I counted three photos in from the left and found hers. Despite the sullen smile and impenetrable eyes, Eva Louise Flynn had been a pretty girl with a heart-shaped face and dark coloring that were nothing like her mother’s. But very much like my wife’s. In fact, the similarity was striking enough to make me catch my breath.
And that’s when it hit me. Eva Louise Flynn—E.L.F. The locket Maureen had given Molly was engraved with her real initials, not her nickname. For the first time, I allowed myself to believe that my wife was indeed Eva Flynn.
I felt momentarily light-headed. I took what I now knew of Eva and superimposed it on a mental image of my wife. It cast her in a whole new light. One that in some ways made me feel closer to her—I knew something of her family, of the town where she’d grown up—but at the same time made me feel I’d been married to a stranger. When had Eva taken Maureen’s name, and why? And why had she kept the truth from me, her husband?
The librarian who’d help me locate the yearbooks was much too young to have been at the school ten years earlier. I asked her if there was anyone still on the faculty who might have been here then.
“Why don’t you talk to the assistant principal, Ms. Parker,” she suggested. “She was a physical education teacher here before she became an administrator. She’s been here practically forever.”
She directed me to the assistant principal’s office, which was not unlike the one I remembered from my own school days. Ms. Parker was with a student, the secretary informed me, but if I cared to wait she’d see me when she could.
I waited, but not long.
“Mr. Russell? I’m Joyce Parker.” She held out a hand.
Tall and broad-shouldered, Ms. Parker held herself in an erect, almost formidable posture. She reminded me of someone central casting would tap for the role of assistant principal. Unfortunately, she had little to tell me about Eva Flynn.
“The name’s familiar,” she said, “but beyond that ...” She shrugged. “As a physical-education teacher, I had classes of sixty to seventy girls at a time. Over the years, that’s a lot of girls.”
“How about Maureen Brown?”
“Maureen, I remember. But only because of what happened. You knew she was killed in an auto accident the beginning of her senior year?”
“Yes, I heard. Tragic.”
“It was. I’m sorry to say she’s not the only student we’ve lost over the years either. But kids, they think it’s never going to happen to them.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“She was young for her age. Lonely. One of those kids who grabs your heart, kind of like a stray puppy.” Ms. Parker stopped. “Oh wait, Eva Flynn was a friend of hers, right? I remember her now.”
“What was she like?”
“Eva was ... sassy. A bit of a handful, but that’s not all bad, in my opinion.”
“Wild?”
“I’d say not so much wild as rebellious.”
“Her mother indicated to me that she’d gotten into trouble her senior year. Do you have any idea what it was about?”
“Nothing that rings a bell with me now.”
I could sense that my time was about up. “Do you know what she’s been doing since high school?”
The assistant principal shook her head. “She’s not one of the ones I’ve kept in touch with. You can check with the main office. They try to keep an up-to-date alumni roster, but it’s far from complete.”
I thanked her and made my way to the other end of the lobby and the school registrar’s office. The last known address for Eva Flynn was the house on Brookdale.
When she’d rolled out of Rochester at seventeen, Eva had obviously not looked back.
CHAPTER 35
My return flight was scheduled for six o’clock that evening. When I hadn’t heard back from Melody Hughes by three, I dialed her number again. And again got the answering machine. With about an hour before I had to head for the airport, I figured my only chance to speak to her in person would be to catch her as she returned home. It was a long shot, but there was nowhere else I needed to be right then. I could kill time in Melody’s neighborhood as well as anywhere.
The Hughes home was farther from town than the area where Eva had grown up. The homes were newer and more pretentious, with lots of rock work on the facades, and gabled roofs that must have driven the builder crazy.
I’d just pulled into a spot across the street from the Hughes house when a new-model Lexus SUV pulled into the driveway. Two young boys, maybe five and seven, emerged from the backseat, followed a moment later by a woman who got out of the driver’s side. She was wearing a yellow sundress and carrying an assortment of shopping bags. I recognized “Chico’s” and “Ann Taylor,” but the other names meant nothing. She was slender and tanned, with shoulder-length blond hair and a full mouth.
I approached her. “Mrs. Hughes?”
She turned, looking more annoyed than surprised. I couldn’t say that I blamed her.
“I’d like to speak to you about Eva Flynn.”
“Eva—from high school?” She gave a breathless laugh. “That was a while ago.”
I nodded. “It won’t take long.”
The boys were playing a game of bumping shoulders, knocking one another off balance. “Mark and Lawrence, please, watch out for the flowers.” She turned back to me, pushed a wave of silken hair from her face. “Why are you interested in Eva?”
“She was my wife.” The words came naturally though unintentionally. “She was murdered not too long ago.”
“How terrible. I’m so sorry.” Melody frowned, still watching the boys out of the corner of her eye. “What is it you want from me? I haven’t seen Eva in years.”
“I’m trying to find links to someone who might have.”
Another breathless laugh. She shook her head as if distancing herself from the question. “That’s a part of my life best forgotten.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t always make the right choices. I’m just grateful I had the good luck not to get sucked in the way Eva did.” She stopped abruptly, looking genuinely chagrined. “I’m sorry, that just slipped out.”
“It’s okay. As you said, it was a long time ago.” But that was exactly why I wanted to talk with her. “In what way did Eva get sucked in?” I asked.
“It was just petty stuff, really.”
“Such as?”
Another shrug. “We liked to party, all of us.”
I waited.
“Booze, guys ... drugs. Nothing serious.”
“Eva took it further though?”
“It was like she had to prove herself.” Melody seemed to regret having gone down this road. “She was really needy, but what she showed to the world was how tough she was. Her parents were a big part of the problem. She had a father she couldn’t please and a mother who was jealous of her.”
“Jealous?”
“Of Eva’s youth, her looks. I don’t know how all this psychological stuff works, but I do know it wasn’t a loving family.”
I showed her the photo I’d brought with me. “Would you recognize her?”
Melody smiled. “Yeah.”
My heart skipped a beat. I no longer had any doubt. I’d been married to Eva Flynn.
“She looks so happy,” Melody said. “She turned out all right, huh?”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to speak right then. Not about Maureen, at any rate. It was one of those moments when tender memories of our life together collided with the ache of missing her.
“I’m really sorry to hear she died.” Melody’s boys began arguing, and she called out a quick reprimand to them. Then she turned back to me, sounding almost wistful. “Those were good times. Maybe we did do some stupid stuff, but life felt real then. Exciting and full of possibilities. I miss that freedom sometimes. Did you guys have kids?”
“No, but I have a daughter from a previous marriage.”
“I have a hard time picturing Eva w
ith this—” She held out her arms. I wasn’t sure if she meant the shopping bags, the boys, or maybe all of it. She laughed. “Of course, back then I wouldn’t have imagined myself here either.”
“When were you last in touch with Eva?”
“Not since high school. She left before school was actually out. Just up and left home.”
“Do you know why she ran away?”
“I think she was sick of taking crap from her parents. She got picked up for shoplifting, and they went totally nuts. And there was something else she was upset about too.”
Eva’s mother had said the same thing. “What was it?” I asked.
“I never knew. I don’t think it was anything important, but it sort of was the final straw.”
“Any idea where she went?”
Melody shook her head. “Sorry. I wish I’d been better about staying in touch. I liked Eva.”
“Are you still in touch with Danny Vance?”
“You’ve been digging, haven’t you?” She looked amused. “Danny’s still in town, as you probably know. I’ve run into him a couple of times, but that’s all. He turned out okay too. I mean, he’s just a mechanic, but all things considered, Danny’s done pretty well.”
“Eva used to spend time at his house?”
“Yeah, we all did. He lived with an older brother. At the time we thought it was cool not having parents around. We thought Danny was so lucky.”
“Where were his parents?”
“His mother died when Danny was a freshman. I don’t know where the father was. They never talked about him.”
The younger of Melody’s boys tugged on her hand. He whined, “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
“Okay, just a minute.” She turned back to me. “In his own way, Eric tried. I mean, he was far from perfect, but he held a steady job, made sure Danny went to school and had a roof over his head. It couldn’t have been easy for him. He was only five years older than we were.”
“Eric?” The name rang a bell with me. I poked around my memory for a clue as to why.
“Danny’s brother,” Melody said.
Then I remembered. The man who’d broken into my home had told me he was a friend of Eric’s. A coincidence? I didn’t think so.
“Where’s Eric now?” I asked.
Melody shook her head. “Jail, maybe. Or maybe he turned out okay too.”
“Why would he be in jail?”
“I’d heard that he was, but that was a while ago.” She gave me a long look, seemingly weighing her response. “We all skirted the rules,” she said at last. “Eric and Eva, they went a little further than some of us.”
“In what way?” I had trouble imagining anything Eva had done more than ten years ago coming back to haunt her now, but Eric’s name had come up.
“The shoplifting thing with Eva. And Eric was ... I don’t know, someone who seemed to have his fingers in a lot of pots.” Melody nodded to her son, who was still tugging at her hand. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” she said, turning to go into the house. “I haven’t thought about any of those people for years.”
It appeared I’d learned as much as I was going to from Melody Hughes.
On the flight home, I sank back into my seat, physically and emotionally exhausted. Tension knotted the muscles in my shoulders, and my head throbbed. I now knew Maureen’s identity, which was more than I’d dared hope only two days ago, but I didn’t really have answers.
I mulled over what I’d learned, dissecting the information bit by bit. Eva Flynn—my wife—had been a rebellious and troubled teen raised in a loveless home. As teenagers were inclined to do, she pushed the rules—partying, which no doubt involved booze, drugs, and sex, as well as a good time. And shoplifting. Not sterling behavior certainly, but in the scheme of things, nothing so terrible either. In fact, Ms. Parker, her PE teacher, appeared to recall Eva with a certain fondness.
She’d left home at seventeen after an argument with her parents. The straw that broke the camel’s back, Melody Hughes said. Something of no consequence, Mrs. Flynn told me. But Eva had put up with her parents for years. Whatever it was that happened, it was important to her.
I felt I knew something, however limited, of her life growing up. And being married to her, I knew the woman she’d become. But the years in between were a void. What sort of life had Eva carved out for herself after leaving home? Had she taken Maureen’s name because she’d envied her friend or because she was desperate for a new identity? And where did Eric fit in?
I thought back to the early stages of our relationship. I’d like to say the first time I met my wife was a moment forever seared in my memory, but that would be a lie. It had been like that with Lisa—our eyes locked, she smiled at me, and I felt as though a wave had knocked me off my feet. But I was younger then, and circumstances were different.
With Maureen, I had only a faint recollection of our early exchanges, and I feared even those were colored and embossed by the subsequent life we’d built together.
I know Ira and I both spoke with her when she applied for the receptionist position, but since we’d delegated hiring to Debbie, the interview was brief and strictly pro forma. Leaning back in the narrow airplane seat, I closed my eyes and tried to bring that first moment with Maureen into my memory. But I couldn’t recall anything about it except relief that we’d found someone to step in so quickly. For the first few weeks she worked for us, I passed by her desk several times each day and spoke with her regularly about patient charts, lab results, medication orders, and the like. Yet I’m not sure I would have recognized her if I’d passed her on the street.
Maureen was competent and pleasant, and that was all I cared about.
Then one day, after she’d been there a month or two, we happened to leave the office at the same time. On the way to the parking lot, we talked, and I discovered that she had a wonderful smile, an even better laugh, and a way of looking at me that sent my pulse racing. I thought initially it was because she reminded me a little of Lisa, but gradually I came to see that she was an appealing woman in her own right. Over the course of the next several months, we spent more and more time together. I was flattered by her interest and energized by her companionship. And the sex was good. For the first time since the ordeal of Lisa’s death, I was beginning to feel like a whole person again.
I hadn’t questioned her extensively about her background, and in return, she hadn’t pressed me about Lisa. We talked, of course, but our focus was on who we were now, not who we’d been. She was clearly interested in me. I liked that. I liked feeling like somebody again.
I took everything she told me at face value. Why would I have reason to do anything else? I’d gotten the impression she’d been living in Seattle before coming to California, and before that, somewhere in the South. She led me to believe she’d left Seattle because of a bad personal relationship, but she was reluctant to talk about it, and I didn’t push.
Besides, when it came to personal baggage, I was well over the norm.
But I wished now I’d shown more interest in learning about hers.
CHAPTER 36
Hannah reached into her purse for a cigarette. The guy seated next to her at the bar—Jake or Jack or whatever his name was—pulled out a lighter and lit it for her.
“Thanks,” she told him.
“My pleasure.” His smile was a bit intense, like something copied from the big screen.
He’d bought the beer she was drinking and had spent the last ten minutes trying to impress her with the fact that he drove a Lexus and owned a powerboat. He was in his mid-to-late forties, with a high forehead and a mouth too wide for his face. Not unattractive, but not someone who sent tingles into her toes either. Still, he’d spotted her from across the room and come to claim the empty seat to her right. That counted for something. Or would have if she’d been interested in being picked up.
But if she’d been in that kind of mood, she’d have chosen a bar somewhere farther from home.
&
nbsp; “Mind if I have one?” he asked.
She handed him the pack of Marlboros. She shouldn’t have come out, she decided. Beer and television in her own living room, a hot bath and bed. That’s what she was in the mood for, not some carpet salesman who was soft around the edges.
But she’d felt a need to shake off the prickly irritation of the day.
She and Dallas had met that afternoon with Assistant District Attorney Lon Mitchell to discuss the case against Sam Russell. Mitchell wanted time to study the evidence and confer with his boss before giving them the go-ahead, but Hannah knew they’d moved beyond the stage of conducting an open investigation. Sam was their target. Instead of looking for a killer, they’d focus on culling the evidence that supported Sam’s guilt.
It made sense. There were too many holes in his story, and no other viable suspects. Still, the meeting had left her with an uneasy feeling she hadn’t been able to shake.
Or maybe it was tomorrow’s mammogram looming on the horizon that made her anxious. She knew it was only a matter of time before another lump would be detected.
Jake-or-Jack touched her knee. “Hey, you look lost. What are you thinking?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“You can’t think about nothing.” He leaned close, his tone playful.
But Hannah didn’t feel like playing. She turned back to her beer.
“You want another?” he asked.
“I’m fine, thanks. I need to get going anyway.”
“Aw, come on. The night’s still young.”
The night’s young, but I’m not. It was something Malcolm used to say when she wanted to stay out and he was eager to head home. He hadn’t been old—younger than Jake-or-Jack and certainly better looking. But there was a serious streak to Malcolm that she suspected had been there from the day he was born. Serious and steady. They were qualities she’d admired.
Malcolm was the last person in the world she’d have suspected of cheating. And that made it doubly painful. How desperate he must have been.
Someone put money in the jukebox, and the Beatles started singing “I Want To Hold Your Hand.” Hannah’s foot tapped out the beat.
The Only Suspect Page 25
