Dead Giveaway

by Leann Sweeney

  ''What time of year did this happen?'' I saw newspaper archives in my future and wanted the timeframe narrowed down as much as possible.

  ''Right after Easter. I bought the blankets in March on a whim when we'd had a late cold snap. Isn't the blanket the softest, most lovely thing you've ever seen?''

  ''Yes indeed,'' I said, wringing out my sponge. I sat back on my heels. ''Think I'm finished here. You mentioned you thought he was the limo driver. He arrived in a limo, then?''

  Mrs. McGrady stopped her work and cocked her head. ''I'm not quite sure. Perhaps the manner of that particular order made me think of a limo.''

  ''Why's that?''

  ''Phone orders only came from regular customers, and I assumed the buyer had a big car and a driver. Many of my patrons were very wealthy.'' She paused, her forehead creased with thought. ''Or maybe, and forgive me for saying this, but he was a young black man. In my mind back then—and yes, this is very wrong—he could have been . . . a servant sent out on an errand.''

  I nodded, knowing that was most likely why she'd come up with this limo idea. Not helpful at all.

  Mrs. McGrady frowned. ''I can see you're quite disappointed in me. The fact that I am not a—how do we say it these days?—a ''people person'' has been modified by the insight of age. I don't give a bloody damn what someone's skin color is anymore. People are asses no matter who their ancestors are.''

  I smiled. ''At times, I think I agree.''

  I left Mrs. McGrady's house a little after four and stopped at the central branch of the library in downtown Houston. I was due to pick up Kate for our trip to Bottlebrush this evening—she had a client until six—but I wanted to see the newspaper photo of this murderer. Because online archives don't have photos attached, I couldn't go home and look up the article on my computer to view the photo Marjorie mentioned. I had to see it on microfilm.

  I parked the Camry in the library lot, careful to put my parking ticket in the side pocket of my capris where I could find it. Last time I'd lost the stupid thing and ended up paying sixteen bucks for a full day after only an hour's worth of research. I also reached around the .38 in my glove compartment and raided my car-wash quarter stash. I'd need change for copies.

  Once on the main floor of the library, I bypassed the escalators, went straight to the bibliographic research area in the far right corner, sat down and got to work. The Houston Chronicle was archived back to 1985, and though I feared I'd get dozens of hits for murders in April 1987, that wasn't the case. Seems less than four hundred people had been murdered the entire year, and only one in April had a picture of the accused alongside the article. The killing had taken place at night in a bank parking lot, and the victim was a University of Houston coed named Amanda Mason. Her murderer had been picked up at his parents' home only hours after the shooting, thanks to an anonymous tip. Amanda Mason's wallet, watch and jewelry were hidden in the guy's dresser drawer—he was an eighteen-year-old kid named Lawrence Washington. What a brilliant criminal, I thought.

  I put several quarters in the printer, and while it was copying, I plugged Lawrence Washington's name into the archive search engine. A dozen hits popped up. The one that first caught my eye read ACCUSED KILLER HAD BRIGHT FUTURE. The other articles dealt with appeals, rehashing the murder and an interview with Lawrence Washington's father, who proclaimed his son's innocence. There was a related piece about how much crime took place near ATM machines since they'd begun to pop up everywhere. I wanted to dig deeper, read every article right this minute, but I'd be late picking up Kate if I scratched that itch right now.

  After copying everything I could find, I took out my phone and called Jeff. I got his voice mail, so I left a message for him to hunt up anything he could on Lawrence Washington and the old murder conviction. Jeff had joined HPD in the nineties, but I was sure he'd be able to find out something about the case. As I was finishing the message, I realized this brief bit of cell phone indulgence had incurred the wrath of a man at an adjacent table.

  He informed me that cell phones should be banned in libraries and looked about ready to knock me crosseyed, so rather than respond like the smart-ass I am, I told him I was sorry and left to pay my parking fee, copies in hand.

  11

  I left downtown at rush hour—big mistake—and was late picking up Kate anyway. She was waiting in the parking garage next to her car as planned, wearing one of her ''soothing'' pastel suits—this one aqua. She's a firm believer that color affects her patient's mood and carefully chooses what she wears to work every day.

  When she climbed in beside me, I handed the articles to her. ''Could you read these out loud? Help make the drive to Bottlebrush more interesting?''

  ''No apology for making me stand around in a damp old garage for twenty minutes?'' she asked.

  I glanced at her as I stopped to pay more parking money—and this time I hadn't even parked. ''Sorry. I was at the downtown library at five o'clock and hit gridlock.''

  She shook her head. ''I'm sorry myself for being so cranky. Terry and I had a fight this morning, and I can't seem to shake my bad mood.''

  I laughed. ''You and Terry fought? First time ever or what?''

  ''He's pressing me again to get married, and you know what a fence-sitter I am on that subject.'' She began shuffling through the pages I'd handed her.

  ''I'm staying on the outside of that particular dispute, seeing as how I'm O-for-one in the marriage department.''

  ''Look who you've hooked up with now? Jeff is perfect for you.''

  ''And Terry's right for you, Kate. He adores you.''

  ''Why can't I commit?'' she said.

  ''You're the shrink, not me.''

  ''I know. This is my problem.'' She sighed and looked down at the stack of copies. ''What is all this?''

  As we headed for the freeway, I explained what I had learned today and that I hadn't had a chance to read through the articles. ''Start with the one that mentions the killer's bright future,'' I said.

  She found that particular article and began to read: ''He was voted 'Most Likely to Succeed' and 'Most Athletic' at his high school and had just signed a letter of intent to play baseball for Texas A&M. Yes, Lawrence Washington was going somewhere. But now he's going to jail for the rest of his life. Washington, eighteen, was sentenced to life in prison yesterday, convicted in the execution-style slaying of University of Houston coed Amanda Mason.''

  ''That sounds cold,'' I said, merging into a line of slow-moving traffic on the 610 loop.

  Kate went on reading. ''Friends and family can't explain why the bright young man who would have graduated tenth in his class in a few months would commit such a horrific crime. No one, not even the principal of Hurst High, can recall him ever raising his voice, much less getting into trouble. But according to one friend, Washington's mother has breast cancer and the family faces huge medical bills. Perhaps that's why Lawrence Washington put a gun to Amanda Mason's head and pulled the trigger, fearing she would identify him after the robbery if he let her live. Sadly, her cash withdrawal from the ATM near where her body was found that night had been a mere fifty dollars. Fifty dollars for two young lives wasted.''

  Kate sighed again. ''How depressing. Makes me feel guilty for whining today.''

  ''We've got it pretty good, huh?''

  Kate took out her cell phone. ''I'm calling Terry right now to apologize.''

  ''Good idea, and when you're done, read me the rest of the articles. I need to know everything about this Lawrence Washington, even though I'm praying right now he's not connected to Will—especially when it comes to genetics. He's a black athlete, and that makes him a good candidate for biological father. Unfortunately, he is also a killer.''

  Kate had been ready to use her phone, but closed it and said excitedly, ''The murdered girl could have been Will's birth mother. Yes, and he killed her to—''

  ''The timing's wrong, Kate. Amanda Mason died in April of 1987 and Will was born probably in October or late September of that year.''


  ''Oh. Right. Reading these articles out of order is confusing.'' She reopened her phone and called Terry.

  We were almost to Bottlebrush by the time she'd made up with him and finished reading the articles to me. One was a short piece on Washington's having exhausted his appeals, another a human interest story on the life and death of Amanda Mason that included interviews of her brokenhearted family. Several more articles had appeared when Washington was due for parole in 2004. Amanda Mason's family and their supporters made sure he stayed in Huntsville State Prison.

  Since we'd had to navigate plenty of traffic on the freeways, the ride had taken more than two hours. Dusk was giving way to night when we parked in front of Verna Mae's house.

  Before I unlocked the front door, I nodded at the bassinet planter. ''There sits my first clue something wasn't right with Verna Mae.''

  ''She was clinging to the most important event in her life,'' Kate said.

  Once inside, I felt around on the wall for a light switch and then illuminated the foyer.

  Kate took in the antique coat rack, an expensivelooking side table holding Lladro figurines of mothers and babies, and the plush carpet on the stairway to our right. ''Nice place.''

  ''Kind of suffocating, if you ask me. I say we start in her bedroom. That's where Burl and I found the blanket and the albums she'd made of Will's life story. I want those if Burl left them. I didn't get to examine them closely enough.''

  Kate said, ''It is stuffy in here. Mind if I find the thermostat and turn on the air-conditioning?''

  ''Go for it,'' I said. ''Meet you upstairs.''

  She took off down the hall, flicking lights on along the way, while I took the stairs. I turned on the light in Verna Mae's bedroom and found things were not as I remembered them. The oak dresser drawers were half open, the closet door stood ajar, even the linens on the bed were in disarray. I set down my purse and went to the four-poster, knelt and pulled out the box where we'd found the blanket and albums.

  Empty. Damn.

  No wonder Burl turned the keys over with a smile. He'd come back and taken what he wanted, left the place a mess. As Jeff said, the guy was still fixated on an old case he'd never solved.

  I shoved the box back under the bed, more than a little pissed off, but when I did, I heard a tiny jingle. I removed the box, flattened on my belly and sank into carpet so thick you could sleep on it. Reminded me of my old digs in River Oaks, the mansion I'd grown up in and didn't miss one bit. With my cheek pressed against the carpet, I looked under the bed and spotted a lump that appeared to be a set of keys. They were more than an arm's reach away, and I had to squirm my shoulder under the frame to grab them.

  Wiggling out from beneath the bed, I thought, Got one back on you, Burl. I sat cross-legged to check them out. One key was small, maybe for a padlock, and had a white, round tag marked B-109. The other looked like a house key. I pulled Verna Mae's set from my pocket for a comparison, but no match. Did Verna Mae have more surprises to offer after her death? Like another house?

  It dawned on me then that Kate hadn't joined me. Where the heck was she?

  I retrieved my purse, stashed the keys and called her name as I made my way to the landing. She didn't answer.

  ''Kate,'' I yelled louder. ''I found something.''

  Still nothing. In fact, the house was so quiet you could have heard a hummingbird's heart beat.

  My own heart sped up. Something wasn't right.

  I rushed down the stairs and followed the path made by the lights she'd turned on, aware that the smell of the spring night—a blend of honeysuckle and humidity—filled the house. Maybe she'd gone outside, leaving the door open so as not to get locked out.

  Why? I wondered.

  ''Kate,'' I called, my voice cracking with fear. Where was she, damn it?

  I ran down the hall, which suddenly seemed like the length of a football field, and stopped dead at the kitchen entry, my hand covering my mouth.

  My sister was lying on the cold tile floor.

  12

  I rushed over, knelt by Kate and as soon as I touched her shoulder, she moaned.

  ''Talk to me,'' I said, stroking her cheek. ''Tell me you're okay.''

  She turned toward me, blinking to clear the cobwebs. ''I-I am okay. I think. Help me get up. This floor is hard.''

  ''Are you sure you should move?''

  ''Don't get dramatic on me. Someone bopped me on the head, that's all.''

  Once I helped her sit up, she rubbed the back of her skull then held out her hand. ''See? No blood. Just a little bump.''

  Brave talk, but she was pallid as paper. I touched her left cheek. ''You're getting a bruise here.''

  She laid her face against her palm. ''Probably from the fall. Believe me, I was never in hand-to-hand combat with anyone. That's more your style.''

  ''Someone hit you hard enough to knock you out, Kate. We need to call an ambulance . . . and call Burl, too.''

  ''No ambulance,'' she said sharply. ''I don't want any traditional drugs or doctors unless I'm close to dying—and I'm not. Calling Burl's a good idea, though.''

  She stood with my help, and once on her feet, she tottered a little.

  ''You're as dizzy as a drunk trying to get out of the tub,'' I said. ''I reserve the right to overrule the 'no ambulance' call.'' I guided her to a kitchen chair before raiding the freezer. I opted for a package of frozen mixed vegetables for an ice pack. Being close to her favorite things ought to comfort Kate.

  ''Abby, I am not explaining this to Terry while I'm lying in some emergency room taking up space better used for real sick people. Are we clear?''

  ''Clear,'' I said. ''For now.''

  After sitting at the table alternating the veggies between her head and her face, her cheeks regained some color. I found Burl's card, called him and told him what had happened. He said to sit tight, he was on his way.

  Kate asked for water, and I found a spotless glass in a cupboard above the dishwasher. There were plenty to be had. The cabinet was crowded with expensive crystal glasses and china dishes. I filled a tumbler, brought it to Kate, then sat across from her. ''What happened while I was upstairs?''

  She took a generous swig, then held up the glass. ''Heavy. Not your eight-for-a-dollar Wal-Mart special.''

  ''What happened?'' I repeated sternly.

  ''Wish I knew. I went looking for the thermostat, turned on the air and then thought I'd get a drink of water after all my yapping in the car. That's the last thing I remember.''

  ''You didn't see anyone?''

  ''If I did, that memory's been erased.''

  I reached out and squeezed her arm. ''Are you sure you're okay? That bastard could have—''

  ''Quit it, Abby. I'm fine. Did you see or hear anything?''

  ''I sure didn't hear what happened down here, but someone searched Verna Mae's bedroom, took the picture albums. We probably interrupted whoever it was. Maybe with me upstairs and you down here, they felt trapped. . . . You turned your back, they saw their chance, knocked you out and ran.''

  Kate sipped her water. ''Whoever it was never made a sound. I had no clue someone was lurking around ready to pounce on me.''

  ''I'd have heard you yelling like a Little Leaguer's mother if you'd seen whoever bopped you.''

  She smiled. ''I can holler when necessary.''

  ''Stupid me thought Burl had come back and raided the place just like we were doing, but obviously that's not the case.''

  ''Why would someone want an obsessed woman's picture albums, Abby?''

  ''Damn good question. Verna Mae's death has to be connected to Will somehow. Maybe there was a clue in those articles and photos and the killer wanted them.''

  Just then Burl rushed in through the open back door, his gnarled fingers gripping a pistol in one hand and holding a crime scene kit in the other.

  ''Whoa,'' Kate said, her gaze fixed on his gun.

  ''Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. You okay, little lady?''

  ''Yes, sir,'' she an
swered. ''Abby used to beat me up worse than this when we were kids.''

  ''We've only known each other a short time,'' Burl said, ''but I don't doubt it. Let me make a quick check of this place, make sure no one's hanging around.''

  When he returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, he stashed his gun in his holster, came over and lifted Kate's chin, examining her cheek. ''I'm thinking we should call the paramedics.''

  ''Thanks but I've heard that suggestion and declined. I stay away from traditional medicine as much as possible. I'm Kate, by the way.'' She held out her hand.