Grievous Sin (13 page)

It was time to start pulling up cushions and crawling under the bed. Decker had thoroughly combed the living room for the second time when Bellson’s phone rang. He stopped and waited for the machine to kick in. It was Paula.

Decker interrupted her message. The woman immediately asked who this was, suspicion in her voice.

“Detective Sergeant Peter Decker of the Los Angeles
Police. I was going to call you anyway. I understand you have a three o’clock appointment with Ms. Bellson.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Paula?”

“How do you know who I am?”

“I could say it was fancy police work, but the truth is, you said your name at the beginning of the message.”

“How do I know you are who you say you are?”

“Call Foothill Substation and verify my badge number. For now, do me a favor and talk to me. Was your appointment for today?”

Again the pause. “Yes.”

“Why were you calling Marie, Paula? To confirm the time and place?”

“I don’t feel comfortable—”

“You called Marie yesterday as well.”

“How did you…what’s this all about?”

“Do you remember around what time you called?”

Silence on the other end. Decker said, “Please help me out.”

Slowly, Paula answered, “I guess it was around four. She wasn’t in, and I realized she was probably at work. So I called today just to make sure…what was your name again?”

Decker massaged his temples. Four o’clock. Marie was working by then.
Someone
had come into the apartment, listened to the messages, and rewound them. “Paula, Marie is missing—”

“What do you mean,
missing
?”

“Just that. She disappeared last night at work. Do you have
any
idea where she might have gone?”

“No, I…
who
are you?”

Decker repeated his name and his badge number. “No idea where she is?”

“No.” Another pause. “If she left suddenly, I’m sure she had a good reason. Why are you bothering to look for a grown wo—
omigod
! It’s that
baby
on TV, right? I mean, why else
would you be looking for a grown woman. Right? Right?
Right?
”

“The kidnapping happened during Marie’s shift.”

“Kidnapping!”
Paula shrieked. “My God, I didn’t even think of Marie’s hospital. If Marie’s missing, that has to mean the same person who kidnapped the baby kidnapped poor Marie. Why else would Marie be missing! She would have
died
fighting to save any of her babies! She’s the most dedicated nurse I know. Omigod, omigod—”

“Paula, I need to talk to you. I have to finish up some work here. I could meet you in an hour, hour and a half. Let’s say around eleven.”

“I’m working now.” Another pause. “Do you think Marie’s okay? I mean, you don’t think she’s…
omigod
!”

“I can meet you at work. Is that all right?”

“Of course. I’ll take a break. Whatever you say.”

“Where do you work?”

“St. Jerome’s in San Fernando. Do you know where that is?”

“You’re a nurse, too?”

“Yes. I met Marie at Sun Valley Pres. She trained me. Only I switched to pediatrics. I just love the kids.”

“I’ll see you at eleven, Paula. I’ll have you paged when I get there, so you don’t have to interrupt your work to wait for me. Don’t worry if I’m a little late. I’ll be there. What’s your last name?”

“Delfern. Paula Delfern. I’m on Pediatrics, Four West.”

“Thank you, Miss Delfern, I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Sure.
Anything
to help.” A final pause. “
What
did you say your name was again?”

Marge walked into Bellson’s apartment, Cindy a few paces behind her. Decker glared at his daughter, then at Marge.

“What’s she doing here?”

“She followed me.”

“Daddy, just let me explain—”

“It better be good.”

“First off, don’t get mad at Marge. I got down on my hands and knees and
begged
her. I was pathetic, so she took pity on me.”

Marge said, “I figured it was better keeping her in view than casting her free to do something stupid.”

Decker said, “Cindy, go home and
sleep.
”

“Dad, how can I
possibly
sleep with that
baby
missing? I sat with Lourdes Rodriguez for a half hour just holding her hand and watching her cry.” Her voice cracked. “It was so
sad.
”

Decker turned to Marge, “What was she doing with Lourdes?”

“I walked into the room and found her there.”

“Cindy—”

“Daddy, she
needed
someone. Someone who wasn’t a cop or a reporter or a lawyer or a hospital administrator who was trying to get her to sign away her rights.”

“I don’t believe this.” Decker rubbed his eyes on his forearms.

Cindy said, “How about if I just…
observe
?”

“Observe
what
?” Decker checked his watch. “Oh, hell. Just sit down and don’t touch a thing. And stop smiling. I’m going to deal with you later.”

Cindy tried to sport a grave look as she sat on the white ottoman. She noticed the kitten and ran a finger across its head. “Who’s this little guy?”

“Probably Marie’s cat. We found it locked in the bedroom waiting for food.”

“Poor thing,” Cindy cooed. “Can we keep it?”

“I suppose we can give it some foster care,” Decker said. “It can live in the stable with the other strays.” To Marge, he said, “Unless Bellson’s answering machine has a malfunction, I think someone was here last night, retrieved the messages, then rewound them.”

“Could have been Marie.”

“Could have been.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure, because other than that, nothing appears out of order. I was about to leave the apartment, then lo and behold I find a couple of keys taped under her desk. This one”—Decker held up a key with his gloved hands—“belongs to a storage bin over her parking space. Only took Detective Snail a half hour to find it.”

Marge smiled. “What’s in the bin?”

“Lots of old college texts—history, anthro, poli sci, as well as a bunch of sixties radical books.”

“Radical?”

“Eldridge Cleaver, Malcolm X, Abbie Hoffman—”

“Who’s Abbie Hoffman?”

“A guy who couldn’t spell America.”

“So Marie has done some transforming,” Marge said. “Somewhere along the line she became a born-again.”

“You can trace the transition. There were also a lot of texts on comparative religion as well as texts on Eastern philosophies.”

Marge said, “From gurus to Jesus.”

Decker said, “All religions are similar, once you get past the idiosyncrasies.”

“What about the other key?” Marge asked.

Decker shrugged. “I don’t know. It looks like it belongs to a lockbox. I’ve been searching for about twenty minutes and can’t find a damn thing. I’m supposed to interview a Paula Delfern. She’s a nurse at St. Jerome’s who was supposed to meet Marie at three this afternoon. I don’t know what the relationship is. I said I’d be there at eleven.”

“You’re late,” Marge said.

“I’m well aware of that, Margie. This Paula may be a good information source for us about Marie.”

“Do you want me to continue the search or interview Paula Delfern?”

“You do the interview,” Decker said. “I know what I’ve
already gone through. This key has to belong to
something
!”

“I’ll help you, Daddy,” Cindy said.

“You, young lady, will sit there and not say another word,” Decker said.

“He’s cute when he’s tough, isn’t he?” Marge said.

Decker was about to reply but laughed instead. He reached inside his pocket, took out another pair of gloves, and tossed them to Cindy. “Put these on. As long as you’re here, I don’t want you accidentally touching the wrong thing, messin’ up my evidence.”

Cindy grinned and put on the gloves. “Evidence for what?”

Damned if Decker knew. And damned if he was going to admit that to Cindy. “Find any blood work on Marie, Marge?”

“Yes, but it isn’t specific. Marie’s A-positive and has a normal clotting time. Same as the blood found in the parking lot. But A-positive is a common blood type.”

“Yeah, isn’t it about forty percent of the population?”

“Something like that.”

“Couldn’t they come up with any of the specific blood factors?”

“Nothing else is written in Marie’s chart.”

“What was Marie hospitalized for?”

“A D and C three years ago.”

“A D and C? Did she have a miscarriage?”

“Chart didn’t say anything about that,” Marge said. “Just that she was admitted for a D and C. I wrote down her doctor’s name—a Stanley Meecham. Why is that name familiar?”

“Darcy case couple of years back,” said Decker. “Remember the bees?”

“Oh yes, the bees.”

And a triple murder, Decker thought. He said, “Meecham was Linda Darcy’s doc. He was treating her for infertility. I wonder if Marie was having the same problem.”

“If so, we’ve got a potential motive for the kidnapping.”

“Woman cracks because she can’t have kids?” Decker said.

“Why not?” Marge said.

Why not? Decker repeated in his mind. Look at poor Rina. A hysterectomy had plunged her into a deep depression. And this was a woman who already had three healthy children.

“Why not indeed,” Decker said out loud. “If she was having fertility problems, does that mean there was a guy in her life?”

Marge shrugged. “I’ll ask Paula.”

Decker said, “Why else does a doc do a D and C?”

Cindy said, “Grandma had one when she was getting irregular periods due to menopause.”

“Really?” Decker said.

“Marie’s a little young for menopause,” Marge said.

“It’s been known to happen,” Decker said. “Could also be a reason for a sudden snap. Marie sees her last chance for a kid slipping away, so she takes one.” He stared at the key in his hands. “I’m going to keep looking for the box. You do your number on this Paula Delfern. See what the story is between those two.”

“Got it.”

“I also put a call in to Marie Bellson’s bank, telling them to call us if Marie or
anybody
shows up at any of the branches wanting to withdraw money from Marie’s account. So if someone’s patched through to you from American International, you’ll know what that’s about.”

“Will do.” Marge put her sunglasses back on her nose, then took a tissue and spread it over her right palm. “Let me see that key.”

Decker dropped it in the pink Kleenex.

Marge said, “Wrong shape for a safe-deposit box.”

“Yep.”

“Post office or mailbox?”

“Could be. Looks more like a strongbox key to me.”

“Me, too,” Marge said. “I’m just thinking that whoever rewound the messages might have taken the box.”

“Thought crossed my mind.” Decker bagged the key. “I’ll give the place another going-over.”

“Call when you’re done. We’ll compare notes.” Marge winked at Cindy. “Look after him, kid.”

Decker waited for Marge to leave, then said, “Did Rina leave the hospital all right?”

Cindy nodded. “Her parents picked her up right on time. She’s very proud of what you’re doing, Dad. She’s worried about Caitlin, too.”

“Caitlin?”

“The baby’s name. Lourdes told me.”

Caitlin, Decker thought. So the little thing has an official name. “Cindy, the only reason I’m not chopping your head off is because I’m indebted to you—”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am, and so is Rina. We both have you to thank for Hannah’s safety.
But
…as your
father
…I’m furious at you.”

“It’s only because I
care
! Dad, I’ve got
eyes.
Let me help you look for this box. I won’t get in your way after this. I promise.”

Decker hesitated. It was unprofessional, but at the moment another pair of peepers just might do the trick. Hell with regulations. Look how regulations had helped Caitlin Rodriguez last night.

“All right,” Decker said. “Start with the kitchen. Be slow and methodical. I’ve already gone over everything twice…but maybe I missed something.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“S’right.” Decker felt a sudden burst of warmth in his heart. “I love you, princess.”

Cindy smiled. “I love you, too.”

Sitting in the
hospital cafeteria, Marge pondered why all institutional coffee tasted like swill. Lips puckering as she sipped, she noticed that Paula Delfern wasn’t making much headway with her java, either. The nurse was gazing into the white ceramic cup as if reading tea leaves, fingers gripped around the mug. She appeared to be in her midtwenties with a creamy complexion and tawny-colored hair cut to the shoulders. Her dark eyes were set into a moon-shaped face. Her features were small but broad—a wide nose, a wide smile. With makeup, she could be pretty. Scrubbed-faced as she was now, she looked the part of a healthy farm girl. Marge took out her notebook.

Paula said, “I really don’t know how I can help. I mean, Marie and I are friends. But thinking about that, I really don’t know much about
her.
When we used to talk a lot, I was the one having the problems. We talked about me.”

“What kind of problems?” Marge asked.

“Is that relevant?”

Marge leaned in. “You never know what’s going to help us find her or the baby.”

Paula shuddered at the word
baby.
“Gosh, that’s just
terrible
!”

“How’d you meet Marie?”

“She trained me at Sun Valley Pres. I was an OB/neonate
nurse for a year before I switched to Peds. Like I told your partner, I love the kids. And so did Marie. I couldn’t imagine Marie ever hurting a kid. She just couldn’t!”

“Who said she’s hurting a kid?”

“Well, she wouldn’t do that to a mother. I know Marie, and she likes the new moms, too.”

“How did you and Marie become good friends?” Marge said. “From what I hear, Marie isn’t sociable.”

“No, she’s not sociable, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t nice. Parties just aren’t her thing. What we used to do is just sit and talk after shift, you know? She’d make a cup of coffee….” Paula appeared lost in thought. “We’d just talk. I was going through a lot of problems with my ex-boyfriend…
commitment
problems. So what else is new, right?”

Marge nodded understandingly, although commitment was the last thing she wanted out of life. Pete seemed happy remarried. But Pete seemed happy before. “So you and Marie talked about your boyfriend?”

“Yes. Marie was very helpful. Not that we didn’t disagree about things. We had some pretty intense discussions about God.”

“God?”

“Yeah, Marie was into Jesus. She especially liked the parable about the prodigal son.”

“The sinner repenting.”

“Yep. She used to say everyone has skeletons in their closet.”

“Marie mention hers?”

“Not really. Marie really didn’t talk much about her personal life. Too busy talking about my problems.” Paula’s focus fell back to the mug. “Marie could be understanding even if…” She wiped her eyes with her napkin. “Excuse me, this is hard.”

“Take your time.”

“I got pregnant by my ex-boyfriend….” She sniffed, and her voice became small. “He wasn’t my ex back then. That’s when the commitment issue really came out, you know?”

Marge nodded.

“He didn’t want marriage.” She sniffed again. “He didn’t want a baby. He said he was too young, although he was in his last year of medical school. He could have…anyway, when I told him I was going to keep the baby, he had a fit. He told me don’t expect help from him…he was just too young to be tied down. Then two months later…he…he got engaged to a classmate.” She started to cry. “It’s not that he didn’t want
commitment
, he just didn’t want
me.
”

She buried her face in her napkin. Marge waited for the weeping to stop, wondering if Paula’s story was relevant. Finally, the nurse dried her eyes.

“Marie was very helpful.”

“A shoulder to cry on?”

“Yes, and more. She became close to me. She even invited me to stay with her, saying I’d need help when I got bigger—farther along in my pregnancy. I’m from Des Moines, and I don’t really get along well with my folks. To show up back home pregnant and unmarried…I’d never hear the end of it. I felt so
alone.
Marie was just
great
! No one could have been as kind as she was to me. She was one of the few people I know who practiced what they preached.”

“Did you move in with her?”

She shook her head. “It turned out it wasn’t necessary. I miscarried at four months.” She smiled through wet eyes. “My ex-boyfriend sent me flowers in the hospital. Can you imagine?”

“Nice guy.”

“A very expensive lesson in life, I suppose.” She sighed. “At least I felt better losing the baby from miscarriage than from abortion. Truthfully, I was going to get an abortion. But Marie talked me out of it.”

“Marie was against your abortion or any abortion?”

“It wasn’t black and white, Detective. But she did have feelings about the subject. She asked me if I could live with my decision—terminating my own child’s life. It made me evaluate who I was.”

“Did Marie belong to a specific religion?”

“She just considered herself a decent Christian woman. But that wasn’t the reason for her views. I think she had lost a baby a long time ago…when she was very young. I don’t know whether it was a stillborn or the baby died at birth. Whatever it was, it was a tragedy. She said it changed her life.”

Marge was scribbling furiously. “How so?”

“I don’t know. She never got any more specific.”

“How old was she when she lost her baby?”

“She just said she was very young.”

It was Marge’s turn to hesitate.
Very young.
Marie’s chart claimed she’d had a D and C a couple of years back. Had Marie had another miscarriage or stillborn? No, it couldn’t be a stillborn. Someone would have recalled Marie pregnant. So maybe it was a miscarriage. Maybe
this
was the tragedy that Marie was referring to. She could have told Paula it had been many years ago when in fact it hadn’t been. And she might have embellished the severity of it to make Paula feel better.

“Do you know if Marie was married at the time of her tragedy?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. Marie didn’t get into specifics, and back then, her problems weren’t utmost on my mind.”

“But she told you she had actually
lost
a baby.”

“Yes.”

“Not just miscarried.”

“She used the term
lost.
”

“Paula, did Marie seem unusually preoccupied with babies lately?”

“I can’t answer that honestly. Because lately, I haven’t seen much of Marie.” Paula sighed again. “I found another boyfriend. A good guy, also with commitment problems.” She laughed nervously. “But at least he’s up front about it. We’ve been going together almost four months. Now that things are going okay for me, Marie’s sort of dropped out of the picture. I call and invite her out. But as soon as she finds out Joe’s
gonna be there, she backs off. Joe’s a fun-loving guy, and Marie is…”

“She doesn’t approve of Joe?”

“No, it’s not like that. Marie isn’t judgmental. She just does better one-on-one. This was the first time I’d seen her in months. I was planning to take her out to dinner for her birthday. Just the two of us. Now I find out…this is so horrible. I feel guilty. Maybe she was sending me signals I didn’t pick up on.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Paula said. “Like I said, I obviously didn’t pick up on them.”

“When was the last time you talked to Marie?”

“A week ago. When we made plans.”

“And how’d she sound?”

“Fine.”

“Did she say anything unusual to you regarding babies or mothers?”

“No.”

“Did she mention her prior tragedy at all?”

“No.”

“Did she mention your miscarriage at all?”

“No.”

“Do you know of any men past or present in Marie’s life?”

“No.”

“But she told you she lost a baby.”

“Yes.”

“She never said
when
this happened?”

“Just that she was young.”

“And she never mentioned the father?”

“No.”

“Did she ever talk about having another baby, Paula?”

“No. And she only talked about her tragedy
after
I lost the baby. To be empathetic, I think.”

“Paula, when you were close to Marie, did you know or meet any of Marie’s other friends?”

“I don’t think Marie had very many friends.”

“Well, when you used to visit her, did she ever get any phone calls?”

“From the hospital.”

“How about personal phone calls?”

“No…wait, her mom called several times. Marie told me her mom lives in a nursing home in Arcadia. She’s kind of nuts, and every so often she escapes and calls Marie on a pay phone. Marie used to visit her twice a week. I’m sure she still does.”

Marge paused and looked through her notes. There it was. Pete had played Marie’s messages for her. In them had been a gravelly voice on the run. She looked up from her notebook. “Do you know the name of the nursing home?”

“No, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m terrible with names.”

“But it’s in Arcadia.”

“It was as of six, maybe seven, months ago.”

“The only calls you ever heard Marie receive were from her mom?”

“She’s the only one I remember calling Marie’s house.”

“Did you ever hear her talk about Dotty?”

“Dotty?”

“Yesterday someone named Dotty called her house.”

“Dotty…could you mean Dody?”

“Could be. Who’s Dody?”

“Secretary from Sun Valley Pres’s pension-plan department. Business. Every so often she used to call me to verify wages and deductions and stuff like that. She’s a fixture at Sun Valley.”

“Was she a friend of Marie’s?”

“Not that I know.”

“So you don’t know anyone Marie might be friendly with outside the hospital other than her mom?”

“She’s nice to the incoming nurses. Really sweet. Maybe she had another special friend. Someone she took under her wing. Like me. I really don’t know.”

“Anybody specific you have in mind?”

“No. No one.”

“Did Marie ever offer to take care of your baby after it arrived?”

Paula scrunched up her eyes in concentration. “Well, she did say I could stay with her. Like I said, she was nice. But she didn’t get any more specific than that.”

“Did you ever have the feeling that she wanted to raise your baby as her own?”

“No, Detective. She just really wanted to
help
me.
Helping
people. That was Marie’s thing. She
cared.
”

“You’re describing her as such a giving person. Yet you can’t remember any other friends she had.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t.”

“Never got a picture postcard from someone on vacation?”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Paula’s eyes lit up. “She received a Christmas card. She stood it up on her coffee table, half-open. I noticed it because it was the only Christmas card she had on display. She said it was from an old friend but never said more than that. Gosh, amazing what suddenly hits you. When you said postcard, I remembered
Christmas
card.”

“Do you know who sent the card?”

“You mean the name? Gosh, I’m just
terrible
at names.”

“Was it a man or a woman?”

“A woman. I just can’t remember….”

“Think, Paula.
Think!
”

“It wasn’t a weird name.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. It was a while ago.”

“The card was signed with a first and last name?”

“Yes, it was…I think.”

“And no names come to mind.”

“No. Just that it wasn’t an unusual name.”

“Thanks for your time.” Marge folded her notebook, wondering if Decker’d come across any Christmas cards. “If you think of that name or anything else—”

“I’ll call. Do you have a card?”

Marge handed her a business card. “You can ring me or
my partner, Detective Sergeant Peter Decker. I wrote his name next to mine. You can ask for either one.”

“Good thing you wrote it down.” Paula pocketed the card. “Like I told you, I’m terrible with names.”

“We should all be named John Doe, huh?”

“It would help. Or at least Bob—”

Paula stopped talking. Marge asked, “What is it?”

“The last name was Robert…. It was Susan Robert…something like that.”

“Susan Robert?”

“Something like that, but not exactly.”

“Okay, that’s a real good start.”

“But it wasn’t Susan. More like Susanna, but that wasn’t it either.”

“Cynthia?” Marge suggested. “Sara?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Cecilia? Sandra? Serita?”

“Sondra,” Paula stated. “The name on the card was Sondra Robert.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure, I think.” Paula beamed. “Guess I’m not so terrible with names after all.” She paused. “It’s Detective Dunn, right?”

Marge stood and smiled. “Right.”

Decker studied the face of the Christmas card—a snow-covered pastoral scene with smoke rising from the country house’s chimney. Inside were the words:
Over the River and through the Woods. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
The signature was large and full of flare.
Sondra Roberts.
No love or sincerely or best wishes or fondly. Just a signature. To Marge, he said, “And Paula said this was the only Christmas card Bellson had on display?”

“The only one she remembered seeing.” Marge sat down on Marie’s wave-patterned couch. “Where’d you finally find it?”

“In her stationery drawer under her personalized paper—the only personal item I found.”

“We never did find any lockbox,” Cindy added. “Or wall safe or floor safe or hidden door.”

“She must have some photo albums somewhere,” Marge said. “Everyone has photo albums.”

“Unless you’re trying to forget your past,” Decker mentioned.

“The prodigal daughter,” Marge said. “Then why keep the old books?”

“Maybe Marie didn’t want to bury her past entirely. Books are less threatening reminders than snapshots.”

Marge raised her brow. “Or maybe the someone who rewound her messages could have taken her personal photographs. Come to think of it, he or she could have taken the lockbox, too. All personal effects that might have linked the person with Marie.”