She stood back and admired her work.
Chapter Thirty-Six
"You actually faced her down," Frank said, still appraising the pendant Naomi had handed him, turning it over and over gently in his fingers, obviously moved by its story. His glasses low on his nose, he looked like a professor of archaeology studying some recent find from a dig. He'd been stunned to learn all that Naomi had uncovered in her quest. That Sisip meant little bird, that Mary Rose's grandfather had made it for her. That she'd been wearing it the night of her abduction. He'd told her she missed her calling, that she should have been a detective. She didn't think so.
"You didn't know about the pendant, then, Frank?"
He looked up, hurt evident on his face. Incredulous that she would ask the question. Then something came into his eyes and the incredulity left. He conceded she had a right to suspect that more things could be hidden from her.
"No," he answered adamantly. "I swear I knew nothing about Edna having this pendant. Everything I know, you know," he said. "I've told you everything."
"Okay, Frank. I believe you."
"And you are absolutely sure this was Mary Rose's pendant?"
"Yes. Her name's on the back, like I said. The name her grandfather called her by. Sisip. Little Bird." She told him about Lisa Boyce, Cameron back then. "Lisa is positive she was wearing it that night. The pendant was supposed to protect her. I guess the evil was stronger."
He shook his head in wonder. "If you ever need a job as an investigator…."
"Thanks. I'll think I'll keep my present job."
He was back to examining the adornment that had been Mary Rose's talisman, running thumb and forefinger down the length of braided leather that held the crescent moon, and over the man-in-the-moon profile. "That couldn't have been easy, standing up to Edna," he said almost absently, merely glancing at Naomi. He held the crescent moon up to the lamplight so that the letters were more visible.
He was sitting in the armchair by the window, one leg crossed over the over, revealing a charcoal sock to match his pants. Due at a dinner for a colleague an hour from now, he'd donned a white shirt and blue tie beneath a navy blazer, and looked very dapper, much better than the last time she saw him, more relaxed and at peace with himself, apparently come to terms with his part in her mother's conspiracy, which more and more, she understood and forgave. As Eric Grant had said, she was lucky. God only knew what might have happened to her if Lillian Waters/Bradley had not adopted her. She could make a pretty good guess though. She wouldn't be here. They would have aborted her in utero. Eric was right. Two amazing women had fought to give her a life. She was indebted to them both.
"It wasn't easy, confronting her," she said. "Not at first, anyway. I'm sure someone gave her this pendant, Frank. She didn't find it on any beach." She picked up the yearbook from the coffee table. "Here. This is Norman Banks' yearbook," she said. "Edna's picture's not in here, I already checked. I'm guessing she was probably a year or two behind Norman Banks in school, but I don't know that, of course."
"What am I looking for?" He traded the pendant for the book and opened the front cover.
"You knew Edna back then. She was living with Mom in the old house. You were there a lot. Maybe you remember some of her friends."
"You're putting a lot of stock in my memory. That's quite a long shot."
"I don't know anyone sharper than you are. And I've been operating on long shots for a while now."
He gave her a half-smile, nodded and turned the second page. Norman Banks' photo was near the front of the book, in keeping with the alphabetical order. A shy looking boy, he had a narrow, hopeful face, neatly combed hair, a boy who would sit on the sidelines until he met a woman who found much about him to love. But before that, he would meet someone who preyed on his vulnerabilities, and made him feel like he belonged. People reacted so differently to life's difficulties. She thought of Eric Grant who had been thrown to the wolves as a child, but he had stayed strong, believed in himself and accomplished his goals. She had a feeling he was going to write a fine novel.
Naomi sat in the chair opposite to Frank, leaving him to focus on the pages of students, while her thoughts lingered on the reporter. She imagined his smiling Viking face, with its wild beard that she apparently managed to find attractive even if she didn't know it at the time. His clean-shaven face wasn't bad either, she thought, recalling their chance meeting at the police station during which he'd managed to really put her off. But he'd apologized for that, though he really had nothing to apologize for. She'd been overreacting, defensive.
With all she had on her mind, she hadn't had a chance to read his book yet. She would, though. She was looking forward to it.
Frank was still turning pages. Despite the dinner he was due to attend, he was taking his time, giving attention to each face on the page. "No hand-written notes from school chums," he muttered. "Unusual." Then, "Was I ever this young?" He asked the question of the universe. "This filled with promise?"
"Sure. And you kept the promise. You're a very successful lawyer. And a good friend."
He looked gratified at that, moved on to the next page. Scanned the rows of youthful faces. Then another, and another. Soft whispers of turning pages in the otherwise quiet room.
"And Charlotte was wearing the pendant," he said, again, more to himself than to her. But she answered.
"Big as life, sitting in front of me at my kitchen table wearing it. She borrowed it from her mother's jewelry box, she said, where it's been for years. She said her mother never wore it. Didn't like it. Edna said as much to me."
"What the hell was Edna doing with it?" Frank said.
"'Ay, there's the rub. Like I said, I don't believe for one second that she found it on any beach."
He turned the next page, not answering. Contemplating.
"She was frightened, Frank," Naomi continued. "I could see it on her face, hear it in her voice, though she was trying her best to hide it from me. Seeing that necklace in my hand really shook her. Do you have any idea why that would be?"
"Not a clue," he said.
Naomi realized something fundamental had changed in her; she'd always been the sort of person who took people at their word, things at face value. But she knew now things were not always as they seemed. Forgiving was one thing. Learning to trust again was another. But she would. She refused to live in the darkness.
About halfway through the yearbook, just as Naomi was beginning to think they were getting nowhere and was about to tell him to go on to his dinner, Frank turned a page, then flipped it back again, surprised recognition on his face.
"What?" Naomi said, leaning forward in the chair.
Frank tapped a tattoo on the photo and turned the book around so she could see it. She read aloud the name beneath the photo of the young man, "Marcus Leeland."
"Edna dated him at one time, years ago of course. Before you were born. He'd been out of school a couple of years then. Lili thought he was a jerk, but Edna was crazy about him. He had that kind of 'bad boy' aura some girls are drawn to. He had a reputation as a player."
"You're kidding. Edna?" But he wasn't kidding. Frank was dead serious. She examined the photo more closely. Good-looking blond boy, receding hairline, even though he couldn't have been more than nineteen, macho type. Cocky grin. Marcus. Could it be? Edna dated him? Naomi had a hard time getting her mind around that, though her thoughts were travelling at super-speed, making connections that seemed impossible.
Aunt Edna? With her nose in air, always so critical, so proper. Dating someone so different from Uncle Harold. Edna had a side to her Naomi would not have suspected.
"God, Frank, are you sure this is him?"
"I wouldn't swear to it in a courtroom, but it sure as hell looks like him. The name's not quite right, I don't think Edna called him Marcus. Bud, Cal, something…." He stood up and re-buttoned his beautifully tailored jacket. "Gotta go. Don't go jumping to conclusions, okay? Even if it is the same guy, it proves onl
y that Edna dated him at one time. Nothing else."
"Do you know anything else about him? Anything you remember?"
"Not off the top of my head. Uh, I seem to recall he was into restoring old cars. I've really gotta head out now, honey, but I'll think about it and get back to you."
"Do you happen to remember if he drove a dark car?"
"No. Sorry. I don't remember what kind of car I drove back then. Keep your doors locked, Naomi. Be careful. I don't like it that you're here alone. I'm worried about you."
"Don't be. I'm fine."
"Frank, did Mom know?" she asked, as he was starting down the front steps.
He turned, frowned. "Know?"
"Did she suspect who Mary Rose's attacker was? Is that why she adopted me? Out of some misguided sense of guilt?"
"No, absolutely not. She would have turned him in if she had."
"I wonder. Edna wouldn't have been all that thrilled for people to know she'd been mad for a rapist. Ultimately a killer. And Mom really loved her little sister. And we both know Mom was good at keeping secrets. "
"C'mon, Naomi. Cut your mom some slack, okay?"
She conceded with a shrug but didn't give it voice. Edna had called her a spawn of the devil. But had Edna bedded that devil? "Are you sure that…?"
"Yes, I am sure. She didn't know. And she never saw that pendant. I swear it. Never."
"If you say so."
"I do. I say so. I really do wish you'd let the police handle this, Naomi," echoing Lisa's sentiments on the subject.
"I don't have enough yet. Not to worry. It's okay. I uh, have a plan."
"A plan. I don't suppose you want to enlighten me."
"I will. But not right now. Enjoy the dinner."
* * *
The thing that kept playing in Naomi's mind was Frank saying Marcus Leeland had an interest in old cars. In restoring them. Norman Banks once worked at a place called The Body Shop. A place no longer in existence, but it was too big of a coincidence to think the two men didn't work there together, at least for a time. She had a name now. Marcus Leeland. But she still had no proof to take to the police.
Only a theory. Sergeant Nelson would have listened to her theory though, taken what she had into consideration. She wondered how he was doing. She would send a get well card, but had no address for him. She could always drop it in to the police station and ask them to forward it. Yes, she would do that.
That night she read in the paper about the murder of an eighteen year old prostitute named Marie Davis; it made the back page. Her battered body was found in a field in Lennix County, about twenty-five miles outside River's End. Though Mary Rose was an innocent schoolgirl, she couldn't help but make the connection. It happened on the same night she'd stayed over at Lisa's, though Naomi didn't think of that until later. She wondered how many people would have passed the item by, barely worth conversation at the breakfast table, saying what the hell did those girls think would happen to them getting into cars with strangers, doing what they did? But Naomi read the piece twice before she refolded the newspaper. A heaviness settled in her chest.
Only eighteen. She would have had family. A mother, father, people who loved her and would grieve for her. One could only hope this was so. 'There but for the grace of God', Naomi thought.
Later, she went back and read the write-up again. Wondering now if Marcus Leeland had killed her. Had he come here looking for me and frustrated, gone in search of other prey to vent his rage on? Easier prey? Was a young woman dead today because of her? Had the beast in Marcus Leeland unleashed its fury on someone else.
On the other hand, he wasn't the only predator around. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that this was the work of none other than Edna's old boyfriend.
I want to see him, Naomi thought suddenly. I want to look at his face.
It was too late now, nearly eight o'clock, but in the morning, she'd call every body shop in town and ask to speak to a Marcus Leeland. Even if he wasn't pursuing the same line of work, someone might know him from the old days.
The sky outside her kitchen window was low and grey, threatening rain again, though the weatherman said sunny for most of tomorrow, a few cloudy patches.
Standing there, she imagined him walking across the back field, creeping up to her backdoor, and ripples of fear went through her.
She was about to leave the window when, to her right, a flash of red, caught her eye. Wondering what it was, she unlocked the door and stepped outside, the little butterfly chimes tinkling madly behind her like excited little spirits.
It surprised her to see the gas can sitting near-hidden in some bushes a few feet from her back door. As the smell of the gas wafted up to her, the implication of its being here struck her full in the solar plexus, making her feel a cold that went straight to her marrow.
She hefted the can, heard the gentle sloshing of the potentially deadly liquid inside. Must be half full, she thought, a cold dread spreading through her. She cast a quick look around her, almost expecting someone to be standing there. But there was no one. He'd obviously intended to use this gas, which he left there in his hurry to get away when he heard the doorbell ring. That had to be it. Thank God for Frank's timing. She might not have been around right now but for that.
She considered what to do with the gasoline for a long minute. Then, hoping the gas had nothing else in it that would harm her car, but deciding to risk it, she walked around to the front drive and poured the gas into her car's gas tank. Then she replaced the gasoline in the can with water, went around back again, and set it down where she had found it, in the bushes, by the door, but concealed a little better so that he would not think it had been discovered, and its contents tampered with.
He would come for her soon. There was no question of that. She had to be ready for him. One more thing to put in place, and it was done. But she was tired now. Mistakes get made when you're tired. She needed to rest for fifteen minutes or so. A power-nap, Mom used to call it.
She set down on the sofa and switched on the TV, keeping it low, a murmur in the background. A crime show, the plot of which eluded her. Molly jumped up on her lap, circling a few times before settling down. A comforting weight. Naomi patted her. "We're not going to be easy prey, are we, Molly? He's going to find himself in a fight, the bastard."
She didn't remember falling asleep. Only closing her eyes for a minute, having that power-nap and apparently went out like the proverbial light. Her dreams were more than vivid. Once, she thought she heard the crackle and popping of fire and smelled the acrid smoke filling the house, heard waves of heat stirring the little chimes by the door. Then stirring the hairs on her head. Sirens. Oh, God, the house was on fire. He'd done it. She woke in a panic, yet still hovering in that otherworldly zone between sleep and waking. Some other dimension that didn't want to give her up.
When she did sit up, she wasn't sure if she was still dreaming, or if her house was really on fire. But she saw no flames, and the smell of smoke was fading. And then she remembered she'd put water in the gas can. Even so, she found herself gasping for breath as her lungs tried to rid themselves of the choking dream-smoke.
Molly was no longer in her lap, and the room was dark, no light showing through the part in the living room curtains. The only light was from the TV. An old cop movie was playing. The sirens were far away now. How long had she been asleep?
Head aching, body stiff from the uncomfortable position on the couch, she made her way out to the kitchen, feeling like she'd been on a bender.
The owl clock on the wall told her it was twenty past three. She put the coffee on and picked up the telephone book.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Frank called around ten that morning to tell her he remembered Marcus Leeland had lived with a maiden aunt, but had no idea where she lived, or if she still lived. He expanded some on the relationship between Edna and Marcus Leeland.
"They fought a lot," he said. "Edna suspected him of cheating on her, and she was mi
serable, crying a lot. That was it. I know your mother was relieved when they stopped seeing each other."
"When did they, Frank? When did they stop seeing each other? Was it after Mary Rose was attacked?"
"I don't know, honey. So long ago. I'm surprised I remembered as much as I did."
She let it go, instead asked about the dinner, and he told her the chicken was rubbery, otherwise it was a good evening. Naomi heard a soft bark in the background.
"There's a pigeon on the window-sill," he said by way of explanation.
* * *
There were just five auto body shops listed in the phone book. She wrote the names down in her notebook. She'd changed her mind about phoning and decided she would visit each one and ask for him. Someone asking for him on the phone, then hanging up before he could answer might make him suspicious. Or he might answer himself, for that matter.
After writing down the addresses of the body shops, she looked up Marcus Leeland's name in the phone book. No Marcus but there was an M. Leeland listed. - 632 Watson Street. She glanced at her list of body shops and saw there was one maybe a block away. Mac's Auto Body Shop. Mac? Marcus?
Better than a good chance it was he who owned the place. So he worked close to where he lived, down near the docks. If she remembered correctly, not that far from Fisher Wharf where Norman Banks' body was found. That he would arrange to meet his old pal so close to where he lived showed his boldness, his arrogance. His belief that he was smarter than everyone else. He'd been laughing at the police for years. And why not? He'd gotten away with murder. Three that she knew of, if indeed he did kill Marie Davis. How many more?
Marcus Leeland was a cold-blooded sociopath. Of course he'd be listed in the phone book.
The Abduction of Mary Rose Page 17
