The Bad Sister

by Kevin O'Brien

  With the phone to her ear, she veered past the coffee shop and continued toward the bridge. “How can you tell me it was just an accident?” she said.

  Castino let out a loud sigh. “The girl left a party on the other side of campus around three in the morning. She was drunk. We talked to several kids from the party who confirmed this. One guy followed her back to Campbell Hall. I guess he meant to tease her and gave her a little scare. He called her and left a message, apologizing. He asked her out—and asked her to come outside again so he could apologize in person. He waited around for her for ten or fifteen minutes before going back to his residence. We checked with his roommates, and his story jibes. We think Justine must have gone out again, fell down the stairs by the ravine bridge, and broke her neck. That’s the fourth accident someone has had on those stairs this year—the first fatality.”

  “So, you’re chalking it up to coincidence that it’s the same date as Jane Marie’s murder, the same initials, the body under a bridge, the missing shoe . . .”

  “One was very clearly a murder, and the other is very clearly an accident,” he replied. “Listen, Ellie, if you look for similarities between two separate events, you’ll always come up with stuff. You just happen to have the Immaculate Conception killings on the mind and you’re finding coincidences. Look at all the coincidences with the Lincoln and Kennedy assassinations. Just because there are similarities, it doesn’t mean there’s a connection—or a copycat at work. You don’t think Lee Harvey Oswald figured, ‘Hey, I have fifteen letters in my name, just like John Wilkes Booth. I’m going after the president who was elected one hundred years after Lincoln. I’ll shoot him on a Friday—in the head, while he’s with his wife and another couple, and I’ll wound the other guy. And when he’s dead, another Vice President Johnson will take over. But I’ll shake it up a little, and instead of shooting the president in a theater and having the police catch up with me in a warehouse, I’ll do it the other way around—’”

  “Okay, I get the picture,” Ellie cut in. She couldn’t believe he was throwing the old list of Lincoln and Kennedy assassination coincidences at her. “So until someone’s blatantly murdered, you won’t even consider the possibility that there’s a copycat killer at work. Is that right?”

  “I’ll answer that question with another question. How can you call these deaths the work of a copycat murderer when they don’t even look like murders?”

  Ellie said nothing. She slowed down as she approached the bridge. She stared at the police tape across the top of the stairs. It fluttered in the breeze.

  “Is that it?” Castino asked. “Is there anything else?”

  “I suppose you’re going to call Father O’Hurley now and tell him I was bothering you again. So I can expect another chewing out from him.”

  “He chewed you out?” Castino asked. “Ellie, it’s true I called him after we talked the other day. But I was trying to help. I wanted him to offer you some grief counseling . . .”

  She let out a sad, little laugh. It was bad enough to think that he considered her a pain in the ass, but he actually considered her a crazy pain in the ass. Either way, he didn’t take her seriously. “I appreciate your concern,” she said finally. “But I wish you’d shift some of that concern over to Eden O’Rourke. She’s been missing for nine days, and no one seems to care.”

  “Actually, we just got word from her parents yesterday,” Castino said. “They wanted to report her as a runaway, but the girl’s over eighteen. So they’re hiring a private detective. In the meantime, we’re working with the Chicago Police to do what we can.”

  “And I suppose no one is taking into account that Eden disappeared exactly fifty years after Crystal Juneau was abducted by the Immaculate Conception Killer, and Eden—like Crystal—has a sister attending the university. The killer left Crystal’s sister a note—in Crystal’s handwriting—saying she was fine, the same way Hannah O’Rourke got a note—”

  “What we’re taking into account is Eden’s history,” Castino interrupted. “She grew up being shuffled back and forth between two unfit mothers. Her guardians for the last two years admit that she often went missing, for days sometimes—usually, without any kind of provocation. Eden disappeared nine days ago. Then last week, she came by her dorm bungalow, took some of her clothes and things, and left a note for her sister saying that she was fine and not ready to come back to school. No one has heard from her since. To me, that seems like a runaway situation.”

  “I wonder if the O’Rourkes know about the Immaculate Conception Killer and all these ‘coincidences,’” Ellie said, walking to the center of the bridge. “Everyone’s so worried about causing a panic that they’re totally ignoring the obvious. I wonder what you and Father O’Hurley are going to say when a teacher dies on Wednesday night—from something that looks like an accident or a suicide. That’s two days away, Detective, the fiftieth anniversary of Valerie Toomey’s murder . . .”

  Ellie looked over the side of the bridge. Because of the police tape at the stairway’s access, some students must have used the other stairs behind the playfield to access the ravine walkway below. Ellie gazed down at the flowers and candles they’d left near the spot where Justine’s body had been found.

  “I really hope we won’t be having this same conversation again on Thursday morning, Detective Castino,” she said.

  “You and me both, Ellie,” he replied, “you and me both.”

  Then he hung up.

  Monday, 2:52 P.M.

  As she approached Ellie’s desk, Hannah glanced over toward the classroom door. Nick was filing out with the other students. He looked her way, and their eyes met for a fleeting second before he headed out the door.

  “God, he makes my skin crawl,” she whispered to Ellie. “I can’t believe I used to think he was cute. But ever since that whole ‘I’m watching you’ thing with Alden, I can’t stand him.”

  “I think he was just angry at Alden for wasting his time, and that’s my fault,” Ellie said, sitting on the edge of her desk. “I really don’t think he’s that bad. I misjudged him. Anyway, I wanted to talk with you because I heard your parents contacted the school and the local police about Eden.”

  Hannah nodded glumly. “Yeah, it’s official now. Everybody thinks she’s run away.”

  “And what do you think?”

  Glancing around the empty classroom, she sighed. “I feel shitty about the whole thing,” she admitted. “Let me tell you about my weekend—so you’ll know what I’m talking about. After a rocky start, I ended up having a great time with Rachel at her parents’ incredible place in Chicago on Saturday. And the only time I gave any thought to Eden was when Rachel and I went to Millennium Park. With all the people, I imagined maybe we’d run into Eden there.” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, dumb, I know. Anyway, Rachel had to go to some dinner thing with her parents on Saturday night. But when she came back, we made popcorn and watched La La Land on a gigantic screen in their home theater. After that, we stayed up until four in the morning, talking and drinking champagne. Then yesterday, we slept in, and she took me to a fancy brunch at the Drake Hotel and we got chauffeured back to the bungalow. And here’s where I feel like a total shit. I was kind of glad Eden wasn’t around. I was happy it was just Rachel and me at the bungalow. Then I got a call from my parents, and I guess it’s official—Eden is a missing person. So, this policeman came over and interviewed me at the bungalow last night. He made out a police report and gave me a case number. Like I say, all very official. Talk about weird . . .”

  “Was it Detective Castino by any chance?” Ellie asked. “A short, stubby guy, about fifty—in a sloppy suit?”

  Hannah shook her head. “No, he was about forty and tall, wearing a police uniform. Anyway, you know what I was thinking the whole time? Actually, I was thinking two things. First, it felt like Eden was dead, like I’d never see her again.” Hannah sort of laughed, but her eyes filled with tears. “And that was a real awful feeling, y’know? While I was
having a grand time in Chicago with my new sister, my other sister was probably dead.”

  Ellie reached into her purse and pulled out a small travel packet of Kleenex.

  Hannah took one and blew her nose. “Thanks. Anyway, the other thing that occurred to me was that Eden lived with my family for two years, and yeah, it was rough going sometimes, and she disappeared on occasion. Still, she always came back, and we all made it work. But it took only two weeks with me before she ran away and disappeared for good. I—I could have been a better sister to her . . .”

  “You can’t blame yourself.” Ellie offered her more Kleenex. “You told me the other day that before Eden disappeared, you felt like the two of you were getting closer.”

  Hannah grabbed another tissue and wiped her eyes again. “God, I’m sorry to be blubbering like this.”

  “Remember you mentioned how maybe Eden’s disappearance was connected to the fire in the laundry room? You said that someone following the Immaculate Conception Killer’s timeline could’ve abducted Eden.”

  Hannah nodded and took a deep breath to steady herself. But she kept the tissue in her hand in case she started crying again. “Yeah, kind of crazy, I know.”

  “No, not so crazy,” Ellie said. “Did you tell your parents or the police about that?”

  She nodded again. “I told them both yesterday.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Well, the cop didn’t say anything. He just wrote it down. My parents didn’t seem to take it very seriously. My brother is kind of ghoulish when it comes to reading up on serial killings, and he told my folks about the Immaculate Conception murders. So they knew what I was talking about. My dad said he had a hard time taking seriously someone who would set a baby doll on fire. He said it sounded more like a prank, and he didn’t think the same person would actually abduct somebody and hold them against their will for over a week.”

  “That makes sense, actually,” Ellie sighed. She seemed disappointed. “Listen, Hannah, what you said earlier about Eden running away after only two weeks with you, the thing is, she spent those two weeks with Rachel as well. You have to admit, Rachel has been full of surprises. Maybe Eden found out something about Rachel that upset her—and that’s why she ran away.”

  Hannah just stared and blinked at her. She’d never considered that before. She took a step back and sat on the edge of the long table in the front row of the classroom.

  “Maybe Eden found out something about the adoption,” Ellie continued. “Didn’t you mention at the pool the other day that there was a detective looking into your father and your aunt—and their baby?”

  “Yeah, but that was old news to Eden,” Hannah murmured.

  “Well, maybe there’s more to the story than Eden knew. Maybe Rachel told her something, and it upset her enough that she ran away. Or maybe Eden discovered something about Rachel . . .”

  Hannah shrugged and wiped her nose again. “I don’t know what Eden could have discovered. And I doubt Rachel told her anything in confidence, at least, nothing that she wouldn’t tell me. I mean, they weren’t exactly close. I don’t think the two of them ever had a conversation that lasted over two minutes.”

  “Well, you never know with Rachel,” Ellie said. “She strikes me as a young lady with a lot of secrets.”

  Hannah said nothing. But she felt the same way. Rachel was still kind of a mystery to her, but she was also her friend and her half-sister. Plus Rachel had shown her a wonderful time this weekend. Hannah was grateful for their friendship.

  “Has she ever mentioned to you anything about an older, married man—a business associate of her father’s that she was close to?” Ellie asked.

  Mystified, Hannah shook her head.

  “I’m just trying to think of someone who could tell us more about Rachel and her family. You know, as a reporter, I always found I got more useful information on a person from their friends and associates than I did from the actual person.”

  “Well, there’s always Alden,” Hannah suggested. “He’s known Rachel all his life, and he grew up in her house. There’s also a housekeeper named Alida. She seems close to Rachel. On Saturday night, I spent a lot of time talking to the Bonners’ cook, Hildie. And Hildie said there was another housekeeper before Alida, and she knew everything about the Bonners . . .”

  “Do you remember this former housekeeper’s name?” Ellie asked anxiously.

  Hannah couldn’t recall. She’d been too distracted by Hildie’s story about the old housekeeper discovering Rachel and Alden when they were kids, naked and “experimenting.” She shrugged. “Her name began with a ‘V.’ It’s all that comes to mind right now. She’s retired and in a rest home, Our Lady of the Something. I guess I could find out from Alden . . .”

  “Well, if you can get the woman’s name, I can track her down and talk to her. And, like I said, I heard something about Rachel being close to one of her father’s business associates. If you could manage to find out his name, too, I’ll talk to the guy . . .”

  Hannah frowned at her. “So, basically, you want me to help you find these people who—who might have some dirt on Rachel or her family. Is that right?”

  Ellie sighed. “I know it’s a long shot, but if it can bring us any closer in determining why Eden disappeared, don’t you think it’s worth a try? On the plus side, maybe we won’t find anything bad at all. Maybe Rachel and her family have nothing to hide. You’re just getting to know her as a friend and a sister. Wouldn’t you like to know as much as you can about her? Aren’t you curious?”

  “I suppose,” Hannah admitted.

  “All you have to do is ask Alden about the housekeeper—and if Rachel was close to one of Mr. Bonner’s business associates. Bring it up casually. Say you heard a rumor . . .”

  “Well, what do you mean when you say Rachel was close to this older, married guy? Did she have an affair with him or something?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Ellie said. “It’s merely something I heard. It was very vague. I’m hoping Alden might have a better idea what it’s about. Only when you talk to Alden, please, leave me out of the conversation. He—well, he knows I was a reporter. I don’t want him to think I’m poking into Rachel’s personal life for some kind of big scoop. I’m just worried about Eden, and I have good reason to believe her disappearance has something to do with Rachel . . .”

  Hannah couldn’t help feeling funny about the whole thing. But she didn’t want to disappoint Ellie. And at least it was an excuse to get together with just Alden and no one else.

  She nodded. “Rachel has classes until five tomorrow, and I think Alden is free. I’ll see what I can find out for you . . .”

  Monday, 6:40 P.M.

  “I feel terrible. I mean it. I hate myself right now.”

  “I know,” Nate said. “I’m really sorry I put you in that position.” He refilled her wineglass. “I feel lousy about it, too.”

  “Thanks.” Ellie took the glass and sipped her Cabernet. She stood over a pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove in his kitchenette. “I looked her right in the eye and lied to that girl. And I totally manipulated her into spying for us.”

  “What do you mean you lied to her?” Nate asked. He stood beside Ellie and noticed she wouldn’t look at him. It was something Rene used to do when she was ticked off at him.

  “I lied when I said I thought Eden’s disappearance was linked to Rachel. It was the excuse I used to recruit her into getting those names for us—and a lame, convoluted excuse at that. I’m not sure she even believed me. I didn’t believe me. Why should she?”

  Leaning against the counter, Nate took a sip of wine and said nothing.

  He wished he could just enjoy the fact that Ellie was there cooking dinner for him. Since moving into this dump six months ago, she was the first non-client to visit his apartment, the first woman—and a nice, beautiful woman, too. After so many frozen dinners from Trader Joe’s and takeout, this home-cooked dinner was another first. This afternoon, he’d
been so thrilled at the prospect, he’d gone out and bought a second barstool. So what if it didn’t match? The important thing was they could sit and eat together at his counter-bar. He’d also bought a good bottle of wine, some decent plates, and even a few votive candles for a little ambience. In the last year and a half of feeling so isolated, he’d finally found someone in whom he could confide. Even Kayla Kennedy hadn’t known who he really was. He couldn’t risk letting anyone know, not until Ellie forced it out of him. And Nate was glad she did.

  In Taos, he hadn’t let himself get close to anyone. He’d been too afraid of putting some unsuspecting woman in danger. He kept thinking of Rene. They’d been together for three years before that night at his family cabin. In a way, he’d died with her there.

  The closest he came to making friends in Taos were his regular massage clients. And the closest he came to having sex was when he got the occasional pass from onetime clients—female and male. He’d always tactfully averted messing around with them. It had been tough keeping things professional with some of the women. Not that he was a total saint; in fact, he’d often kick himself for passing up those opportunities for some meaningless sex. But that was all it would have been.

  For the last year and a half, everyone had felt like a stranger.

  Nate didn’t realize how lonely he’d been until he talked to Ellie on Thursday evening. It felt so good to connect with someone again. And it felt so right that it was Ellie. He couldn’t help thinking of tonight as a date.

  Ellie had arrived forty minutes ago with a grocery bag full of food. But she’d also arrived angry. Though Ellie said she was mad at herself, Nate knew it was his fault. She’d asked Hannah to spy on Rachel in order to help him.

  And now she’d just made it clear that she didn’t even believe Eden’s disappearance had anything to do with Rachel Bonner. To Nate, that meant she didn’t believe much in him.