Alex seemed to be thinking about this.
“What did Nat say about Burrow’s ma?”
“He hasn’t got back yet.”
“Still?”
“Oh, wait a minute. I think that’s him.”
“Okay, ask him what he got and we’ll talk later. I need to step on it and I want to make sure I get to San Q in one piece.”
“Okay. Talk to you later.”
Nat came through the door just as Juanita hung up.
“Is Alex in?”
“No, I was just talking to him. He’s on his way back to San Quentin.”
“Anything new?”
“Not really. Jonathan Olsen was here and the boss decided to go and see Burrow right after that.”
Nat was taking off his jacket.
“Any particular reason?”
“I think maybe he wanted to check out some of the things Jonathan told him.”
“Like what?”
“Apparently, Dorothy got Clayton Burrow kicked out of high school.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
Nat went into the kitchen and re-filled the coffee maker.
“Why’s Alex off on a wild goose chase to San Quentin now?” he called out
“He didn’t have time for details.”
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Juanita replied. The sound of the grinder and the smell of coffee beans filled the air. Juanita raised her voice above the background noise. “So what’s your take on Mrs. Burrow?”
“She gives body and soul to the words ‘trailer trash.’”
“Do you think the latest info about Burrow getting canned elevates her as a suspect?”
“Why should it?”
“It kind of strengthens her motive, doesn’t it?”
“Only if you buy it.”
“And you don’t?”
“Clayton Burrow was the kind of kid who would probably have got canned from high school sooner or later, regardless of anything that Dorothy Olsen or her brother might’ve done.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t blame her … or that his mother didn’t blame her.”
“No, but I’ve just met the woman and I can tell you that she doesn’t give too bits for her son or his education. There’s no way she would have killed for him. She’s a selfish woman. What’s that word Alex likes using? Narcissistic. She didn’t even notice what Clayton was turning into, when it was happening in front of her nose. When she finally did wake up and smell the coffee, it was only for long enough to resent the monster that she’d unleashed upon the world — almost like a latter-day Frankenstein.”
“Will you quit with your literary comparisons?”
Nat, she recalled, had a bachelor’s degree in English Literature.
“What I mean is, everyone misunderstands Frankenstein. He wanted to create life, but he created something that he couldn’t love. The monster didn’t start out a monster. It started out as a creature with feelings that his creator couldn’t bring himself to love. And love was all the creature wanted. So the creature became a monster because he was starved of the love that he craved. I think it was the same with Burrow. It’s like that saying that Alex misquoted over the phone to you.”
Juanita raised her eyebrows, quizzically.
“Hell hath no fury,” Nat explained.
“Oh, yeah.
“Congreve actually. William Congreve. The full saying is ‘Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned. Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.’ But it isn’t just a woman. A man needs love too. And sometimes it’s harder for a man because he’s culturally indoctrinated not to show it.”
“Are we still in English Lit class? Or have we moved on to Sociology 101?”
“I’m just saying that monsters are created, not born. And it was Sally Burrow who created Clayton, both the boy and the monster. And all because she couldn’t love him.”
Juanita had picked up on something in Nat’s words.
“You feel sorry for him, don’t you?”
“I don’t really know. It’s the old free will debate. At what point do we stop feeling sorry for the wrongdoer and start blaming him?”
“And when
Nat opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The issue wasn’t quite as straightforward as it sounded. After a second or two, he found his voice.
“In the immortal words of that guy from
Juanita held up her right hand and put on a mock Chinese accent.
“‘… but rather to understand the questions.’”
They burst into childish laughter.
“You may know your books,” said Juanita. “But I know my TV.”
“In that case, you should remember that Kwai Chang Caine didn’t have a Chinese accent!”
And with that, Nat scooped up his coffee and went to his small office. Juanita took a sip of her coffee and then put in a call to Esther Olsen. She introduced herself and quickly came to the point.
“Look, one of the things we’ve found on the hard disk of Dorothy’s computer is a booking with an online travel agent. But some of the data is missing and we don’t know where it was to. I was wondering if you could help us out.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Mrs. Olsen?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
Juanita thought quickly. There had to be a way to get some more information.
“In order to make an online booking one normally needs a credit or debit card. Do you know if your daughter had one?”
“She had a debit card. She got it with her new bank account when she gained control of her trust fund from her grandfather. Jonathan did too.”
“Do you, by any chance, have any of her old bank statements?”
Again there was hesitation.
“Er, no … she used to shred everything.”
“You’re sure she didn’t leave anything or maybe forget to shred something?”
“Positive.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Juanita put the handset down with the uneasy feeling that Esther Olsen was holding something back.
13:51 PDT
David opened the second button of his short-sleeved shirt against the sweltering heat. The air conditioning had broken down again and the early afternoon sun was getting to him. He wished he had worn a loose-fitting T- shirt. Hot weather didn’t agree with him — something Debbie used to tease him about when they were children. But right now he needed his concentration more than ever.
He had already established that Dorothy had bought a ticket from a now defunct Mexican airline company,
