Bransome’s squint honed Jason’s memory to a fine edge. Bransome hated reporters. What had he called them? Sensation-peddling headline hounds? That was it.
“Relax, Detective. That’s just what I call her.”
Bransome took a step closer, violating Jason’s comfort zone, which was five feet with Bransome. “God. You’re still taking a bath in that damn cologne.”
Minotaure. It was Eugenia’s favorite. She had bought it for him after their first night together. Said she couldn’t resist him in it.
“If you’re here to check on the DNA lab again, it’s clean,” Bransome said. “The old one went out of business because of you. Two friends lost their jobs.”
Jason inched back. “I did what I had to do. The contamination was jeopardizing evidence. I did the right thing.”
“The right thing?” Bransome’s voice bounced around the walls like a racquetball. “Do you know—?”
“I’ve been following Ramirez since he was let go.” Jason tried to match Bransome’s resonance, but he didn’t come close. “I did a story on him last year, and again this year. He’s an upright citizen, married, stable. You know he was innocent.”
Bransome balled his hands into fists. “Really. And the others?”
“I did what was right.” This time, Jason barely heard his own voice.
“Keep saying that. Maybe you’ll convince yourself. I can think of two families you’ll never convince. I’ll take you to meet them if you want to try.”
The wintergreen scent burned Jason’s nose as much as the words burned his ears—a pleasant smell in proper mixture, but irritating here in Mendocino. Everything in this place screamed of two years ago. He had to turn it all off.
“I’m here about the murders. That’s all. They’re big news in Santa Rosa and the whole Bay Area. They started in our backyard.”
“You still with the Press Democrat?” A slight grin pushed on Bransome’s cheeks. “I thought you’d be in San Francisco by now, with the Chronicle.”
Powers straightened his back and pushed his voice to full volume. “Santa Rosa’s home, unless there’s an opening here at the Beacon. I’d like nothing better than to work for a small town rag, especially if I’d get to see you every day.”
“So you expect me to cooperate with you—give you information. Is that right?”
“Right now I’m doing background work on Agnes Hahn. I’d like to interview her, though.”
“People with balls the size of grapefruit shouldn’t come within a leg’s length of these shoes.” Bransome lifted his foot and pulled up his pant leg.
“I presume she’s allowed visitors. I’ll make my request through formal channels if I have to.”
Bransome huffed.
Powers took a deep breath and let it out quickly. “Do you know how rare a female serial killer is? And one whose killings are this gruesome? It goes beyond big news. This is sociologically important. This is book material. Don’t you want your name immortalized as the man who caught this depraved woman?”
“I want my name immortalized as a man who did his job. And the best way I can do that is if you stay out of my way.”
“Like I said, I’m doing some background work. I’ll be happy to share anything I find if it will help your case. In return, I ask you to tolerate my rights. Deal?”
Blank stare.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Bransome lifted his shoe again.
Powers fished his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of yellow paper. “By the way, you should be congratulated. I was only going five over the limit, but you got me.” He held the paper at arm’s length, eye level.
A full smile puckered Bransome’s cheeks. “You still driving that silver Volvo? I didn’t think they’d remember. Who got you? Wilson?” He squinted at the form. “I’ll have to give him a raise.”
“So I can expect this every time I go out?”
“Only if you break the law.”
“I was only going five over. Cars were whizzing past me.”
“You were exceeding the speed limit. What does the word limit mean to you?”
Powers balled the paper in his hand and cocked his arm, but stopped and shoved it into his front pants pocket. “I understand Agnes Hahn is being interviewed by a psychiatrist. Is she taking the insanity angle?”
Bransome stomped to the door, yanked it open, and slammed it behind him.
CHAPTER 5
AGNES PAUSED BEFORE SITTING AT THE INTERROGATION room table. The woman in the opposite chair smiled as her jaw worked an invisible wad of gum so vigorously it bulged her temples with each chew.
“I’m Dr. April Leahy and I’d like to talk with you for a while. Do you mind if I call you Agnes?” The chewing stopped. “I’m glad they let you wear your own clothes.”
Agnes slid onto the chair. A doctor? The last lady had told her she could make a phone call. Who was she supposed to call? Now, a lady doctor? She didn’t look like a doctor.
Dr. Leahy was about her size, but looked smaller. Maybe because her skirt and jacket were tailored tight to her body. Disposable clothes, if they shrank. Throw-away society. But she was attractive. Maybe the kind of attractive that robbed an hour of sleep each morning. It’d be fun to see her without all the makeup, and with out the revealing clothes. Agnes raised her shoulders.
“You can call me April if you’d like.”
Agnes looked down at her own clothing, flannel and jeans, and shook her head.
“Why not?”
She seemed nice. Not threatening. “Gert and Ella taught me to show proper respect.”
Dr. Leahy smiled and jotted a few notes on her green steno pad.
Agnes cringed—the pencil on paper sounded like the tip of a knife drawn across soft wood. “Can I go home?”
“I’m sorry, Agnes, but that’s not for me to decide. If you answer some of my questions, talk with me, I’ll do what I can to help you. Okay?”
She lies.
Agnes looked up at Dr. Leahy, then around the room.
“Is anything wrong?”
Agnes folded her hands in her lap and shook her head.
Dr. Leahy frowned and looked around the room. “You sure you’re okay?”
Agnes nodded.
“Okay. Who are Gert and Ella?”
“My great-aunts.”
“And you’ve lived with them? For how long?”
“Since I was about four.”
Dr. Leahy scratched more notes. “Can you tell me about them?”
Gert would fix this. Agnes struggled to hold back tears.
“Agnes?”
She cleared her throat. “Gert died six months ago. The day after we put Ella in the home. Ella has Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t recognize me.” The tears released.
Dr. Leahy took a soft pack of Kleenex from her briefcase and pushed it across the table. “I’m so sorry. Do you want a few minutes?”
Agnes pulled a tissue from the pack and clenched it in her fist as if it were some vital force, like it would keep her from falling apart. “No.”
Dr. Leahy tapped the pencil eraser to her lips. “You live in that beautiful Victorian house after the first bend of Reese Drive, right?”
“It’s not so beautiful.”
“Why not?”
Agnes kneaded the tissue in her hand. It was soft, unlike the stiff mattress and scratchy blanket they had given her. Was this all she was allowed from her life of two days ago?
“Agnes?”
“Gert said they ruined it when they built the strip mall down the street. Then they put the self-storage center right behind us. She planted junipers along the back fence, but you can still see the rows of storage units from the upstairs windows.”
“What was Gert like?”
Agnes looked up and frowned. Where was the woman’s gum? She hadn’t spat it out. Swallowed it?
Dr. Leahy nodded. “It’s okay, Agnes. I’m here to help you. I want to talk about your family. I want to hel
p you understand what’s happened. We can stop anytime.”
Agnes’s eyes returned to the table. “She was strict, but nice. When I was little, I used to sit on her lap …” Her eyes flicked to Dr. Leahy’s face, then lowered. She looked kind. Concerned.
Dr. Leahy didn’t move, like she’d been caught in a game of freeze tag. The wall clock tsk-tsked the seconds.
“You said she was strict. Did she punish you?”
Gert and Ella had been her life. The house, too. And the animal shelter. What would happen to the dogs at the shelter?
“Agnes? Did Gert punish you?”
“Sometimes, when I did something bad.”
“How would she punish you? Did she hit you?”
Gert wouldn’t do that. “She spanked me a couple of times when I was young, but mostly she’d lecture. Shake her finger in my face. Then she’d give me a hug and tell me I was a good girl who had just made a mistake.”
Dr. Leahy scribbled a few more notes.
The sound grated on Agnes’s ears. She gripped the edge of the table.
“And Gert never married?”
“No.”
“Why not? Did she talk to you about it?”
Agnes fingered the grain of the table. “She was engaged once, but Ella said she caught her fiancé kissing another woman.”
“Ella caught him?”
“No, Gert.”
“What did Gert say about it?”
“Men can’t be trusted.”
“All men?”
“Just some men. She wanted me to find one of the good ones.”
Dr. Leahy scribbled on the tablet. “Gert didn’t have any other men in her life?”
“I think another man wanted to marry her, but she said no because Ella wouldn’t have anyone to take care of her.”
“Why would Gert do that?”
“They were twins. Not identical, but they were very close, like many twins.”
“So, you think Gert did the right thing?”
“Family is the most important thing in life.”
Dr. Leahy scribbled. “What do you remember about Ella?”
Agnes exhaled. “She was nice to me, too, but she didn’t do much around the house. Just the cooking.”
“Did she let you sit on her lap?”
Agnes smoothed the tissue on the table. “No. Because of her artificial leg. She always kissed my forehead. When I was little, she let me put extra sugar on my cereal.”
“How did Ella lose her leg?”
“A car accident.”
“Were you with her?”
“No. It happened when she was young. She and Gert were out dancing. They both were drinking. Gert was driving home when the car went off the road and ran into a tree.” Why was the doctor still smiling?
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t drive at night, especially on weekends.”
“Tell me more about Ella. Did she punish you?”
Agnes looked up and frowned. What was the big deal about punishment? “No. Sometimes she’d tell Gert to go easy on me.”
“When Gert spanked you?”
“No. When she lectured. Gert would go on and on.”
“Was Gert angry when she lectured you?”
“No. She always seemed concerned. Not angry.”
Dr. Leahy paused to write a few more sentences. The constant grin on her face was nearly as irritating as the sound of the scribbling.
“You said Gert hoped you’d find one of the good men. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Agnes picked at the rubber liner on the edge of the table with her fingernail. “I had one in high school.”
“Was it a romantic relationship?”
The corners of Agnes’s mouth tugged into a smile. “We kissed a lot.”
“Anything else?”
Agnes felt heat radiating from her face. She looked up at Dr. Leahy. Her expression was different. The smile was gone, but she still looked friendly, concerned. “He tried to touch my breasts one day.”
“Did you want him to touch your breasts?”
“Gert said it wasn’t proper. Only after marriage.”
“Did Gert find out?”
“I told her.”
“What did she do?”
Agnes shook her head. Gert always took care of things. “She told him to get away from me and never come back.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“He wasn’t one of the good ones. He was just after one thing.”
“When you were kissing him. Do you remember how you felt?”
Safe, comfortable. Agnes shrugged.
You liked it.
Agnes looked around the room, then at Dr. Leahy. She hadn’t heard it. Agnes crumpled the tissue in her hand.
“After you knew he wasn’t one of the good ones, did you still want to kiss him?”
Why couldn’t she hear it? It was clear.
“Agnes? Did you want to kiss him?”
“Of course not.” Agnes looked up, not quite making eye contact.
“Why not?”
“I couldn’t trust him. It’s not right to be romantic with someone who can’t be trusted.”
“Did Gert tell you that?”
“No. That’s how I felt.”
“Did you get mad at him for trying to touch you?”
“I was disappointed. I thought he was one of the good ones.”
“You didn’t want to hurt him for touching you?”
Hurt him.
Agnes glanced up into Dr. Leahy’s eyes and dropped her head, shaking it. “Hurting people doesn’t solve anything. It would’ve made me just as bad as him.”
Dr. Leahy smiled and wrote on her pad. She flipped the page and continued writing.
Now the pencil sounded like it was being drawn across sandpaper. And she held the pencil wrong—between her first and second fingers. Gert said that was the wrong way. Agnes pressed the tissue into a tight ball in her palm. Ask another question. Ask anything. Just stop writing.
Dr. Leahy stopped writing. “Sorry. Can I talk about the rest of your family?”
Yes. Yes.
Agnes flinched. “Yes.”
“Do you know much about them?”
“Not a lot. I know Gert and Ella had another sister—my grandmother.”
“You didn’t meet her?”
“No. She lived in Illinois. Her name was Rachel Carrington.”
“Lived? She’s not alive?”
“Gert said she died before I was born.”
A few more notes.
The pencil looked dull. Maybe it wouldn’t make so much noise if she’d sharpen it. The lead barely extended from the wood.
“How many children did she have?”
“Who?”
Dr. Leahy pulled her hand from the page. “Your grandmother.”
“Just one. My mother.”
“Why didn’t your mother raise you?”
Agnes put her hands on her cheeks, resting her elbows on the table. The balled tissue pressed against her skin, and she could still feel its softness. “She died right after I was born. Gert said it was a hemorrhage.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Sad. But Gert told me it wasn’t my fault. Mother gave me the ultimate gift.”
“How about your father?”
Agnes pulled her hands from her cheeks and shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know about him. Just what Gert told me. He divorced Mother when she became pregnant with me. He didn’t want kids. Mother came out here to live and changed her name back to Hahn so he couldn’t find her if he changed his mind.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“She was lucky to have family.”
Dr. Leahy pursed her lips and then smiled. She wrote a few more notes. “I’d like to change topics again, if you don’t mind. Is that okay?”
Silence.
“Agnes, what makes you angry?”
The pencil. It was like a scalpel now, dissecting her. Dis
secting her past, her life. What was left of it.
“Agnes?”
“People who hurt animals.”
“What do you want to do to them?”
“Tell them off. Call the police.”
“Do you want to hurt them for hurting the animals?”
“No. I let the police handle it.”
Dr. Leahy scribbled.
Grab the damn pencil.
Agnes’s hand twitched.
“Were you angry when Gert died?”
“No. Sad.”
“Do you know how she died?”
“The doctor said she had a stroke, but I think she gave up when Ella stopped recognizing her. And then Ella went into the home.”
“How did you feel when Ella went away?”
“I was sad then, too. But not as sad. The worse her memory got, the less she seemed to suffer. Her leg always hurt her. She felt pain in her leg, even though it wasn’t there. The doctor called them phantom pains. Some nights I’d sit up late rubbing her back to make her feel better.”
“The police found pain medication in your house. Did you give it to Ella?”
“Yes.” Agnes smoothed the tissue on the table again. A small rip stretched the center. She had always needed Gert, but toward the end, Ella needed her. “I had to hold back, though. She always wanted more than the doctor said to give her.” Her throat tightened.
“How did that make you feel?”
Agnes’s eyes watered. “I cried, but not in front of her. I wanted to take the pain away, but I was afraid the extra medicine would do something bad to her.”
Dr. Leahy uncrossed her legs. “Do you need a few minutes now?”
“Yes, please.”
Dr. Leahy stood. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Do you want anything?” Her jaw dropped, then settled into rhythmic chewing movements.
“Some water, thank you.”
After a few minutes of counting ceiling tiles, Agnes’s mind went blank.
Dr. Leahy walked in, twisting the top from a water bottle with a crackle. She handed the bottle to Agnes, sat down, and crossed her legs. Her jaw relaxed. “Agnes, what do you do at the animal shelter?”
“I coordinate adoptions. And help take care of the animals.”
“Do you work with men?”
“Yes.”
“Do you get along with them?”
Agnes Hahn Page 3
