Agnes Hahn (12 page)

It took a half hour before Officer Didier settled in the chair opposite Jason. In different clothes, she could be decent looking. Why did a police uniform always defeminize female officers? Maybe the Kevlar vests.

Twenty more minutes of quiet and Jason threw his hands in the air. He pushed his chair back, lifting the front two legs from the floor. “You know anything about this one? Was it the same as the others?”

The question didn’t bring Officer Didier from her trance.

“Come on. You people roused me from a deep sleep, cuffed me, and brought me here for something I didn’t do. Now you say I should stay in this room and wait all day while you chase down leads you should’ve already had. I think I’ve been harassed enough here. The least you could do is talk to me. Give me some answers.”

Officer Didier moved her arm from the table, but she didn’t look up. “I don’t know about it. I didn’t go to the crime scene.”

“Did you hear anything about it?”

“Yeah.” She turned her head toward the door, then back to Jason.

He smiled. “What did you hear? Was it done the same way?”

“I shouldn’t say any more.”

Jason pointed to his forehead. “This is going to leave a nasty scar. And I bet I have two fist-shaped bruises on my chest. I’m thinking about filing a complaint. You want to be included?”

Didier took a deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips. “I don’t know much.”

“Was it done the same way?”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

Jason leaned forward. “Who are they?”

“Detectives Bransome and Saroyan.”

“Did they get any new information from this one? Any prints?”

“I know they got DNA. I heard Bransome order the analysis. Then he was yelling at someone else on the phone. He wanted them to keep dusting the place. That’s what he kept saying. Keep dusting the place. So I doubt they found anything useful.”

“Did you nod off anytime during the night?”

Didier straightened in her chair. “I do my job and I do it well.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. Is there any way Agnes could have slipped out?”

“I’d have seen her.”

“Did you take any breaks?”

“Not without relief.”

“What about the back of the house?”

“Where would she go? The storage center has a six-foot fence with razor wire on top. If she’d gone out either side, I’d have seen her.”

Jason rubbed his temples. “Do you know why I’m being hassled?”

“You’ll have to ask Bransome that one.”

“Probably because he can.”

“He’s the most thorough detective I’ve ever seen. He must have a good reason.”

Jason rolled his eyes, then cringed. The laceration in his forehead complained with a burning bolt of pain.

The reporter worked through it. “You said the DA was on his back about this case. Shit runs downhill and I’m at the bottom of the slope. Right?”

“I bet there’s more to it than that. He’s probably checking to make sure you were where you said you were.”

“So, I’m a suspect now?”

“I said he’s very thorough.”

“Pardon me if I’m not so impressed.”

Officer Didier shrugged and settled back into her trance.

The door burst open, and a shock wave preceded Bransome into the room, jolting Jason from near sleep.

Jason’s head shot up. He could feel the indentation between his eyes from resting on his arms. He blinked, trying to focus. Every nerve in his body came alive, as if somebody had taken a bat to his forehead.

Bransome folded his arms across his chest. “You can go now, but keep us informed of your whereabouts.”

Jason tried to clear the cobwebs. “What did the odometer say?”

“Get out.”

“I gave you the information. The least you could do is tell me how it was used.”

Bransome blew a long, loud exhalation. “Twenty-one,

four sixty-nine.”

Jason remained in his seat. “Agnes said she had to go to the bank and the store. It’s what, thirty miles to Point Arena?”

Officer Didier stood. “More like thirty-five.”

Bransome shot her a dirty look.

“That’s still seventy miles round trip,” Jason said. “Her lawyer know yet?”

Bransome mumbled something that sounded like an expletive. “You got back what you gave. Now take off. I have a lot of work to do.”

Still sitting. “Don’t you want to know what Ella Hahn had to say? She was lucid for a few minutes the other day.”

“Will it help the case?”

Jason shrugged.

Bransome walked over and leaned on the table. “Well? What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Family secrets. Let them lie.'”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means there’s something here that goes beyond Agnes Hahn.”

“And I suppose you’re going to keep poking your nose in the case until you find out what it is?”

Jason looked at his watch. “I have three hours of reasons why I shouldn’t.”

Bransome straightened and slapped his hands together. “Good. Then we can find you at your apartment in Santa Rosa if we need you?”

Jason forced a fake chuckle. “And I have a half million readers as reasons why I should.”

“W
HAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?”
E
ACH HOARSE
word was punctuated with a puff of smoke from Mulvaney’s mouth.

Jason feathered his brown hair over the butterfly bandage on his forehead. “I had an argument with a door. It’s no big thing.”

Mulvaney sauntered around the side of the desk. “How much longer are you going to be in Mendocino?”

Jason leaned against the closed door, trying to draw air from the hallway outside. “The story took an unexpected twist. It may take a while. But it’ll be worth it. I guarantee it.”

“I haven’t seen anything about a twist. Have you sent in the latest?”

“It’s unfolding. I’ve got to let it play a little while longer.” He grimaced, and braced himself for the explosion.

Mulvaney sat on the edge of the desk. “I’ve got a problem here, Jason. The first story you sent was brilliant. And the hook at the end has the readers wanting more. It has me wanting more. That’s the old Jason. But I didn’t budget for a long-term stay. How do you think it’s going to play out?”

“It looks like a multiple. That’s about all I can say right now. This one isn’t going to roll over in a one-shot story. This is the real thing.”

Mulvaney stood and resumed pacing. His eyes stayed on the floor, as if Jason wasn’t even there. He stopped and spun around. “I budgeted for just two more days on the expense account. I could squeeze out two more. Would that do it?”

“You’ve seen where it’s headed, but it isn’t coming easy. I’m dealing with an Alzheimer’s patient, a story lead whose memory stops where I need to begin, and a detective who hates my guts.” He brought his hand up to the bandage, but brought it back down when he saw Mulvaney staring.

“Four more on the expense account. That’s all I can give you.”

“I don’t know if it’ll play through by then.” And the story needed to play through. A female serial killer whosexually mutilated men. A mysterious twin. And family secrets, whatever they might turn out to be.

“What about your other assignments? I haven’t seen

anything on the county fair exposé yet.”

“That one’s in final edit.” As soon as I finish the rough draft, he thought.

Mulvaney stubbed out a butt and pulled another cigarette from a fresh pack. “Is Mendocino worth going off account? Can you afford it yourself?”

Jason leaned away from the door. “Yeah. I’m staying in a cheap-ass motel, and I can do a couple of days there, a couple here.”

“And what about the other stories? After four more days, I’ll have to send an assignment load as if Mendocino is no longer active. Do you think you can handle the extra workload and still give me this kind of quality?” He picked up a section of the newspaper and waved it in the air.

A smile creased Jason’s face. “I can handle it.”

Mulvaney walked around behind the desk. “If you don’t, I’ll have to bring in Yolanda. You don’t want her cleaning up any messes. She’s a bright one.”

“So you’ve told me.”

Mulvaney chuckled. “Must be true, then.” He took a long drag. “When can I expect the next story?”

“A day or two. Same for the county fair story.”

Mulvaney plopped down in his chair. “It’s that good, huh?”

“Looks that way.”

“Do I have to say that it had better be?”

Clever. It was hard to parry Mulvaney’s jabs. Jason flashed a syrup-sweet smile. Truth? He sure hoped it would be. This story really was make-or-break. It was a risk he wouldn’t have taken before. Would he? And, why now? Because the potential was huge?

Mulvaney gave a backward flip of his hand and Jason walked into the hall.

Was there something else that drew him to Mendocino? To put up with Bransome, and the history? It all centered on Agnes Hahn.

T
HE MOTEL PHONE WAS LOUD, OBNOXIOUS, AND THE
rings were the old-fashioned kind, not the electronic noises made by modern phones. Was it Mulvaney? It’d be just like him to toss a zinger via long distance.

Jason reached across the bed, lifted the receiver, and took a deep breath before issuing a standard greeting. His voice came out more impatient than intended.

Composure. He rolled on his back and the coiled phone cord pulled the base from the nightstand. It crashed on the tattered carpet with a muted ring.

“Jason?”

The high-pitched voice sent him onto his elbow. “Agnes?”

Agnes opened the front door and tugged the flannel lapels tight against her neck. She turned away without saying a word.

Each time he got a brief glimpse of her face, it made him want more. Just once, he wanted to take a good long look. To look into her eyes. He felt he was pretty good at reading people’s eyes, but Agnes seldom made direct eye contact. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to see more of hers.

He followed her to the back of the house, into the kitchen. Wilson was on duty outside, so a call had already been placed to Detective Bransome.

Agnes stopped by the kitchen table and pointed. A single page letter, written in longhand, was spread open next to a personal-sized envelope. Jason leaned over to get a closer look at the envelope.

The postmark was from Point Arena, the day following the murder. He felt a slight resistance in his breathing. He turned to the letter, which was signed “Lilin.” A red-brown smudge followed the signature. Probably blood.

He looked up at Agnes. She was pale, obviously frightened.

“Did you handle it much?”

“I just opened it and read it. I put it down right here and called you.”

“Did you call the police?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I wanted you to see it first.”

Jason looked toward the street, as if he could see through the walls. “You know they’re probably on their way right now?”

“I wanted you to see it.”

He kept his gaze on Agnes. “Why me?”

“I want you to help me find Lilin. Before the police do. I want to talk to her. I think I can get her to stop doing these things.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She looked as helpless as a three-year-old in the dark.

Best to head this off with Bransome. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and fished for the detective’s business card. The cell phone number would be best.

Bransome didn’t disappoint, and Jason slapped the cell phone closed to terminate the conversation.

He turned to Agnes. “Bransome’s going to ask why you called me first. I’d suggest you don’t tell him what you just told me. Tell him you lost his number. Or something like that.”

He looked back at the letter. There were only a few short sentences, each written in neat handwriting that tailed off into a scrawl at the end, like they were writtenwith a purpose, but with a hurried hand. He concentrated on the message and gave Agnes a quick stare. A chillascended his spine.

“Do you know what she means when she says, ‘I’m doing this for us'?”