“This is Mavis Williams,” one of the officers told Karen. “She’s the superintendent for all eight rowhouse units. The vic lived upstairs in this one. We cleared and sealed it. There’s a fire escape exit off the little kitchenette that’s locked.”
Karen nodded. There was a noise at the front door. She turned around and saw crime scene technician June Allenson walk in, carrying her evidence collection kits. Allenson and Horvath went upstairs to process the victim’s apartment while Karen remained downstairs to interview Mrs. Williams, who confirmed that Theresa was home Saturday morning. She heard Theresa walking around upstairs beginning around eight o’clock or so, she said. At about ten thirty, she heard Theresa’s bell ring. Theresa walked downstairs and answered her door. Mrs. Williams heard her run back upstairs, as though to get her purse or a sweater or something, then run back downstairs and out the front door.
She never returned.
“You didn’t see who rang her bell?” Karen asked.
“No.”
“Did you hear a voice?”
“No, sorry.”
“Did you see Miss Olsen leave in a car? See a suspicious vehicle of any kind on the street?”
“No. I didn’t look out. I was doing my sewing, and didn’t get up. Sorry.”
Karen continued to dance in circles with her until it was obvious it wasn’t going to produce any useful information. She went upstairs and found Horvath looking through Theresa Olsen’s bookshelf.
“Nothing much here, Stains.” He gestured around him. “Open-concept living room and dining room, tiny little bedroom back there, bathroom, kitchenette. That’s it. Very little furniture, a few framed pictures on the walls, computer desk, TV and DVD player, these books. That’s it. Butternut’s in the bathroom pulling hairs from the shower drain.” He glanced at his watch and began removing his latex gloves. “I better get a move on if I’m going to make it to the autopsy by four o’clock.”
“Careful on the way out,” Allenson called from the bathroom, “I haven’t dusted for prints out there yet.”
“Oh, sorry,” Karen replied loudly, “I was just pawing through all the stuff on the desk. I hope that was okay.”
“Smartass.”
Outside, they stood on the sidewalk while Karen gave him a quick update on her uneventful interview with Mrs. Williams.
“So much for the stereotype of the nosy super,” Horvath said.
“Speaking of which.” She nodded in the direction of the next unit down, where she’d just seen a curtain move in the downstairs window.
Horvath turned. “Someone there?”
“Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll check this out.”
“Thanks, Stains.”
As he hurried off, she walked up the steps of 1177 North Clanton Street and pressed the button labeled “A.” Tapping the toe of her boot on the immaculate cement porch, she gave it a moment and pressed again, this time holding the button down for a full ten-count while pounding on the door with the heel of her fist. She heard the inner door open. She stopped pounding and the door opened, revealing a tiny, white-haired woman who looked like she was dressed for church in a black jacket and skirt combination with a white blouse and heavy black shoes.
Karen held up her badge. “Police, ma’am. I’d like to come in and ask you a few questions.”
“I’m expecting a caller, Officer. Couldn’t it wait until another time?”
“No, it can’t. Please let me step inside. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Oh, all right. This way, please.” The woman let her in, leading the way into the downstairs unit. It was laid out identically to Mrs. Williams’s unit next door but was furnished much differently, with antique furniture, large oil paintings, and Tiffany lamps. “I’ve made some tea,” she said over her shoulder. “Would you like a cup?”
Karen opened her mouth to decline, registered the hopefulness in the woman’s tone, and shifted gears. “You know what, ma’am? I’d love tea.”
“Sit here.” The woman pointed to a large armchair with a green velvet throw draped on it. “I’ll be right back.”
As the woman disappeared into the kitchen, Karen mooched around, admiring the Art Deco statuettes, Toby jugs, and mantle clocks. In record time, the woman returned with a silver tea service and two cups with matching saucers. “Would you care for a biscuit? I have them already set out.”
“No, thanks. This is fine.” Karen accepted a cup of black tea and sat down in the armchair. “My name’s Detective Karen Stainer, ma’am. May I ask your name?”
“Miss Esther Banks. You’re not from around here, are you, Detective Stainer?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not. Texas born and bred.”
“Northeast Texas, I’d say. Close to Dallas.”
Karen’s eyebrows went up. “Ponder, ma’am. Then Fort Worth. How’d you guess that?”
“From your accent, of course, just as you should be able to tell from mine that I’m a Maryland girl who’s lived all her life within a stone’s throw of the Chesapeake. How exactly may I help you?”
“We’re looking into the disappearance of the young woman who lives upstairs next door. Do you know her at all?”
Banks sipped her tea. “You’re referring to Miss Olsen, I believe?”
Karen recognized in the coyness of her tone that Banks had something to tell her, so she nodded as she raised the teacup to her lips and drank.
“I thought as much.” Banks set down her cup and crossed her legs demurely at the ankles. “I heard on the news at noon the description of the woman they found at the bridge. It was her, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Karen admitted. “We believe she went missing on Saturday morning, and we’re canvassing the neighborhood to see if anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary between ten o’clock and noon.”
Banks leaned forward. “Do you mean to tell me, Detective Stainer, that he held her captive the entire weekend? Oh, my lord. They said she was sexually assaulted. Is it true?”
“Ma’am,” Karen put her tea cup down, “I’m not at liberty to discuss any details of the case. I just want to know whether or not you saw or heard anything unusual Saturday morning.”
“What a terrible thing to happen to that poor girl. I can’t believe the world we live in today.”
“Miss Banks? Did you see Theresa Olsen on Saturday morning or not?”
Banks raised an eyebrow. “Of course I did. I saw her on the sidewalk with that man carrying the umbrella. I saw her get into his car, and I saw them drive away.”
6
Wednesday, April 24: early evening
The block between Clegg Street and Marson Avenue down at the river was part of what was known as Harborfront, a large redevelopment project begun in the 1980s when Maryland’s economy as a whole was growing faster than the national rate. The abandoned warehouses and tenements in the neighborhood were torn down, and a sprawling, two-story complex was constructed with space for upscale restaurants, boutiques, and a small movie theater. Close to the waterfront, an outdoor seafood and produce market sprang up, and beyond that the developers included a bandstand and seating area. The wharves were rebuilt to accommodate boat traffic, and the entire complex was connected to the rest of the waterfront by the boardwalk that ran all the way along the river.
It was a three-block walk along the boardwalk from their high-rise building to Harborfront, and although they were normally very careful with their money, Karen and Sandy decided this evening to treat themselves to an expensive dinner at Nathaniel’s. The oysters were fresh from Prince Edward Island, the crab cakes featured a mustard mayonnaise, and Sandy’s seared red grouper came with jumbo lump crabmeat, capers, and lemon beurre blanc. Unsurprisingly, Karen chose a ten-ounce center-cut filet mignon, black and bleu, but condescended to have the sautéed crab meat enhancement to placate Sandy, who pretended to be upset that she was treating the best seafood restaurant in town like a mere steakhouse.
As they ate, she filled him in on the progress they’d made la
te in the day on the Olsen case. The eyewitness, Esther Banks, had agreed to sit with Butternut Allenson, who was trained in the use of the facial composite software used by the department, to produce a sketch of the man she’d seen getting into a car with Theresa on Saturday morning. Banks had begun with a very accurate description of the umbrella the man had carried. When pressed by Karen, she explained that the man had held it on an angle that prevented his face from being clearly seen.
Butternut found it amusing, but Karen did not. Doggedly, she continued to question Banks until, when Karen was at the point of strangling her, the woman finally acknowledged that the man had lowered and closed his umbrella before getting into the car. She then described a man in his early thirties, white, about five nine or five ten, slender build, with short dark hair and no prominent or unusual features. Butternut went to work and coaxed from her a few extra details: his nose was straight and a little pointed but not too pointed; his jaw was narrow but not too narrow; his lips were regular-looking; his eyes were slightly hooded; his eyebrows may have been thin and his eyes were a little small; his hairline was slightly high and a little rounded, with a part on the left side; and his ears seemed in normal proportion to the rest of his head.
Butternut worked diligently on her laptop and produced a sketch, after many adjustments back and forth, which Banks finally agreed bore a passing resemblance to the man she’d seen getting into the car with Theresa Olsen. Karen unfolded a copy from her jacket pocket and gave it to Sandy.
“The software makes everybody look the same,” he said, studying it. “You should stick to the forensic artist, like we do.”
“Not everybody has your massive budget, darlin’. I e-mailed you a copy, so you guys can do your thing with it. We’re going to be releasing it to the press tomorrow morning. The powers that be have decided not to mention this Rainy Day Killer thing yet, so we need you guys to hold off on it at your end, too.”
Sandy nodded, studying the sketch. “Ed Griffin can help make that call on Saturday.”
“Does it look like any of the sketches you’ve seen from the other murders?”
Sandy shook his head. “It’s the first one, as far as I know.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Sandy put the composite aside and forked in a last bite of his grouper.
“We’ve never worked the same case before,” Karen said. “It feels weird.”
Sandy patted his mouth with his napkin and smiled. “It’s your case, Karen. As I told Hank, Marie-Louise’s instructions are that I should follow and not lead, provide on-site assistance as requested, and make our lab available on a priority basis. Ed Griffin’s role is what it always is, to analyze the data you give him and provide a profile. He’ll explain his part on Saturday. If you decide to hook up with the other cops who’ve worked the case in Pittsburgh and the rest, we can help set up the task force, but Hank will have the lead.”
“You Feds are always so damned hard to deal with.”
Sandy laughed. “We’re supposed to be talking about the wedding, Karen, not work.”
“I know, I know.”
“Are you still okay with all this?”
She set down her fork and picked up her glass of wine. “Yes and no, same as before. I don’t like weddings, and I still think we should get it done in the court house right here, but you promised your parents and I’ve got your six on it. I’ll do my bit.”
Sandy put the sketch in his jacket pocket and took out another piece of paper, which he unfolded and spread on the table next to his dinner plate. “She sent me this list, so we’d better go over it. Your brother’s already begun the barn renovations, and they’re going to build the gazebo and the barbecue pit in two weeks. I can’t believe she agreed to a Texas ranch-style reception thing.”
“You said it was her idea.”
“It was, but I thought she’d change her mind after she talked to Bradley, that it’d be too—”
“Texan?”
He grinned. “Yeah. But she’s all gung-ho about it, and she seems to have taken a liking to Bradley, so there you go.”
“Brad’s a charmer,” Karen said, sipping wine.
“In fact,” Sandy went on, “I don’t think I mentioned that they liked his ideas so much they’ve decided to sink six figures into the project and turn the barn into an events venue. My father thinks he can draw a lot of tourists down from Bath County and recoup his money in three or four years. They’ve already installed a septic system for it, and Brad’s modified his design to include two washrooms with three stalls each.”
“Good. There’ll be modern facilities for me to go into and throw up.”
Sandy smiled tolerantly.
Karen put down her glass. “Are you sure you’re okay with me keeping my last name?”
“Of course. I already said I was.”
“Your parents aren’t going to be all up in arms?”
“My parents aren’t marrying you.”
She pushed her glass to one side. “What else you got there?”
“I talked to Meredith and she confirmed she can’t make it, so Louise, the minister’s daughter, has agreed to replace her. I take it Molly’s still a go?”
Karen nodded. Molly Archer, a parole officer who was one of Karen’s few friends in Glendale, had agreed to drive down to Virginia for the wedding and serve as a bridesmaid. Hank’s friend, Meredith Collier, had also originally agreed to participate, but a situation had arisen in California that required her to fly back home that week. This Louise Tench person, instead, would be her other bridesmaid. Sandy’s sister would be matron of honor. The whole thing made her feel very uncomfortable, but at least Molly would be there to lighten it up a bit, although Karen wasn’t sure how the face piercings, tattoos, and spiked hair would go down in rural Virginia.
“Bolingbroke’s confirmed as best man,” Sandy went on, “and Hank and Delbert are in as ushers, so the wedding party’s set. Mom’s ordering the gifts for them, and she’ll look after the gowns and tuxedos. She wants to know if you have any suggestions for gifts.”
“Handguns. Body armor.”
“Not funny. She contacted a florist here who’ll show you the arrangements that she’s considering. Pick what you like and she’ll look after it.”
“I’m not into flowers, Sandy.”
“Just close your eyes and point. Nobody will care. Did you buy your shoes yet?”
“Yeah, garden boots.”
Sandy looked up from the piece of paper. “Come on, dearest. Help me out. Did you buy your shoes?”
“Yes, I bought the shoes.”
“Thank you. The only other thing for now is the dress. You need to pick out what you want and book the fitting. Don’t forget, okay?”
“I still don’t see what’s wrong with getting married in my Class As.”
“I told you, save the uniform for the honeymoon. You know how much it turns me on. One other thing, I just need to ask you again about a bridal shower. She said to remind you she’d pick up the tab if you changed your mind and wanted to have one up here.”
“No shower, Sandy. I don’t do the girl thing. That’s out.”
“Okay.” He folded up the paper and put it back in his pocket. “I’m done.”
“Thank God.”
“She sent out the invitations, and she’s starting to get the RSVPs back. Marie-Louise’s coming, but Will Martin can’t make it.”
“Too bad. I could’ve broken another one of his fingers for him.”
Choosing not to react, Sandy went on, “There’s still time if you want to invite anyone else from your side of the family, or any other friends.”
“There’s no one else. That’s it.”
He nodded, understanding the reason for the sharpness of her tone. “All right. That’s fine. Tell you what, let’s grab the check and get some air on the boardwalk. It’s a nice night tonight, and the moon’s up.”
“No more wedding talk?”
“No more wedding talk. You could
whisper dirty stuff in my ear, though.”
“That’s more like it, pal. Let’s get out of here.”
As they stepped out into the night, after Sandy had paid the check and left a tip, Karen slid her arm through his and pulled him close. “I’m glad we’re doing it.”
“We’ve been doing it for a couple of years. You’re only glad now?”
She shook him playfully. “I’m glad we’re getting married, you little prick.”
“So am I.” They stopped at the corner and waited for the light to change. Sandy took a deep breath. “We should talk.”
The light changed and they crossed the intersection.
“I know,” Karen said.
They reached the wooden stairs that led down to the boardwalk. Sandy stopped, slipped his arm out of hers, and took her hand. “We need to decide. Should we have a kid, or should we just let that part of it go and keep it the two of us? You need to tell me what you want to do.”
Karen looked up at the sky and slowly let her eyes fall to the river below. The moon was hidden behind an office tower, but its reflection cut a diagonal path across the surface of the water. The tide would be rising again at this time of the evening. Theresa Olsen’s bloated face flicked through her mind, and the face of Mrs. Olsen, red and tear-stained. The memories were immediately followed by the face of her mother, bruised and swollen, after an incident in a mental hospital in Arlington where she’d been briefly confined while Karen’s father was still alive. “Gentle restraint” had been required to calm her down during one of her episodes, the nurse had explained defensively. It had taken a month to get her out of there into a better hospital in Dallas, where she remained to this day.
Mothers and daughters. In a violent, confused world. Karen grimaced. “I will, Sandy. I promise. Just not right now. I need to stay feeling happy, just for a little while.”
The Rainy Day Killer Page 4
