Agnes Hahn

by RICHARD SATTERLIE

  Bransome didn’t look up. “Come back in two hours. I’ll be about done then.”

  Once the officers’ SUV fired up, Bransome exhaled with a loud wheeze. “Donut withdrawal.”

  “Just what I was thinking.” Jason snapped a picture on Bransome’s nod. Their collaboration had settled into an efficient interaction that didn’t require verbal orders. “The first murder occurred down around here. Did these jokers work it up?”

  Bransome lifted another print and logged it in his notebook. He nodded for a photo. “Don’t blame them. They’re not the crime scene people. They probably don’t get much of this sort of thing around here.” He let out a muffled grunt. “You have to understand. The second thing we do after we pin on the badge is go out and piss on the boundaries of our jurisdiction. That creates problems when there’s multicounty cooperation. When a leader is appointed for a multicounty task force, someone pops a champagne cork and someone else impales a voodoo doll.”

  Interesting dynamic. The officers were Bransome’s brothers. Jason nearly chuckled. And not his. Bransome was free to chew them out, but he circled the wagons when an outsider shot an arrow.

  Jason lowered the camera to the floor. “What’s the first thing?”

  “What first thing?”

  “You said the second thing you do is piss on the boundaries of your jurisdiction. What’s the first thing you do when you pin on the badge?”

  Bransome dusted another smudge. “Donut. We eat a donut.” No flinch in his expression.

  The more he watched Bransome work, the more Jason was impressed. Details he wouldn’t give a second thought commanded intense scrutiny from the experienced eyes and hands of Detective Art Bransome. Jason grinned when Bransome went on all fours, his face inches from the filthy shower stall floor.

  “Holy crap.” His tweezers pulled a matted wisp of gray hair from the shower drain.

  “DNA?”

  Bransome turned his head and smiled. “Hope so. We didn’t get a decent sample from the envelope flap of Agnes’s letter.” He paused with the tweezers held inches above the drain and nodded for another photo. “Saw a brush in the medicine cabinet. I’ll get some from there, too.”

  The roar of the SUV engine approached and cut as Bransome dropped the hairbrush into a bag.

  “Perfect timing. They can trample the place all they want now. Bet you the bottle of ketchup ends up in one of their refrigerators.”

  Jason snickered. “The apple juice probably won’t make it that far.” A cringe snuffed the chuckle.

  Bransome smiled.

  Jason ran out of small talk within the first ten miles of the return trip, so they settled into the mutual silence of reflection. At least Jason was reflecting—on how he had misjudged Bransome as a bungling back country yokel. Thorough police work appeared to come naturally to him, to the point that it was effortless, without emotion. Yet, he was emotional about his cases. Their interactions from two years ago bore that out, as did their early dealings on this case. But why was he being so accommodating now? Were they really working together, or was this Bransome’s way of keeping an eye on him? The quote about friends and enemies came back to him.

  Bransome lunged, startling Jason. The detective’s burly arm thrust backward and grabbed a bag from the backseat. The cruiser swerved, then corrected.

  Bransome brought a clear bag to his face, anchored it between his teeth, and pulled it open with his free hand. He held the opening out to Jason.

  “Pork rinds?”

  Jason peered into the bag. A familiar pile of curled, fried pork skins stared back.

  “I love those things. But I usually eat so many of them I get a stomachache.” Jason reached his hand in the bag and pulled out a modest handful.

  “Shouldn’t eat them alone. The next step is heroin.” Bransome chuckled.

  Jason crunched into one and watched Bransome jab his huge hand into the bag and come out with a fist’s worth of the contents. Three of the rinds went into Bransome’s mouth, two fell to his lap, one fell to the floor of the cruiser, and five still remained in his paw.

  Jason watched the detective clear his hand in two mouthfuls and pick off the escapees on his lap before the second swallow.

  Bransome reached for the floor with his right hand and the cruiser banked hard to the right. He straightened and brought the car back from the road shoulder. He kicked with his left foot, kicked again, and then reached to the floor, this time with his left hand. He brought up the pork rind, now dusted an even brown on one side—it probably carried a little of Mendocino and Marin Counties on its surface. Bransome blew hard on the rind and wiped it on the breast of his shirt three times before popping it in his mouth. He turned to Jason and spoke, pork rind dust showing his breath. “The five-second rule is waived with pork rinds. It’s international law. A real man doesn’t let a single one go to waste. The ultimate conundrum is if one falls in dog shit.”

  Jason reached into the bag again and pulled out another modest handful. “What’s the solution?”

  Bransome laughed. “It depends on whether anyone is watching and if there’s a hose nearby.”

  Jason added to the air pollution with a hard, dusty laugh.

  The next mile passed with the alternate sounds of crunching and crinkling of the bag. The contents were already half-gone.

  Bransome looked over at Jason. “I guess I was wrong about you. I didn’t have you pegged for a pork rind man.”

  “My dad used to sneak a bag into the grocery cart when my mom wasn’t looking. He wouldn’t get away with it very often. When he did, we’d grab my brother and sneak off to our tree fort. We’d knock the bag down straight and chase it with a shared quart of Pepsi. Then we’d all practice burp talking.”

  Bransome nodded, apparently in approval. “It’s the first test, you know.” He had a serious look on his face.

  “First test for what?”

  “To see if a man is a real man, or a girly man. Any man who doesn’t like pork rinds raises one of my eyebrows.”

  Jason snickered. Bransome didn’t.

  “What’s the second test? What gets to your second eyebrow?”

  “Fingernails.”

  Jason looked down at his hands. “Fingernails? Like if they’re polished?”

  “No. Look at your fingernails.”

  Jason held his hand up, palm toward his face, curled his fingers down, and inspected his nails.

  Bransome smiled. “See? You passed the second test.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you ask a man to look at his fingernails, he’ll do it just like you did. If you ask a woman, she’ll do it like this.” He pushed his hand out at arm’s length, with the palm away and his fingers slightly spread and straight. “Any man who looks at his fingernails like that is definitely a momma’s boy.”

  All those hours in the gym and what really mattered is how I look at my fingernails? And why does he care? “What’s the next test?”

  “That’s all that’s needed.”

  The crunching resumed.

  At the next swallow, Jason looked over at Bransome. “Why’d you need to test me? You know I had a thing with that woman who worked at the old folks’ home.”

  “You could have been a switch-hitter. Any man who can’t make up his mind is worse than one who goes all the way over to the other side. I can handle someone if they’re up front about it. Even respect them for standing up for it. It’s the ones who pretend they’re something else that bug the hell out of me.”

  “And you doubted me?”

  Bransome smiled and tilted the bag opening in Jason’s direction. “There’s one more thing.”

  Oh God. Now what? “Yeah?”

  “About two years ago.” The car accelerated. “One part of me can understand what you did.”

  “A small part?”

  “Yeah. But it got bigger today.”

  Is this an apology? “Yeah? How’s that?”

  Bransome held up a pork rind crumb. “The t
ests. I wanted to find out if you were one of those tree huggers or something. Did you do it because it was tofu, sushi trendy, or because of an honest commitment to your job.”

  “Did I pass that test?”

  “You passed. But don’t get too self-righteous. My other side is still in control. I think I can put it behind me. I can’t forgive yet, but I can understand. I can put it to rest.”

  Jason wrung his hands. He’d love to put it to rest as well. If only it were that easy.

  Bransome drove past the turnoff to the police station and continued up Highway 1, toward Fort Bragg.

  “There’s a nice motel a couple of miles up the road here. It has a great view, with good surrounding visibility. I sometimes put witnesses up there. You can check in, and then I’ll take you down to get your car. I’ll get you our discount.”

  “Can I hang around the station for a while? I know you’ll start processing some of the fingerprints right away. I’d like to see what comes up. I can help if you show me what to do.”

  Bransome looked over like he was sizing him up. “I could use the help, but it would break the chain of custody. All evidence has to remain in the hands of law enforcement personnel at all times, and we have to document every time it changes hands.”

  “So deputize me or something.”

  “You watch too many movies.”

  “Hire me. Part-time. I’ll work for minimum wage.”

  “We have procedures. Affirmative action requirements. Things like that. Besides, our budget is stretched as it is. I can’t even scrape up a minimum wage, parttime job right now. Even if I had approval.”

  “How about a paid volunteer. I’ll work for one dollar. You cut an official check to me, and I become an official employee. For one dollar.”

  Bransome stared at the road.

  Jason let a few road signs pass. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Prints from the cabin should match those from Ella’s room, and from Agnes’s letter.”

  The question seemed to strike a flame of enthusiasm. “Keep going, Sherlock.”

  “And, if two different sets of prints come up, with one showing a similarity to Agnes’s, that would indicate Eddie and Lilin are working together. It would also give us—or you—a lead on Lilin.”

  “Don’t forget your little Agnes. Her prints could show up as well.”

  “I thought I already won that bet. I’ve already filled out the deposit slip.”

  Bransome looked over with a serious squint. “Want to double the bet?”

  Bransome stopped at the front desk on the way into the station and held his hand up in a stop sign. Jason froze.

  “Can you make an ID card for Mr. Powers?” Bransome said to the receptionist. “And have payroll cut a check to him for one dollar.”

  The receptionist giggled.

  “I’m serious. Do it. And run the usual background check. But expedite it.”

  He turned to Jason. “You stay here and give Doris your information. When you’re done, come on back. I can show you how to scan fingerprints. That’d be a huge help. But I can’t let you into the programs. Lunch will be on you. How’s that?”

  CHAPTER 28

  JJASON APPROACHED OFFICER WILSON’S CRUISER IN THE restaurant parking lot. The officer lowered his window. “I’ll buy you lunch if you want to come in. Just give us a little privacy.”

  Wilson took a counter seat across the room. Jason joined Agnes.

  “I’m so sorry about Ella,” Jason said. “I wanted to come over, but I didn’t think it was safe.”

  “What do you mean? I needed you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But I had a little problem in Santa Rosa. Lilin found me.”

  “What? You saw her? You talked to her? What did she say? Does she look like me?”

  “Agnes, slow down. Yes, she looks like you. But we didn’t talk much. She tried to kill me.”

  Agnes went pale and buried her face in her hands.

  “Obviously, I got away. So did she.”

  “When was it?”

  “The night Ella died.”

  “So she didn’t kill Ella?”

  “No. It wasn’t Lilin.”

  “Thank God.” She rubbed her face and exhaled through her mouth. She looked in Jason’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Nervous as hell, but I’m fine.”

  “Do you know what she wants? Did she say anything?”

  “No. She was concerned about my intentions toward you.”

  Agnes didn’t react. “I’m not so sure I want to find her now.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s not like me. Why didn’t Gert and Ella take her, too? It could have been different if they’d taken her. I know it could have.”

  “Maybe they couldn’t handle two little girls. Maybe Eddie wouldn’t let them.”

  “Eddie? What would he have to do with it?”

  He was past the drop-off now. He had to swim. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything before Gert and Ella?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Do you remember anything about a man in your life?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have any medical problems when you were young?”

  “No. Why?”

  Jason let the waitress take Agnes’s order. His appetite had disappeared.

  “I have some bad news about Eddie.”

  “Is he dead, too?” Her query lacked emotion.

  “No. He isn’t just your grandfather.” Swim fast. “He’s your father.”

  Agnes leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean?”

  “He fathered you and Lilin with your mother.”

  Agnes frowned like she didn’t understand.

  “He molested your mother, his daughter.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  He took a deep breath. “Ella told me.”

  “More lies?” Tears welled in her eyes. “What else did Ella say?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t get a chance to talk with her again.”

  “Did Eddie kill her?”

  That would be too much for her right now. “I don’t know.”

  Tears released. “Why is this happening to me? I never hurt anyone.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  The waitress brought Agnes’s food and a milkshake for Jason. She looked at Agnes. “Is everything okay here?”

  Agnes nodded and the waitress left.

  Jason leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Agnes, are you sure you don’t remember anything about a man?”

  “I really don’t. If I lived with Eddie, I don’t remember a thing about it.”

  “Do you hate him, now that you know about him?”

  “How can I hate someone I don’t know? I hate what he did, if he did what you said. But that’s all.”

  Jason let Agnes finish her meal, but little of it made it to her mouth. She pushed it around her plate and finally shoved the plate away.

  “The funeral is tomorrow,” she said.

  “You know I want to be there for you.”

  “I didn’t think you’d make it.” Hurt stained her voice.

  “I really want to, but I don’t think it’s safe, for you or for me.”

  “Because of Lilin, or because of Eddie?”

  “Both. You’re smart not to want to see Lilin now. I speak from experience. Will you be all right at the funeral?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll call you afterward.”

  “They’re listening in on the phone now?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry. We can talk.”

  “Where are you staying? I called the motel, but they said you checked out.”

  “I’m staying at another motel in the area.”

  “Which one?”

  Bransome’s words came back—want to double the bet? “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving that out to anyone. You understand, I hope.”

  “I don’t understand anything anymore.”


  Jason turned out of the restaurant parking lot and headed directly to the police station, and not just to disguise his current residence. He’d been holed up in the motel for two-and-a-half days. That was enough time for the DNA results to come back from Eddie’s cabin. At least the time wasn’t wasted. His new abode was wired for the Internet, so he caught up with his backlog of stories, including all of the news releases from the latest on the case.

  A dense fog had lifted from the ground during his meeting with Agnes, but it still hung overhead, giving everything a dull gray tone. Days without shadows were usually the most productive for him, although he didn’t know why.

  Detective Bransome’s car occupied the same spot it had three days ago. Did he park there out of habit, or did he stay at the station the whole time? None of the parking spaces were reserved.

  Jason found Bransome at his desk, absorbed in a tall stack of computer printouts.

  “You must have the most understanding wife in the world.”

  Bransome peered over the top of his glasses. “At least I have a wife. She’s an amazing woman. When I get time with her I make it count.”

  His answer seemed as unemotional as his crime scene data collection. Jason’s mind wandered. If he had a woman like that, he wouldn’t be so lukewarm. If he had a woman … He turned away. Had he been too demonstrative with Eugenia? Had he driven her away? He had to change the subject. He spun around to face the desk again. “Do the fingerprints from Eddie’s cabin match the ones in Ella’s room, and from the letter?”

  “You get right to it, don’t you?” Bransome kept reading the printouts. “Perfect match.”

  “Anyone else’s prints there?”

  “No. He was there alone. The only decent prints came from the paper and cardboard pieces. The others were too old. Looks like he left about the time of Gert’s death. About the time the car was stolen.”

  “How did you get that? From the fingerprints?”

  “I found a receipt stuck to the bottom of the kitchen trash can. You photographed it.”

  Jason paused. He’d snapped so many shots that day, they all blended together. “How about the DNA? Anything there?”

  “We got some tissue from under Ella’s fingernails. Evidently she put up a fight. The hair from the cabin gave a perfect match. Eddie killed Ella.”