Kindred Crimes

by Janet Dawson

  “When I talked to Karen Friday afternoon,” I said, “she told me she hadn’t seen her sister or talked to her in years. I know she was lying. She kept in touch with Elizabeth, even visited her. Karen called her Lizzie. What do you know about her?”

  “I don’t know anything,” Petrakis insisted again. He turned his head to one side to escape my eyes. “Just that Karen didn’t like her very much.”

  “Karen was thinking about the future, about what would happen when she got out of this business. She made good money. Did she have a nest egg put away?” He shook his head.

  “I didn’t think so. Karen went through money pretty fast. That nice new BMW. And the drugs. Maybe Karen was going to make a big score.”

  “How would she do that, Rick? Karen’s sister is married to a man in Los Gatos. He’s not rich, but he has money.” I saw a quick flash of knowledge on Rick’s face and I bore down on him.

  “Karen knew a few things about Elizabeth that Elizabeth’s husband didn’t know. Was that it, Rick? Was she trying to tap her sister for some cash?”

  “I think so,” Rick whispered.

  Blackmail, I thought. Karen blackmailing Elizabeth, at a time when one more thing going wrong in Elizabeth’s life was just enough to send her house of cards tumbling. Karen knew about Elizabeth reinventing herself as Renee Mills. Was that enough to propel Elizabeth out of Los Gatos to Stockton, to pump her senile grandmother for information on Karen’s current whereabouts? Was it enough to propel Elizabeth into murder?

  “Karen called me yesterday to arrange a meeting,” I said. “Were you with her when she called?” He nodded. “She said something about not being where she was supposed to be. Does it have something to do with the night her parents were killed?”

  “She never told me details,” he said. “Just that her parents were murdered and her brother went to prison for it. I made all the sympathetic noises and she told me not to lose any sleep over it. Said it was ancient history. Only like a lot of history it wasn’t written the way it happened.”

  “How did she know? She was at a slumber party at a friend’s house.”

  “She said she got mad at her friend and decided to go home, barefoot, in her PJs. She climbed over the back fence into the yard and got all the way to the porch when she heard the shots. She got scared and ran back to her friend’s house.”

  A cat in the bushes, Joseph Franklin had said, describing the noise he heard in the Willis yard when he went to investigate the shots that killed his neighbors. Instead it was a frightened nine-year-old girl who’d seen — what? Her brother with a gun in his hand? Her mother’s body in the doorway between the living room and kitchen?

  “What did she see, Rick?”

  “I don’t know,” he insisted. “She never told me. I honestly don’t know.”

  Maybe she hadn’t seen anything at all, just heard the shots. Whatever it was, Karen was going to tell me last night. But someone stopped her. I could think of only two people who had a stake in what happened the night of the Willis murders.

  Twenty-five

  I STOPPED AT MY OFFICE TO CHECK THE MESSAGES on my answering machine. Mark had called to let me know he was staying at the Boatel, on the estuary at the end of Broadway. I called, but there was no answer in his room, so I left a message at the desk.

  Sid was upstairs in the Homicide Section at Oakland Police Headquarters, looking disgruntled as he helped himself to a cup of coffee. He took a sip of the poisonous-looking brew and grimaced, whether at me or the coffee I wasn’t sure.

  “Mark Willis is at the Boatel,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Nice of him to stay in touch. Since I have a few more questions to ask him.”

  “What did the framing supplier say?”

  “That Willis left the shop around four-forty. Which still doesn’t tell me whether he made it over the bridge before that accident stopped traffic.”

  “Circumstantial evidence, Sid. You can’t prove he got onto the bridge before the accident.”

  “Circumstantial cuts both ways, Jeri. You can’t prove he didn’t.”

  “What about the floater?”

  “Coroner’s checking dental records now.”

  “By the way, I spotted your tail.”

  Sid scowled at me. “You think we’ve got the manpower for a tail? Besides, we answered a homicide call in East Oakland right after you left.”

  “We were followed when we left here last night. I spotted the car again this morning when Mark and Cassie left my place. A dark blue Ford sedan.”

  “Are you sure it was tailing Willis and Cassie?”

  “I know a tail when I see one.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “A few. I’ve been over to San Francisco this afternoon. Karen Willis made porno movies, at the Folsom Studio. I talked to a woman named Lila, who works in Wardrobe, and Karen’s boyfriend, Rick Petrakis.”

  “And you alerted them that the cops would drop by to ask some questions,” Sid said with disgust. “Thanks one hell of a lot, Jeri.”

  “Just shut up and listen. I went to see Karen last Friday, to ask her some questions about her sister. She talked, but I found out Monday that she was lying about a few things. When I went back to the studio, I discovered she and Petrakis took a powder. Friday night they left the hotel in San Francisco where the cast and crew were staying.”

  “So where does all this tie in?” Sid’s question was calm enough, but his yellow cat’s eyes flashed.

  “Karen was blackmailing her sister.”

  “That’s a real stretch, Jeri.”

  “Maybe not. Petrakis said when he and Karen got to the hotel Friday night, a woman was waiting in the lobby for Karen. He went upstairs while Karen talked to the woman. About fifteen minutes later, Karen came to his room and insisted they had to clear out of there. Karen was afraid of something. I think it was the woman in the lobby, and I think that woman was Elizabeth.”

  “I’m still not convinced,” Sid said. “Where’s the motive for this alleged blackmail scheme?”

  “When Karen called me yesterday to arrange a meeting she said something about not being where she was supposed to be. I didn’t know what she meant. I think she planned to explain when we met. Today when I talked to Petrakis, he said Karen told him she wasn’t at her friend’s house the night her parents were murdered. She was on the back porch when it happened.”

  Now Sid looked interested. He turned to Wayne. “Call our friend Inspector Cavalli over at SFPD and ask him to drop a net over that studio until we get there. I hope you haven’t scared Petrakis off, Jeri.”

  “He lives in El Cerrito,” I said, handing him the address Lila had given me. “Five-ten, dark hair, mustache. Rides a motorcycle.”

  Sid glanced at the slip of paper. “We’ll talk later about you withholding evidence from me.”

  “I just told you, didn’t I?”

  “You could have told me some of it last night, instead of waiting until —” He looked at his watch. “Five o’clock this afternoon.”

  “I didn’t have it figured out last night.”

  “If you have it figured out.” He waited until Wayne got off the phone, then they left.

  Back at my office I called the Boatel, but there was still no answer in Mark’s room. I dealt with the day’s mail and returned a couple of phone calls. Then I switched on the computer and updated the Foster file, writing an account of the last two days. While the printer whirred across the paper, I fielded another phone call. As I put the file back into place, my eyes fell on a case at the back of the file drawer.

  The box contained my gun, the one my father wished I would carry, bought when I first joined Errol Seville’s firm as an investigator. I didn’t use it very often. In fact, over the years I’d congratulated myself on how infrequently I’d used it. I preferred to get my information through my own resourcefulness, blending into the background, asking the right questions, being creative. I practiced regularly at the firing range, but I’d n
ever had to use the weapon in the course of business. There were other tools of the trade, tools I used effectively, tools that made a gun seem unnecessary.

  My hands moved to the case. I opened it and took out the gun. It was clean and oiled, ready for use. Did the situation warrant it? There was always the chance those two goons would be back. Besides, Karen Willis was in the Alameda County Morgue. I checked the gun, loaded it, and stuck it into my shoulder bag. Then I locked up and headed for the Boatel.

  The evening was clear, in contrast to last night’s storm. The sky had faded from bright blue to cobalt, streaked pink and gold by the setting sun. I drove to the end of Broadway, where it crossed the Embarcadero and dead-ended a short block further in a series of shallow steps leading down to the estuary. I turned right on the Embarcadero, then left onto Washington, which led me into the Boatel’s parking lot.

  This section of the Oakland waterfront was called Jack London Square, a mix of restaurants and shops, offices and marinas. It was in the midst of a development phase that left several streets torn up and a half-finished structure across from the Boatel shrouded in darkness. Still, the area attracted a lot of trade, even on this weeknight. As I got out of my car, I heard people talking and saw a foursome walking toward Scott’s seafood restaurant, on the other side of the steps. Light spilled from its dining room and glassed-in patio onto the pier jutting over the estuary. People sat on the benches at the center of the pier, or strolled along the walkway that roughly paralleled the shore.

  When Mark answered the door of his second-floor room and saw me, he smiled and kissed me gently on the forehead. He’d been drinking.

  He stepped back and let me into the room. His overnight bag sat on the bed, unopened. It looked as though he’d just checked into the room and had made no impact on it. The curtains and the sliding glass door leading to the balcony were open. A breeze blew in from the dark water of the estuary and the boats that gave the hotel its name.

  “I called several times. You weren’t here.”

  “I spent the afternoon in that funky little bar on the square. You know the one, the Last Chance Saloon, the log cabin with the slanted floor.”

  “Have you had dinner?”

  “Not unless you count Jack Daniels and pretzels.”

  He came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. His lips moved against my ear and made my nerve endings shiver.

  “Have dinner with me, Jeri,” he whispered. “You owe me one. Let’s walk down to that Italian restaurant on the other side of the marina and have pasta and a bottle of wine. Let’s lose ourselves for a couple of hours.”

  “We can’t.” I moved away from his arms and turned to face him. “I need some answers, Mark.”

  The smile left his face. “Such as?”

  “I went to San Francisco after I left Vee’s house. I talked to some people Karen worked with. She was blackmailing Elizabeth.”

  He leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms against his chest. I watched his face. His blue eyes stared into mine, then looked away, as though he were looking into himself.

  “You think Betsy killed Karen,” he said, his face devoid of emotion.

  “I think she wants to kill you.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe she thinks you and Karen are together in this blackmail scheme.”

  “But that’s impossible. Why would I —” He stopped. His face closed. I wanted to pry it open.

  “Karen wasn’t where she was supposed to be,” I said, using Karen’s words. “Not at the slumber party, at least not for a while. I think she left her friend’s house and climbed the fence into your backyard. That she was on the porch when she heard the shots. She must have seen what happened.”

  A look of horror transformed Mark’s face. “What did happen, Mark?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  He pushed himself away from the dresser and flung open the door, walking quickly out into the hallway. By the time I got into the hallway, he’d pushed open the door at the end, headed down the stairs. I caught up with him outside the Boatel, his head down, his hands in his pockets, striding down the steps that led to the water. He stopped at the edge. I caught his left arm and pulled him around to face me.

  “I haven’t said anything, all these years...” He stopped.

  “Level with me. I think I know, but I want you to tell me.”

  “I promised.” In the light from an overhead lamp I saw his mouth work. “I haven’t broken that promise.”

  “Liar.”

  The word was filled with venom. It didn’t come from my mouth or his. I’d been expecting her to make her move and now she had. Light glinted off the gun she held in both hands. She was above us on the steps, walking with the same gliding step I’d seen before, outside Karen’s apartment and Vee’s shop. She wore the same tan raincoat, belted at the waist, the matching hat protruding from a pocket. The shoulder-length blond hair in the Christmas picture had been dyed dark brown and cut short and close to the head, giving her a sleek, boyish look.

  “Betsy?” Mark turned, his back to the water, and stared at her.

  “She isn’t Betsy anymore,” I told him. She wasn’t Philip Foster’s Renee or Vee’s Beth. All this time I’d called her Elizabeth. As I looked at her face and the gun she held I wasn’t sure who or what she was.

  She wasn’t paying any attention to me. Her gaze was directed at Mark, and so was the barrel of the gun. I glanced around me, assessing the situation. There were people on the pier above us and to my right. Couples walked along the street behind Elizabeth, oblivious to what was going on below them. My right hand moved slowly toward the flap that closed my purse.

  “Don’t move.” Elizabeth shifted the gun in my direction.

  “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?” I asked.

  “Of course. I didn’t know where to find Karen. She never would tell me where she had moved to. I went to Stockton, but Karen wasn’t at Grandpa’s funeral. I couldn’t find any addresses in Alice’s book. So I followed Vee back to Oakland after the funeral. I figured sooner or later she’d lead me to Karen. Then you showed up, looking for me. All I had to do was follow you around.” She laughed. “Did Philip hire you?”

  “Yes. He was genuinely interested in finding you, until he found out you’d been beating your son.”

  Her face clouded. “I didn’t mean to do that. I really didn’t. Everything was falling apart. Things with Philip, things with Dean, my baby. Then Karen called.”

  “I should thank you for calling the cops the other night.”

  “I couldn’t afford to let those men put you out of commission. I was counting on you to lead me to Karen. You did once, but I lost her when she left the hotel. I figured you’d connect with her again. And Mark.”

  His face filled with pain. “It was you in that car, trying to run me down. Why? I never told anyone.”

  “You liar,” she spat at him. “Karen wanted money, lots of money, or she’d tell. How could she know unless you told her?”

  “Karen figured it out all by herself,” I said. “Either that, or she saw you pull the trigger. Not Mark. You. That’s why she called you Lizzie, after Lizzie Borden. You killed Franny and George.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Mark said.

  “The hell it wasn’t. She killed them and you took the fall.”

  He didn’t deny it. The anguish in his eyes told me it was true. He stared at his sister, comparing the Betsy he wanted to remember and the reality that stood before us with a gun in her hand.

  Elizabeth smiled. She looked girlish and quite mad. “It doesn’t matter. Nobody else is going to tell. I’ll go away where no one knows me. I’ll change my name. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. But first I have to kill both of you.”

  “Right here? At the foot of Broadway, with all these people around?” I moved my arm, encompassing the activity around Jack London Square.

  “Walk,” Elizabeth said, considering the wisdom of my words. “Past the motel, toward
where all that construction is.”

  Mark and I slowly climbed the steps to street level, both of us conscious of the gun. North of the Boatel and the unfinished building, away from the streetlamps, the waterfront was more industrial, a region of darkened warehouses and empty lots. Elizabeth could shoot us and disappear. Our bodies wouldn’t be found until the next morning — if she didn’t roll them into the estuary. As we walked past the sidewalk leading to the Boatel lobby, I saw a black Cougar parked in front. Sid got out of the car and started toward the door. Then he spotted us and changed direction.

  “Where’d you get the gun, Elizabeth?” I said conversationally. Sid heard me and stopped, reaching for the gun in his shoulder holster.

  “At a place on East Fourteenth. I told the guy I needed it for protection.” She laughed, giddy with her success. “Now everybody needs protection from me.”

  I took Mark’s arm and stepped off the sidewalk between a couple of parked cars, giving Sid a clear view of Elizabeth.

  “Get back on the sidewalk,” she ordered, tightening her grip on the gun.

  “Police,” Sid said, his gun out. “Drop your weapon.”

  Elizabeth turned and fired, the noise reverberating around us. The bullet caught Sid in the shoulder. He looked surprised as his own gun clattered to the sidewalk. I shoved Mark aside and tore open my bag, seizing my gun. Elizabeth whirled like a dancer and ran back in the direction of the steps.

  “Stay with Sid,” I told Mark.

  I ran after her, hearing Mark’s voice behind me, shouting for someone to call the police. Elizabeth ran past the steps, dodging and shoving through a group of strollers. She ran onto the pier that jutted over the estuary. My own feet thudded on the decking, gaining on her.

  There were two openings in the railing. One slanted up, a boardwalk along the back window of the restaurant. The other led down, a ramp to the E-shaped floats for guest boaters. A group of people blocked the way to the boardwalk. Elizabeth altered course, running down the ramp to the floats. A sailboat was tied up at the far end, bobbing in the shimmering water of the estuary. Elizabeth reached the end of the float and realized her mistake.