He sat forward, folded his hands together and like a kindly uncle said, "Supposing you're right. Unlikely, but supposing. I still can't reopen a case on maybes. We need some real evidence to do that. Okay, granted the caretaker of the cemetery said he saw two men, but he wasn't able to describe either of them, or the car, except to say that it was big and dark. And that old car has long since been turned into scrap metal. And Charles Seaton was the only witness to the crime."
She could feel the sergeant's impatience, feel him losing interest. But Mr. Seaton might remember something after all this time. At least the sergeant had read the article, no doubt the file too: probably as soon as he was off the phone with Eric Grant. She needed that file.
"I plan to talk to Mr. Seaton," she told him. After a hesitation, she said, "Sometimes people remember things during hypnosis, don't they? Do you know if they hypnotized him back then? If they didn't, couldn't you have...?"
"No. No, I can't. I can't allot time and money on a case without more to go on. That's not going to happen. We don't even know if Seaton is alive. It's doubtful. He was well into his fifties at the time." He glanced at his watch. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to wrap this up. I've got an appointment with the mayor in ten minutes. Anyway, let me mull this over for a day or two, Nancy Drew. See what I can come up with. In the meantime, you be careful, you hear? Too late to tell you to leave it alone, I suppose. Not that you would." He removed the tape from the recorder. "But at least heed your caller's words, 'watch your back'. Whoever this guy is," he said, tapping the tape with his forefinger. "It wasn't bad advice. You live with family?"
He was dropping the tape into an evidence bag he'd gotten from his desk drawer. Fine, she'd made a copy. She decided to ignore the 'Nancy Drew' comment. "No, not anymore."
"Your adopted mom. Right. Clumsy of me. I expect the house is pretty lonely with her gone. It's not good to live alone. Especially for a young woman like yourself. You might want to think about getting yourself a dog. A shepherd, maybe."
"I can take care of myself, thank you, Sergeant Nelson. All women aren't damsels in distress, you know." She spoke pleasantly but pointedly, then decided to cut him some slack. "But you're right. I'm keeping my doors and windows locked."
Each time she heard her mother referred to as her 'adopted mom', it gave her a jolt. It hurt. It sounded so strange spoken aloud, as if the term 'adopted mom' couldn't possibly apply to her mom. Clearly, she hadn't made the transition in her psyche yet. "Anyway," she said, "my cat Molly wouldn't take kindly to the idea of a dog, but I appreciate the concern." She thanked him for his time and told him she'd be back.
He walked her to the door. "You shouldn't be so defensive, you know, Miss Waters. No one is suggesting you're a damsel in distress or that you can't take care of yourself. But neither do you want to ignore the fact that you're a woman living alone and there are some very bad people out there. You don't want to be naïve and end up hurt. Or worse."
"I don't think I'm at all naïve," she said. "I came here asking for your help. I'm counting on it. I think your job is to catch those bad people, isn't it, unless I'm mistaken. I'll be in touch, Sergeant."
* * *
It was just past four when Naomi showed up at Frank Llewellyn's office. She took a chance he'd still be there and not too busy to see her. Not that he wouldn't have made himself available, but Frank was a busy man and she didn't feel good about barging in unexpectedly, although that's exactly what she was doing, taking advantage of the guilt she knew he felt about his part in the conspiracy. Not the most noble motivation. But he'd offered to help, and she needed the favour. She had promised to find the evidence Sergeant Nelson said he needed to reopen the case. So she needed to start with the case file.
Kay was at her desk typing at the computer, and didn't see Naomi right away. Kay Garrett had been Frank's right hand for years. A grandma now in her sixties, she was still a pretty woman, filled with energy and enthusiasm, makeup perfect, every platinum hair in place, smelling of gardenias. Or maybe it was a potpourri on the counter. Frank said he didn't dare suggest retirement to her, but he also admitted he'd be lost without Kay.
When she looked up and saw Naomi standing there, her face broke in a smile. "Naomi, how wonderful to see you. It's been a very long time. I was so sorry to hear about your mom, dear. And about all this other...."
"Thanks, Kay. And for the lovely card. How's that adorable granddaughter of yours? Kelsey...?"
"What a memory you have," she said, warming to a subject close to her heart, and no doubt one more comfortable than the matter of Naomi's background. She wondered if Frank had ever confided the secret to Kay, but then decided no, he wouldn't have. Kay knew only what she read in the paper, like the rest of River's End residents.
"Kelsey's four now, hardly a baby anymore," Kay was saying, reaching into her purse and producing an accordion of snapshots over which Naomi made all the appropriate comments. Not that it was hard to be complimentary. Kelsey was a pretty little girl with light brown curls, bright blue eyes and a mischievous smile. "She has your eyes," Naomi said. "Blue as robin's eggs."
Kay beamed. "That's what they tell me. She starts kindergarten this fall. It has been a while, hasn't it?" she laughed, returning the photos to her purse. "Frank will be delighted you're here. I'll buzz him."
* * *
"I don't see a problem getting you the file," Frank said a short time later as they sat across from one another at The Golden Dragon, the best Chinese restaurant in town.
"Thanks, Frank. I really appreciate it."
She hadn't meant to take up more than a few minutes of his time, but he'd insisted on taking her to dinner, saying, "If I remember correctly, Chinese is your favourite."
The instant they entered the restaurant and Naomi smelled the enticing aromas, she was suddenly famished, and realized she'd forgotten to eat today. She chose her favourite almond gai ding, eggroll and chicken fried rice. Looking around, she was overcome with a sense of déjà vu. She sipped her white wine which Frank had ordered, and remembered coming here years ago with Frank and her mother. She might have been nine. They'd ordered her a Shirley Temple and she'd felt like such a big girl. Almost grown up. Happier times.
The decor hadn't changed: lots of red, exquisite wall paintings depicting scenes of old China, hanging silk and bamboo lanterns, men and women wearing shade hats tied under their chins, working in rice paddies. A wave of loss swept over her, eclipsing the anger, which was already starting to wane.
"You're a good friend, Frank."
"Then I'm forgiven?"
"I'm thinking on it." She grinned. A forkful of chicken chow mein mid-way to her mouth, she leveled her gaze at him. "I hope you won't tell me what an ungrateful person I am, that I should leave well enough alone. I've already heard that a few times and I don't think I can handle hearing it again. Not from you."
"That wasn't even close to what I was planning to say."
"Okay. I'm sorry. But to some people, it's as if my wanting to bring Mary Rose's killers to justice is some kind of slap at my mother. It's not. I loved my mother, and I know she loved me."
Frank's sigh of relief was audible. "You can't know how happy I am to hear you say that, Naomi."
"Oh, Frank, that will never change. I just wish she had trusted me with the truth."
He took her hand. "It was a hard truth, Naomi."
"I know." Lisa had made her see things a little differently. "Anyway, this is something I have to do."
"I understand. I do. I admire you for it. And if Lili were here, so would she. She cared about justice and fairness. You know that. And if this is what you need to do to find some kind of closure, that's an overused word and not the right one, but you know what I mean...."
She smiled thinly. "I think so."
"Like I said, getting the file shouldn't be too much of a problem. It's an old case. My biggest concern, and I have to say this even if you don't want to hear it, is that you're putting yourself in harm's way. Whoever is respo
nsible for such a monstrous crime isn't going to want to see new attention being brought to it after all this time. Animals like that are capable of anything. Don't underestimate the capacity for evil in some people. I've been in this business long enough that nothing surprises me anymore. Remember, to these monsters, you're nothing but 'Exhibit A', like leaving your blood at the scene of the crime. You're evidence."
His words sent a prickling of foreboding through her. She hadn't thought of herself as Exhibit A. But now that she did, clearly that's exactly what she was. The killer's DNA would match hers. The idea took a bit of getting used to. She considered telling Frank about the phone call, then thought better of it. He might change his mind about getting that file for her, and she needed it. She wondered if Sergeant Nelson would tell him. She hoped not.
"I'll be fine," she said. "Frank, I really appreciate your help."
"You're welcome. Just answer me one thing, and please don't take it the wrong way."
"Shoot."
"Well, you had the ground ripped out from under you pretty brutally, I know that. Are you sure you're not grasping at something to keep you grounded, I suppose, with all this dredging up of the past, as a way to survive?"
"Please don't psychoanalyze me, Frank." There was no edge to her words; it was a fair question. "Anyway, even if that's true, it's only a small part of it. I think you were more right than you realize when you said it was like Mary Rose willed herself to live long enough to give birth to me. I believe that somewhere deep in her subconscious she made herself hang on until she somehow knew I could be delivered safely. She gave me life, Frank. I owe her to try to find out who took hers. It's like a covenant. In lawyer-speak, a contract."
"I know what a covenant is." He grinned and sipped his Chinese tea from the black miniature cup embossed with a gold dragon. His shrewd lawyer's eyes studied her thoughtfully over its rim. She saw the sadness in their depths. He misses Mom too. They were dear friends long before I came on the scene. He's probably remembering their being in here together. She wished he could meet someone. Frank was too nice of a man to be alone.
Setting her plate to one side on the crisp white tablecloth, Naomi picked up her fortune cookie and cracked it open, and withdrew the strip of paper from within its shell.
"Good news, I hope," Frank said. "We could use a little."
She read it aloud: "The way of the trouble-maker is thorny."
They both laughed, and she heard the trace of unease in the sound. Still, it had been a very long time since she'd heard her own laughter, and it was strange in her ears.
* * *
On the drive home, Naomi thought over her discussion with Frank. As she had wanted to tell Sergeant Nelson about her dream of the eagle, so she wished she could have shared it with Frank. The eagle was at the heart of her quest. But Frank was a lawyer, and like the sergeant, thought in terms of tangible evidence. Thank God for Lisa who hadn't needed anything, but had taken her dream to heart without hesitation or question. It was in her nature to believe that just because a thing could not be proven doesn't mean it isn't real. Lisa had quoted Hamlet, smiling her warm, mysterious smile: "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." With a self-conscious chuckle, she told Naomi she played a small part in the play in school, and remembered the line just now. Naomi thought Hamlet knew of what he spoke.
She wondered if the man would call again
Chapter Eighteen
"I need to report my husband missing."
The officer looked up from the John Grisham novel he'd been reading to see a thin woman with short, dark hair and anxious eyes looking down at him. He reached absently into the tray on the desk for a report form. "Yes, Ma'am. Name, please." Unaware, he ran a hand over his buzz-cut, which was still relatively new to him, and it made him feel naked, at the mercy of a stray draft.
"Norman Banks. I'm his wife, Debbie Banks."
"When was the last time you saw your husband, Ms. Banks?" He picked up a fat, maroon ballpoint, poising it to write.
"Yesterday morning. Before he went to work. He hasn't been home since. No phone call, nothing. I think something bad happened to him." Her voice broke. "I thought maybe an accident, but I've checked the hospitals … nothing. I called his work. He was there yesterday...."
The officer set the pen down, suppressing a grin. "Sorry, Ma'am. There's nothing I can do about a man who decides to stay out all night." He was thinking the guy was probably off on a toot somewhere, maybe shacked up with some little chippie, which was usually the case. It was his experience that he’d show up eventually, probably with nothing worse than a bad hangover and an explanation that, however weird, his wife would buy because she wanted to. "You, uh, maybe oughta be at home in case he phones. My guess is he'll likely be home by the time you...."
"No, you don't understand," she cut in, the intensity in her brown eyes willing him to listen. "It's not what you're thinking. Normie wouldn't do this. He's not that kind of man. We got three kids together. He's never stayed out before. Not once." Her eyes suddenly swam with tears. "But that's not the only reason. My husband's a diabetic and he needs his shots. He could go into a coma without them."
She had his attention now. Diabetes put a different spin on things. His brother's kid had diabetes and it was nothing to fool around with. He took down the missing man's description, and clipped the photo she'd brought with her to the form. "We'll call you as soon as we know anything, Ma'am. If he comes home in the meantime, please let us know."
"Please find my husband," she said.
As soon as she was gone, Officer Ramsay took the missing person's report into the sergeant. "Thought you'd probably get this one out to the public, Sarge," he said. "His wife says he's got diabetes and needs his shots. Might be lying in a ditch somewhere."
* * *
But it wasn't the police who found Norman Banks' body. Henry Wilkes found him. Henry was a homeless vet who'd been down by the wharves stumbling about, nursing a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag, headed for his favourite out-of-the-way shed where he intended to sleep. The stomach-wrenching smell hit him just seconds before he tripped over the body. A mouthful of the heavy sweet wine bubbled up from his gut, filling his mouth with the taste of vomit. He gagged and spat it off to one side on the ground as past horrors flooded Henry's mind, accompanied by the stench of fallen bodies halfway around the world in Vietnam. It took a few seconds to reorient his alcohol-fogged brain to the present. He flicked the head of a match with his thumbnail, and the flame caught the flatness in the dead man's eyes and the gaping slash across his throat.
He was out of breath and pretty much sober by the time he got to the phone booth near the main road and made the call.
He waited with the corpse till the cops showed up. 'Poor devil," he kept saying. "Poor son-of-a-bitch." His exact sentiments were noted in the report.
* * *
Poor devil indeed, Sergeant Nelson thought, glancing over the missing person's file that had just been brought to him, one he'd already read. Banks' wife's worries had been justified. Norman Banks didn't go into a diabetic coma, however, but he did come to a very bad end, with his throat slit from ear to ear.
There was no sign that he'd put up a fight or any resistance at all, and the consensus was that the killer came up behind him, surprising him. Why? And what the hell was he doing down there late at night, all by himself? He wasn't homeless like Wilkes. Not even a vet like Wilkes. He was, in fact, married with grown kids and operated a forklift for Harris Woodworking, a company run by a third generation of Harrises.
No smell of booze on him. Was he having some kind of secret rendezvous, a secret his wife wasn't in on? A lover? Drugs?
His wife didn't know yet that her husband was dead. She kept calling. He'd have to go out there and see her. Break the bad news. She probably already suspects, but doesn't want to believe it. They'd need her to make a positive I.D. on the body.
"That's it, then," he said to officers D
rew Mullin and Jerry Knowles. Jerry didn't have all his colour back yet and his eyes looked glazed. He was a rookie and this was his first homicide. "You got nothing, no leads? Didn't come across the knife, by any remote chance?" A joke, of course.
"Nope," said Mullin, "just that article the vic had on him about that half-breed dame, all folded up in his pocket." Mullin was a big man, a Brian Dennehy lookalike, but without the actor's class or charm.
"Her name's Naomi Waters," Sergeant Nelson said coolly, not missing the look Jerry shot his senior partner's comment, though Mullin picked up on neither, "She's an audio book narrator."
Mullin looked blank on that one. "You think there might be a connection between her and the dead guy?" he asked.
Sergeant Nelson sighed. You can't bitch at a zebra 'cause you don't like stripes. "Maybe. Worth checking out." Was Norman Banks Naomi Waters' mysterious caller?" Nelson wondered.
"You want me to go see the vic's wife?" Mullins asked. "Break the bad news?"
Hell no. "No. I'll take this one myself. I'm going out that way anyway," he lied, pocketing the tape Naomi Waters had brought him. Telling someone their loved one was dead, worse, murdered, was not a job he looked forward to, but better him than Mullin. Drew meant well, but he was old school, with some of the same bigotries as the old guard. He'd be retiring next year, and in his opinion, not a minute too soon. Not that all the older cops shared those negatives; they didn't, as he himself didn't. At least not that he was aware of.
A half hour later he was headed out to the Banks' house in Rollingdam, feeling heavy with the task before him. But better she hear it from him than through the media. If Banks' name wasn't already out there, give it an hour and it would be. Even if she already knew in some deep part of herself that her husband was gone, it would still come as a shock. The last shred of hope ripped away, she'd be left with a husband who presently lay on a slab in the morgue. Her life would be forever changed. That was the brutal reality.
The Abduction of Mary Rose Page 9
