That’s why I’m here. He’s not in any condition to travel and probably won’t be any time soon.”
“I’m sorry he’s ill,” June said regretfully. “I know he’s been involved in this case from the beginning. It must have been difficult having to pass it along to someone else.”
“Yes,” Brandon agreed. “I’m sure that’s why he held on to it for so long. He thought eventually he’d be well enough to come see you himself. When it became apparent that wouldn’t be possible, he called me.”
“Let’s get to it, then,” June said. She picked up the book and slipped it into a large open purse that sat on the floor next to her chair. “There’s no sense beating about the bush.”
“This is about the murder of Ursula Brinker?” Brandon asked.
June nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I called her Sully back then. That’s what everyone called her.”
“You were friends?”
June nodded again. “We were,” she said. “Good friends. Best friends.”
“Tell me about spring break of 1959,” Brandon said.
June closed her eyes for a moment before she answered. “Five of us drove over to San Diego in Margo Mansfield’s 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air.”
“Who all went?” Brandon asked. He already knew the answer. The five names had been carefully listed in Geet’s notebook.
“Margo, of course,” June said. “She drove. Then there was Sully, Deanna Rogers, Kathy Wallace, and me. We drove over on Friday afternoon after the last classes let out.”
“What did you do once you got there?”
“To San Diego? We checked into our hotel. We had a room that opened right on the beach.”
“One room for all five of you?” Brandon asked.
“It was a big room with two double beds and a roll-away.”
“What happened after you got there?”
“We’d stopped for dinner in Yuma on the way over, so we went for a walk on the beach.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“All of us, all five. But on the beach Sully and I hung out together-that night and the next day, too. We were sort of… well, you know… acting up. My parents were strict Mormons. I wanted to sow some wild oats while I still had the chance, and I figured being out of town on spring break was the best time to do it. We smoked and we drank-we drank way too much. You know how wild kids can be when they set their minds to it.”
Brandon nodded. He knew exactly how wild kids could be.
“What happened?” he asked.
June sighed, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. “I thought Sully and I were just friends, but it turned out she wanted to be more than that, and right then so did I. This was the next afternoon, Saturday. We were in the room, changing into our bathing suits, when she came over and kissed me-on the lips. I was bombed out of my gourd on rum and Coke. At the time it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. After all, considering the rum and Coke, going to bed with another girl was just another bit of forbidden fruit. We were on one of the beds, doing it, when one of the other girls walked in on us. I’ve always suspected it was Margo, but I’m not sure. It could have been any one of them.”
“What happened then?”
“I was ready to die of embarrassment. I mean, I knew Sully was different, but I’d never put a name on it before. I don’t think she had, either. I remember she just kept smiling at me, like what had happened between us was our perfect little secret. The thing is, as soon as I sobered up, I knew that wasn’t for me-that it wasn’t what I wanted. But Sully looked so happy-so over the moon-that I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her.”
“And then?” Brandon prompted.
“That evening we had a bonfire on the beach. We roasted hot dogs and marshmallows and drank lots more booze. At least I had more booze. I don’t know about Sully. She was still out by the fire when I went to bed.” She paused. “That’s not true,” she corrected. “The part about going to bed. First I was sick. Then I passed out.”
“But Sully was still outside.”
June nodded.
“By herself?”
“As far as I know. The last time I remember seeing her, she was sitting there in her bathing suit, looking at the moon on the water. The next thing I knew, it was morning. Someone was outside the room screaming and screaming. That’s when I found out Sully was dead, that she’d been stabbed to death.”
“The San Diego cops investigated?”
“Yes,” June said. “We all had to go into the police station for questioning. It seemed like we were there for days on end, but none of us knew anything. One moment she was alive and on the beach with everybody else. The next moment she was dead. Finally the cops turned us loose, and we drove back to Tempe.”
“What happened then?”
“First there was the funeral. Her parents were heartbroken. After that I really don’t remember much. The rest of that semester was like living in a nightmare.”
“Did you tell Sully’s parents about what had happened between you and their daughter?”
June shook her head. “No,” she answered. “Why would I? Finding out something like that about their dead daughter would have made things that much worse for them. Besides, I kept thinking that eventually we’d find out who had done it-that there would be some closure-but months went by and then years, and nothing happened. We all talked about it among ourselves. We figured her killer must have been someone-some stranger-who had found her alone on the beach. That’s what I always believed, anyway.”
Brandon heard that last throwaway sentence and immediately understood the implication.
“Now you know better?” he asked.
June nodded. First she smoothed her skirt, then she straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I do,” she murmured, but her voice was barely audible.
By then Brandon’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light. Every flat surface in the room and most of the wall spaces as well were covered with a collection of photos. He could tell from June’s voice that they were venturing into dangerous waters, and he wanted to make it easier for her.
“Your kids?” he asked, nodding toward the nearest set of photos and breaking the tension.
June nodded. “Seven kids, fourteen grandkids, and two greats,” she replied. “Fred died two months short of our fiftieth.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “He died two months ago-about the time I sent that note to Mr. Farrell.”
“And that was because…” Brandon prompted.
“Because Fred did it,” June Holmes declared. Her lips trembled as she said the damning words. “He’s the one who killed Sully.”
“And how do you know this?” Brandon asked.
“Because he told me so himself-five years ago, when he was first diagnosed with lung cancer. He wanted me to be grateful and to understand what he had done for me.”
“For you?” Brandon asked.
June nodded. “I told you my parents were strict Mormons. So was Fred. The LDS Church doesn’t countenance homosexuality now and it certainly didn’t back then, either. The very fact that I’d had that one encounter with Sully-one other people knew about-made me damaged goods. When I came home from San Diego, I expected Fred to drop me like a hot potato if he heard any gossip about what had happened. So I told him myself. I thought he’d break our engagement, but he didn’t. He said he could hate the sin and still love the sinner.”
The imprisoned cat finally gave up and shut up. June seemed to be waiting for Brandon to say something more. When he said nothing, she continued. “Fred wasn’t ever what you could call a forgiving kind of guy. I should have wondered about that, but I didn’t. I was so incredibly grateful that he didn’t turn his back on me and walk away. No one would have blamed him if he had.”
“In other words, he got big points for standing by you?”
She nodded. “To say nothing of a proper marriage in the Temple-a marriage for time and all eternity, as they say. Then, five years ago, he got his cancer diagnosis and dropped his bomb.”
“About Sully?”
June nodded again. “He told me one of his friends was in San Diego that spring break, too. He heard about what had happened, and he was the one who called Fred. Fred’s father had just died. His mother was getting ready
