Severed Relations

by Rebecca Forster

  "I'd like to do that. I don't think Sam is ready."

  "Maybe if he sees you're doing something, he'll get with the program. But it's your life, so pretty much it's got to be your deci…" Cori held up a finger. Her phone was ringing. When she was done, she said: "Sorry. I've got to go. Tucker's ready to come home. Do you want a ride? I can drop you off."

  Elizabeth shook her head, "No, thanks. I think I'll stay here a little longer."

  Cori stood up and swiped the coins off the table. She looked at them for a minute, jingled them in her hand a second more. She smiled, impressed with her awesomeness when she saw a big picture in that small change.

  "You know, Mrs. Barnett, you've got a few bucks to spare so maybe that's the place to start. You know, like a foundation in your girls' names. I don't know how it's done, but your husband's a lawyer. It might be something you can do together. It might help."

  "Thank you," Elizabeth said. "You've given me a lot to think about."

  "Good. I'm glad you're okay. You just take care now."

  Cori dropped the coins in her purse and left Elizabeth Barnett sitting in the hospital cafeteria. Doctors and nurses, relatives of patients all came and went, buying the bland food, grabbing cups of coffee and making just enough noise to cut through the fog in Elizabeth Barnett's brain. The detective had been right. There was something she and Sam could do in the name of their children. It was as simple as putting one coin on top of another; as simple as moving one thing to make it another thing. Elizabeth took out her phone, eager to tell Sam about her plan but he was in court and had a bar event after that and, she knew, after that he would come home and sleep elsewhere.

  Elizabeth looked at the clock. It was late and she wouldn't be able to talk to him until tomorrow, but tomorrow seemed an eternity away. Besides, Detective Anderson said it was her life and her decision about how her life would go so Elizabeth made two more phone calls. When she was done Elizabeth was happy, and that, she knew, would make Sam happy. And really, that was all Elizabeth ever wanted: for Sam to be happy with her.

  CHAPTER 32

  DAY 7 – LATE MORNING

  Finn O'Brien followed Bob Fowler's assistant, Tina, down the hall and into her office where she stepped aside and waved him to the inner sanctum where the captain was waiting.

  "How are you this morning, Captain," Finn said knowing full well what the answer would be considering the man's glum expression.

  "Not so good, O'Brien. Not so good." He motioned toward the door. "Close it and take a seat."

  When Finn was settled, Fowler pushed a newspaper across his desk. Finn looked at it and saw nothing of interest above the fold, but when he opened it he saw that Elizabeth Barnett had scored some nice ink below it.

  "Did you have anything to do with this?" Fowler asked.

  "No, sir. I didn't know the Barnetts were thinking about offering a reward."

  "Too bad," Fowler muttered. "I'd like to have someone to blame it on other than the victim's parents."

  They sat together for a few seconds and then Bob Fowler tented his fingers.

  "I spent yesterday talking to a hundred women at a luncheon. The food sucked and the banquet room was hot. I had to sit through a meeting that included a long discussion about who was going to head up the Christmas boutique committee."

  "Condolences, Captain," Finn said, sitting comfortably, knowing Fowler would get to the point on his own time.

  "Part of the job," Fowler said. "And it was all a piece of cake until it was my turn to speak. Those women turned into barracudas. They wanted to know exactly what's being done to protect their children from the psycho on the loose. It was pretty weird, all those fancy women staring at me like I'm supposed to rip open my shirt and turn into Superman.

  "I assured them that we had things well under control and that it was our firm belief that this was an isolated incident. I told them they didn't have to worry, that their neighborhoods were secure and their children were safe. Now Elizabeth Barnett is on the front page of the Times, giving quotes like, 'We have to find these people before they hurt someone else's children'. Charming."

  "Detective Anderson saw her yesterday, but I'm sure Mrs. Barnett didn't say anything about this. You have to admit, she knows how to get attention. That's quite a sum, fifty thousand dollars."

  "Don't encourage her," Fowler snapped. "You know as well as I do that we're going to have every nut in the world calling to claim the money. You and Anderson will be chasing your tails and this division's resources will be strained. You'd think she would have the courtesy to at least inform us."

  "There's no law against what she did," Finn reminded him.

  Fowler puffed out his cheeks, and then let out a long held breath.

  "Look, I'm not against it. In fact, I think it could do a lot of good, but it's knee jerk. They printed her number. What will she do next? Invite people to her house to collect the fifty grand? We'll probably have two more murders on our hands then."

  Fowler drummed the desk. He looked down then raised his eyes.

  "It should have been coordinated. He should have known better. I want you to take those two in hand and then make sure we get those calls routed here. I don't want her or her husband talking to any of these people, understood?"

  "Yes, sir. Is that it?"

  "Yes. Go," Fowler said and Finn was halfway to the door when the captain shared one more thought. "Get this sucker of a case out of my hair one way or the other and tell the Barnetts your captain isn't pleased. Tell them today."

  Finn nodded. He took one last look at the newspaper. Elizabeth Barnett was staring back him defiant, beautiful, and, strangely, alone.

  Finn turned the city issue car into Fremont Place, showed his ID to the guard who was older than the one who had greeted him the first time he drove through these gates. He parked in front of the Barnett house and was half way up the brick walk when he heard a car door slam. He went toward the driveway and was pleased to see the wrought iron gate closed and that there was a remote junction box affixed to it. Beyond the gates, Elizabeth Barnett stood by her Jaguar dressed in jeans, a work shirt, and tennis shoes. Her hair was pulled back in a plain rubber band. She had one hand on the roof of the car and she was looking at the things packed in the back seat.

  As lovely as the woman was decked out in her high heels and done up hair, dressed as she was now Finn found her truly beautiful. She dropped her hand from the top of the car and stood back. First she looked at the trees separating her home from the Coulter's and then she put her hand up to shade her eyes and looked toward the gate.

  "Hello there," she said when she saw him.

  Elizabeth Barnett smiled and covered the distance between them in fewer steps than he thought it should take. She curled her fingers around the intricate iron like a prisoner happy for visiting day.

  "Are you going somewhere?" Finn asked.

  "I'm taking some of the girls' things to the thrift shop." She laughed a little at the look on his face. "Don't worry, it's a good thing. Detective Anderson was right. It's time I did something constructive."

  "You'll want to save a few things," Finn said, thinking of the hat and shirt he kept in a small box in his apartment. Alexander's hat and shirt. It was a comfort at times.

  "I am: their favorite dresses, some toys, their christening gowns," she said.

  Finn dipped his head and rubbed his nose to keep her from seeing the smile. Geoffrey Baptiste would be one happy man to hear this.

  "Do you have something for me?" Elizabeth asked. "Has something happened?"

  Finn answered, "I've come to talk to you about what is in the newspaper."

  "I see," she said as her eyes clouded. "Come around the front."

  "Coffee?"

  "Black if you will."

  Finn pulled out a chair at the breakfast table and checked out the kitchen. With the shutters open, the coffee percolating, Elizabeth Barnett fussing with the china, this room felt as it should: full of life. It amazed him that a home cou
ld look like this. He and Bev had shared the chores between them and kept a tidy place, but this house was as near perfect as he had ever seen. Through the glass cabinets he could see all the glasses lined up according to size and shape, not a one any further from the other than its neighbor. On the built in desk the calendar Elizabeth Barnett kept was centered as if the parameters had been measured. The throw rugs were straight, the chairs pushed in without touching the table except for the one he sat upon and the one waiting for Elizabeth. She put his coffee on the table and slid onto the chair cross from him.

  "I assume you're on the list of people I've made angry by offering a reward."

  "My captain would like me to underscore his displeasure. It seems he recently had cause to speak to a group of neighbor ladies who believe their families are in danger. He didn't think that you offering a reward in the hopes of saving other people's children helped the situation." Finn said. "That being said, I believe it was a gutsy thing, missus."

  "It would have been nicer if you said that you approved," she answered.

  "I can't do that, and I will assume that you consider your wrists slapped so that my captain will be happy."

  "Please tell him that you're too late. My husband did that rather effectively this morning." Elizabeth held up one wrist and Finn could clearly see the bruise on her delicate skin.

  Finn took her hand and pushed the sleeve of her blouse up further. "He abused you?"

  "He was surprised. He was angry. I hadn't told him I was going to do this." Elizabeth pulled back her hand and pushed her sleeve down. "This wasn't intentional. I want you to know that."

  "Was it about the money?"

  Finn didn't bother to address her last statement. He had seen abused women apologize for their men for being the cause of their own injuries. Love often took dark turns and, much as Finn O'Brien would like to save this woman from hers, he could do nothing until she asked for help. One way or the other, though, he hoped the lawyer paid for this with hurt of his own.

  "He doesn't think we should draw attention to ourselves. Mercedes wasn't happy. She's worried people will come to the neighborhood."

  "There is a great possibility of that. Still, that is no reason for him to manhandle–"

  "It's nothing," Elizabeth said, and Finn knew that she was not going to be turning on her husband.

  "Alright, missus," Finn answered. "We won't be talking about you and your husband but I have to tell you that he is right. At worst, you put yourselves at risk; at the very least this will muddy the waters for us."

  "Is that what Detective Anderson thinks?"

  "Detective Anderson is thinking you might have interpreted her words a bit too broadly about putting your money to good use…"

  Finn's eyes had wandered past Elizabeth and he found himself looking at the backyard. It took him a moment to realize what was different. When he saw what it was, he felt a tug in his mid-section: the swing set was gone. Elizabeth Barnett propped her chin in her upturned hand and looked at him with such intensity that he tore his eyes away and attended to her.

  He said: "You've taken down the swings, missus."

  Elizabeth didn't look over her shoulder. She picked up her coffee and before she sipped it she said: "A lot of things are changing. You were saying?"

  "I was saying there are protocols for these kind of things so that we make sure information is properly followed up on and recorded. That way any evidence is not tainted and there is no confusion down the road should multiple people believe themselves deserving of the money.

  "We'll be having the service reroute the calls to a number that we will monitor. I've already contacted the newspaper and they will publish the new number. Was that your cell number they ran?"

  "It's our landline. We only keep it for emergencies. I'll have it shut down," Elizabeth said.

  "Our webmaster will set up a dedicated page on our site. We'll post the number there, also. We'll be able to trace calls fairly quickly."

  While he was speaking, Elizabeth picked up the saltshaker. It was shaped like a chicken and its pepper counterpart was a rooster. She was thinking about the amazing things that could be done these days. Capturing phone numbers, tracing them, working backward to find the information they wanted.

  "Mrs. Barnett?" Finn's voice snapped her out of her reverie. "Have you had calls?

  "I'm sorry," she said but she really wasn't sorry. She was annoyed now that she realized there was something she could have done all along. "Calls. Yes, two hang-ups and one lady whose child was killed. She wanted to talk. I told her no."

  Elizabeth put the saltshaker on the table, adjusted it until it was precisely aligned, and then she crossed her arms on the table.

  "I'll have access to the phone numbers of anyone who calls, won't I? I want to be able to see…to see if I recognize any numbers or names or that sort of thing."

  "No," Finn said. "It could have consequences at a trial and I know you wouldn't want that."

  "I have a television interview tomorrow," she said, disappointed by his refusal to share information but not deterred. "I won't sit here and do nothing any longer."

  "Then someone from public affairs will call and prep you. If you or your husband have any questions after hours or if someone slips through the cracks looking to talk to you about the money, call me." Finn took his notepad and wrote down two numbers, handing the paper to her. "The first number is Mick's pub. They know me there. Don't be put off by the man who answers. He's very talkative. The second is my home. In the evenings I'll be at one or the other."

  Elizabeth got up and went to a small desk. When she came back, she handed him an address. "Sam will be here if you need to talk to him."

  "You're moving?" The address was on mid-Wilshire.

  "No, Sam is gone. His secretary called me with the address."

  "I'm sorry, missus," Finn said, remembering all too well his nights after Bev's leaving.

  "He'll come back," she assured him. "Really. Everything will be fine once I get things in order. I just need to get things in order."

  Finn nodded. It was no use talking to her. She had in her mind how things would go between her and her man and there would be no dissuading her. It was the same way with Bev, only her mind told her that she would be better off without him. He stood up.

  "Are you sure you're fine here alone?"

  "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." She stood up, too, and started leading him out.

  "Let me or Detective Anderson know if you're going to be gone for any significant amount of time. And tomorrow when you do that interview, don't talk about the necklaces." Finn instructed her as they walked. At the door he lingered, feeling something tight in the air that needed unraveling before he left Elizabeth Barnett. He asked:

  "Do you need any help getting your things to the thrift shop? Can I be moving something in the house for you?"

  "No, thank you."

  Elizabeth put her hand on the door and hesitated as if she were about to share something with him. Just as quickly, she changed her mind and said goodbye. She shut the door behind him with no smile, no word of hope that the reward would be effective.

  Finn hesitated, half expecting her to open it again, surprised by her abrupt dismissal. When the door remained closed, he went to his car only to sit behind the wheel and watch the house for a while longer. Finally, he turned the key but before he could pull away from the curb, his phone rang. Cori didn't bother with a greeting. She said:

  "Pick me up, O'Brien. We've got Rachel Gerber's main squeeze."

  Elizabeth Barnett went upstairs to find what she was looking for: a phone number that could change everything. She was amazed she hadn't thought of it before, then again the initial shock of what had taken place in her home had been devastating. She could be forgiven for not thinking straight.

  Her step was almost light when she climbed the stairs. She glanced at the room where Rachel had slept. The door was closed as the cleaning crew had left it. Elizabeth made a note to have t
he furniture disposed of and the room painted.

  The girls' room door was open as it always was, and Elizabeth paused to look in, still displeased with the changes she had made. The bed frames and box springs should probably be removed. When she and Sam had more children, it would be best for them to have things they could call their own.

  The carpet remained. It had been cleaned but she could still make out the ghostly outlines of the bloodstains. She would have to talk to the manufacturer. This carpet had a lifetime warranty against stain. Then Elizabeth snorted, wondering if they might not honor that now that two lifetimes were over. She would have the carpet ripped up and put in new. She loved the smell of new carpet and paint. She would have to take the pictures down. It would be a lot of work, but that was all right.

  When she spied the curtains, Elizabeth realized that was what displeased her. She didn't like the curtains now that there were no bedspreads or frilly pillows to match. Even though she wanted to get on with her chore, even though she was excited by the possibility of solving so many problems with one phone call, Elizabeth was so bothered by those curtains that she couldn't think without doing something about them.

  Muttering to herself, she went across the room and pulled on them. When they wouldn't come down, she dragged Alexis' bed closer to the window, positioned it just so, and climbed on the box spring. She jumped a little and knocked the curtain rod down. It fell with a clatter and Elizabeth was on it, unthreading those damn curtains and then bundling them up.

  "Better. That is better. Better," she mumbled and went to her room.

  She used to love her bedroom but neither she nor Sam slept there now so it looked forlorn. Dust motes danced in the light streaming in through the tall windows, she could smell the scent of burnt wood from the long unused fireplace.

  Unsure of what to do with the curtains now that she had them, Elizabeth opened the closet door but everything was in its place and it would drive her mad knowing they were tossed in there willy-nilly. She could take them downstairs to the trash. She could burn them. She could cut them to shreds. For now, Elizabeth just didn't want to look at them so she pulled back the satin duvet and stuffed them underneath.