That weekend I used air miles and took a flight out to Tempe, Arizona. I'd scheduled a meeting with Susan Etra, whose husband had been convicted of murdering two gay enlisted men. Mrs. Etra was suing the Army for wrongful death. She believed her husband was innocent, and that she had enough evidence to prove it. I needed to find out if Lieutenant Colonel James Etra might have been framed for murder, too. How many victims were there?
Mrs. Etra answered her front door and seemed very uptight and nervous. I was surprised to see a poker-faced man waiting in the living room. She explained that she had requested her lawyer be present. Great.
The lawyer was darkly tan, with slicked-back white hair, an expensive-looking charcoal-gray suit and black cowboy boots. He introduced himself as Stuart Fischer from Los Angeles. “In the interest of possibly getting to the truth about her husband's wrongful arrest and conviction, Mrs. Etra has consented to talk with you, Detective. I'm here to protect Mrs. Etra.”
“I understand,” I said. “Were you Lieutenant Colonel Etra's lawyer at his trial?” I asked.
Fischer kept his game face. “No, I wasn't. I'm an entertainment attorney. I do have experience with homicide cases, though. I started in the DA's office in Laguna Beach. Six years down there.”
Fischer went on to explain that Mrs. Etra had recently sold her husband's story to Hollywood. Now I was the one who had to be careful.
For a half-hour or so, Susan Etra told me what she knew. Her husband, Lieutenant Colonel Etra, had never been in any trouble before. As far as she knew he'd never been intolerant of gays, men or women. And yet he had supposedly gone to the home of two gay enlisted men and shot them dead in bed. At the murder trial, it was alleged that he was hopelessly in love with the younger of the two men.
“The murder weapon was an Army service revolver. It was found in your home? It belonged to your husband?” I asked.
“Jim had noticed the revolver was missing a couple of days before the murder. He was very organized and meticulous, especially when it came to his guns. Then, suddenly, the gun was conveniently back in our house for the police to find.”
Lawyer Fischer apparently decided I was harmless enough and he left before I did. After he was gone, I asked Mrs. Etra if I could take a look at her husband's belongings.
Mrs. Etra said, “You're lucky that Jim's things are even here. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about bringing his clothes to a local charity group like Goodwill. I moved them into a spare bedroom. Far as I've gotten.”
I followed her down the hall to a spare room. Then she left me alone. Everything was neat and in its place, and I had the impression that this was how Susan and James Etra had lived before murder and chaos destroyed their lives. The furniture was an odd mix of blond wood and darker antiques. A war table against one wall was covered with collectible pewter models of cannons, tanks and soldiers from various wars. Next to the models was a selection of guns in a locked display case. They were all labeled.
2860 Colt Army revolver,.44 caliber, 8-inch barrel.
Springfield Trapdoor rifle, cartridge, used in the US Indian Wars. Has original bayonet and leather sling.
Marlin rifle, circa 1893, black powder only.
I opened the closet next. Lt. Colonel Etra's clothes were divided between his civvies and Army uniforms. I moved on, checking the various cabinets.
I was rummaging through the drawers of a highboy when I came upon the straw doll.
My stomach tightened. The creepy doll was the same kind I'd found at Ellis Cooper's place outside Fort Bragg. Exactly the same as if they'd been bought at the same place. By the same person? The killer?
Then I found the watchful, lidless eye in another drawer. It seemed to be watching me. Vigilant, keeping its own nasty secrets.
I took a deep breath, then I went outside and asked Mrs. Etra to come to the spare room. I showed her the straw doll and the all-seeing eye. She shook her head and swore she'd never seen either before. Her eyes revealed her confusion, and fear.
“Who was in my house? I'm sure that doll wasn't here when I moved Jim's things,” she insisted. “I'm positive. How could they have gotten here? Who put those dreadful things in my house, Detective Cross?”
She let me take the doll and the eye. She didn't want them around, and I couldn't blame her.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Forty-Nine
Meanwhile, the murder investigation continued on another front. John Sampson turned his black Mercury Cougar off Route 35 in Mantoloking on the Jersey Shore and headed in the general direction of the ocean. Point Pleasant, Bay Head and Mantoloking were connecting beach communities and, since it was October, they were fairly deserted.
He parked on East Avenue and decided to stretch his legs after the drive up from Washington.
“Jesus, what a beach,” he muttered under his breath as he walked up a public access stairway and reached the crest of the dunes. The ocean was right there, less than forty yards away, if that.
The day was just about perfect. Low seventies, sunny, cloudless blue sky, the air unbelievably clear and clean. Actually, he thought, it was a better beach day than people got for most of the summer, when all these shore towns were probably jammed full of beachgoers and their transportation.
He liked the scene stretching out before him a lot. The quiet, pretty beach town made him feel relaxed. Hard to explain, but recently his days on the job in DC seemed tougher and more gruesome than usual. He was obsessing about Ellis Cooper's death, his murder. His head was in a real bad place lately. That wasn't true here,
