Anyway, last week someone broke into my car—in the parking garage at work. They didn’t take anything. They left something. It was a video of that old Hitchcock movie, Strangers on a Train. Have you seen it? I took the video home. It was set to start on this scene that takes place at an amusement park. There’s this boat ride to a little island. Robert Walker follows this pretty woman with glasses to this place & he strangles her. Her glasses fall off & we see her being murdered in the reflection of her glasses.
I didn’t know what to think. I suspected Paul again, but now I’m not sure. I reported the break-in to the police. Since nothing was stolen & no damage was done to the car, they didn’t think much of it. Of course, it’s no help that they checked on me when I reported this. They mentioned that I’d been arrested four times in the last five years, twice for participating in antipolice demonstrations. I was like, “Well, duh!” Anyway, I guess I’m labeled a troublemaker and a kook. After a few days, nothing else happened & I managed to put it behind me. I’d nearly forgotten about it.
Then, two days ago, a coworker at the hotel, Lily Abrams, didn’t show up for work. I didn’t give her absence much thought. I’ve never been too fond of her. She’s always been kind of snotty to me. But that doesn’t matter. I found out yesterday that she was murdered. Someone strangled her. They found her body floating in Lake Washington, right by a little patch of land called Foster Island. It’s part of a nature trail near the university district. Lily wore glasses. They found them right near the water’s edge.
Do you see what happened? Lily got strangled on a little island, just like the woman in the movie. I tried to tell this to the police, and they’re acting like I’m crazy…
Hannah set down the e-mail printout.
Ben dug another sheet of paper from his folder. “One of the first things I did when I got to Seattle was go to the library and look up a few things. My wife kept saying Rae was making all this up so I would come out here, but Rae’s not that scheming. Still, I needed to make sure about what she was telling me.”
Across the table, he slid a copy of a newspaper article, dated June 18. The headline read: “WOMAN FOUND STRANGLED IN ARBORETUM AREA.” There was a map of the nature trail near Seattle’s Arboretum, with an X marking off the tip of Foster Island. Beside it, a casual, blurry photo of Lily Abrams, a thin-faced brunette with glasses and a slightly impish smile.
Hannah scanned the article, which revealed a bit of inside information that must have embarrassed the police. Among the baffled authorities, Lily Abrams had become known as “the Floating Flower.” The name, Lily, had something to do with that epithet, as did, apparently, the position of her body when it was discovered. Lily’s bracelet had gotten caught on some pilings in the shallow water off Foster Island, and she remained there, floating within a few feet of the shore, a floating flower.
The article also revealed that Lily’s glasses were discovered on Foster Island, not far from the water. The police also found Lily’s purse inside her unlocked car, parked a block away from her apartment building in Seattle’s Eastlake neighborhood. They were examining the possibility that she’d been abducted there and taken to the Arboretum area, where she was strangled.
“Did you hear about this case?” Ben asked.
Hannah shook her head. “You’d think I would have.”
“I looked at the articles. The press made a big thing out of that Floating Flower business. For a week, they made it out like another Black Dahlia case. Rae mentioned in one of her e-mails that the police must have written her off as one of the many nuts that were calling them with inside information about the Floating Flower. They basically blew her off. Anyway, they never solved the case.”
Hannah set down the newspaper article, then sat back. “What happened to Rae?” she asked.
“That’s what I’m still trying to find out,” Ben replied. He gave her another document from his folder.
Hannah stared at the e-mail printout, this one dated 8/3/02:
Thanks again for calling me back the other night. I’m really sorry I woke up Jennifer. I totally forgot about the time difference. Anyway, thanks for caring, Ben.
I took your advice & went out with Joe Blankenship again. So we’re kind of dating now. He’s a nice guy & so what if his kisses don’t send me to the moon? He really seems to care for me. Besides, I don’t want to be alone right now. This stalker person is back. I’ve seen him videotaping me again. I haven’t seen his face. He’s always too far away. I think I figured out what kind of car he drives—a wine-colored Volvo. He paid me a visit last night.
The TV woke me up around one A.M. I got scared & grabbed this baseball bat I’ve been keeping near my bed lately. (OK, I know you’re thinking I’m a major loon, but having it there makes me feel safer.) Anyway, I recognized what was on TV before I even reached the living room. It’s one of your favorites, On the Waterfront. As soon as I realized no one was in the apartment, I figured out that the movie was cued at a scene near the beginning when the mobsters throw Eva Marie Saint’s brother off the roof & he’s killed. The character’s name was Joey.
My Joe lives in a eleven-story apartment building, and I’m certain the same thing will happen to him. He thinks I’m imagining things or vying for more of his attention. He’s almost as bad as the police. He just won’t take me seriously.
I went to Paul Gulletti, because I figure someone with a film background is behind all this. I confronted him, Ben. He tried to pretend he didn’t know what I was talking about. But I could tell he was covering something up, or lying. Unfortunately, I can’t prove anything.
Ben, I feel so helpless & scared…
