Family Reunion

by Nicholas Sarazen

  "I am not going to be dragged into this, Frank."

  "Sheila, come on. It's not like you'd have to testify or anything. I just need something to go on. You're the only person I know who has ever seen this guy."

  "Frank, it's been over twenty years. Nothing I could tell you would help. And you know how I feel about The Family. I can't believe you would ask me to do this."

  "It's my job, Sheila. I'm a cop."

  "That's your problem, Frank. You're always a cop. You can't see beyond your badge."

  "Look, your name's not going to be in a file or anywhere else. Would you at least describe the guy for me? Please?"

  "I'm sorry, Frank. I can't help you. Good-bye."

  Satterfield listened to the dial tone for a few seconds and then hung up. Thirty minutes later he was still sitting at his desk, his eyes fixed on the little brass policeman who never caught up with the bad guy.

  Chapter 29

  When Stephanie opened her eyes she allowed herself to believe for an instant that it had all been a bad dream, but the empty Coke cans and the smell of stale cigarette smoke were proof Hal had been there the day before. And the puffy redness around her eyes and the stuffy feeling in her sinuses were real. Yes, it had happened. Weasel was dead.

  As she lay in bed she tried to sort through her feelings. Sunday was to have been but a prelude to the most exciting week of her career. It was now Monday morning and she still hadn't even looked at the Sunday Trib. The series began today, but it no longer mattered. She closed her eyes again. In her mind, in her heart, she remembered the deep pain that tormented her as a child when her mother died. The ache she now felt was different, but just as intense, for she held herself responsible for Weasel's death--his murder. She wanted someone to hold her, to comfort her, to make everything right again.

  Hal had urged her to take the day off, but she knew she had to keep herself busy. If she didn't concentrate, if she didn't keep her mind occupied, her thoughts would race back to the horrible sight in the morgue.

  She didn't feel like running. She wasn't interested in breakfast. There was nothing to do except go to work, and it was time to get ready. She stayed in the shower until the last of the hot water was gone.

  The McKinnon Building no longer seemed warm and welcoming to her. Today it was a glass and granite giant with a thousand eyes that stared knowingly, accusingly, at her. As Stephanie walked through the lobby, people greeted her as though nothing had happened. While she waited for the elevator they talked to her about the weather, about another work week, about another Monday. She wanted to scream at them: Don't you know he's dead? Don't you even care?

  Hal was at his desk when Stephanie sat down at hers. He looked up and gave her one of those tight-lipped smiles that meant he didn't know what to say.

  She spent nearly half an hour rearranging the items on her desk. From time to time she stared at the folded Tribune in her basket, but it lay untouched. She knew the moment she opened it she would step back into reality, and the numbness would again become pain. She looked up to see Hal wildly waving for her to come to his desk.

  "Steph, you've got to hear this. Take the phone."

  Stephanie looked at him. "Why? Who is it?"

  "Just take the phone." He held it out to her.

  "Hello?"

  "Miss Kenyon? Lieutenant Satterfield. I have some news for you about Mr. Messina. The body we found hasn't been positively identified yet, but the medical examiner has determined that it was a young man in his early twenties. Also, he was at least five-seven. You said Mr. Messina was in his late thirties and only about five-three?"

  "Yes...yes!" Stephanie felt her knees start to give way. She sat down in Hal's chair. "But I don't understand. My phone number, Weasel's necklace."

  "At this point, I don't know what to think, either," Satterfield said. "We believe we know who the victim is, but we're going to have to wait on dental records to be sure. If they check out, it was a kid who stole a car and was killed in a wreck early Saturday night."

  "A wreck? You mean it wasn't murder?"

  "No. And the blood we found both on the note and Mr. Messina's necklace matched the kid's blood. I'm expecting another call from the medical examiner. I just wanted to let you know that it wasn't Mr. Messina. You've got my card. Give me a call if you hear from him because he's going to have some questions to answer."

  "I will. Thanks. Thanks so much for calling, Lieutenant." Stephanie hung up the phone and looked at Hal. "Weasel--"

  "I know, he told me. What else did he say?"

  Stephanie looked down and saw that her hands were shaking. "They think the person they found was some kid killed in an automobile accident."

  "But Steph, you saw the body at the morgue." Hal looked puzzled. "You said it was Weasel."

  "I know." She closed her eyes and shuddered. "It was so awful, Hal, there was no way to tell who I was looking at. I guess because of the necklace and my phone number, I was just sure it was him."

  "So how did the kid's body wind up in that alley? And with Weasel's necklace and your number?"

  "They don't know." Stephanie picked up Hal's phone again. "I'd better call Colonel Willis. Weasel might even be there."

  Moments later a voice answered, "Severman House."

  "Colonel Willis? This is Stephanie Kenyon. I have some news for you. You might even want to sit down. The police just called. The body they found wasn't Weasel after all."

  "I know, Stephanie. I just heard from Lieutenant Satterfield. My heart still hasn't stopped pounding. I feel sorry for that young man, but I'm glad it wasn't Weasel. I just hope he's not in any trouble." The Colonel paused for a moment. "Stephanie, I didn't say anything Saturday night when you dropped by because I didn't want to worry you, and yesterday you were so upset, but Weasel had been acting strangely the last few days before he disappeared."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He just wasn't himself," Colonel Willis continued. "He's usually talking a mile a minute. You know how he is. But he was so quiet. Then Saturday, when he gave me back the gas card, he shook my hand. I asked him why he did it, and he told me he just wanted to thank me for all I had done for him and for being his friend. For a minute I thought he was even going to cry. He said he was going up to the dormitory and that's the last time I saw him."

  Stephanie tried not to think about Weasel because she had a full day ahead of her and there was nothing she could do for him at the moment. She took the paper from her basket and read the first two interviews in the Trib. She was pleased with them and was confident that no one would recognize Barbara Moran or Eric Dolmire. She then finished her work on the Yates interview. There were only four more to write, the ones that would run Thursday and Friday.

  "Steph, are you up to making some phone calls today?"

  She looked up to see Hal standing beside her desk. "Sure. But why?"

  "If we're going to try to put together a reunion for a week from this Friday, we'd better get busy. Do you have everyone's phone number or would you have to go home and get the book?"

  Stephanie put down the paper and got out her notebook. "I have all the numbers right here."

  "Good. How many people would we have if we invited everyone you interviewed?"

  "Fifteen," she said without stopping to count, "but I can tell you right now that we can forget about Eric Dolmire and Colleen Dupre. I'll extend the offer, but I know they won't come."

  "We'd still be okay if we could get most of the others," Hal said. "Try to get a commitment from as many as possible."

  "What am I supposed to tell them at this point? We don't even know where we're going to have it."

  Hal looked at his watch. "I've got to go. Just tell them it will run that weekend from Friday night through Sunday, it will be in L.A., we'll reimburse them for travel, and it will all be strictly confidential. Be sure to emphasize that. We'll wing it from there. I'll be upstairs with Melrose if you need me."

  Stephanie took her notebook and found an empty office.
She decided to start with Barbara Moran. Barbara was receptive to the idea, but she brought up something that hadn't been considered--spouses. Hal would have to check with Mr. Zollinger before Stephanie could tell her that spouses were welcome, too.

  Stephanie was unable to reach Dirk Yates, Marney Lentz or Harper Leggett on the first round of calls. Barbara Moran, Rosalee Hartun and Angela Deerfield all accepted the invitation. Cindy Pennington said she would think about it. It came as no surprise to Stephanie when Colleen Dupre spat a few angry words and hung up. Eric Dolmire was polite and complimented her on the way she had handled his interview in the paper. She detected less anxiety in his voice than before. He told her he thought the reunion might be a good idea for some people, but not for him.

  When Hal returned from his meeting with Melrose he told Stephanie that the Trib had made a double press run and still vendors were running out of papers. He said that Melrose was so happy he was ready to dance on his desk.

  After lunch, as Stephanie and Hal were walking through the lobby, Stephanie heard someone at the front desk call her name.

  "This came for you while you were gone," the receptionist said. She handed Stephanie a long box with a ribbon and bow around it. "By the way," she added, "I just loved your story this morning."

  "Thanks, Lucille. Apparently someone else did, too."

  Stephanie waited until they were upstairs before she snipped the ribbon and opened the box. The small card inside read:

  Mother Earth

  will never die.

  But death will come

  to those who pry.

  "Something wrong, Steph?" Hal asked. She handed him the card, then pulled back the green tissue paper in the box. Inside were a dozen long-stemmed roses, each one dyed black. Hal picked one up, then grabbed the phone and called the front desk.

  "Lucille, which florist dropped off the box you just gave to Stephanie?"

  "It wasn't a florist, Mr. Blancett. It was delivered by Comfort Cab."

  "Okay, thanks." Hal hung up and looked back at Stephanie. "I think we should call the police."

  "No, don't do that. This is probably some screwball's idea of a joke."

  "I don't like it." Hal put the card back inside the box. "I don't like it at all. I'm going to show this to Mr. Zollinger."

  "But Hal--"

  "He'd want to know. Listen, I'll be back in a little bit. You go ahead and make your calls."

  While Hal was gone Stephanie contacted several more people. Paula Fitch and Dennis King wanted to come. The first thing Alexis McGivens asked was if Pokey would be there. When Stephanie said no, Alexis told her she wasn't interested. Stephanie asked her to at least think it over. She was about to phone Gerry Meharis when she got an outside call.

  "Miss Kenyon, this is Lieutenant Satterfield again. I heard from the medical examiner and I've learned a few more things. I'd like for you to come down to the station if you don't mind. Are you free at all today?"

  "Sure, I can work it in. Just tell me when."

  "Let's make it three thirty."

  Stephanie sat across from Frank Satterfield, waiting for him to finish his phone call. She had been too distraught the day before to notice how good-looking he was. She found his gray eyes serious, but kind. His face was weathered, but the tanned skin had retained its youthful firmness. His shoulders and chest looked strong beneath his shirt. She could see there was no wedding band on his left hand.

  Stephanie sensed Satterfield knew she was studying him, so she looked away. She scanned the paperwork on his desk and tried to read some of the forms, but they were upside-down and the handwriting was scrawled. She saw the brass platform mobile and smiled when she identified the small figures on the ends of the rod. Her eyes settled on a picture sitting on the corner of his desk, a picture of a young boy.

  Satterfield hung up the phone. "Okay, the kid in the morgue. We've got a positive ID now. Warren Vanbibber, age twenty-three. He stole a car Saturday night and wrecked it not long afterward. He was DOA at County Hospital."

  "Then how did he end up in that alley?" Stephanie asked.

  Satterfield leaned back and tapped a pencil across his knuckles. "That's where this gets interesting, and that's why we need Mr. Messina. After Vanbibber was pronounced dead, he was carted down to the hospital morgue, in the basement. The attendant went for coffee, and when he got back the body and the cart were gone. They found the cart by a service entrance that's used only for day deliveries."

  "But why would someone want to take a body?"

  "Again," Satterfield replied, "I'm hoping Mr. Messina can help us with that."

  "Lieutenant, why are you so insistent on blaming Weasel for all of this? You have no proof."

  "I'm not blaming him for anything, but he is missing and his necklace and a note in his handwriting were found on a stolen corpse. I just want him to explain how they got there."

  "Maybe he was hitchhiking. The kid picked him up and somehow Weasel left those things in the car when he got out. Then the wreck happened later."

  Satterfield shrugged. "We could spend all day coming up with theories, but only Messina can tell us for certain. Look, it's not even a homicide now. I just want some answers. For instance, how does Messina and this Xeno guy fit into The Family thing you're doing?"

  "I'm sorry," Stephanie said. "I'm not at liberty to talk about it any longer. It was different when I thought Weasel was dead and that any information I had might be able to help you find his killer. But now I think he's still alive, so I'm once again bound by my promise of confidentiality."

  Satterfield glared at her. "Jesus, you're all alike, aren't you?"

  Stephanie looked back at him. "What do you mean? Who're all alike?"

  "All you damned reporters. You come and badger us in the middle of an investigation, demanding that we tell you everything we know, then you scream holy homicide when we can only tell you part of what's going on. But when it's turned around, when we need a little information, you hide behind the goddamned First Amendment."

  "Lieutenant, I don't hide behind anything. And the First Amendment just happens to be one of our basic rights as American citizens, a right you're sworn to uphold and protect."

  "Yeah, your basic right to dredge up Mother Earth and her goddamned Family." Satterfield shook his head. "That's about the most asinine thing I've ever heard of. They're nothing but a bunch of worthless hippies."

  "Hippies?" she asked. "Hippies?" she repeated. "Isn't that a bit dated?" She rose from her chair. "If you think they're still hippies, Lieutenant, wouldn't that make you a pig?"

  Chapter 30

  "Sit down, Cindy. I can't believe I lost track of the time." Dr. Thomas put away his notes and opened the French doors to let in some air. "If I remember correctly," he continued as he sat down again and began filling his briar pipe, "the last time we talked you had decided to meet with that reporter from the Tribune. Against my better judgment, I might add." He tamped the tobacco down into the bowl of the pipe and reached for his lighter.

  Cindy Pennington twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "Doc, I just had to talk with her, you know. I had to find out what she knew about me, and who told her."

  "And how did she find out?" Dr. Thomas asked.

  "She wouldn't tell me. But at least I know now that she isn't going to talk about me with anyone else."

  "So what did you two talk about?"

  "Everything," Cindy replied. She let go of the lock of hair and folded her hands in her lap. "The Family, my own family, my job. Stephanie could write my biography with the information she has. And she was so easy to talk to. I thought she'd mainly want to talk about Mother Earth and The Family, but she just asked me why I joined, why I left, things like that. Mostly she wanted to know what I had done since then. Did you see the Tribune this morning?"

  "Yes, quite a fascinating piece. Do you think you know either of them?"

  "I probably knew them, but there wasn't enough in the paper for me to figure out who they are. Stephanie p
romised to write the stories so even our own mothers wouldn't know they were reading about us. I should be in the paper on Wednesday."

  "I'll be sure to watch for it." Dr. Thomas puffed on his pipe. "It sounds like you got through it all okay."

  "I'm handling it. But you know, Doc, it's funny. I spend all these years trying to forget about The Family, and out of the blue Stephanie contacts me about the interview. And then she calls again this morning to ask me to come to the reunion."

  "Reunion? What reunion?"

  "She's going to arrange for all of us to get together. You know, the ones she's been interviewing."

  "You're joking."

  "No. Her paper's doing it, but I guess she's in charge. You can't tell anyone, though, because no one's supposed to know about it yet."

  Dr. Thomas gazed off somewhere toward the corner of the room. "How intriguing...a reunion of Mother Earth's Family." He looked back at her. "You're not going, of course."

  "Why shouldn't I?"

  "What purpose would it serve, Cindy? It could bring back all those painful memories that you've finally put behind you."

  Cindy shook her head. "I'm not so sure they really are behind me. Ever since I left The Family I've felt that there was something wrong with me. I thought I had to be sick or something to have lived with people who could murder other people like that. I've lived with the fear of people finding out about my past, not just because I could lose my job, but because of what they would think of me. In talking with Stephanie, I got the feeling that I'm not alone, that the others feel the same way. I want to see them again and see how they are now. Don't you think that could make me whole, Doc? Through them I could see that I'm okay, too."