by Mary Deal
“Got it. Got a pencil?”
Abi immediately dialed the Creighton Mission. She learned that police had shown up at the Mission and told Hazel about the fire and warned, for her safety, to stay away from her property. Abi then called Edith Armstrong who left The Beacon in the capable hands of her cook and went to Hazel's side. Edith would be the one person who could find a place for Hazel to live till other arrangements could be made.
Late Saturday, Det. Britto showed up at Joe's house. “I'm awful sorry Hazel's shack had to burn.” His brows pinched together in an expression of half smile, half regret.
“You didn't think they'd go that far, Britto?”
“Hey, what do I know about all this?” A question was a perfect non-committal way of keeping his position in the matter a secret.
“You mean you didn't plant that story?”
“Would I do a thing like that?”
Joe glanced at Abi and his unspoken message said if they had to get a little underhanded in their methods, perhaps the time warranted such action if they were to save Becky Ann's life. His eyes begged for understanding. His expression also said he did not like what was happening and that they had best be careful. He flashed a crooked smile of suspicion that asked a silent question of Det. Britto.
“Hazel could have been killed!” Abi's temper exploded in a rush of anger. She didn't want to believe that Joe or Det. Britto had anything to do with the fire.
Joe rubbed his chin and looked curiously at Det. Britto. “Smoked 'em out, huh?”
“Seems the wind was in Creighton's favor. The City's been trying to get the owner to take down that crack house.”
Abi didn't like what she was hearing. “Things are getting out of hand, you two.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Det. Britto seemed not to care. “Now we got 'em!” Then he turned dead serious. “Not a word to anyone, you two hear me?” He waggled a finger back and forth. “There's no way in hell I'm throwing away this case and thirty-five years because a little information got leaked.”
Joe paced. “Someone wants both Abi and Yates silenced.”
“But like all the others, that fire didn't paint the name of the perpetrator in flaming letters in the night air.” Now Abi paced.
“Didn't have to.”
Joe came to attention. “You found something?”
“Hazel's neighbors did.”
“Well what, Britto?”
Det. Britto had great difficulty deciding whether to talk or laugh. He seemed beside himself and couldn't do both.
“What did they find?”
He enunciated every word. “One… mean… ugly… skinhead… wannabe.”
“Yes!” Tears of relief welled up in Abi's eyes.
Det. Britto looked for a place to sit down and decided on the end of the sofa. Then he rose and walked to one of the sets of patio doors.
“How, Britto?”
“Why don't you have curtains to cover these windows?” Det. Britto acted as though they were involved in casual conversation.
“What for? Nothing back there but the creek and scrub trees.” Joe seemed perturbed at having to think of something else. “What about this skinhead?”
“The neighbors saw him sitting in his car down the street from Hazel's several nights in a row before the fire. This Gary Croner dummy even went into the Tip 'Em Up Tavern and tipped a few.”
“And some kind person called the cops?”
“Yep. Witness Watch.”
“This Gary Croner, can you tie him directly to Hazel's fire?”
Det. Britto took a seat again on the sofa after Abi took a chair. “Not exactly. He tested clean. But his local address isn't anywhere near that neighborhood. He's from Idaho. The PD there can't tie him with the Aryans though.” He kept shaking his head with a grand amusing smirk on his face. “The Yates neighbors say that week was the first time they'd seen him in the area. Two bartenders IDed him, too, saying the same thing.”
Joe's expression sobered. “So what we've got is another firebug who may or may not be a skinhead and who only looks dirty.”
“Don't give up so easily, Arno,”
If the crimes were related, they might tie the real perpetrator to the Yates fire. Becky's case could break wide open. Abi immediately wondered how and if the Supreme Court would consider the new findings. “This is small, vague, but it's something. How could it help us?”
“We have to take any avenue. We're one up on 'em right now. Even if it's the long way around, we'll get him and the rest of that confused gaggle of detestable extremists.”
Joe pulled out the piano stool and sat down. “So what's next? Abi and I feel helpless.”
“It's out of your hands. You found your daughter, ma'am. You, Joe, you've got one hell of a—you've got a fine woman here. Try to enjoy your Christmas, the three of you, in spite of it all.”
“And you, Britto? What about your Christmas?”
“Me? I'm cracking this case. That's all I want before I throw in my papers.”
Chapter 45
During the week before Christmas, the second taping of the search for Tess Ulrich aired nationally on Missing Persons. One of the surprises about which Emery only hinted was that a photo of Stan Yates was included labeling him as wanted for questioning in the same case. A barrage of calls came in. Abi could not wait to share all the details with her daughter.
Historically, death row inmates at Rachter Valley Women's Prison were not allowed frequent visitors. From the beginning, Emery had managed to have the rules bent in Becky's favor. Her impeccable conduct over the years and the amazing rehabilitative results her art training had on other inmates earned her the privilege. Plus, she was the only Death Row inmate and, in light of the recent developments, prison officials had shown some leniency.
Strangely, in the past, Becky refused anything Abi might have brought her, until the DNA results arrived. That seemed to change her entire personality and Abi didn't understand why. Now Becky asked for anything that could make life in her cell more comfortable, reminding Abi to pack it in the required see-through plastic bags.
Twenty-five pounds was the limit on anything an inmate might receive during the holidays. Since stretched canvasses were not allowed because the wooden stretcher bars on which the canvas was mounted could be fashioned into crude weapons, Abi packed panels, canvas stretched over cardboard. Art supplies were all Becky wanted. Abi also included homemade fudge and gingerbread cookies. She had written a special poem and created her own Christmas card, the first one ever from her that Becky would actually read.
Joe included some drawing pads and an oversized box of pastels. They treated the situation as if Becky was not facing the last weeks of her life. Emery seemed upset because he was invited a little late to include something. All the weight limit would allow at the last minute was a small box of chocolates and a card.
An unseasonably early snow blanketed the entire Tono Valley behind Creighton all the way up to the summit. The Tono Mountain Range farther inland was in the throes of a particularly cold and early winter, albeit a great ski season with the snow line dropping lower than usual.
Abi remembered skiing. She had planned to teach her daughter to ski over the winter break after Becky entered kindergarten, but Becky was snatched away before the first snowfall that year. Abi stared straight ahead. Not only could she no longer ski because of her heart condition, she would never ski with her daughter.
She sighed heavily. She had to stay positive. Surely, Becky could ski while she lounged by the fireplace inside the lodge, or in a hot tub or heated pool. Just knowing Becky was free would be enough. What fun they would have.
The prison rooftops called her attention back to the present. The surrounding area lay frozen under a blanket of white and icicles. However, the harshness of an early winter had not kept the crowds away. Much of the snow along the road sides was blackened from vehicle traffic.
As always, members of the media were present and detained outside the prison and rushed up t
o their vehicle as Joe slowed at the gate. Guards on foot and horseback lined up across the road and crowded in behind the Range Rover to assure no overzealous unauthorized person might slip in unnoticed. The line of uniforms moved with the vehicle as they entered the double-gated prison grounds.
After subdued hours of conversation with Becky Ann, then dodging the press, Abi and Joe quietly drove home. They anticipated hearing the phone ring at any time, but only good news would be delivered on Christmas. The phone never rang.
Det. Britto planned a small New Year's celebration at his home. “Please come.” His voice begged. “You need something different.”
At the last minute, Abi and Joe decided to attend. Det. Britto's ranch style house and manicured lot, located in the rural area of eastern Seaport, was specially decorated in preparation for the party.
Abi leaned toward the windshield looking up. “Look at these beautiful old elms.” She slowed the car to a crawl.
“You should have seen this place when he first bought it,” The trees were limp and dying, and no grass, only hip high weeds. The house had been in someone's estate, vacant and deteriorating for years.”
“The house looks newer.”
Joe probably hadn't been to Det. Britto's home since involvement in Becky's case had sent them in opposite directions. Now he, too, leaned forward, excited. “He and a buddy remodeled inside and out. Can't wait to see the rest.”
“Quite a hobby, I'd say.”
“He cherishes this house. Way back, he lost everything in a divorce. Now he's married to this property.”
“They had children?”
“No, he suspects his wife stayed only long enough to convince the judge her time was worthy of a hefty divorce settlement, including the home they had.”
Abi found a space to park where her little BMW would fit. “Looks like he lives well now. He must have groundskeepers and—”
“On a detective's salary?” Joe turned in his seat to face her. “No way. It's the way he unwinds.”
“How does he slow down long enough to pulls weeds?”
“You want lessons now?” Joe's smile teased. He climbed out and walked around the front of the car to open her door. Ever attentive, he took her hand to help her out.
For one brief moment, Abi felt elegant, wearing a party dress and being attended to in an old-fashioned way by a gentleman; even if she had insisted on being the one to drive. She flipped the latch to open the trunk before climbing out. She took a sweeping look at the front of the property and grounds. “Hey, I've got it. Now I remember.”
Joe looked at her hopefully. “Remember what?”
“Where I've seen Det. Britto. At your house, Joe. I saw him at your house.”
“You and he have never been there at the same time.”
“Oh, yes we have.” She pulled her coat collar close. “You remember the first time you took me to your house?”
“Britto wasn't there that night.” He stepped close and squeezed her shoulders. “It was just you and me alone for the first time.”
She had to laugh, remembering having seen a man finishing late afternoon work in Joe's garden. “The creek behind your house had overflowed.”
Joe's eyes opened wide in a look of recognition. “That's right. Britto saved me a fortune by coming over and pampering my waterlogged plants. I'd completely forgotten.”
“It was him, all wet and up to his eyeballs in mud.” The memory flashed through her mind. What a sight he was, like a monster rising up out of the bog.
“We'd better not remind him.” Joe's expression was devious. “He might realize just how long I've kept you hidden.” He bent into the trunk and retrieved a case of champagne.
“So it is true.” She would have punched him playfully had it not been for him holding the champagne. She closed the trunk. For the first time in a long time, they enjoyed an affectionate laugh.
“Britto's done a lot with his gardening hobby.” They picked their way through the cluster of cars. “Convinced quite a few kids to leave the gangs.”
“I have a feeling your friend has a lot of history.”
Joe stopped a moment. “Once he taught gardening to a couple of young thugs. Real hellions, those guys. Don't know how he got them to listen. After a while, they set up a small business and worked in people's yards. Both have since graduated with college degrees in horticulture.”
Abi's image of Det. Britto suddenly changed.
With no time left to shop for something new, and as well, not having the desire to do so, Abi wore the deep green silk taffeta dress by Chanel that she wore the past February for Joe's birthday dinner. Fortunately, the dry cleaners had removed the smell of smoke from her house fire. Joe had somehow managed to find the time to slip into a store. His new Hart Schaffer and Marx navy suit with a muted-red tie and kerchief was stunning. Together, they were a perfect representation of the holidays. The impression they made on Det. Britto's high fashion group of guests masked the gloomy anticipation of proceedings soon to come.
The ratio of men to women attending the party was about equal, with only three single ladies who seemed sincerely willing to help hostess the event. The crowd certainly did not represent the rumor of the detective keeping a stable. Or maybe he knew it wise not to mix certain friends.
People eyed her sympathetically. Everyone knew who Abi was and they, being the detective's mannerly friends, were kind and understanding. Through his friends, Abi's new impression of Det. Britto was being confirmed.
She and Joe did their best to forget for the moment and tried to enjoy themselves among the greetings and chatter and festive decor. A chamber ensemble played lively holiday music in front of a wall of windows with the lighted back yard beyond. Still, neither she nor Joe was good at putting up a front. She would catch Joe staring off into space looking quite pensive. They decided to leave.
“I wish you'd reconsider, you two. It's almost time to sing Auld Lang Syne.”
“We appreciate your invitation, Det. Britto, but we feel pretty flat.”
“Nonsense. Stay and celebrate for your daughter.”
“I'm past that. It's no longer enough just knowing she's alive.”
The phone rang. “Excuse me.” Det. Britto pointed at them. “Stay put. Don't leave.” He disappeared into another room and moments later returned in a huff and threw up a fist. “They found where she lived.”
“Tess Ulrich?”
“She went back to Idaho right after Becky Ann was arrested.”
Several guests began to show excitement but Det. Britto raised a hand. “This is big.” He stroked his beard. He didn't seem to care that everyone heard. Joe had said most of them were fellow officers and others involved in police matters anyway. Everyone waited. “The owner of an apartment building knew her by another name. The landlady said Ulrich stayed about six months and then went to another state. And get this.” He paused and it seemed everyone else held his or her breath. “They've located Ulrich's parents in Tennessee.” A lot of subdued response said these people knew exactly to what the detective referred.
“More, Britto, we need more.”
“Evidently the parents have received birthday and Christmas cards over the years. The last one came from Missouri, though they received some from Idaho and Kentucky.
“Well, narrowed down, three out of fifty states isn't too bad.” Joe's sarcasm hung in the air.
“Keep the faith. Her face is all over the N.C.I.C. We'll find her.”
Everyone in the room began to clap, and then raised glasses toward them standing near the front door. Abi buried her face in her hands and began to shake as Joe led her into a bedroom. A woman came in to help and wrapped her arms around Abi's shoulders and spoke quietly as she helped her to sit on the edge of the bed. “You've every reason to celebrate.”
Abi accepted some tissues and tried to smile. “I'm close to falling apart.”
Joe knelt in front of her. “You're doing just fine, honey. Let's enjoy ourselves with these great p
eople. It'll do us good to think about something else for a while.”
Chapter 46
Becky's old sketch and a computer-aged version of Tess Ulrich were being circulated nationally, and especially on St. Louis television. Prospects looked good. They would bring her back to Seaport. They also picked up Stan Yates whereabouts in Iowa.
Only a couple days later at the police station, Det. Britto had the worst news of all. “I'm sorry, you two.” He kept shaking his head, himself almost in tears. “The witness, Tess Ulrich… is dead.”
“No!” Abi had no thought that others in the station might hear. “No… no!” She collapsed into a chair.
“I'm afraid it's true. She's been IDed by her parents.”
As always, Joe was at Abi's side to comfort her. “How… how?” She could barely speak.
Det. Britto rose and went to close his office door. “Been dead for years. Missouri took file photos and kept her on a slab as long as they could, then finally put her under as another Jane.”
“How? When, Britto?”
“Well, we solved one cold case.” He paced like he meant to go somewhere. He stopped and stared out the window. Abi couldn't see his face but his jowls worked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.
Joe tried to massage anxiety lodged in the backs of her shoulders. “What happened to her?”
“ODed on goofballs.” He finally sat, collapsing into his chair. Then he realized Abi didn't understand.“That's cocaine mixed with heroin. She was full of it.” He leaned forward over his desk. “An investigator assigned to unsolved murders saw the posting on the N.C.I.C. and something clicked about his cold cases, a face he remembered.” Det. Britto stood again and sighed as if what he really wanted to do was scream. “Some of the St. Louis cases are old and stuck in a paper backlog. They hadn't been posted on the N.C.I.C.”
“Wait a minute. Britto, if she ODed, that's not murder.”
“Way too much C & H in her blood. Too much for a normal user's fix. She had so many tracks on her arms it was hard for them to decide. From the get-go, they suspected it could have been a forced OD but had no proof she didn't do it to herself.”
