“Oh, wait-are you sure you heard something about Mitch and not Adam Yeager?”
“Adam Yeager…why is that name familiar?”
“He was Mitch’s brother. Ian’s and Eric’s dad. In fact, my former name- Kyle-was his middle name.”
“Did you know him?”
“No, he was dead long before I was born. My mom always said Eric and Ian were going to grow up to be just like their father-jailbirds.”
He suddenly broke off, then started laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking that she was right.”
“Yes, although she probably didn’t predict the part about life on a tropical island.”
“No. I wouldn’t mind that, if they’d stay there.”
“So you’ve heard the rumors, too.”
“Oh, it isn’t rumor. They come back to the States on a fairly regular basis.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely certain. I have them watched, Irene. If I thought for a moment that they were going to harm you, I’d…I’d make sure it didn’t happen.”
I was stunned.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“No-not angry. It’s just weird. I mean, I wish you had told me sooner.”
“I’ve thought about it, even came close to telling you a couple of times. But two things stopped me. One was that you’ve been through some horrible experiences in the time since they’ve been released, and it just happened that whenever I’d come back into town, certain that I was going to tell you, the timing was always wrong-I didn’t want to upset you with talk of people who might not ever come near either one of us again.”
“What was the other reason you didn’t tell me? That they’re too old?”
“No. Evil does not retire.”
“No pension plan.”
He laughed. “I guess that’s it. Besides, they both keep in good shape, so I wouldn’t feel safer from them because of age. No, the other reason I didn’t tell you was Frank. If I told you, you might tell him, and…I didn’t want Frank to feel obligated to mention my surveillance of them to his department.”
“I understand,” I said. “But it won’t be a problem.”
“Good.”
“I know you’re running out of time, but can you give me a little more information about Adam Yeager, the jailbird uncle?”
“Oh-not much, really. Mom was upset that she always had to say that he died in the war, because he died during the Depression, in prison. She said something about how he didn’t live more than a year in prison. That’s why Eric and Ian were raised by Mitch. I remember Mitch always kept a photo of him on his desk. I know that’s not much information, but you might say that by the time I was old enough to ask about him, I had learned not to ask about him.”
“What do you mean?”
He took so long to answer, I thought we might have lost the connection. But then he said, “Not long after Mom told me that Adam had died in prison, I asked Mitch to tell me the truth about him, since I had to go around with his name. A mistake I’ll never forgive myself for. That’s when I got packed off to military school. Mitch told me my mom wasn’t feeling well, so she couldn’t say good-bye.”
“Oh, Max…”
“I never saw her alive again. She died two years later. She fell down some stairs.” After another silence, in a much quieter voice, he added, “Or so I was told.”
57
H E ENDED THE CALL JUST AFTER THAT, BUT I WAS UNEASY. A MINUTE OR two later I called his cell and told him that I just wanted to make sure he was all right. He said he’d be fine, thanked me for my concern, and promised to call me again later.
Adam Yeager’s death would be worth looking into. I hooked up my laptop and tried to find him in the Social Security Death Index, but he wasn’t in it. That index began in 1937. Since he wasn’t in it, it was possible he was dead before 1937. Or at least not earning wages. I supposed prisoners might not have had Social Security numbers at that point.
I decided to do more research when I got back to the paper.
Thinking about Max made me think about the days when we first met. Here we were, two decades later, and he still didn’t know if his parents were the people who had been found in the trunk of that car. That in turn made me think of all the other unanswered questions I had about the night Corrigan had been attacked and the Ducanes murdered. I decided I’d go through the notes O’Connor had made. Maybe after all this time, giving it a fresh look, I’d see something we had missed before.
Opening the box marked “Jack” brought a flood of memories. At first, it was difficult to concentrate on the task of studying the contents rather than to sit reminiscing about those early days of working with O’Connor.
I came across the photo of Betty Bradford, she of the pink underwear, owner of the buried Buick. Jack Corrigan had been set up by her, and nearly died as a result. “I wonder if you’re still around,” I said aloud. She looked to me now as she had the first time I had seen this photo-pretty woman, young but hard-edged-although now thought I perceived a little insecurity beneath the cool.
I kept searching. I came across a set of O’Connor’s notebooks I hadn’t seen before. They ranged over a number of years. I smiled to myself. If I had seen them in 1978, I probably wouldn’t have known enough of his shorthand and code to figure them out. I glanced through the first few and saw that they were devoted to one story: the events connected to that night in January 1958.
They began not with Corrigan’s beating, as I had thought they might, but with O’Connor meeting Dan Norton at the home of Katy and Todd Ducane. His notes brought to mind the day we had toured the house with Max, and I wondered if Lillian still kept it as a museum.
I glanced at my watch and decided I needed to get my ass back to the paper. I’d have to live with Ethan and his gloating over the Harmon story, with Lydia and her anger. I had work to do.
I fed the dogs and Cody and hurried out. Overhead, gray clouds thickened, and darkened the sky. I went back in and grabbed an umbrella.
As I drove, O’Connor’s voice echoed in my thoughts. I missed that old man as much as I missed my own father. Perhaps because of Ethan’s story, a memory came to me-of the night he told me about his missing sister.
I slowed the car a little, but kept driving.
By the time I reached the paper, rain was falling. I hurried inside.
My plans were twofold: to spend some time reading up on the Ducanes, and to look back at the articles O’Connor wrote about Harmon.
The presses were already running, sending their pulse through the building. As I climbed the stairs, I half- hoped Lydia would be gone for the day, then decided that was not only extremely unlikely, but showed a sad lack of courage on my part.
When I got up to the newsroom, she was arranging furniture, helping Ethan move his desk nearer to her own. She saw me right away. She ignored me after that.
I went down to the morgue, as much to get away from the newsroom again as to do some homework. Hailey was there, but she was focused so intently on whatever she was reading, I didn’t disturb her. The rumble of the presses was a little louder here. I found it soothing.
I asked the librarian to get microfilm for specific dates in 1936, 1958, and1978.
