Last Whisper

by Carlene Thompson

  “With a letter opener that belonged to Brooke’s mother and hasn’t been seen for over fifteen years?”

  “Yeah, well, there’s the fly in the ointment with that theory,” Sam said in disgust. “That letter opener leads you right back to thinking the killer must have been Tavell.”

  “Who has held on to a letter opener for fifteen years and just happened to have it with him one night when Robert Eads was hanging around Brooke’s apartment building?”

  “Son, Tavell could have hidden that letter opener a hundred places after he stole it from Anne. And there’s no proof he meant to use it on Robert Eads.” Sam suddenly sounded like his old self, the detective everyone in the department had admired. “Tavell might have been on his way up to Brooke’s apartment himself, planning on killing her with the letter opener, when he ran into Robert lurking around. Tavell’s face has been all over the news for days. Eads would have recognized him if he saw him. What could Tavell do? Just let Eads walk away?”

  “No,” Vincent said thoughtfully. He took another sip of beer. “I wonder where he’s kept that letter opener.”

  Sam shrugged. “Like I said—a hundred places.”

  “But not with friends. What would he have said to them fifteen years ago? ‘My wife’s first husband gave this to her and I’m jealous so I stole it and I’d like for you to hold on to it for God knows how many years’? Besides, Brooke said Tavell didn’t have any friends.”

  “She was just a little girl. He could have had dozens of friends she didn’t know about.”

  “Maybe she wouldn’t have, but the police would. Especially later, after the murder, when you investigated his background.”

  “Sure. We found out a lot. There were police files on the case, but I had a whole box of personal files of my own. I kept those files here at the house all these years.” He suddenly looked exultant. “I finally found that box of files in the basement today and spent the whole evening going over them after that moron next door went home.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to leave until I got back.”

  “Well, he got all jittery, scared that excuse for a wife of his might call, so he took off.”

  “Jerk.” Vincent leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Still, way to go, finding those files, Dad.” Sam shrugged. “How much information did you have in them?”

  “Lots, and I remember most of what I read. What I don’t”—he leaned down and tapped a box beside his chair—“is right in here.”

  “I’m absolutely dazzled, Dad. So, are you going to share what you know?”

  “You couldn’t shut me up if you paid me,” Sam said lightly, then turned serious. He was quiet for a moment, then began slowly. “Tavell’s father left when he was young. His mother didn’t pay much attention to him. Former teachers described him as ‘especially bright but unmotivated.’ I don’t know why that phrase sticks in my mind, but it does. Tavell dropped out of high school without a degree. He worked odd jobs. Stayed the longest at some auto body shop. Can’t remember the name. It’s probably not even in business anymore.”

  “Did he get married?”

  “Before Anne? No. I was sure of that even before I looked in my files.”

  “But Zach didn’t marry Anne until he was forty. There must have been girlfriends.”

  “Several, as I recall. One in particular. I can’t remember her name right off the bat. She had a kid, or maybe a couple of kids—have to check the files again for that information. Anyway, he stayed with her for quite a while. Then he just took off. She ended up a junkie.” Sam squinted as if he were seeing a face in the shadows. “Nadine! That was her name. Nadine . . . can’t remember her last name. Have to look in the files again.”

  “I’ll do it later,” Vincent said.

  “Good. She was still alive at the time of the murder and we questioned her. I actually remember her. She was a pathetic thing and not much help. She was too far gone on the drugs. . . .”

  “What happened to Nadine’s child? Or children?”

  “That’s not in my files, but I know any child would have been taken away from her.”

  “Is Nadine still alive?”

  “I have no idea. But if she is, don’t get any big ideas about tracking her down. You won’t get any information from her, Vincent. I told you. She was a wreck fifteen years ago. I just can’t imagine she could still be alive, much less have any sense left.” Sam sighed. “Anyway, a few years after Tavell left Nadine, he started working for a photographer and then he opened up his own studio. That’s how he met Anne. She brought Brooke in for photographs—Christmas or something. Two or three months later, they were married. Anne’s friends were all shocked. We interviewed a few of them. None of them liked Tavell. He was cold, standoffish—just the opposite of her first husband, they said. And he didn’t like her socializing with them. Eventually, he cut her off from just about everyone.”

  “Do you think he did that out of jealousy?”

  “That’s what most of them thought. Makes sense, but I also made a notation to myself that maybe he didn’t want her finding out too much about him.”

  “I guess he wouldn’t,” Vincent said. “I glanced at that album of newspaper articles you have by the chair.”

  “Oh yeah,” Sam said abashedly. “I saw it today, too. I guess I got it mixed in with our family albums. I hope Brooke didn’t see it.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t,” Vincent assured his father, although he had a bad feeling she had. “Things get misplaced. It’s just part of life. Anyway, one of the articles mentioned that an assault charge had been made against Zach by a woman when he was in his twenties. It was dropped, but I wonder how many other crimes he committed between then and the time he murdered Brooke’s mother, crimes he got away with?” Vincent shook his head. “God only knows what we’re really dealing with here.”

  “Not us, Son,” Sam said grimly. “Cinnamon Girl. After all, she’s the one he wants to kill.”

  seventeen

  1

  “I know how unprofessional this sounds,” Jay told Hal Myers, “but I really hate having to interview Robert Eads’s father.”

  “Because he’s a minister?”

  “Because we have to talk about his son being gay.”

  “Maybe he knew.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jay said as they walked toward the Eads home. “I knew Robert, remember? He definitely wasn’t out of the closet. I met his father once, too. Nicest guy you could ever run into, but traditional and clearly hopeful there was something serious going on between Robert and Brooke.” Jay paused. “Brooke thought an awful lot of Reverend Eads. She’d known him for years. I guess he really tried to be there for her after her mother was murdered. Anyway, from things she said about him and the way he struck me, he just wouldn’t understand homosexuality at all. He’s probably not a homophobe—just a guy who wanted his son to get married and love his wife like he loved his own and give them lots of grandchildren.”

  Hal nodded as they passed a riotously colored mass of yellow, pink, and lavender petunias in beds around the porch. “Do you think Brooke realized he was homosexual before she walked in on him and Townsend?”

  “I don’t know. Stacy was pretty sure about it. She’s really keen about picking up on stuff like that. But she never said if she mentioned her suspicions to Brooke or if Brooke acted like she might have her own doubts. I remember once saying I wondered if Robert and Brooke would get married, and Stace laughed and said, ‘Don’t bet on it.’ I asked her what she meant, but she said something vague like she always does when she doesn’t want me to know something.”

  “Does she keep a lot of secrets from you?” Hal asked.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean she was keeping secrets. Maybe she was just covering up for something Brooke had said about Eads in the lovemaking department, you know, like old Robert was a real dud in the sack—”

  At that moment a tall, thin man who looked like an older version of Robert swung open the door, obviously heard Jay’s r
emark, and chose to ignore it by smiling as he said stiffly, “Hello, gentlemen. May I help you?”

  Jay’s face flamed. Feeling the young man was beyond speech with embarrassment, Hal quickly stepped in. “Hello, Reverend. I’m Detective Myers and this is Detective Corrigan.”

  “I remember you.”

  Hal held up his badge anyway. “We wonder if you’d mind answering a few questions for us.”

  “About Bobby?” Hal nodded. “Certainly not,” Rev. Eads said. “Please.”

  He motioned them into the house. Myers entered with ease, but Jay felt as if he were a crab scurrying along the beach looking for a place to hide, suddenly deciding that crabs felt ashamed of themselves. Maybe it was just the look in Rev. Eads’s eyes—the forgiving, serene, almost not-of-this-world look that made Jay feel little and piteous.

  They walked into a small living room crowded with furniture that looked like it had come from the 1950s, the chairs and couch swathed in brightly flowered slipcovers, the tables covered with framed photos and knickknacks, the windows shrouded with flounced net over limp satin draperies. Jay wasn’t crazy about Stacy’s Spartan sense of home decoration, but he knew he’d die in a busy, smothering room like this one.

  Rev. Eads indicated that the men should sit on a ruffled pale pink couch, then asked if they would care for anything to drink. When they declined, he then arranged his tall, slim frame in a giant armchair wrapped carefully in a slipcover bearing carriages and horses and flowers and birds and children. Jay thought the children were supposed to be playing in a park, but it was really hard to make anything out of the frantic mess.

  “Have you come up with any ‘leads,’ as they say on television?” Rev. Eads asked Hal.

  “Nothing significant, I’m afraid.” Hal took out a notebook. So did Jay, although there was no reason for them both to take notes. However, Jay didn’t know what to do with his hands and feared he’d accidentally knock over one of the twenty doodads on the table right beside him. “I can tell you that your son’s body will probably be released day after tomorrow. I thought you might like to begin making funeral preparations.”

  Rev. Eads nodded slowly. “It seems like such a long time that poor Bobby has lain in that cold, sterile place.”

  “The ME’s office,” Hal supplied.

  “Yes. I understand that the conditions of Bobby’s death called for his body to be . . . studied. . . .” He swallowed hard. “It was just hard waiting. Especially for my wife. She’s lying down right now. Before Bobby’s death, she was a whirlwind of activity all day long. Now . . .” He raised his shoulders. “It seems all she wants to do is sleep.”

  “She’s on medication, no doubt,” Hal said.

  “Yes. I refused it for myself, but my wife is more fragile. I insisted she take something when she couldn’t stop crying. This has been the worst blow of her life. Of course, losing a child is the worst blow of any parent’s life.”

  Jay thought back to the children he’d seen abandoned, abused, even killed by their parents and wished what Rev. Eads had just said were true of all parents. Unfortunately, the world was a crueler place than Eads realized, or maybe cared to realize or dwell on.

  Hal leaned forward. “Rev. Eads, did Robert have any enemies? I know we asked you this earlier, but I thought something might have come to mind in the last couple of days.”

  “I’m afraid not. Bobby had no enemies. He was a good boy—rather quiet, very private, but a fine human being. He was extremely polite and considerate, not the type to make enemies.”

  “Robert and Brooke Yeager knew each other for a long time, didn’t they?” Hal asked.

  “Since they were children. Brooke’s family attended this church. Robert was a few years older than Brooke, but they met in vacation Bible school and struck up a friendship. Oh, not a close one until lately, that is. They dated for a while. I was quite happy about that, and just as unhappy when their relationship ended.”

  “Do you know why they broke up?”

  Rev. Eads frowned. “No. Bobby was quite closemouthed on the topic. I saw Brooke a couple of times after the breakup, but I didn’t ask questions. I felt it wasn’t my place.”

  “I see.” Hal wrote nothing, but Jay took notes assiduously. “Mrs. Yeager attended your church with her first husband, right?”

  “Anne and Karl?” Rev. Eads smiled briefly. “Yes. They seemed to be such a happy family. They were all beautiful—just beautiful, like a family out of a magazine. Karl was a ray of sunshine. Such a confident, joyful man, who adored his wife and daughter. We were all so shocked when he learned he had cancer and he passed so quickly. Poor Anne was deeply depressed and angry with God. The latter is common but, of course, unfair. Anyway, I was extremely concerned about her. Then she perked up. Quite abruptly actually. It seemed like a miracle.”

  “I think the miracle was due to tranquilizers and antidepressants,” Hal said gently.

  “Maybe. I didn’t know she was taking medication. I was simply relieved she seemed to be coming back to life. And then, just like that”—he snapped his long fingers, causing Jay to mess up a word—“she married Zachary Tavell. I performed the ceremony.”

  “Did you approve of Anne marrying Tavell?”

  “It wasn’t my place to approve or disapprove.”

  “But what did you think of Tavell?” Hal persisted.

  The minister went silent for at least twenty seconds. Jay finally looked at him, partly out of curiosity and partly because he hoped Rev. Eads had forgotten his faux pas at the door about Robert’s prowess as a lover. The man’s head was cocked slightly to one side as if he were thinking. Jay remembered seeing Eads about three months ago with Jay and Brooke. He now looked ten years older, his brown hair laced with gray, his cheekbones so prominent it seemed as if they could pierce his sallow cheeks. Even his lips seemed thinner. Only the eyes looked the same—large, a darker gray than Stacy’s, and almost unnervingly steady. The man looks noble, Jay thought. Righteous and noble.

  Rev. Eads said slowly, “Frankly, Detective, I never expected to see Zachary after the wedding ceremony. I was surprised to spot him in the congregation each Sunday for the next few weeks.”

  “Why were you surprised?” Hal asked.

  “Because he didn’t strike me as a religious man. He was uncomfortable even during the marriage ceremony, and it wasn’t the usual wedding jitters. I’ve seen those a hundred times. He kept looking around—how can I put it? Almost fearfully, as if he felt he didn’t belong in the house of the Lord. When I first saw him in the congregation, I thought he might attend a couple of times to please Anne, then disappear. Imagine my surprise when he showed up in my office at the church one evening. He said he needed to talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Detective, I know the rules of confidentiality don’t apply to me as they do to a Catholic priest who has heard a confession, but I still feel I can’t answer that question unless forced. The man expected the conversation to be kept private.”

  “Can’t you even give us a hint?” Jay burst out loudly.

  Rev. Eads blinked quickly three times, startled. Hal Myers looked slightly amused. Jay could have bitten his tongue, but there was no taking back the question, which even to him sounded childlike, not to mention boisterous.

  “Zachary was a troubled man,” Rev. Eads said carefully. “Apparently, he’d done some things in his youth he regretted. When he married Anne, he felt he’d completely changed. About a year after the marriage, though, he began having doubts.”

  “About himself or about the marriage?” Jay asked.

  “About both, but mostly about himself.”

  Hal intervened. “Did he doubt that he hadn’t changed enough? Or at all?” Rev. Eads simply stared blankly at him. “Reverend, did you get the feeling that Zachary Tavell was afraid he might do something to harm Anne?”

  “Oh no. If I had, I would have warned Anne. I simply thought he was troubled, unsatisfied with himself, feeling guilty about something in his
past. But certainly not that he was afraid he was a danger to Anne or Brooke.”

  Jay said, “But after the murder, you knew you were wrong.”

  Rev. Eads seemed to retreat behind those grave, steady eyes. “I still have trouble believing he murdered Anne.”

  “You don’t believe it?” Jay asked incredulously.

  “I said I have trouble believing it. It might be a form of denial on my part. Maybe I don’t want to admit I didn’t sense trouble coming, and that perhaps I could have stopped it.” The minister looked down at his hands, which Hal noticed were trembling slightly.

  “How did Robert react to the murder?” Hal asked.

  “Unfortunately, he was fascinated by it.”

  Hal raised his eyebrows. “Fascinated?”

  “Yes. I didn’t like for my son to be intrigued by a murder. It didn’t seem . . .”

  “Healthy?”

  “Productive. Good for him. I wanted him to be a happy boy, not one who dwelled on murder. But the incident did receive enormous publicity. It’s all anyone in this area could talk about. ‘The Rose Murder,’ they called it. I believe the newspapers came up with that phrase. And, of course, Bobby knew the family.”

  Jay stopped writing. “I know Robert knew Brooke and Anne, but did he know Zach, too?”

  Rev. Eads looked startled. “Well, yes. Bobby was just a teenager and Zach was around forty, but I used to see them talking sometimes. I got the feeling Zach liked Bobby.”

  “And how did Bobby—Robert—feel about Zach?”

  “He liked Zach, maybe because Zach didn’t treat him like a child as some of my other parishioners did. Bobby told me one time that Zach had promised to take him fishing and I know they played a few games of basketball together. I’m afraid I never excelled at sports. But Bobby didn’t discuss Zachary, and I didn’t ask what they found to talk about. I regret that now.”

  Hal sat back and let Jay take over. “How did Robert react when he heard that Zach had murdered Anne?”