Agnes Hahn

by RICHARD SATTERLIE

  She maintained the smile.

  At the street, he turned back. She still stood in the open doorway, staring at him. He gave a wave and walked to the cruiser. Officer Didier didn’t lower the window, so Jason rapped on it with his knuckles. It opened a crack.

  “You may want to radio in to Detective Bransome. I’m heading over to the police station. Agnes got another letter. I have it right here.” He held up the two baggies.

  Officer Didier was on the radio by the time Jason got to his Volvo.

  Detective Bransome was waiting behind the door of the police station when Jason turned up the walkway. He didn’t look happy.

  Bransome yanked the door open. “Why didn’t Agnes call us as soon as she got this letter?”

  “I don’t know. I think you scare her.”

  Bransome rolled his eyes. “Where is it? Did you touch it?”

  Jason held the baggies at arm’s length. “Agnes is the only one who touched it, and she didn’t open it until I got there.”

  “Why didn’t she call me, damn it?”

  “You’ll have to ask her about that. I can’t answer for her.”

  “Come on.” Bransome stomped down the hall and into the detective’s workroom. He pushed his glasses up on his forehead and examined the letter as he walked.

  When he reached his desk, he placed the baggies on a large blotter. “Looks like someone else wrote this. Any idea who it might be?”

  Jason stopped a lunge-and-a-half away from the desk. He took a deep breath. Time to get it out. “Maybe Eddie Hahn.”

  “Who the hell’s Eddie Hahn?”

  Jason took a step backward. “He’s Agnes’s grandfather.”

  “And why don’t I know about this?” Bransome’s face glowed red.

  Jason’s fingers found the healing wound on his forehead. “I found out about him from Ella. It seems she and Gert kept a secret from Agnes—about the family. They don’t have any relatives in Illinois.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Like I said, I just found out about it myself.”

  Bransome paced in Jason’s direction, slowly. “So what’s this Eddie Hahn’s story, and why did Agnes’s aunts hide him from her?”

  Jason took another step back and bumped into a desk. He leaned against it and gripped its edge. He thought about revealing Eddie’s other role, but stopped. He didn’t want Bransome bothering Ella until he could get more out of her. She’d clam up if Bransome came in with his attitude.

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve been able to get a little out of Ella each time I go, but nothing else about Eddie Hahn yet. I’m still earning her trust. I’m heading back to see her tonight.”

  “They still let you in that place?”

  “I thought you told them to let me visit.” Touché.

  Bransome’s face reddened again. “And I’ll leave it that way as long as you tell me everything Ella says. The one time I talked to the old coot, I couldn’t get anything out of her except broken record pleasantries. You don’t think she’s involved in this, you know, that she’s faking it at the home?” Bransome smiled. “You’re a ripe one for being played.”

  “Those places are depressing. People go in but they never come back out, except in coffins. Why would she put herself through all that as a deception?” He thought about the old man across the table and one possible answer materialized. To keep an eye on someone. To keep that someone from talking. Or to hide out. Or both.

  The detective rubbed his head. “Nothing surprises me anymore, and my gut’s telling me something fishy is going on here.”

  Jason walked a few steps closer to Bransome and tried to redirect his focus. “I want to talk about Agnes. Can you give her more protection? She’s really scared about this letter.”

  “We already have someone outside her place, day and night. That’s all we can do. We’re stretched pretty thin.”

  “There’s nothing else?”

  Bransome lifted his head and grinned. “After the Fort Bragg murder, the phone tap finally went through.” A squint and he nodded. “We’ve been monitoring her calls.”

  “Her cell phone or her home phone?”

  “Her cell. According to PacBell records, her home phone was disconnected right after her great-aunt died.”

  Jason tried to think of everything he had said to Agnes in their last phone conversation. Was it before the murder or after? He couldn’t think straight. Time to change the subject. “Just for the record, were there any prints at the Fort Bragg scene?”

  Bransome took a step closer. “You think you’re entitled to that kind of information?”

  “Come on. I’m working on Ella for you. I told you about Eddie.”

  Bransome’s eyes shifted downward, then back up. “No prints.”

  “DNA?”

  “Not back yet, but I’ll put odds on it.” Bransome walked back to his desk, turned, and folded his arms across his chest. “By the way, the time of death. It was eleven. You lucked out this time.”

  “So can I go down to Santa Rosa for a couple of days? I have to report in and file some stories.” And try to Vaseline a little more time out of my editor to work on this story.

  “Not yet.”

  “You can have someone follow me.”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Come on. I’m asking. I really need to go.”

  Bransome lifted a manila file from his desk. “No.”

  Jason exhaled. “Why not?”

  “We came across your old friend, Francine Thomas.”

  “Who?” Jason’s mind flip-flopped. Uh huh. “Oh. Her. Where? Another care home?”

  “No. A motel. With her throat slit.”

  Jason pushed away from the desk and retreated a step. “It wasn’t me.”

  “Relax, hero. She was with a man. His throat was slit, too. And his penis was severed. It was sitting on her chest.”

  “Where?”

  “Benicia. Know where it is?”

  “Yeah. East Bay. Big oil refineries.” Jason stroked his chin. Was Uh huh involved in this? “Same MO as the other murders?”

  “Very perceptive. I’m heading over to take a look at the evidence tonight.”

  “You think it’s related?”

  Bransome picked up a thick packet of papers and put them on top of the file folder. “Too many connections to be coincidental. Works with Ella Hahn. Runs away with some of Ella’s money. Same cause of death. Same mutilation.”

  “Could be a copycat.”

  “We have a long list of things to look for. Several haven’t been made public. Some you don’t know about. I’ll know if it’s the same killer within a few minutes of getting there.”

  “Is that why you want me to stay put?”

  “Just covering the bases.”

  Jason paced. “You think she was involved in the murders?”

  Bransome’s face contorted into a frown, then softened. “That’s a new one on me. You think she was keeping an eye on Ella or something? Working with the killer?”

  Jason’s mind raced. Maybe more than that. Uh huh could have been an accomplice in the killings.

  “If it was the same killer, there was plenty of motive,” Bransome said. “The victim stole from Ella. A revenge killing.”

  “But that would make it unique for our serial killer. Revenge isn’t a motive in any of the other ones, is it?”

  “Our serial killer?”

  “Yeah. Ours.”

  “Doesn’t look like it.” Bransome chuckled. “Okay. For the record. Where were you?”

  Jason froze. Oh, shit. Did Bransome see cause? He knew about the fling with Uh huh. And she was with another man. A jealousy killing. “I was with Agnes.”

  Bransome’s chuckle boomed into a belly laugh. “Great alibi. One suspect vouching for another.”

  “Why’s that so funny?”

  “Never mind.” He walked around Jason to the door. “By the way. Why do you think Agnes needs more protection?”

  Ja
son thought about mentioning the box. “I don’t know.”

  Bransome stepped close. “Something else you’re not telling me?”

  Jason held his gaze. “No.”

  CHAPTER 24

  ELLA HAHN DIDN’T GREET JASON WHEN HE SAT DOWN at the supper table. She stared at her plate, ignoring the carnations when he placed them next to her salad fork. Jason looked across the table at Earl and shrugged.

  “She’s been like this for two days now.” Earl spoke like Ella wasn’t there. “It’s not like her. I hope she’s feeling all right.”

  Jason studied Earl’s face. Why would the old man change his name? And settle in an old folks’ home like this? He lived in the independent wing, with a full apartment, but he was together enough mentally and physically to have a place on the outside. Jason turned his head.

  “Ella? It’s Jason Powers. I talked with you before about your niece, Agnes.”

  Her eyes remained on her plate.

  Jason thumbed the printout of the entrée selections. “The meat loaf sounds good. Can you recommend it?”

  Ella dipped her shoulder and turned away slightly in her wheelchair.

  He shook his head and looked across at Earl. “What do you suggest?”

  The old man shrugged and slumped over his plate.

  Tension ruled the table throughout supper. No one stayed on a topic long enough to pass the time quickly, so Jason was glad when the last of the meat loaf was gone from everyone’s plates.

  The desserts finished, Ella reached for Jason’s plate, but froze. She looked frightened, like she’d seen a snake.

  “Ella? It’s me. Jason Powers. Do you remember me?”

  She sat still, silent.

  “I’m here to talk about Agnes. Remember? She needs your help.”

  Ella pulled her hands together on her lap and wrung them slowly.

  “You do want to help Agnes, don’t you?”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to anyone,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  “Who told you that? The people here?”

  “Please go away.”

  “I don’t understand. Who doesn’t want you to talk to me?”

  “Please.” This time her voice echoed through the room, startling everyone to silence. Heads craned in her direction. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

  Two aides appeared from the kitchen and fast-walked in their direction. Jason stood and pushed in his chair.

  He looked across the table. Earl sat straight, eyes down, hands folded on his lap. The strained look on his face gave Jason a chill.

  “I’m sorry, Ella,” Jason said. “I was trying to help.”

  Ella stared at her hands.

  A young man in employee whites stepped close to Jason and spoke in a low voice. “You’re going to have to leave now. She’s been upset for two days. We might have to stop bringing her down for supper.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I wish I did. She seems miserable.”

  Jason flicked a business card from his wallet and handed it to the new aide, a young man in his twenties. “Give me a call if you find out what’s bothering her.”

  Halfway across the parking lot, Jason froze. The look on Earl’s face when Ella went off had chilled him, and the thought of it repeated the response. What was this Earl’s story? He changed his name about two years ago. He’d been in the home for a year. California native. He always sat at the table with Ella. Was he involved in this mess? Jason paused. A familiar thought surfaced. Was he Eddie?

  “Can’t wait for Donnie to come through on this one,” Jason said to the pavement. Despite Bransome’s objection, he had to go to Santa Rosa tomorrow. Maybe he should stop in on the way and visit Earl’s apartment. Talk to him in private. Press him on his past.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE BENCH ACROSS THE LAWN FROM THE DINING ROOM windows was perfectly aligned to watch the lunch crowd. The table was in clear view. Earl faced in his direction, just over Ella’s right shoulder. Jason knew the layout of the home. There was only one way to turn out of the dining room—to the right. A short hall with a lounge on one side and a reading room on the other opened to a small atrium that had mailboxes on one wall and the elevators on the other. The hall continued into the distance with apartments on either side. The third wall of the atrium had a locked glass door that opened to the lawn. He’d wait until Earl exited the dining room, then go to the glass door and try to attract the old man’s attention.

  Ella was wheeled away before Earl stood and stretched his arms upward. He was one of the last residents to leave the dining room. He paused to say something to the waitress, nodded to her, and ambled into the hall.

  Jason hurried to the glass door. No one stopped him, or seemed to give him a second thought. He waited, but Earl didn’t show. He didn’t want to move, but dallying at the door was an attention grabber.

  A severely hunched woman limped nearby and turned the dial on a mailbox. She tilted her head and gave a stained-toothed grin. Jason nodded and turned, looking at the lawn.

  He was about to abandon his plan when the familiar suit rounded the corner, two books wedged between upper arm and ribs. Earl walked to the bank of mailboxes.

  Jason tapped.

  Earl turned a stiff neck. A look of initial confusion gave way to a vague smile. He pushed the door open and stood back. “Hello there, young man. Ella’s probably in her room by now. You know where she lives?”

  “I came by to talk to you.”

  Earl frowned. “About?”

  “Ella. Can I ask a few questions? In private.”

  Earl pivoted. “I’m around the corner here. I got lucky. First floor, facing the lawn.” His gait was quick and Jason jogged to catch up.

  Earl’s apartment was bright and clean. Sparse artwork decorated the white walls. But something wasn’t right. Jason scanned the front room once, twice, a third time. What was it? Something was missing.

  “Have a seat. Can I get you something? Coffee?”

  Jason shook his head and fell into the soft-fabric couch. Photographs. That was it. There weren’t any photographs. In all of the care homes he’d seen, photographs were a decorating staple. As far as he could tell, they represented family ties as strongly as if the subjects were in the next room. And they were always the first topic of conversation.

  Earl settled in a thick-armed chair facing the couch. “What can I do for you? Is it Ella’s niece again?”

  “I’ve watched how you are with Ella. I wanted to thank you. Her niece thanks you, too. I told her about you.”

  “It’s nothing. Everyone needs a friend. And consistency. Especially as we get older. I can be both to her.”

  “Did you know Ella before?”

  “Before what?”

  “Before you moved in here?”

  “No. I just happened to sit at her table one day when her head cleared. We had a brief talk.”

  “What did she talk about?”

  “Just pleasantries. She wanted to clean up the table.”

  “She didn’t say anything about her family?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Has she ever said anything about her family?”

  “No. I know she has a niece, but I think that came from you.”

  Jason took a deep breath. “Do you mind if I ask a few questions about you?”

  Earl seemed to melt into the chair. “Are you with the police?”

  Jason watched Earl’s eyes flick down to the carpet. “No. I think I told you before. I’m a reporter for the Santa Rosa Press Democrat.”

  “What do you want with me?” The words were soft.

  “I’m involved in the investigation of Ella’s niece. I’m being thorough. Checking everything out. The detective wanted to question you, but I told him we’d talked a few times. I said I’d do it.”

  “Did the detective tell you what he wanted?”

  Jason was on a ledge, but he inched out farther. It was time to turn the conversation, and mention of the p
olice seemed to change Earl’s demeanor. “He gave me a rundown.”

  Earl brought both of his hands up over his face and pulled them downward, leaving his fingertips on his jaw. “I knew it would catch up to me.”

  “Catch up?”

  Earl folded his hands in his lap and fixed his stare between his feet. “My wife. Her mind went, just like Ella’s. Started almost five years ago. Her memory went fast. Then she lost control of … you know … her body functions. She didn’t recognize me, so she became belligerent when I tried to tend to her. Then she started hallucinating. Thought I was trying to attack her. This was the woman who shared my bed for over forty years.”

  Jason lost his edge, but the reporter peeked through. “Why didn’t you put her in a care home?”

  Earl spoke without emotion. His face was a blank screen. “She wouldn’t have had the care I gave her.”

  A good story, or a good liar? A brash question might tell. “Were you relieved when she finally passed?”

  Earl remained frozen. “For me? No. For her? Yes. She was the one in prison, not me. She was still the woman I loved. She didn’t have the pleasure of remembering our relationship. She was alone and afraid.”

  “So why change your name?”

  Earl’s eyes flicked up to meet Jason’s, then down. His voice wavered. “We had a pact. From before she got sick.”

  “What kind of pact?”

  Earl stiffened in the chair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jason slumped in the chair. Earl seemed sincere. “I don’t mean to pry. Sometimes it helps to talk about things like this. And I’m a good listener. You’ve been good for Ella. Maybe I can return the favor.”

  “I won’t talk about it.”

  “Sorry.” Or maybe a good actor. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  Earl slumped. “I don’t know.” His face seemed to drain of color.

  He looked scared, close to a breakdown. Jason wanted to comfort the old man. Maybe Earl needed reassurance. “You legally changed your name. That leaves a clear paper trail. If the authorities wanted you, they wouldn’t have any trouble finding you.”

  “It wasn’t the police I was worried about.”