“They’re nice to me.”
“You never had a problem with any of them?”
Agnes bobbed her head. “There was one man who used to tease me.”
“How did you deal with it?”
Hurt him.
Agnes looked up at Dr. Leahy and paused before dropping her eyes to the table again. She really couldn’t hear it. “I tried to stay away from him.”
“Did you report him?”
“No!”
Dr. Leahy flinched at the increase in volume. She wrote a quick note. The blunt tip of the pencil squeaked across the paper.
Agnes folded her hands together, the tissue between them. “What good would that do?”
“What happened to him?”
“He was fired. He didn’t do his job very well.”
“Did you have anything to do with his firing?”
“No.” Barely audible.
Dr. Leahy turned a page of her tablet and wrote a few more squeaky words.
“I’d like to ask a hypothetical question now. What are your views on the use of animals in medical research?”
“It’s necessary. I just wish there was another way.”
“Would you sacrifice all of the animals in the shelter for research if it could bring back Ella’s memory?”
Agnes looked at Dr. Leahy’s lap. The pencil was silent. So was the voice. But it was an easy question. “Yes, but only if it would help all of the people who suffer from Alzheimer’s. I wouldn’t do it if it was only for Ella. That’d be selfish.”
The pencil squeaked.
“I have one more thing I want to ask, then I’ll let you go. I know you’re getting tired. Why do you dress like that?”
“Like what?”
“Your clothes don’t fit very well. They’re too big.”
“They’ll fit. Cotton shrinks.”
How do you feel about that?
CHAPTER 6
JASON POWERS TIPTOED INTO THE OUTER OFFICE OF Dr. April Leahy, MD, Psychiatrist, trying to silence the squeak of his shoes on the hardwood planks. Since the office was on the second floor, he expected the floor to creak or groan with each footstep. But it was solid, a credit to early-twentieth-century craftsmanship. Unlikely to give up any of its secrets.
The building was close to downtown Santa Rosa—far from the myriad of generic medical suites that had sprung up like suburbs around each of the area hospitals, but within a heartache-and-a-half of Eugenia’s former apartment. With downtown parking so tight, he had found a spot on this very street on more than one occasion and jogged the two blocks to be with her.
He inched over to a long, brown leather couch and sat. It had the look and feel of Ethan Allen. Abstract artwork bore original signatures, and three of the four pieces could easily have doubled as Rorschach inkblot tests.
He couldn’t appreciate the comfortable feel of the couch. The space was too much like the living rooms of yuppie condos. They were the perfect birth control—no mop-and-bucket sex in there. To yuppies, foreplay probably consisted of spreading a paint drop cloth on the guest bed duvet. He massaged the soft leather and inhaled its musky scent. Strictly feet-on-the-floor furniture. Not like at Eugenia’s—
A loud click shot through his daydream. At the far end of the room, a crystal doorknob turned. The door flew open and a thirtyish woman glided into the room. She wore creased slacks and a matching charcoal vest over a red, collared blouse. Her jaw hinged up and down without swallowing, and a muffled snap accompanied nearly every meeting of her molars.
Jason stood. “I have a two o’clock appointment with Dr. Leahy. My name is Jason Powers.”
She frowned and popped her gum. “I’m Dr. Leahy.”
“I’m sorry. You’re just … I didn’t think …” His face felt like it was on fire.
A slight smile curled her mouth. “I can only give you about ten minutes. A patient just called.”
Natural light flooded the inner room, streaming through a south-facing bay window. A circle of thre overstuffed chairs complemented the arc of the room. A large desk dominated the side away from the windows. It must have been hell to bring the desk up that narrow staircase.
The woman motioned to the ring of chairs and followed Jason. She sat to his left.
Clever move on her part. When two cars reach an intersection at the same time, the one on the right goes first. He had the right-of-way.
“I want to discuss Agnes Hahn,” he said.
He watched her eyes scan him, but they stayed soft, and her eyebrows maintained a welcoming arch.
She crossed her legs and jiggled her foot. “You’re not police. What’s your interest?”
Gut feeling—she already knew. “I’m with the Press Democrat. I’ve been researching Agnes and her family. I just wanted to know if she said anything about her past that might help explain her actions.”
Dr. Leahy’s eyes half-closed with her smile. “And I’m sure you know all about doctor-patient privilege. Right?”
“Yes. But I’m finding inconsistencies in what’s been released and what I’ve uncovered. I think we could help each other out on this one. I don’t have to know all the details. I’m interested in your general impression of her mental state, and in some specifics about her family.”
“So you can misquote me?”
“This is all background. No quotes. If anything you say comes out, I’ll state it as my conjecture. It won’t be referenced.”
“I can’t see where any of this can help Agnes. That’s my main concern here.”
“The background information I’ve turned up could help. But I’ll need something in return to give it up.” He cringed. He hadn’t intended to sound so crass.
Dr. Leahy shifted and recrossed her legs. Her expression pushed him back in his chair. He expected anger, or at least resistance, but her look showed him something totally different. It blended with the smells of the Victorian and the sounds of downtown, and suddenly he was two blocks away, a bottle of Coors in his hand and Eugenia curled against his side. He shook his head as if the motion could clear the memory like an Etch-a-Sketch.
With Eugenia, he had felt the gravitational pull of instantaneous infatuation. What some people called love at first sight. But after what she did to him, he couldn’t, or wouldn’t give space to that kind of feeling ever again. He hadn’t shut down all feelings toward females. Hope occasionally elbowed in—that somewhere he could find a woman who would turn Eugenia from yesterday’s headline into a dusty archive.
Dr. Leahy glanced at her watch. Her jaw reactivated as she swung her leg over and put both feet on the floor. A forward lean showed a triangle of flesh from her open collar.
“Can you come back at six? There’s an Italian restaurant around the corner. A small Mom and Pop place with checkered tablecloths. Great food, and the people are like family. I eat there more nights than not. Let’s have dinner and see what comes up.”
Jason stood. He knew the place. “Should I meet you here or there?”
She stood close enough for him to get a full nose of her subtle perfume. “There.” She pointed. “It’s right around the corner. You can’t miss it.” She glanced at her watch again.
“At six, then.”
Her jaw stopped long enough to show a full-toothed smile.
CHAPTER 7
JASON PUSHED THROUGH THE DOOR OF THE POLICE STAtion and slowed his gait. Today, the hall to Bransome’s office wasn’t long enough. He had a bomb to drop, but he’d have to lower it gradually. The full impact of the information wasn’t apparent when he had talked to Dr. Leahy. Now, Agnes Hahn might become a free woman, even though the DNA evidence from the murder scenes matched hers.
Dinner with Dr. Leahy had been pleasant. She was casual, professional, and intrigued by his information. There was no doubt she gained more from the conversation than he. But he didn’t mind. For some reason, she reminded him of his mother. Solid, stable. And she had reminded him of the unwritten rule between him and his brother. If you want something, ask Dad. If you
need something, go to Mom. In the end, the meeting hadn’t gone exactly as planned. He was the one who had prattled on like a magpie.
But in his mind, two of her comments had exposed her soul like a plate glass window. She complained that all of the good men her age had already been taken. Then, something really curious. She had a small degree of empathy for single women who pursued romances with married men.
Jason slowed his foot-squeaking walk even more. He had to get back on track.
The legal impact of his new information was minor compared to its potential personal consequences. He was about to do something that would take him back two years with Detective Bransome. And he knew those sores were still open, still raw. His information didn’t prove Agnes Hahn was innocent; it just opened the possibility that she was. Any lawyer with half a brain could use it to get her released.
But what if she was guilty? He’d be letting out another criminal. What if she murdered again? The haunting memories flooded back. Detective Bransome was wrong about him. He did agonize about his earlier actions. He had done what was right and it turned two felons back on the street. One innocent man and two felons. What was right had become a technicality in the eyes of most people. He’d nearly quit his job over it.
The reporter in him took charge. Now, like then, the truth was at stake. So was an opportunity. If Agnes was released, he could get close to her. Find out more about her. He wouldn’t knock Mulvaney’s socks off on this one; he’d knock him out of his underwear. And if he was able to get close enough to Agnes, find out enough about her, there could be a book in it. But he’d have to work fast. Mulvaney had a deadline for losing his undergarments.
A stomach cramp nearly doubled Jason over as the question came back to him. What if Agnes was the murderer? He froze at the detective’s door.
Jason took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked into the detectives’ workroom.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Bransome came at him, fast.
Jason thought about backing out of the room. About running like hell. He braced himself. “Sorry. Should I have knocked?”
“Get the hell out of here.” Bransome grabbed his arm and steered him to the door.
Jason yanked his arm away. “I have some information about Agnes Hahn you might want to hear.”
Bransome pushed him.
“It’ll probably get her out of here.”
Bransome stopped and swung Jason around by his arm.
“You never stop, do you? Do you have something against my police department? Or is it just me?”
Jason held his tongue. He wanted Bransome to cool down, and the look on the detective’s face scared him. “So what did the shrink say about Agnes?”
A slight grin spread across Bransome’s cheeks. “She’s got a problem with men.”
That’s not what I got from Dr. Leahy. If I interpret her comments correctly, Agnes’s attitude toward men was a little skewed, but not enough to produce the type of fury in these attacks.
“Is she sane? Competent?” Again, Jason already knew the answer.
“Enough to stand trial.” Bransome circled his ear with his right index finger.
Dr. Leahy had said she was fine. No indication of pathological anger or resentment. Jason gritted his teeth. It was time. But how would Bransome react? Jason thought back. Bransome was right-handed. He took a step back and locked his eyes on Bransome’s right fist.
“What would you say if I told you Agnes Hahn wasn’t born in Mendocino?”
“Big deal.” Bransome grabbed Jason’s arm again and pushed.
“She was born in Petaluma.”
Bransome pushed harder.
Jason was at the doorway. He stiffened. Bransome’s right hand was still in his visual field. “Okay. What if I told you she was the first of identical twins born to Denise Hahn in Petaluma, California?”
Bransome stopped his charge. His jaw relaxed.
“Both were live births. Agnes and Lilin Hahn. Both around five pounds. And I haven’t found any evidence that Lilin Hahn has died. Actually, I haven’t found a trace of her anywhere.”
Bransome opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
“I know what you’re thinking. But the DNA would be identical. If you had a good fingerprint, that would do it, though. Identical twins have unique prints. Not in the general characteristics, but in the fine points—the whorls and turns. It’s like the old nature versus nurture argument. Only both play a part in human development. Identical twins are the proof.” He knew the answer to his next question, but he asked anyway. “Do you have any good prints?”
Bransome turned around and walked back to his desk, shaking his head. He spun around. “I suppose you’ve talked with the DA.”
“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. As a courtesy.”
Bransome rolled his eyes.
“And I’d like a favor.”
“I knew that was coming. You’re incredible.”
“I’d like to meet with Ms. Hahn before she’s released. I’d like to tell her about her sister.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” Bransome lunged at him.
Jason jumped back, into the doorway. That look was back on Bransome’s face. The look of a man just this side of crazy. “Don’t you want to see her reaction before her lawyer gets to her? I’m not an authority figure to her. I think I can get an honest reaction.”
Bransome stopped. “And I’m sure your motives are pure as snow.”
“You know my motives. Mine just line up with yours in this case. I told you I’d like to work with you, not against you on this one. I could have gone to the DA first.”
Bransome rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “What if she doesn’t want to talk to you?”
“Tell her I have information that may help with her case. Tell her I think she’s innocent. Tell her anything you want.”
Bransome shook his head. “Do your ethics ever fly higher than half-mast?”
Mulvaney’s early lessons flooded back, and they made Jason’s stomach ache. In his business, ethics were conditional. And this was one of those blurry times. It didn’t sit well for a moment, but the uneasy feeling lasted only until Jason’s adrenaline took over. And he was doing what was right. The end justified the means. The public had a right to know.
“I can hold my head high,” he lied.
CHAPTER 8
THE NATURAL LIGHT IN THE ROOM WAS DIFFERENT THIS time. It seemed gray, muted, even though it was midafternoon. And this man was different. Agnes had never seen him before. He said he wasn’t with the police, but he didn’t say where he worked. Only that he wanted to help with her case.
He probably wasn’t another psychiatrist. They’d let her wear her own clothes with Dr. Leahy. This time, they grabbed her from her cell and steered her into the conference room, still in her jail-issue jumpsuit.
Agnes made eye contact, briefly. Nice looking, athletic. His jeans fit well but not too tight. Her eyes stopped at the polo player insignia on his button-up shirt. The smooth texture of the shirt, with the creased sleeves, screamed dry cleaning, starch. A waste of money.
But his voice was slow, calm. She looked up again, and then down, but she stayed on his face long enough to catch his smile. Was he one of the good ones?
Not a good one.
Agnes looked down and scanned her orange jumpsuit, then tugged upward on the collar, cinching the lapels together. She wanted to look up at him again, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
“Miss Hahn, I have some information that might get you out of here. But it might shock you.”
“You can get me out? Really?”
Jason leaned across the table. “I think so. But you have to listen to what I say. It’s about your family.”
Agnes focused on the spinning wheels of the tape recorder. This was one of the pocket-sized models. What family? There wasn’t any left.
“First, I found out you weren’t born in Mendocino. You were born in Petaluma.”
“Your mother passed away right after your birth, but both you and your twin sister were fine, healthy babies.”
“Twin sister?” She looked up and held his stare. Her head bobbed up and down. “I have a sister.”
“You already knew that?”
Her eyes danced around the room. That’s what’s been missing in my life. “Yes.”
“You didn’t mention it before.”
“It was just a feeling.” But now, she talks to me.
“Have you had that feeling long?”
A wide smile. I have a sister. “As long as I can remember.”
“Have you ever seen her? Talked with her?”
No.
“No.”
“Did your aunts ever tell you that you had a sister?”
“No.”
Jason drummed his fingers on the table. “Agnes, who is Edward Hahn?”
As far as she knew, she was the last of the Hahns, except for Ella, whose identity was lost in her ravaged neural circuits. She was the final progeny in a lineage of females narrowed by untimely deaths and marriage refusals. No, that wasn’t right. She and her sister were the final ones.
“Agnes?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never heard of him?”
“No.”
“You told Dr. Leahy that your aunts’ sister was your grandmother, and that she lived in Illinois. Right?”
“Yes.”
“According to my research, your two aunts didn’t have another sister. They had a brother, named Edward. He lived here in California. Around Petaluma. All I can find on him is that he fought in France in World War II. Got a Purple Heart. Then he vanished.”
The bastard.
What? The voice wasn’t making sense. Was it trying to trick her? Agnes shifted in her chair and picked the table grain with her fingers. “That’s not what Gert told me.”
“Edward Hahn had one child, a daughter, named Denise Hahn. Your mother.”
Agnes slapped her hand on the table. “Gert wouldn’t lie to me.”
Jason pushed his chair back from the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d like to know what I’ve found out about your family. Do you want me to go on?”
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