And I’m the lawyer.”
“I’m counting on you. Where’s Mark now?”
“I dropped him off on your street so he could pick up his Blazer. He said he was going over to his aunt’s house.”
I headed for Piedmont. Mark’s Blazer was parked along the curb outside Vee’s big house. I parked behind it and walked up the long driveway. Nellie, the housekeeper, greeted me at the front door and directed me to a large country-style kitchen full of blue-and-yellow tile, with copper pots hanging on the walls. Mark stood at the stove, a wooden spoon in hand, stirring something in a more plebeian stainless-steel saucepan.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m fixing Vee some soup. She’s still pretty ragged. She talked to Uncle Charles in Baltimore. He’s got a flight into Oakland tonight.”
“I talked to Cassie before I came over here.” I leaned against one of the tiled counters and looked into his blue eyes.
“Then you know I’m still the prime suspect. Your ex would like nothing better than to pin this on me. I didn’t kill Karen. Or Elizabeth.”
“I don’t think you did.”
“There’s a world of difference between think and know. You’ve considered the possibility that I murdered one or both of my sisters.”
“All right, I have. I’ve considered a lot of things. Does that make you feel any better? Or worse? You may have had the opportunity. But I don’t think you had a motive. Did you, Mark?”
He turned off the gas under the saucepan and transferred the soup to a waiting bowl. “No.”
“Why do I feel you’re not telling me everything?”
I didn’t think he would answer that question. He didn’t have to. Vee entered the kitchen, looking tired and wan, but more composed than she had when I’d brought her home last night. She wore another of her caftans, this one a subdued brown-and-gold print.
“Nellie told me you were here.” She took my hand. “Mark said things went well with the police this morning.”
I looked at him and he shook his head. Evidently he’d given Vee an edited version of his session with the police, leaving out the fact that they still considered him a suspect,
“Your soup’s ready.” Mark carried the steaming bowl to a breakfast table at one end of the kitchen. He set it on a placemat and pulled out a chair.
“I’m not very hungry,” Vee said.
“I insist. Nellie said you didn’t eat any breakfast. I made some sandwiches too.” Vee took the chair he offered and picked up a spoon. Mark removed a dishcloth from a platter on the counter and carried it to the table.
“I’ve got the kettle on and you’ll have some tea in a minute. Jeri, sit down and have a sandwich. There’s turkey and roast beef.” He opened the refrigerator and took out two bottles of beer, waving one at me. I nodded and he opened them both. He returned to the table with the beer and a couple of plates. I picked up a turkey sandwich and took a bite.
“Vee, you told me you didn’t see Karen often.”
“No,” Vee said, dipping her spoon into the soup. “She knew I didn’t approve of what she did for a living. We’d talk on the phone every couple of months. I’d call her, not the other way around. I tried to keep the lines of communication open. But that has to be a two-way street. With Karen it seemed that I was making all the effort.”
“Did she ever give any indication of what was going on in her life? Would she have told you if she was having money problems, or difficulty in a relationship?”
Vee thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. If she needed money, all she had to do was ask. But Karen is... was always independent. When we talked, it seemed to be all surface, very little substance. She’d ask about the family, I’d give her a report. That was it. She always closed by saying we’d get together for lunch. Of course we never did.”
The teakettle on the stove whistled and Mark got up, turning off the burner beneath it. He poured hot water over a tea bag and carried the cup to Vee. She patted his hand when he set it down at her place. “Thank you, Mark.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Thanksgiving. That’s over four months ago.” She looked sad. “I invited her for Christmas, but she said she had other plans. I wish she had come. Mark was here.”
I looked at Mark, who resumed his seat at the opposite end of the table. “You hadn’t seen her since —”
“The night my parents died,” he finished. “No. The last time I saw Karen she was nine, headed out the door to her friend’s house, the next street over.” He tilted his beer bottle back and took a swallow.
“When she called yesterday to set up our meeting, she said she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. I think she meant the night of the murders. Do either of you have any idea what she was talking about?”
Vee looked mystified as she fished the teabag out of her cup and set it on her plate. “She went to a slumber party. There were three or four little girls there, in sleeping bags in the den. Karen said they played games and watched television before they went to bed. I don’t know what time they finally got to sleep. Karen was nowhere near my sister’s house when it happened.”
I looked at Mark. He leaned back in his chair, cradling the beer bottle, staring down at the half-eaten sandwich on his plate. When he lifted his head his face was thoughtful. His eyes met mine.
“I don’t know what she meant,” he said quietly. Once again I had the feeling he wasn’t telling me everything.
“What about Karen’s relationship with Elizabeth?” I asked Vee.
“They didn’t get on very well when they were growing up,” Vee said. “Karen was lively, into things. I think in some way she resented Beth for the attention Beth got.” That tallied with what Karen had told me last Friday. Vera sipped her tea, then picked up her soup spoon. “I’m sure Beth thought Karen was a bratty little sister.”
“She was,” Mark said. A shadow of memory passed over his face.
“After the girls left Stockton,” I asked Vee, “did they keep in contact with one another?”
“At first they did. While Beth lived in San Francisco.”
“And when Elizabeth changed her name and moved to Los Gatos?”
Vee shook her head. “I don’t know.”
I heard the doorbell chime at the front of the house. A moment later Nellie entered the kitchen.
“Mrs. Gray is here,” she told Vee. “With Mrs. Madison.”
“I’ll come out. Put Alice’s things in the corner room and my mother’s in the room next to her.” Vee pushed back her chair and left the kitchen with the housekeeper.
“You haven’t seen Alice since the murders either, have you?” I said to Mark.
“No.” He got up and cleared the table, wrapping the sandwiches before putting them in the refrigerator. He stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, then he stood leaning against the counter as he finished his beer. “I’m not sure I want to. From all reports, she doesn’t like me very much.”
I heard loud grumbling from the foyer and concluded that Grandma Madison was being difficult. Nellie confirmed this a moment later when she came to the kitchen and refilled the teakettle.
“I’m supposed to repent my sins and bring her some tea and cookies,” she said, shaking her head.
“I gather my grandmother’s not too lucid.” Mark opened the cabinet under the sink and pitched his empty bottle into the trash can.
“I think she sees more than she lets on.”
While the teakettle heated, Nellie bustled around the kitchen. She filled a bowl with vanilla wafers from a box in the pantry and set it on a wooden tray. When the kettle whistled she poured hot water over a tea bag and carried the tray out to the foyer and up the stairs.
“Might as well get it over with,” Mark said. He led the way to Vee’s living room at the front of the house. The room showcased Vee’s antiques. Grouped around the fireplace were a sofa and two matching chairs, each with a high curved back, covered in pale blue brocade. A tall glass-frosted oak cabinet on the opposite wall displayed crystal and china. I walked across the soft blue carpet to a baby grand piano in the back corner of the room. I fingered the keys, playing a scale. Mark moved restlessly about the room, his hand toying with a vase on the mantel, then with the shutters that covered the lower half of the front window. A moment later we heard voices as Vee and Alice descended the stairs.
“I’ve got her settled down a bit,” Alice said. “These days she hates to leave home, even for a short ride to the doctor’s office.” She stopped when she saw Mark standing at the window. He turned and nodded to her in an awkward gesture of remembered manners. Alice’s lips compressed into a thin line as she stared at him. She turned to Vee. “What happened? You weren’t very specific on the telephone.”
“I told you Karen had been murdered.” Vee’s eyes took on a painful cast.
“I know. Was she mugged? What was she doing in that alley behind your shop?”
“She was on her way to see me.” As I spoke Alice turned and stared at me, the intruder at the back of the room. I left the piano and walk
ed to stand next to Vee. “We had an appointment to meet at Vee’s shop at six.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. I think she had some information about Elizabeth’s disappearance.”
Alice shook her head, barely controlling the emotion in her voice. “This is unbelievable. First Dad, then Karen. Do the police have any suspects?”
“They suspect me,” Mark said.
His words had the effect of a slow-fused bomb let loose in Vee’s elegant living room. Alice wheeled and her eyes raked over him. “Why do they suspect you?”
“I don’t have an alibi. At least not a very good one.”
“Did you kill her?”
“Of course he didn’t,” Vee said.
Vee’s protest went unheeded by Alice, whose eyes fixed on Mark’s face. “Did you kill her?” she persisted, throwing the words at him like stones.
“No, I didn’t. Why would I kill Karen?”
“I have no idea. I couldn’t even venture a guess. Any more than I could when you killed Franny and George.”
Mark winced. Then his face tightened into the same mask it had worn last night while Sid questioned him, and his voice took on a faint tinge of sarcasm.
“I see. Since I’m a convicted murderer, it’s only natural to suspect me whenever there’s a stray body in the area. You’re not alone in your feelings. Sergeant Vernon of the Oakland Police Department seems to agree with you.”
Anger suffused Alice’s face, deepening the furrows between her brows and leaving two red spots burning at her cheekbones.
“If the police suspect you I imagine they have good reason. Yet you stand here being flippant about it. I can’t believe you’re my sister’s child.”
“I’m your sister’s child, all right,” Mark said with a short humorless laugh. It underscored the difference between the Franny he’d described to me and the Franny Alice remembered.
Mark’s laugh made Alice even angrier. “They should have kept you locked up forever. I can’t imagine you’d shelter him, Vera,” she snapped. “I won’t stay in the same house with him.” She made a half-turn as though to head for the stairs.
