M for Murder, page 24
No! It wasn’t true. She was just tired and letting her imagination get carried away. She was nothing like her mother. The reason she was so pissed at Hickok for illegally searching Lawrence Parker’s house was because she still couldn’t convince herself the man was guilty. It was stupid, she knew. The evidence against Parker was overwhelming. But she had a nagging doubt that he wasn’t responsible; that she had missed something in the files that she’d read on Rodney Boone. Boone couldn’t have escaped from the fire after he had been stabbed and left for dead on the cellar floor, but why hadn’t the police recovered his body? There had to be a logical explanation of what had happened to him and Rebecca had a sudden determination to find out what it was.
Instead of driving home, she followed the road left out of the precinct, driving past the college and out of the city towards the coast. Until his disappearance, Rodney Boone had remained living in the house he’d inherited from Cedric and Phillipa Boone. Rebecca had never been to the house, but she did have the address etched in her memory after meticulously studying the files on Boone, and she found the dilapidated old building without too much difficulty. The house was set back off a narrow country lane about two miles from the coast and hadn’t been lived in since the fateful night when Jennifer Isaac had managed to escape from his cellar. Rebecca had heard rumours that the land had recently been purchased by a hotel group that planned to rebuild the place and use its grisly history to draw tourists. As yet nothing had been done and, pulling her Jeep to a halt in the driveway, she could see where what was left of the once white walls had darkened to a charcoal grey.
She spent a moment staring at the house, trying to imagine how it had looked before the fire. Old and imposing, probably with many hidden rooms, isolated enough that no one would ever hear the Boones victims scream. Her mind sifted through the files she had read.
Jennifer Isaac had been down in the cellar with Boone. The police report said that she had stabbed him twice; once in the stomach with a screwdriver and then in the back with a butcher’s knife. Boone had fallen into a candle knocking it to the floor and Jennifer had left him on the cellar floor believing he was already dead. She hadn’t stopped to look for a phone, running straight out of the unlocked front door. She had tried the doors of the car parked in the driveway, hoping to use it to make her getaway, but they had been locked, so she had made her way on foot to the nearest farmhouse just over a mile away.
Rebecca tried to picture the scene in her mind: Jennifer running out of the house, trying the car then heading down to the road in search of help, leaving the burning building behind her.
The police hadn’t been called until an hour later, which would have allowed Boone time to escape, but how had he managed to get out? When the police and the fire crew arrived at the house, the building had been pretty much devastated. The reports said that the cellar, all of downstairs, the car in the double garage, much of the main staircase…
The car in the garage!
Jennifer Isaac had said in her report that the car had been parked in the driveway. Yet the police report stated that it had been in the garage, gutted by the blaze.
Had there been two cars?
Rebecca felt her heartbeat quicken. If a car had been parked in the driveway, it wouldn’t have been touched by the fire. Had the police seen it when they arrived? The report hadn’t said so. Was it possible that the car hadn’t been there when they arrived? That Boone had used it to make his escape?
The idea of a badly injured man crawling from the fire, finding his car keys and then managing to drive to safety was still a little far-fetched. But then it hit her. What if the car hadn’t belonged to Rodney Boone? What if there had been someone else in the house with him? Someone whom Jennifer hadn’t known about and who had pulled Boone from the fire then used the car to escape in?
Certain that she was onto something, Rebecca reached into her purse on the seat beside her and pulled out her cell phone. She called Hickok.
The two Federal Agents had already pulled the files and made several calls by the time Rebecca arrived back at the precinct.
She saw Hickok glance in her direction as she walked through the door, an almost sheepish look on his face, and realised she had been presented with a perfect opportunity to gloat.
The truth was she was too damn excited to want to bother.
‘The car outside wasn’t Boone’s,’ Sutton told her without preamble. ‘It was a silver Plymouth. Boone only had one car, a red Ford. That was the only car there when the cops arrived, and they found it sitting in the garage burnt to a cinder.’
‘So you think that there was someone else in the house with Boone?’ Rebecca asked, trying hard to maintain a professional tone.
‘It’s looking likely.’
There was a brief silence.
‘So what happens now?’ Rebecca asked, noticing that neither agent seemed prepared to give much away.
Hickok glanced at his partner. ‘Max is going down to San Palimo tomorrow to talk with Agnes Barnes.’
‘Really?’ Rebecca asked, pleased that all her hard work from Saturday wasn’t going to waste. Now they believed it more likely that Boone was alive, it seemed they were prepared to check out her theory about Boone’s brothers.
‘He and Boaz are leaving in the morning.’
Boaz?
‘What?’ Rebecca fought hard to keep the look of surprise from her face. She lost. ‘Vic’s going? Why?’
Sutton came over and squeezed her shoulder in a gesture that reminded her of Uncle Lou. ‘Don’t take it personally. You’ve done a really good job, and I intend to recommend you to your Captain. Officer Boaz, though, has seniority and he tells us that he’s familiar with the area. It makes sense to take him along.’
‘Sure, I understand,’ Rebecca said, trying her hardest not to sound disappointed.
Truth was she didn’t understand, and she didn’t think it was fair either. Vic might have seniority, but that didn’t change the fact that he was lazy and couldn’t care less. What the hell had he done to help this investigation, except whine like a baby and try to make out in front of anyone stupid enough to listen that he was some kind of hero?
It wasn’t fair, and it pissed her off.
She watched her partner get up from behind the desk and yawn loudly.
‘Guess I ought to go home and get some shut-eye,’ he said, talking to Sutton, but grinning at Rebecca. He slapped her on the back as he passed her. ‘You did a good job, sweetheart,’ he muttered, his tone patronising. ‘But it’s time now to step back and let the professionals take over.’
Rebecca clenched her fists together, fighting to keep them by her side. She wasn’t going to let Vic Boaz see that she was upset by the decision.
‘Have a good trip, Vic,’ she told him, forcing a smile.
She glanced at Hickok, meeting his eyes, expecting a sarcastic comment. He didn’t make one though, and she got the impression from the way he gave her a half shrug, and what appeared to be a sympathetic smile, that the decision to send Vic hadn’t been his.
Maybe he wasn’t such a jerk after all.
Watching Vic slip his jacket on over his uniform, whistling loudly as he fished out his car keys and headed out of the door, Rebecca half wished something would happen to him so he couldn’t go with Sutton.
Nothing serious. Just a little accident. Perhaps he could break a leg.
Perhaps break both legs!
She smiled to herself, knowing her wish was unlikely to be granted and knowing that her parents would be appalled if they ever found out about the devious thoughts that sometimes went on in her mind. She guessed that at least it proved one thing. Maybe she wasn’t so much like her mother after all.
32
San Palimo, California. Wednesday 7th May 1997
Vic couldn’t believe his luck.
So far, it had been Rebecca Angell, his rookie partner, who had been allowed to do all of the good stuff like the college interviews and, while he didn’t doubt that it was because Hickok fancied her, it was still about time that he got to see some of the perks of the job. A trip down to California would do very nicely.
He was familiar with the area. His parents had raised him and his sisters in a town less than thirty miles from San Palimo and he had served ten years with the San Francisco Police Department before being transferred up to Juniper. Driving through the familiar hilly districts, a heavy fog rolling in from the ocean, he realised just how much he’d missed it.
His family no longer lived locally. Cynthia, his oldest sister, had moved to Phoenix years ago with her husband, Drake, and the twins, Annie and Shelley, were both working down in Los Angeles. His parents had sold up two years back, claiming the house was too big and empty for just the two of them, and bought a retirement home down in Florida. Vic had visited them a few times since they’d been there, though it was usually because he wanted a vacation rather than to check on their well-being.
A little like now, he guessed. Although they were supposed to be down here on work, he couldn’t help thinking of it as more of a vacation. Sutton wasn’t going to uncover anything. Rebecca Angell might have thought she’d found all the answers, but she was wrong. San Palimo would provide nothing more than a pleasant distraction.
The words pleasant and distraction sprang to mind again as he laid eyes on Karen Harris, the librarian with the husky voice whom he had spoken to earlier that morning to let her know they were coming. Although he had hoped she would have a body to match her voice, Vic knew his chances weren’t good, especially since she worked in a library. So, his face lit up like a Christmas tree when on arrival at the library they were greeted by a tall, vibrant redhead with a curvaceous figure and startling blue eyes. Karen Harris didn’t seem too disappointed when she laid eyes on him either.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Officer Boaz,’ she said, smiling at him warmly.
Vic glanced at Sutton and raised his eyebrows, then he looked back at Karen. ‘Oh, believe me, the pleasure is all mine.’
Boy! Have I lucked out here.
All thoughts of Jill Boleyn went out of the window as he locked his sights on Karen Harris, treating her to his most dazzling smile.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee before I take you in to meet Agnes?’ Karen asked, a hopeful tone to her voice. Vic nodded, wondering what the librarian looked like naked. Forget Rebecca Angell. This was a woman who obviously knew how to treat a man with respect. ‘Coffee would be terrific, Karen. Really terrific.’
‘Actually, I think we’ll save coffee for later, thank you, Miss Harris,’ Sutton said, butting in. ‘Right now, I think we should go have a chat with Ms Barnes.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Karen looked a little disappointed but didn’t say anything. She turned and led the way into the library.
Vic let out a loud sigh, flaring his nostrils. ‘What’d you go and do that for?’ he hissed at Sutton. ‘Couldn’t you see that she really liked me?’
Sutton arched a brow. ‘I thought you had a girlfriend, Officer Boaz?’
‘I do,’ Vic muttered, looking at his feet. ‘That doesn’t mean I can’t shop around though does it?’
‘Why, do you think you’re too much for one woman?’
‘I never said that.’
Sutton gave him a toothy grin. ‘You just don’t understand commitment, do you, buddy?’ he said, patting him on the back. ‘Come on. Work first and I’m sure you’ll have time to play later.’
Vic grunted, but let the matter drop. Sutton had let him come along. He didn’t want to screw up or the Fed might regret his decision. Work first and play later. Determined that he was going to get to play later, he turned and followed Karen Harris through the swing door.
She led them through the maze of bookshelves to a room at the back of the library, opened the door and motioned for them to go inside. The room was small and piled with books. On the floor in the midst of the chaos sat an elderly woman whom Vic guessed had to be Agnes. She was dressed in navy and her grey-black hair was scraped back into a tight bun, making her face seem somewhat gaunt. A pair of glasses hung on a silver chain around her neck; she perched them on the end of her nose as she looked up to see who had entered the room. She glanced at Sutton first, through the tinted rims, then at Vic and then at Karen.
Karen smiled at her. ‘Agnes. These are the policemen I was telling you about this morning. They’ve come to see what you can remember about Helen White.’
Agnes nodded, suddenly interested. She finished stacking the pile of books she had on the floor and smiled up at Sutton, nodding.
‘You’re here at last,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘Good. I’ve been waiting for you.’
The three of them sat in a booth in the Cloistered Oyster, a secluded diner set high on the cliff top overlooking the ocean, which Agnes Barnes claimed sold the best fresh seafood for miles. Despite her recommendation, none of them had seafood, Max ordering a black coffee, Agnes choosing a pot of tea and Boaz stuffing his face with a box of the diner’s speciality doughnuts and a large chocolate milk shake.
‘I understand you knew Helen White, ma’am?’ Max asked, having made small talk for a couple of minutes and now feeling it necessary to move onto the reason they were there. Agnes nodded slowly. ‘Oh yes, I remember Helen White. She was the widow of Professor White, you know. Completely threw her life away.’
‘She did? How?’ Max asked, curious.
‘Her husband was an English professor over at the local college. After the accident, Helen couldn’t cope by herself, not with the three boys to look after. And then of course there was her little problem.’
‘What problem was that?’
‘She had a drug problem, Mr Sutton,’ Agnes said nodding, as though to confirm the fact to herself. ‘Tried to pretend that she didn’t. But everyone knew it was a lie. You could tell just by looking at her. That, of course, is why she turned to prostitution. You know, to pay for her little habit.’
‘Prostitution, hey? She sounds like the perfect mom.’
Agnes snorted loudly through her nose, causing a couple of the other customers to look in her direction. ‘Hardly!’ she told Max, misinterpreting his sarcasm. ‘When she had the overdose, her three little boys were taken into care. Rumour has it that they were found nearly starved to death. She used to beat them as well, you know, Mr Sutton. I remember that poor little boy of hers, he was slower than most other children of his age. Helen used to punish him for it. She thought he was letting down the family. The poor child was always filthily dressed.’
‘That would be Rodney you’re talking about, wouldn’t it?’ Max asked.
Agnes frowned at him slightly. ‘I’m not good with names, Mr Sutton. Was he the oldest boy?’
‘We believe so.’
She nodded. ‘Then yes, it was Rodney.’
Max started making a few notes, trying to ignore the noise Boaz was making beside him as he sucked out his milk shake through the straw. ‘Do you know much about what happened to the three boys, Ms Barnes?’ he asked, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.
‘Not really.’ Agnes shook her head, opening another sachet of sugar to pour into her already overly sweet tea. ‘They were all put into foster care and eventually adopted.’
‘By different families?’
‘Yes, I believe so.’
Max paused to take a sip of his coffee. The black liquid was strong and tasted good. ‘Do you know what happened to Rodney’s two brothers? Who they were adopted by? Whether they still lived locally?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Sutton,’ Agnes apologised, stirring her tea. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.’
‘What were their names?’
‘Oh, now you’ve got me.’ She bit down on her bottom lip, staring intently past Max’s shoulder. ‘One of them was Clint or Clive. Something like…’ She paused mid-sentence as the old-fashioned bell rang above the door and a tall, blond man entered the diner.
‘Doctor Turner!’ she cried, getting to her feet.
The man ambled across. He appeared to be in his late thirties, not unattractive, with a broad forehead and a strong jawline, and he was smartly dressed in a grey suit and a conservative pale blue shirt that matched his eyes.
‘Agnes,’ he greeted her, his voice soft and reserved. He took hold of both her hands. ‘How are you doing?’
‘I’m very well, Doctor Turner.’ She turned to look at Max and Boaz, and then back at the doctor. ‘I’m having coffee with these nice policemen.’
‘Policemen?’ Doctor Turner’s eyebrows rose slightly as he turned to study Max.
Max nodded to him. ‘Agent Sutton with the FBI. This is Officer Boaz,’ he said, waving a hand in Boaz’s direction.
‘Boaz?’ The doctor smiled faintly. ‘I knew some people called Boaz once.’
‘Yeah?’ Boaz slurped up the rest of the milk shake and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Well my family used to live out this way. Maybe it’s them.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Mr Sutton and Mr Boaz are in town doing some investigating,’ Agnes explained, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. ‘They are following up a lead on a lady I used to know, Helen White. They’re trying to find her sons.’
‘Really?’ Doctor Turner looked from Max to Boaz and back again. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name.’
Agnes shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t, Doctor. This was a long time ago, a long time before you moved to town.’
‘I see.’
‘I was just trying to remember what their names were. Rodney, Clive…’ She knitted her brows together as she struggled to remember. ‘I think it was Clive. And then there was the baby. Now what was his name?’
‘It would really help us, Ms Barnes, if you could remember,’ Max pushed.
Agnes nodded, sitting down.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Sutton. It was a long time ago and my memory’s not what it used to be.’
