circumstances…”
“The detectives said she
“Thank you,” I said, allowing myself to be booted out of her office. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, but I could tell she didn’t mean it.
I went back outside feeling as though I had landed in a nest of vipers. In 1950 a brutal murder had occurred right there, within mere feet of where I was standing. A conspiracy of silence surrounding that murder had held for more than fifty years. Now, due to Sister Mary Katherine’s revelations, that silence was crumbling under its own weight-and yet another person had died in the house next door.
Walking the length of the driveway, I saw that both houses sported new siding. The basement window through which Bonnie Jean Dunleavy had watched the unfolding drama had been covered over, but behind the house, the garden shed Sister Mary Katherine had described as a tumbledown wreck had been rebuilt and turned into a genuine greenhouse. Seeing the place where Bonnie Jean had hidden from her pursuers struck me. The hair rose on the back of my neck the same way it had when I found Mimi’s bloodied apron in the cold case evidence box.
The perpetrators of Madeline Marchbank’s murder were both dead, but obviously there was more to the story than that. I wanted all the answers. Only that would help redress Mimi’s awful death and Sister Mary Katherine’s years of silent suffering.
I walked back to the Taurus and sat in it for a while, thinking. For more than fifty years Elvira Marchbank thought she and her husband had gotten away with murder. Having an eyewitness show up on her doorstep to say otherwise must have come as a terrible shock. I tried to put myself in Elvira’s position. What would I do? Once I showed Sister Mary Katherine out, would I sit there and keep my own counsel, or would I turn to someone else? Raelene claimed there had been nothing out of the ordinary about that afternoon. If that was the case, it seemed likely Elvira hadn’t turned to the younger Mrs. Landreth for help. And why would she? It was far more likely that she would look to one of her fellow conspirators.
Yes, Wink Winkler had turned up in his cab before Sister Mary Katherine had a chance to drive away. Was Elvira the one who had summoned him? And if Wink had arrived in a cab, how had he left? Had another taxi been dispatched to take him somewhere else?
I took out my phone and called Sister Mary Katherine. “How are you?” I asked, knowing that the news that her father had succumbed to bribery had hit her hard.
“Better,” she said. “I’m feeling much better.”
“Good, so maybe you can help me. I need to ask you about your visit with Elvira on Tuesday. Did she make any phone calls while you were there?”
“Not that I remember,” Sister Mary Katherine said.
“Did she leave the room at any time, or did you?”
“She went into the kitchen to bring us tea,” Sister Mary Katherine said. “She was gone several minutes, heating the water and so forth. I suppose she could have made a call then.”
“And what was her demeanor like when you introduced yourself and told her who you were?”
“She was surprised.”
“Did she cry, break down, or anything?” I asked. “Was she afraid or upset?”
“I’d say she was emotional but not upset-relieved more than anything. I think what she and Albert did has been on her conscience for a very long time. She was ready to unburden herself.”
“Did she happen to mention how that unburdening might affect any other people?” I asked.
“What other people?” Sister Mary Katherine said. “I saw it. Albert and Elvira Marchbank were the only ones there.”
“They may have been the only ones at the scene,” I told her. “But they weren’t the only ones involved. There were other people who profited from maintaining their silence.”
“Other people besides my parents?” Sister Mary Katherine asked.
“Yes.”
“So they weren’t the only ones who were bribed?”
“No.”
“I suppose that should make me feel better,” she added after a pause. “But it doesn’t. And no, Elvira didn’t say anything about her actions impacting anyone else.”
“I don’t suppose she would have. Thanks for your help.”
“Just a minute,” Sister Mary Katherine said. “Before you hang up, have you heard any more about that little girl who ran away, about Heather?”
“Not yet,” I said. “We’re working on it.”
I wasn’t actually working on Heather’s disappearance right then-wasn’t even allowed to be working on it, but I figured I could be forgiven for the use of the royal “we” in that instance. Not only did it keep me from telling Sister Mary Katherine the absolute truth, it kept the truth from me as well.
Determined to do some follow-up work, I headed back to the office. While I was crossing the 520 Bridge, my phone rang. The caller was Andy Howard, my insurance agent.
“Just finished talking with our adjuster,” he said. “He says your Porsche is totaled. It would cost more to repair it than it’s worth. If you want to go ahead and fix it…”
I thought about it. Hanging on to the 928, even though it wasn’t the original one Anne had given me, had been a way of hanging on to her. Maybe it was time I stepped away from her and moved on. That momentous decision-one I had avoided making for years-came after only a moment of reflection and before I hit the end of the bridge.
“I guess I’ll take the check,” I said. “What about all the personal effects that were still in the vehicle?”
“The check will come in the mail,” Andy replied. “I can bring everything else by your place, if you like. Just tell me when.”
Andy was all business. To him a wrecked car is a wrecked car. He had no idea what saying good-bye to that piece of my life meant to me.
“Whenever,” I said, swallowing a lump that had suddenly lodged in my throat. “If I’m not home, you can leave it with the doorman. What about the rented Taurus?”
“The rental is authorized for another week,” he told me. “If you keep it beyond that, it’ll be on your nickel.”
Owning the Porsche had been a permanent way of avoiding buying a new car. Now I’d have to deal with it. The Taurus just wasn’t doing it for me. The sooner I was out of it, the better.
I drove back to the office. Mel wasn’t anywhere in sight, but I knew she hadn’t gone far, since Rush Limbaugh’s voice blared from her radio. I slipped into my own office, shut the door, and picked up the telephone.
In the days before easy access to computers, getting a look at someone’s telephone records took time. And getting permission to look at them took even longer, especially if you happened to be working for a jurisdiction or on a case that didn’t have a lot of impact. I had learned that having Ross Connors for a boss made accessing those numbers far easier, but first I had to work my way through the telephone company’s version of voice-mail hell. When I finally reached the right person and told her what I was looking for, she said she’d need time to check out my credentials as well as to gather the information. Fair enough.
While I waited for her to get back to me, I let my fingers do the walking to check out cab companies. Wink Winkler had definitely taken a cab to the University District. How had he left? As soon as I tried talking with dispatchers, I ran into a stumbling block. They needed an exact address in order to check their records, but I still didn’t know where Wink had been going when he exited the cab. Had he been on his way to see Elvira or had he been headed for the foundation offices instead?
In order to get a handle on that, I called the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab and asked to speak to Wendy Dryer. I had known her from the time she had walked into the crime lab as a lowly evidence clerk. Now she was the state’s lead fiber analyst. Wendy sounded genuinely glad to hear from me.
“Hey, Beau,” she said. “Long time no see. What are you doing these days?”
