Agnes took a large bite.
He let her swallow most of it. “What did Bransome say about the letter when he came back to talk to you?”
“The DNA from the Point Arena murder matched the others, and it matched the DNA from the envelope glue. Lilin sent the letter. And it was blood on the letter—the victim’s.”
“Did he ask why you called me?”
Agnes’s eyes met his. She grinned. “Yes.”
He held the stare and smiled. “What did you say?”
She lowered her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what you said?”
“No, silly. I told him I don’t know.”
He leaned down and tried to draw her eyes up again. “He accepted that?”
“Not very well. He had some more things to say about you.”
“Like what?”
She shook her head and took another bite.
Jason edged forward in his seat. “Maybe I should leave while Wilson’s getting gas.”
Agnes raised her eyes again. “What do we do next?”
“I want to visit Ella again. See if I can get more information out of her.”
“Can I come along? Every time I go, she doesn’t recognize me. I really want to see her when she’s more like her old self.”
“Not this time. She was lucid for such a short time, I don’t want it to go for hugs and kisses.”
“But you’ll take me sometime?”
“Yes.” He pushed up from the seat. “Call me tomorrow. And use my cell phone this time.”
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.” Her smile made him want to sit down again.
Agnes made Officer Wilson wait in the restaurant parking lot for nearly twenty minutes before she headed out. She stopped at a Safeway and leisurely strolled three aisles, finally eking out a list of items she could use at home. The items weren’t needed, but stopping at the store created the illusion that lunch was a side trip, not the primary mission. With efficiency of paramount concern, the selected items included nonperishable, eventual necessities.
Officer Wilson didn’t try to hang back on the way home, so Agnes gave a backward wave as she pulled into the garage and pushed the button to lower the door. The light fell in the garage. She froze. Something wasn’t right.
Back door.
She swiveled her head in both directions. No one else in the garage. She wanted to push the button again, to raise the door, but she knew Wilson would come running. Back door. What did that mean? “What do you mean?” she said, scanning the garage again.
No response. There never was a response to a direct question.
Back door?
She fumbled with the keys at the door to the house and dropped them. They hit the concrete with a loud jingle. It reminded her of something she saw on the Nature Channel the other night. Bats used a sophisticated type ofradar to intercept flying insects. They emitted chirps of ultrasound, inaudible to human ears. But moths heardthe ultrasound and responded with an evasive tactic worthy of fighter jet dogfights. They dove to the ground in a tight-turning swirl, hoping to land before the bat adjusted his flight. In the show, the narrator demonstrated the moth’s response by jingling his keys, which, in addition to the audible sound, produced a burst of ultrasound pulses. Agnes was ready to dive to the ground at the slightest out-of-ordinary movement or sound.
The house was silent, cold. Filtered light illuminated the rooms through the drapes everywhere except the kitchen. With its southwestern exposure, the kitchen was always bright in the afternoon. No draperies to pull. The window curtains consisted of festooned ornamentals and decorative valances.
To the rear of the kitchen, a small anteroom was brightly lit by two narrow, high windows on the lateral walls that flanked the back door. A heavy, solid-panel door. No window. No peephole. She walked on her toes, more to stay tensed than for silence, ready to evade. She was a moth on high alert.
The dead bolt turned with a throaty clunk. She paused, listening for a sound, of movement, breathing, anything. She put her ear against the door. Nothing. Her hand found the doorknob, but she didn’t twist. Not yet. She pulled back from the door and stood, silent. Listening. Listening for Lilin. If Lilin was close, maybe she could hearher. Maybe she would say somethingagain. “Lilin?”
Silence.
Agnes turned the knob. She felt the door release in her hand, and she waited. Nothing happened. She opened it a crack, enough to let in a vertical light beam. Nothing. No movement, no sound. It was as if the back of the house was in a sound vacuum. An auditory black hole.
She opened the door wide enough to look out. The backyard was clear. Everything was in place. She stepped forward to look to either side and her foot hit something hard. She jumped back and closed the door to a crack. No movement. No sound. She eased the door open and looked down at a cardboard box. It was shoved to the side of the door, extending across the opening by only a few inches. There were no markings on the box, but it was sealed with clear packing tape.
She kicked the box, and it moved a couple of inches. Not too heavy. And the hollow sound suggested that whatever was inside included a lot of air. She stepped onto the porch, bent, and lifted the box. It wasn’t heavy at all.
The box sat on the kitchen table where Lilin’s letter had rested only a few days before. Agnes had the knife in her hand, but she stood, unable to cut the tape. It had to befrom Lilin. Her mind flashed back to the glossy photo Detective Bransome pushed across the table to her in the interrogation room. If Lilin was capable of that, what might be in the box?
Agnes put down the knife and filled the water kettle. A cup of tea would break the tension.
Jason turned into the motel driveway and circled around the 1950s-style covered entry to the office. As soon as he made the left toward his room, he saw the police car. The round figure at the wheel turned slowly in his direction and the door swung wide.
Jason pulled in on the far side of the cruiser and quickly exited. He didn’t want Bransome and his nightstick in his face.
Bransome waited at the front of the cruiser and motioned at the door of Jason’s room. “We need to talk. I could take you to the office, but I’d prefer to do it here.”
Jason didn’t like the look on Bransome’s face. “Can we talk out here?”
“No. Inside.”
“Can you tell me what it’s about?”
“Inside.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.
“Could you leave your baton out here?”
Bransome pulled the nightstick from his belt, walked over to the car door, and threw the stick onto the seat. “Now, can we go inside?”
Jason looked at the detective’s huge knuckles. Could they be left in the car as well? He left the motel door open behind him and pulled the cord that slid the dingy drapes open.
Bransome settled in the only chair in the room, and the aged Naugahyde crackled its displeasure.
Jason shuffled to the low chest of drawers. “You want some coffee? I only have instant.”
“Sit down.”
“Can I have some coffee?” He’d had enough at Denny’s, but he wanted to stall. His mind plucked a quick snapshot from his past. Stalling never worked with his father. It never calmed the old man, never dulled the force of the paddle on his backside. But Jason remembered he never ceased trying the tactic. One never knew.
“Sit down!” Bransome’s voice reverberated in the small room.
Jason settled on the side of the bed, more than an easy lunge away from Bransome.
“Do you know a Fiona Trapp?” Bransome said.
“Never heard of her.”
“Come on, Powers. We know you’ve had contact with her here in Mendocino.”
Jason fingered his chin. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about. I’ve never heard of a Fiona Trapp.”
“So you didn’t pay a visit to Ella Hahn last week?”
“Yes.” Oh, shit. Uh huh.
“And
you want to tell me you didn’t visit this woman?” Bransome leaned forward and held a photo at arm’s length.
Jason stood in a monkey hunch and grabbed the picture. “Yes. I know this woman. I didn’t know her name.”
“You didn’t know her name?”
“No. She’s an aide at the home. She’s the person who brings Ella down to supper and delivers her back to her room. I talked to her, tried to get some information about Ella.”
“You talked to her?”
“A couple of times.”
“And you don’t know anything about her?”
“No. I told you. I didn’t even know her name.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Why?”
“Do you know where she is now?”
“I know where she lives. In an apartment on the west side of town.”
“We’ve been there. It’s cleaned out.”
My God, he thought. Could she be involved in the murders? It would take an accomplice to subdue even an average sized man. “What’s she done?”
The ancient phone let out a loud ring, startling
Jason. He let it ring again.
Bransome motioned for the return of the picture. “You going to get that?”
Jason let it ring a third time and slid over so the cord wouldn’t pull the base from the night table. He held the phone tight against his ear.
“Jason? It’s Agnes.”
“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number.” He looked up at Bransome, who stared. Jason turned his gaze to the carpet.
“It’s me. Agnes.”
“No. No one here by that name.” Come on. Get a clue. I can’t talk right now.
“Why won’t you talk to me?”
The hurt in her voice nearly floored him. He looked up at Bransome again. “This is a motel room. Maybe he was a previous guest. Good-bye.” He hung up but kept his hand on the phone. He’d had to hang up on her. He had no choice. Would she trust him again?
Bransome’s scowl burned through him.
“Wrong number.” He hoped she wouldn’t call on his cell phone. A quick change of topic was in order. “Why do you want that woman?” He pointed at the picture in Bransome’s hand.
“Fiona Trapp isn’t her real name. It’s Francine Thomas. She has warrants for burglary, theft, and drugs.” “And?”
“And she did it again. She cleaned out some of the old ladies at the care home and disappeared.”
A hollow feeling distended Jason’s stomach. For two reasons. He’d spent three months investigating abuses at care homes, and this happened right under his nose, or right under his naked body. He considered reopening the investigation, using this Fiona Trapp, or Francine Thomas, or whatever her name was, as a focal point. The second reason was more disturbing. He thought he had used her to get information about Ella. But was she using him as a smoke screen for her thefts? “Did she get anything from Ella?”
“Not much from her, but she got quite a bit from three others. Are you sure you don’t know where she went?”
“Why would I know that?”
“Just a feeling.”
“My interest is in Ella Hahn. Not this Francine Thomas.” At least that’s the way it was a few minutes ago.
“Are you going to be in town for a while?”
“I have a deadline for a story, but I can send it electronically if I can get a hookup.” He swept his hand around the room. “This place isn’t exactly wired.”
“Come in to the station. You can send it from there. I want you where I can find you for the next couple of days.”
“Because you have a feeling?”
Bransome stood. “Yes.”
Jason remained sitting. “I guess I can handle thisluxury for a few days straight, but I’ll have to go down to Santa Rosa before the week is out. You’re welcome to join me if you want.”
Bransome opened the door and turned to face the bed. “By the way, the care home has security cameras. Everywhere. If I were you, I would’ve doubled up on the rubbers.” The door closed on his laughter.
Agnes stared at the box. She was ready to open it, but Jason’s reply to her call confused her. Scared her. Now the knife was back at her side, her caution raised like hackles on the back of her neck. Why wouldn’t he take her call? Was something wrong? Was he all right?
She walked around the table, staring at the box. No markings anywhere. It was new, not recycled. The knife still in her hand, she picked up the box and gave it a shake. A rustle and a dull thump. Curiosity was winning. She put the box down, slit the tape on the two top flaps, and pulled them to vertical. The knife fell to the table.
A dress was on top. A pretty, maroon dress. She pulled it out and held it against her body. It was new, the tags still attached, and it was the right size. She laid it across the back of a chair and pulled object after object from the box. A cute pair of shoes with low heels, apackage of panty hose, a black lace brassiere with underwires.
All the right size. A small bag held various items of makeup, hairspray, and an assortment of brushes, for her face and for her hair. She almost missed the note taped to the bottom of the box.
She piled the garments back into the box and hurried up the stairs into her room, where she spread each item on the bed. Slipping out of her jeans and flannel, she pulled the dress up across her hips, onto her shoulders. Its fit was tight, showing soft curves the outside world hadn’t seen. The hem fell at midthigh, and a moderate vee-cut plunged at the neck, enough to show cleavage with the right bra. The black bra. Her face burned. She liked the look, even though her stark, white bra couldn’t hide beneath the dress. And she had the legs for it. But she couldn’t ever wear it outside. Could she?
The note. She tore it from the box and nearly shredded the envelope flap. It was written in the same longhand as the previous letter, but it didn’t have the rushed scrawl at the end of each sentence.
The reflection in the full-length mirror caught her attention. A twirl to the right, then left. The dress fit perfectly.
The new Agnes turned the note to catch the afternoon sun.
I’M HERE:, AND IM WATCHING. DONT GO TO THE POLICE:. YOU RE STILL SEEING THAT REPORTER.HE’s NOT ONE OF THE GOOD ONES. WEAR THESE CLOTHES. YOU’LL SEE. THIS SHOULD BE OVER SOON. LILIN.
Agnes looked in the mirror again, then at her purse. The cell phone was inside. Should she call Jason again? Would he give the same answer?
She twirled to the left, her eyes on the mirror. A new sensation swamped her thoughts. She liked the way she looked. But she was showing parts of her body that no one had ever seen. And yet, she liked the dress. And she wanted one other person to see it. “Thank you, Lilin.”
CHAPTER 19
JASON SAT OPPOSITE THE RECEPTION DESK AND RUBBED his temples. How many of the care home staff had seen the surveillance video? Things like that were usually passed around, like the pirated videos of Pamela and Tommy Lee, and that Hilton chick. He’d seen them on the Internet. Jesus, the Internet. He rubbed his temples again.
The receptionist gave him a double-take stare. It was the same woman who’d given him the third degree on his last visit. Had she seen the video? She was probably in her late fifties. What would she think of something like that? It wasn’t too late to turn around, but he needed to talk to Ella again. And he needed to work fast. Mulvaney was getting restless. He’d begrudgingly allowed a little more time, as long as it didn’t drag on too much longer. Jason sighed. He’d fight that battle again before he was finished.
“I’m here to see Ella Hahn.”
“You’re not planning to do any laundry tonight, are you?”
He watched her expression. Dissected it. A hint of a smile? A glare of disapproval? She’d make a great poker player.
“I called in yesterday. For supper.”
“They’re going to catch her, you know.”
“Catch who?”
“Your aide friend.”
“I don’t know anything about her.”
The blank stare again.
“Detective Bransome said we should let you talk with Ella. Otherwise, I’d have security throw you out. This is a respectable place. No thanks to you.”
Had she heard about it, or seen it? “My intentions are honorable.” Where did that assholic line come from? “I’m here representing Ella’s great-niece, Agnes.”
“She was here yesterday, to see Ella.”
Why didn’t he know about that? What had Agnes found out? “What time did she visit?”
“That’s not your business.”
“Was it for supper? You can tell me that.”
Her eyes dropped to the ledger and returned to a silent stare.
Jason shifted his weight in the chair. A lie should do it, as long as it was a quick-thinking one. “I told Agnes if she came during a meal, I’d pick up the tab.”
“No meal.”
She probably didn’t get through to Ella. “Can I go in?”
“You’ll be watched. And you should know the directors aren’t happy with all of this attention. If anything else happens, Ella will have to find another place to live.”
He straightened in his chair. “Were the directors planning to notify Agnes about this? I presume there’s a termination clause in the contract that gives reasonable notice.” This was one area of abuse he’d found in some of the less scrupulous homes during his investigation. If a tenant became too much trouble, the relatives were pressured to remove the tenant.
The stare. “Enjoy your meal.”
Jason had to hurry to get a seat next to Ella at her usual table. Earl, the well-dressed gentleman, sat across the table again and provided conversation to fill the uncomfortable gaps between Ella’s repetitious meanderings.
Something was different in Ella’s eyes this time. Like most of the residents, she appeared happy, or at least content. But the others had a dullness in their eyes, like something had been taken from them. Today, Ella’s eyes twinkled more than usual. That was the best way to describe it. Maybe Agnes’s visit registered deep within
Ella’s brain, filling a void of loneliness.
Agnes Hahn Page 11
