The Red Queen Dies

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  He went to the door and called his secretary in from her desk in the outer office.

  When he had repeated their question to Maude, she said, “I can go through the files. But it might take a while.”

  “Thank you,” McCabe said. “We hate to put you to the trouble, but this is rather important.”

  Maude frowned. “Did you say I’m looking for one of our students who worked as a TA at a science camp? You did say science?”

  “Yes,” McCabe said. “Did you think of something—”

  “There was this student … it must have been at least that long ago … she had this boyfriend who was a TA for a biology course. I remember because he came into the office once with a lab specimen in a glass jar. It was really disgusting-looking.”

  “Was the student … your theater student, was she dark-haired?”

  “She was always changing her hair. Streaks of color, wigs, feathers … whatever she felt like when she got up that morning … and clothes to match. That child was born for the stage, but I can’t imagine why anyone would have hired her to be a teaching assistant at a science camp.”

  “But would you check her file to see if someone did?” McCabe said.

  “It would help if I could remember her name,” Maude said. “I ought to recognize it when I see it on the list of students from that year.”

  “If she’s the person we’re looking for,” McCabe said. “Her first name would have been Deirdre.”

  “Unless she was in the habit of changing her name, too,” Baxter said.

  “They’ve been know to do that,” Maude said. “Theater students like trying on stage names.”

  Ian Carmichael said, “I’ve got a meeting, but I’m leaving you in good hands with Maude.”

  He picked up his briefcase and went out the door.

  At her desk, Maude flicked through files, making an occasional mumbled comment.

  “Here we go,” Maude said. “Deirdre Chase. That was the child’s name.”

  “Bingo,” Baxter said to McCabe.

  The young woman in the photo was smiling, wearing a white blouse with ruffles under a plaid vest. A tam set at a jaunty angle atop her dark shoulder-length hair.

  “Nothing about a science camp in her file,” Maude said. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Do you happen to have her present address?” McCabe asked.

  “The last time she updated her contact information was in 2017. She was moving around quite a bit before that, so this address may not be current. She hasn’t responded recently to our alumni contacts.”

  “When did she graduate?” McCabe said.

  “Spring semester, 2011.”

  “Could we have the address from 2017?” Baxter said. “That’ll give us somewhere to start.”

  * * *

  They went back to the station and tried the contact information that they had for Deirdre Chase.

  “No go,” McCabe said. “Let’s get Research to see what they can do.”

  While they were waiting, Whitman from the State Police called. He had struck out so far on finding a science program at UAlbany or at a local college where someone remembered a student who had worked as a TA at a science camp.

  McCabe told him about Deirdre Chase. He sounded almost as pleased as they were. “We’re getting there,” he said. “I’m still waiting for several people to get back to me. Maybe we’ll be able to locate the summer camp director, too.”

  “Or, if we have the wrong Deirdre on this end,” McCabe said, “maybe one of your leads will pan out.”

  Whitman said he was on his way home and would check in with them tomorrow.

  “Maybe we should go home, too,” Baxter said, stretching.

  McCabe nodded. “No point in putting in overtime when there’s nothing else we can do.”

  She was straightening up her desk when her ORB buzzed. “McCabe,” she said.

  She listened and then signaled to Baxter, who had stopped to see who it was. “Thank you. That’s terrific.”

  “Got it,” she said to Baxter. “Research found Deirdre Chase in Seattle. She’s with a repertory theater company.”

  “Three hours earlier there, so that makes it about three-fifteen. Want to try her?”

  McCabe nodded. “Let’s see if we have anything.”

  When they reached the theater, Chase was in rehearsal. The stagehand McCabe spoke to promised to give her the message.

  McCabe and Baxter settled down to wait.

  Chase called them back about forty-five minutes later. “The science summer camp. God, I hadn’t thought about that in years.”

  “Then you were a TA at the camp?” McCabe said to the woman, whose streaky blond hair was in beaded braids.

  Chase nodded. “I was the only TA. Kevin, my boyfriend at the time, was a biology major, and he had seen the flyer posted on the bulletin board. They were looking for a science major, but the flyer emphasized they wanted someone who was mature and competent and good with children. Kevin promised to help me bone up on any science stuff I needed to know. But he said I would be a teacher’s assistant and the girls were only twelve- to fourteen-year-olds, so there wouldn’t be a lot that I’d have to do that I wouldn’t be able to figure out.”

  “So you applied?” Baxter said.

  Chase grinned. “And charmed the director’s support hose off. I told her all about how my grandfather had been a doctor and I had loved spending time with him when I was a child. That much was true.”

  “And she thought you’d be good with the girls?” McCabe asked.

  “Kevin was right. They had several teachers. All they wanted the TA to do was to be in the classroom when a teacher had to step out and to help set up experiments and go along on field trips.” Chase tilted her head. “But what is this about? If you went to all this trouble to find me, it must be something important.”

  McCabe nodded. “We’d like to ask you about something that happened during the science camp. We understand you left after an incident involving a student who ran away.”

  Chase grimaced. “Among the first of my many jobs that turned into minor or major disasters. The only place I’m competent is in a theater.” She shook her head, setting her beaded braids swaying. “When the other girls told me that she’d left, I went running out after her and couldn’t find her. That was seriously scary. I deserved to be fired over that one.”

  “Can you tell us about what happened?”

  Chase said, “Yes. But first, why don’t you tell me what this is about? I’ve got two police detectives in Albany interested in the fact that I was a TA at a science camp nine years ago. Before I say anything else, tell me what’s going on.”

  McCabe caught Baxter’s glance in her direction. “We’re investigating three murders, Ms. Chase. They seem to be the work of a serial killer and—”

  “Wait. Does this have something to do with Vivian Jessup?”

  “Then you’ve heard about her murder?” Baxter said.

  “Even out here in Seattle. But I missed the early news reports. I was at a workshop over the weekend,” Chase said. ‘When I got back, I heard that Vivian Jessup had died … been murdered. And that it had happened in Albany and they thought a serial killer…” She turned pale. “My God, what does this have to do with the science camp? Why are you—”

  “Ms. Chase,” McCabe said. “Just take a deep breath, and I’ll try to explain. Okay?”

  Chase nodded. “Yes. Okay.”

  “The first two victims, Bethany Clark and Sharon Giovanni, were students at the summer science camp—”

  “Oh my God. Oh God.” Chase was on her feet. “I … They were the two girls who—”

  A man’s voice said, “Dee? What’s all the commotion?”

  “Vivian Jessup,” Chase said to him. “The serial killer who … I knew the first two victims when they were kids.”

  “Jeez.” The man came into view and clasped Chase in his arms.

  “Ms. Chase,” McCabe said. “Ms. Chase, plea
se, we do need to ask you some questions.”

  Chase turned back toward them. “I want David to stay. This is David, another actor here and a good friend.”

  “All right,” McCabe said, realizing Chase would tell him about the conversation anyway. “But Mr.—”

  “Jahn,” he said.

  “Mr. Jahn, please treat this conversation as confidential.”

  He nodded. “I understand. My father’s a lawyer. But, of course, I’m only here as Dee’s friend. I don’t have a law degree.”

  “And we are not questioning Ms. Chase as a suspect at this time. We are only interested in learning more about what happened at the summer science camp where she was a TA.”

  Deirdre Chase finished blotting her eyes with tissues from the box that Jahn had handed her and sniffed. “I’m sorry to go to pieces like that. But this is … it’s really awful.”

  McCabe said, “We understand. But we hope that with your help we can figure out what’s going on.”

  “You said Bethany and Sharon were the first two victims.”

  “Yes. And we haven’t been able to find anyone who can tell us in detail about the teasing incident.”

  “You think what happened … their being murdered was because of that?”

  “We don’t know why they were murdered. All we know is that they both attended the science camp and that the TA, who we have now confirmed was you, reprimanded Sharon and another girl, who we believe was Bethany Clark, for teasing a third.”

  Chase nodded. “Yes, it was Bethany. I felt bad about Sharon because Bethany admitted she was the one who had been teasing Johnnie Mae and—”

  McCabe said, “Was that Johnny with a y?

  “No, with an i and an e. Johnnie Mae Dupree,” Chase said. “Bethany teased her about that name, too. Johnnie Mae’s mother was from the South. Louisiana or somewhere.”

  “The board member we spoke to thought that the name—which she couldn’t remember—might have been the combination of the two parents’ names.”

  Chase said, “No, Johnnie Mae said her mother had named her after a singer that her mother used to like. I made the mistake of commenting on her name when I was getting to know them. Bethany jumped right on that.”

  Baxter was on his ORB. He said, “Would the singer have been Johnnie Mae Matthews, a soul singer from Detroit?”

  Chase said, “I don’t remember the singer’s last name. But I know Bethany looked it up and then she teased Johnnie Mae some more because the singer was a black woman.”

  “So all three girls were white?” McCabe said.

  “I think Johnnie Mae was biracial. I know her mother was white. Or at least she seemed to be when she came to camp that day looking for my head. But her father, who I gathered had left or died or something, he might have been black or biracial. Johnnie Mae was olive-skinned, with wavy black hair and dark brown eyes and a cute little figure. Which explains why skinny Bethany hated her.”

  McCabe said. “But it seems Bethany turned out to be a late bloomer.”

  “Did she?” Chase said, and then shook her head. “Not that it helped her. I can’t believe she and Sharon, too … Sharon seemed like a sweet girl. Bethany got her into trouble by showing her the drawing that she’d done of Johnnie Mae. I didn’t know poor Sharon was an innocent bystander until I had them both out in the hall.”

  “Tell us about later, when you left the classroom and Johnnie Mae ran away,” Baxter said.

  Chase said, “I wish I could claim it was all my ex-boyfriend’s fault.” She balled up the tissue in her hand. “He texted me that he had an emergency. I went out into the hall to call him back. He was trying to reach me because he couldn’t find his lucky pen and he had a job interview that afternoon. He wanted to know if I had seen his pen or had it.”

  McCabe nodded. The same story that the board member had told them.

  “So you finished the call and then went back into the classroom?” she said.

  “And I started the movie that I was supposed to show them. But there was a weird vibe, and I asked what was going on. And someone pointed to Johnnie Mae’s seat and I realized she was gone. And Sharon said Bethany had been teasing her and had whispered something in her ear and Johnnie Mae had jumped up and run out of the other door.”

  “What happened then?” Baxter asked.

  “I told them all to stay in their seats, not to move a muscle. And I ran out to look for Johnnie Mae. When I couldn’t find her, I went to tell the teacher for that session. Everyone panicked, and they decided the only thing to do was to call the police, because it would be worse if something happened to her and they hadn’t called.”

  McCabe said, “So a report was made to the police?”

  “The camp director was going to call, but then she decided she should call Dr. Kincaid, the chairperson of the board, first. I’m not sure what happened after that. If they called the police or not. The teacher who was running that session and I went out in her car to see if we could find Johnnie Mae.”

  “When did you find out Johnnie Mae had been located?” Baxter asked.

  “Not until we got back. We had driven all over town and gone out to Crossgates Mall and Colonie Center and everywhere we could think of a kid might hop on a bus and go. When we got back to the camp, the other girls had gone home for the day. The director told us that she had finally been able to reach Johnnie Mae’s sister. The sister said that Johnnie Mae had called her and she was all right. The sister and her boyfriend were on their way to pick her up.”

  That, too, matches what we heard from the board member, McCabe thought.

  “What happened after that?” she asked.

  “The director, Mrs. Nash, gave me this look and told me we would talk about this tomorrow. And I got the hell out of there as fast as I could.”

  “The director’s first name?” McCabe asked.

  “Oh … I don’t remember,” Chase said. “I only remember her last name because it was the same as the last name of my best friend in preschool.”

  “What about the teacher of the session you were monitoring?”

  “Campbell, like the soup. I think her first name might have been Karen or Carol. Something like that.”

  “Do you know where either of them worked during the rest of the year?” Baxter said.

  “I think Mrs. Nash used to be a high school biology teacher and then she was an administrator of some kind. But she had retired. And Mrs. Campbell had been teaching somewhere else, but her husband got transferred to Albany, and she was working those two weeks at the camp while she looked for a full-time teaching job for fall.”

  “Do you know what her husband did?” McCabe asked.

  “No. Worked for some company.”

  “Okay,” McCabe said. “Would you take us through what happened the next day?”

  “I had been awake most of the night. Had a big argument with my boyfriend and then ate and cried and ate some more. So I was feeling really lousy when I got to camp. Mrs. Nash called me to her office, and three members of the board were there. They wanted me to tell them in my own words what had happened in the classroom.”

  “Was the teacher there, too?” Baxter asked.

  “She had already spoken to them. They wanted to see me alone.”

  “Go on,” McCabe said.

  “I had just gotten to the part about returning to the classroom and finding Johnnie Mae gone when her mother arrived. She was yelling and cursing outside the conference room. Mrs. Nash’s assistant came in and told her who it was. Then Dr. Kincaid, the chairperson of the board, told Mrs. Nash to let Mrs. Dupree come in.”

  “What happened then?”

  “The board members tried to make nice and tell Mrs. Dupree how sorry they were for what had happened. I said I was sorry, too. But Mrs. Dupree was yelling and cursing and threatening to sue.”

  “Did she seem to be intoxicated?” McCabe asked.

  “Or maybe on some kind of drug. Not completely out of it. But really hyper. She yelled and scre
amed and said they—the board members—would be hearing from her lawyer.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She stormed out. And it was really quiet for what seemed like forever. And then Mrs. Nash said she’d like to speak to me outside. That was when she told me that I was fired.” Chase smiled without humor. “I knew it was coming, but it still hurt. I started crying, and she said she was sorry but that she and the board had no other choice.”

  Her friend David, who had been silent until then, said, “Sounds like they had planned to fire you all along. They didn’t confer after the girl’s mother showed up.”

  Exactly what McCabe had been thinking. “Did you finish out the day?” she said.

  “No. I went and got my stuff and left right then. I was too humiliated even to ask for my paycheck.”

  “Did they remember to send it?”

  “The next day, I received a special-delivery letter from Dr. Kincaid saying the situation had been regrettable but that they appreciated my hard work prior to the incident. She asked me to please be discreet and not discuss what had happened.” Chase paused. “And there was a check enclosed for three times the salary that they had promised me for those two weeks.”

  “Sounds like they were willing to pay for your discretion,” her friend David said.

  “They didn’t have to bother. It was too humiliating for me to go around talking about it.”

  “And no one other than the board members ever asked you about what had happened?” McCabe said.

  “That was the last time I talked about it until now. I didn’t even tell my friends and family what happened.”

  “What about your boyfriend, Kevin?” Baxter said.

  Chase made a face. “Kevin and I were over. We’d had that big fight about the fact that he had sent me that ‘urgent’ message about his stupid pen. Especially when it turned out to have been in his jacket pocket the whole time.”

  “Ms. Chase, thank you for talking to us,” McCabe said.

  “You’ll let me know what happens, right?” Chase said. “I mean if I need to hire a bodyguard or something in case this serial killer turns up out here.”

  “Yes, we’ll let you know if we have any reason to believe you might be in danger,” McCabe said. “In fact, we’ll contact the police there, just to give them a heads-up.”