“I’m up for that. Tina’s a very uptight woman, and I’d meant to ask, was she ever a suspect?”
“Her alibi was a religious conference in Salt Lake at the Mormon Temple. She was seen there every day. So, no.”
“But might she be a good candidate for the stalker?”
“Interesting.” His eyes narrowed in thought, creating a deep web of creases at the corners. “What say we check out the engineer and his wife? I know where she volunteers.”
“Where?”
“The same place Wheatley went when he twisted his ankle, St. Luke’s hospital. When we were at her house yesterday, she mentioned that she volunteers there.”
The day she’d confronted Wheatley, Tina had worn a pink hospital uniform, yet Meri Ann hadn’t made a connection.
Funny, the things she forgot.
# # #
Tina cinched the belt to her raincoat as she stepped into Robin’s reception area. He’d avoided her after the interrogation and come directly to the office without a word to her. He forced her to chase him down, as if she were the police.
“Is he still here, Elaine?”
The woman stood, her fleshy face showing surprise. “Afternoon, Mrs. Wheatley.” She shot a lightning glance at Robin’s closed door. “He’s awfully busy this morning.”
Tina held her head high, her eyes defiant. “Not in a meeting, is he?”
“Uh, no. Just trying to catch up. We’ve got two jobs to bid on next week.”
And Robin has his neck in a noose.
Tina glanced away, shuffling through the mail stacked on the counter, a bold declaration of her ownership. As Robin’s wife she had the right to touch anything in the office. She picked up an 8-1/2 x 11 yellow envelope from Van Dyke Studios, addressed to Robin. It said RUSH in the lower left-hand corner, DO NOT BEND underneath. “And what’s this?”
Elaine reached for it, but too late. Tina clamped the envelope under her arm and said, “I’ll take this in.”
She threw open his office door. He stood at his drafting board, startled, his eyes wide in surprise. The man she loved.
“Robin.” She crossed to him, kissed his cheek and stroked the soft flesh on the back of his neck. “How did the interview go?”
“It’s over.” He gently pulled away. “I answered their questions.”
“I thought you’d come home afterward and tell me what happened. What you told them.” She tried to hide her hurt that he hadn’t turned to her, and worse, that he might have confided in Elaine instead. “You didn’t even call me.”
Her legs felt weak, and she sat on the arm of a leather chair beside his desk. It was then she noticed the room seemed changed. He’d hung his old photographs, the black and whites ones taken at the extreme end of the day. Their focus was as sharp as their pencil black frames—stunning, yet she drew back at the sight of them.
“I thought you’d taken those down for good and were finally through with that.” She snapped the Van Dyke envelope from under her arm, glared at it. “Don’t tell me this is more of the same.”
“Tina, please.”
She tore it open, and slid out a dozen glossy black and white shots taken at the same place on the Boise River as the photos on the wall. It was a place he’d frequented with Joanna. Tina remembered it well. She’d followed him there seventeen years ago and seen him with her.
“I was at the Park Center offices for a meeting. I—” He threw his hands in the air. “I don’t have to explain every minute of my life to you.”
“It’s called a compulsive fetish. You’re sick. Sick.” She hungrily sorted through the photographs.
He bolted to her, grabbed her wrists. “Let me have those.”
He held on, twisting, tightening his grip. He whipped her in one direction, then the other. She lost her balance, fell to her knees. “You’re hurting me.”
“Drop them.” His hands were vices, his breath hot on her face.
She gasped in pain as her fingers went rigid. The prints fell to the floor. She was still on her knees, staring in disbelief at one of the photographs.
Robin stared at it, too, the one with a woman in it. She sat on a tree stump beside the river, elbow on knee, head on hand, posed like Rodin’s Thinker. The figure wasn’t much more than a silhouette in the landscape. Yet distinctive. Tina peered closer, whispered. “My God, it’s Joanna.”
Then she saw who it really was. She moaned, covered her mouth with her hand.
“It’s not what you think,” he said. “It happened by chance. The Albertson’s meeting was over, the warehouse project defunct. It depressed me. I happened to have the old view camera with me. I went down to the river and there she was.”
“You think you can torture me, that you’ll never pay for your sins? Have you forgotten the Ten Commandments? Thou shalt not—”
“Shut up! I can’t take it anymore.” He covered his ears.
Tina rose, placing her face inches from his. “Meri Ann is not her mother, Robin. She is merely a mortal icon.”
She vowed to make him understand.
Chapter Twenty-five
St. Luke’s Hospital, like so much of Boise, was con-
structed of red brick the color of oxidized iron.
“Quite a complex these days,” Meri Ann said to Mendiola as they passed through the sliding glass entry into the main lobby. The attractive mix of chrome, rosewood paneling and highly polished floors appeared more like a corporate headquarters than a hospital. But of course, the unit where Tina Wheatley volunteered would be filled with patients, the buzz of nurses, and the smell of medicines and cleaning chemicals—that and the smell of institutional food, which reminded her of Campbell soup.
They headed for the reception desk and a queue of five waiting to talk to a petite older woman wearing granny glasses. Everything about her was crisp: her movements, her short white hair and her pink starched cotton uniform. In less than a minute it was their turn.
Mendiola leaned across the counter and kissed the woman on the cheek. “Thought I might catch you here.”
“Jack, honey!” Her jet-black eyes brightened. “Honestly. Take off that foolish baseball cap.”
He took it off, folded it and shoved it into his back pocket. “Aunt Sylvie’s my dad’s sister.”
The woman cast a sweet smile first at Meri Ann, then at her nephew. “And tell me, who is this young woman?”
Meri Ann caught Sylvie’s drift, a clue Mendiola’s personal hell might include a failed relationship. Otherwise, why would his aunt be so curious? Why would he blush?
Mendiola hurriedly introduced her as Detective Meri Ann Fehr from Florida. “We’re working a case together.”
“Oh, I see. Welcome to Idaho, dear. It must be very important for you to come all this way.” She took Meri Ann’s hand, gave it a quick squeeze. “Is your victim in St. Luke’s?”
“No,” Meri Ann said.
“We’re here to ask you a few questions about one of your volunteers,” Mendiola explained. “Can you wrangle a few minutes from your post?”
“Anything to help you, Jack, even if you’re stingy with your visits.” She shook her finger at him.
“I’ll do better, I promise.” A grade-school grin spread across his face.
Sylvie tsked, as though she were on to him. “Just let me get someone down to reception.” She picked up the phone, made arrangements.
Meri Ann tried unsuccessfully to imagine Aunt Pauline radiating Sylvie’s warmth. “What a lovely woman,” she whispered to Mendiola. “But I didn’t expect to meet more of your family. You’ve got more relatives than the Kennedys.”
“And I’m not above pulling in favors.” He nodded in his aunt’s direction. “Her mind works better than Elmer’s Glue. You’ll be surprised what sticks with her.”
“I
expect great things,” Meri Ann said.
“Elmer’s Glue, good grief,” Sylvie said. “Enough of that. Just follow me. She strode ahead, leading them through a maze of corridors. Her rounded shoulders and slim, slightly bowed legs showed her age, yet she moved at a speedy clip arriving at a quiet alcove beside a chapel.
“We won’t be bothered here. Come and sit.” She settled herself into an upholstered chair beneath an immense painting of Saint Teresa, clutching hand to heart. “Now, what’s the big secret?” she asked, eyes as alert and dark as her nephew’s.
Mendiola removed his cap from his pocket and took a seat facing his aunt. Meri Ann sat beside him, their three sets of knees nearly touching.
“Do you know a Tina Wheatley?” he asked.
Sylvie nodded slowly. “She’s married to an engineer. Mormon, very strict with herself. A good woman at heart. She volunteers on Mondays and Thursdays and visits children of her faith.”
Meri Ann shifted in her seat, bothered by another image of Tina, a woman unable to cope with her rage. She asked, “Is that all Mrs. Wheatley does, visit patients?”
“That’s all now, but Tina was a nurse before she got married. A registered nurse and a good one. She worked in the OR for a while, and the things she did… .” Sylvie leaned in Meri Ann’s direction. “She knew more than some of the doctors.”
“Imagine that.” Meri Ann concealed her surprise at the extent of Tina’s medical background. The aggressive woman would surely know enough about skeletal structure to set up the scenes at Table Rock and Camel’s Back Park. And Tina Wheatley’s tall robust build added to the possibility that she could easily overpower a smaller woman. Meri Ann wondered if the thought crossed Mendiola’s mind as well. He made no comment, so she continued with Sylvie. “I’ve spoken to Mrs. Wheatley several times, and got the feeling she’s upset.”
“Oh, yes.” Sylvie smoothed her dress. “She carries a heavy burden and can be quite brusque. She sees an analyst once a week. The poor woman has problems. But when she’s with patients, I see her warmth. She’s devoted to service.”
Mendiola toyed with the brim of his baseball cap, eyes narrowed in thought. “Does Mrs. Wheatley ever speak about her husband?” He’d returned to his favorite suspect.
Sylvie’s small chest filled with a deep breath. “She boasts about his success, and it seems to me that she’s terribly proud of him. He has two offices, one here and one in Twin Falls. Tina is from Bliss, you know? And that’s right around the corner. Anyway, I get the impression that he’s gone a lot.”
Meri Ann backtracked and rephrased her query in stronger language. “Do you think Tina Wheatley is mentally stable?”
“I didn’t mean to imply she’s crazy just because she sees a psychologist,” Sylvie said, “She’s lonely. I hear her on the phone sometimes, not that I eavesdrop. But I can’t help but hear when she’s sitting beside me. She’ll call Robin at home or the office. And always says, ‘I love you’ three or four times before hanging up. If you ask me, he’s not saying it back. I’m old enough to know the sound of a woman begging for love.”
“Mr. Wheatley is a murder suspect in the Dunlap disappearance,” Mendiola said.
Sylvie looked from Meri Ann to her nephew. “Isn’t that over with?”
“Afraid not,” Meri Ann said.
“I’ll be.” Sylvie folded her arms, as if in protest. “I’d like to forget that awful case. Robin Wheatley worked here twenty-five-years-ago, when I first started. Such a handsome young man. Smart, too. Surely he couldn’t be in trouble.”
“Excuse me,” Meri Ann said. “He worked here at St. Luke’s?”
“Oh, yes, he did. He drove an ambulance. Two summers while he was at the University of Idaho. It’s where he met Tina, and let me tell you, tongues wagged over that romance. She was the cutest little RN. Well, not little, Tina was never that, but she was young and full of life. Wore her hair just above the shoulders like yours.” Sylvie nodded at Meri Ann. “Now she wears it long; I’d say a little too long for someone her age. Her style has changed, her personality too.”
Finding out your husband loves another woman will do that. Meri Ann felt an unexpected twinge of empathy.
Sylvie wagged her finger at Mendiola. “Why you accused her husband, I’ll never know. He didn’t murder that Mrs. Dunlap, not if he really was sweet on her like they said in the newspaper. I’m not saying I approved.” Her posture stiffened. “I never told you, Jack, but Tony and I had a long talk.”
Mendiola pressed his fingers to his forehead, as though warding off a headache. “Sylvie, don’t get into—”
“Hush. Just hush. I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Remember when Tony saw that Dunlap woman in the parking lot? He said she didn’t look happy to see whoever met her. You see what I’m saying, honey? If she were meeting her sweetheart, she’d have smiled.”
“Shit,” he uttered.
Sylvie tilted her head in surprise.
Meri Ann’s mouth fell open, as if the impact of Sylvie’s revelation had physically struck her. The witness in the parking lot had described two suspects in a pickup. Yet Meri Ann had found only one interview in the case file, someone named Mark. Of course, Mark and Tony were together, the last two people to see her mother alive.
All the information gathered on the Wheatley’s paled in light of this. She clutched the arms of her chair, pushed up onto legs of jelly. “I think that just about does it for now.” Her mouth so tight the words barely squeezed past her teeth.
Sylvie’s eyes widened, her expression astonished. “My goodness, that didn’t take long.”
Mendiola’s face turned the color of St. Luke’s brickwork. Meri Ann shot him a look of disgust. She thanked Sylvie and excused herself.
Somehow her feet led her outside. She paced near the busy entrance. A stream of visitors came and went, mere blurs to her. Her hands clenched and unclenched, wanting Mendiola’s neck.
When he came out, his face was strangely stoic. “Let me explain.”
She turned her back on him, unable to voice her outrage. Fifteen years ago this very witness might have lead them to her mother’s killer. The thought pounded in her brain. She wrung her hands, squeezed her eyes shut so hard she saw red.
“I wasn’t much more than a kid,” he said, “a rookie, a dumb fuck with good intentions.”
She glared, ready to bolt down the stairs, down the street, all the way back to Becky’s. But she knew better. Sylvie’s faux pas had opened another avenue of exploration. No matter how remote, there might be one new shred of evidence. She couldn’t walk away from that.
Her nostrils flared, and she clamped her fist against her breast. “You… you withheld key evidence, you lousy, do-nothing cop. Thank God I’m not packing because I’d be so tempted to blow you away,” she screamed at him.
“Calm down. Please calm down.”
Passersby hurried on their way, tried not to stare. She didn’t care what they thought. “Tony was the next to the last person to see my mother alive. You know what that means.”
“The last person before the killer. Maybe,” he mumbled.
“Your nephew was a kid who’d been in trouble. You didn’t want him involved, maybe implicated. What the hell were you thinking?”
He had the diminished look of someone clearly in the wrong. He glanced sideways, avoiding her stare. “My mom’s brother was recovering from cancer and pretty upset about Tony, hanging out with tough guys who’d dropped out of school. I promised to watch out for him. He’d already had one arrest for battery.”
“So you lost his name,” she spit out.
“Look, Fehr, I screwed up. I don’t like to lie, and this feels like a lie. Haven’t you ever—”
“Don’t sidetrack me. My integrity isn’t on trial here. If it were, I’d be in trouble, too, but not to this degree.”
; Gray clouds rolled over the mountains, and she thought about the act of omission. It is not an untruth, just not the whole truth. It’s not a black and white lie, just a muddy gray one. In her heart she believed that, but at the moment she clung to black and white. I am right. And you, Mendiola, are wrong.
“Just exactly what happened, Mendiola?”
“When I saw the incident report, I almost croaked. The truck was a black Toyota with over-sized tires. Tony’s friend drove one. Sure enough, Mark’s name came up when I ran the tag. Like I said, Tony’d had an arrest, and if he’d admitted to being in that parking lot, he’d be a suspect—a suspect with a record.”
“So you protected him at the expense of the case.”
The wind ruffled Mendiola’s hair. He shoved his fists deep in his pockets and cleared his throat. “Look, it isn’t like I didn’t get their testimony. I scared the shit out of them. Trust me, they came clean. Tony told me they’d raised a little hell, drunk a few beers that afternoon. He described the incident with the older lady and admitted to seeing a woman who fit your mom’s description. They tried to get her attention. It’s all on record. Every bit of it, except for Tony’s name.”
“Or what was seen from the passenger side.”
“They told me. The woman waved to a friend. Then Tony and Mark drove off.”
“According to your aunt, Tony was close enough to see my mom’s facial expression. I didn’t see that in the file.”
“Bullshit. I love my aunt, but she’s a romantic old maid.”
His arrogance set her off again, the way he discounted his aunt’s statement as if that let him off the hook.
“You fouled up, Mendiola, big time, and you’re taking me to Tony, wherever he is. At home or at his garage.” Steel edged her words.
# # #
Shovel in, heft, toss. Shovel in… The cold metal spade cut through the black loam with precision. He liked that, felt pride even in the most menial task. But his back ached after an hour and twenty minutes of digging. Despite the cool weather, perspiration dripped from his temples and down his cheeks. His thoughts drifted to the body’s two hundred plus myriad skeletal bones… .
Final Grave Page 17
