when the people whose DNA would tell the true story once and for all are buried not far from here?”
“Katy and Todd Ducane.” Frank thought for a moment, then said, “I’m not saying it’s a sure thing, but in the interest of investigating a kidnapping and murder case, I suppose we could exhume one or both of their bodies. I hope we can talk Lillian Linworth into cooperating before we reach that point. I’d also want to be sure there are no samples that might already tell the story-that way, there’s less trauma for the families involved. And lower cost for the department, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“If we can find enough DNA in a sample frozen in 1978, and it won’t compromise the other cases involved to process them-in other words, we won’t use up some tiny fragment that’s all we have-then we may not need to go to the trouble of an exhumation.”
“That’s great!”
“I don’t think there will be a problem, but I also don’t want you to look at this as a sure thing yet. I’m going to have to talk this over with my lieutenant, and I’m sure it will go to the captain as well. If I get approval from the department, I’ll have to look for the simplest way to get the tests done. That would mean talking to Lillian and trying to get her to change her mind.”
“Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did,” Max said.
After Max left, I asked Frank if he had met Ethan up at Folsom.
“You think he’s in the slammer?”
“Deserves to be, but no. He left today, telling me that he was on his way to Folsom to interview Harmon.”
Frank shook his head. “I know there are reporters up there, hoping to talk to him, but not many are going to get a chance. Harmon had knee surgery last week, and he ended up with some sort of complication-an infection. The doctors tell me that in a few days, he’ll be up to longer conversations, but right now, he tires quickly. I can vouch for that-I was able to talk to him for about two hours, but he drifted off and dozed every few minutes.”
“I wonder why the Express is going to the expense of sending Ethan up there now?”
“I don’t know. You ought to be glad he’ll be gone.”
“True.”
“I mean, a trip to Folsom-is that really such a big prize?”
I laughed, but in truth it was something of a prize. I saw it the way the others in the newsroom would see it- that Ethan was being trusted with the kind of assignment few young reporters would be given. A fledging out of the nest. Why Lydia-or whoever else had been involved in the decision-thought he was ready for something like that was more than I could say.
Maybe, I thought, Lydia’s little Icarus would be tempted to fly too near the sun.
Though I scolded myself for actually wishing that one of my colleagues would fail, it didn’t change the wish.
56
B Y MONDAY, I WAS READY TO CONCEDE THAT MY WISH HAD NOT COME true. Ethan somehow managed to get in to talk to Harmon, and when I saw his story, which would run in Tuesday’s paper, I had to admit he had done a fine job with it. Word was, Wrigley went bananas over it, and decided to give it big play. Lydia assigned supporting pieces to several other staff members. She didn’t make eye contact with me during that process.
I thought I ought to mend fences with her, so I invited her to go to lunch with me. She gave me a look that made me uneasy, but accepted. We didn’t talk much on the way out of the building, or even as we made our way to a cafe that was currently known as Lucky Dragon Burger, but which changed names a lot. The food was consistently good, though. “Think dragons have been the secret ingredient all along?” I asked her.
It was a weak joke and it won a weak smile.
We ordered, and I said, “Congratulations on being able to see that Ethan could handle that story. I guess that’s why you’re such a great city editor. You know the staff and what they are capable of.”
She studied me for a moment. While she did this, she crossed her arms- a signal of fury that few others would recognize for what it was, but which startled me. Lydia’s maiden name is Pastorini. A good Italian Catholic girl. She needs her hands to talk. If she confined her hands, I knew she felt the need to exercise control over what she had to say. I was trying to figure out what I could have done to make her so angry, when she said, “You believe that I am the one who sent Ethan up to Folsom?”
“Didn’t you?”
“No. I never would have sent him up there. That was Wrigley’s decision.”
“Oh.” I suddenly recalled Ethan’s words. He never mentioned Lydia. “I jumped to a conclusion, Lydia. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
She shook her head.
“Look, I can see why that makes you angry, but-”
“Can you?”
“Yes. I thought you were championing him, and now that I think back on it, you didn’t actually do that.”
“That’s the symptom. Not the problem. I may not treat a first-year reporter the way you and the Old Boys Club do, but I can see his faults. I’m not completely stupid just because I’m not on the street, you know. I am not incapable of seeing when a twenty-two-year-old is full of himself.”
This was so close to what I had thought of her, I turned red. Worse, she had known me so long, I knew she was reading that blush for the guilt signal it was. “Like I said, I’m sorry. Really sorry. I mean it.”
Silence. The food arrived. Nobody made a move to touch it. As the minutes passed, I went from feeling contrite to feeling injured by her refusal to at least give some token acknowledgment of my apology. Did she want me to grovel?
“Lydia, please. Let’s not let a little creep fuck up our friendship, okay?”
She looked me right in the eye and said, “He’s not the one messing it up.”
“You know what? You’re right about that.”
I stood up, threw a twenty on the table-much more than I owed, but I wasn’t going to be accused of sticking her with the bill on top of everything else-and though I knew I was letting my Irish temper get the best of me, I left.
I needed to cool off, and sitting in the newsroom with Lydia would not accomplish that. I glanced at my watch. I thought of my options, used my cell phone to call John Walters and tell him where I’d be, and walked around the block to the newspaper’s parking lot. I got into the Jeep and drove home.
Cody and the dogs were delighted. The friend and neighbor who usually spent time with them during the day was out of town, so I got an especially enthusiastic welcome. My mood of righteous indignation couldn’t withstand that. I played with them for a while-tossing a catnip toy for Cody, stuffed squeaky toys for the dogs. That worked off some tension for everyone involved.
I went back to reading O’Connor’s stories and diary. One of the best stories was from April 1936 and was called “What I Saw in the Court.” He told about sneaking into a courtroom to watch Mitch Yeager’s trial, and later telling Corrigan about what amounted to jury tampering.
Mitch Yeager had been on trial for something? O’Connor, boy reporter, hadn’t provided details. I made a note to look it up.
Max might know about it. I called him and had the good fortune to catch him at home. “I’m leaving to go see Lillian in a little while,” he said. “Do you have my cell phone number?” He gave it to me.
“Are you in a rush? I could call you back later.”
“I can talk now for a few minutes. What can I do for you?”
“I hope you won’t mind my asking, but do you know if Mitch Yeager was ever arrested?”
“Mitch? Not that I know of. He wouldn’t have told me about it if he was, though-he was really hung up on being thought of as respectable. Which, come to think of it, argues for a shady past, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
