Murder Is Uncooperative (26 page)

“This is Amy Cole,” a woman's voice said when I answered. “I understand you wanted to talk to me.”

I know I had promised D'Onofrio to stay out of it. But I just couldn't resist talking to Amy.

I explained how Les and Ruth had died and why I thought their deaths might be related to Jessica's.

“Oh, no. Les? The co-op manager? I remember him. He was a nice guy. He'd ask us kids what we wanted in the way of playground equipment, instead of just assuming he knew best. I'm sorry to hear he's dead.”

“Cara told me she thought your brother was involved in Jessica's death. Do you think she's right?”

“My brother or my lovely stepmother. They were both there when I left that day. And Jessie was fine. When I came back they were both still there but Jessie was gone.”

“What happened that day?” I asked. I'd instinctively pulled my notebook toward me and was writing down what she said.

“Jessie and I were working on a science project together. We'd gone to my place to work on it. I wanted to go to her house, but mine was closer, so Jessie said we'd save time if we went there. Eddie and my stepmom were both there.”

“Mariana was there?”

“Oh, yeah, Mar-i-ah-nah,” Amy said, drawing the syllables out and affecting a posh, British accent. “She was plain old Marian Cole back then. One of my friends in the co-op told me later she'd started calling herself Mariana. Sounds classier, I guess.”

“So they were both there?”

“Yes, then Marian asked me to go to the store to pick up some stuff for dinner. I had lots of homework and Eddie hardly ever did homework, but she didn't ask him. Whenever I complained, she kept talking about how she was raised in foster care, how she was always living with strangers and how I should be glad she was giving me a home with her real family, instead of letting me go into foster care. But she adopted me when she married my dad, and he adopted Eddie. We were supposed to be a real family. But she never let me forget that Eddie was her real child and I wasn't.”

I wondered if Amy's anger at Mariana was simply that of a rebellious teenage girl.

“I asked Jessie to come with me,” Amy went on. “She said she'd start on the project, and I could look at what she'd done when I came home.” Amy was crying now. “I wish I'd made her come with me. I knew what they were like and she didn't. Her parents were always so nice. Not like them. But I thought I'd just go there and back. I'd be quick. And I really didn't think Eddie would try anything while Marian was there. But he did. I know he did.”

Her sobs were louder now. “I got back, and they told me Jessie had left. I called her house, but she wasn't there. She never came home again.”

“But why did you leave?” I asked her. “Surely, if you knew something about Jessie's disappearance, you should have talked to the police?”

“I was afraid,” she said. “At first I just went out to look for Jessie. But when I couldn't find her, I was afraid to go back. If they'd killed her, they'd kill me too, if only to stop me from talking.

“So I hitchhiked out of town and I lived on the streets in different places. People don't pay a lot of attention to homeless people. I moved a lot so no one would find me. I really didn't want to be sent back to Marian. Or even have to go into foster care. Marian made that sound really bad.”

“But what did you live on?”

“How do most street kids live? A little panhandling, a little drug dealing. Sometimes you can find someone who'll let you stay with them in exchange for sex.”

I must have sighed or sounded in some way disappointed.

“Oh, don't sound so disapproving,” she went on. “You do what you have to do to get by. Besides, it's not like I was a virgin. Eddie assaulted me the first time when I was ten.”

I thought of the hulking teenager I'd seen in the picture and shuddered. “But you could have reported him,” I said. “Didn't you tell someone?”

“It was after my father died. At first I didn't say anything. But I did tell Marian eventually. She just accused me of lying and threatened me with foster care. Said I'd be raped by all sorts of people then, by old men, everyone. She said that's what happened to her. So I didn't say anything.”

I was speechless. Could Mariana really act like such a monster? I didn't know Amy and couldn't tell if she was telling the truth. But she sounded sincere.

“Anyway, eventually I got to Ontario. My aunt's there, my dad's sister. I got in touch with her. She made me contact the police and tell them where I was. Then she let me stay with her. Marian didn't want me back. And the police seemed to think some other guy had killed Jessie. Marian had told them she was with Eddie the whole afternoon and evening, helping him with his homework. But that was a laugh, Eddie hardly ever bothered with homework.”

“I heard he was eventually sent to a juvenile detention center,” I said.

“Yeah, for selling drugs to kids at school. But the police didn't know about that at the time. As far as they were concerned, he was just a kid. And if Marian said she was with him . . . I know Jessie's parents tried to keep the police looking into her death and not just writing it off as another murder by the guy they arrested. But after what happened to them . . .”

“Something happened to Jessie's parents?” I asked. “There was nothing in the papers about that.” I remembered the nice-looking couple I'd seen in the picture printed in the paper.

“Yeah, Jessie's mother had some kind of breakdown. I heard from some of the other kids she kept hanging around the co-op looking for her daughter. Eventually, they had to put her in the hospital. And Jessie's dad killed himself.”

“That must have been even harder on Jessica's mother— to lose her daughter
and
her husband,” I said.

“Yeah, she was in hospital for a long time,” Jessie said. “I think she's out now, but it's hard to recover from something like that. Anyway, I think she has money, so she doesn't have to rely on the government to look after her. Someone told me there was a public trustee or something to look after the money after Jessie's dad died. They sold the house of course. But I kept in touch with some of my friends from the co-op, and they told me Marian had some of Jessie's mom's stuff—some of her clothes and jewellery, and dishes and stuff. She told everyone she'd inherited things from her grandmother, but I don't think she had any family, except one sister she talked to sometimes, and Eddie. I think she'd just got into Jessie's house and took some stuff when she could.”

“Are you sure?” I gasped. I remembered the china Mariana had claimed was her grandmother's.

“Well, I wasn't around, but that's what I heard. I kept in touch with some of my friends, people I knew wouldn't tell anyone where I was.”

I had a sudden, frightening thought. “Amy, are you sure your brother is still in jail?”

“I don't really keep track, so long as he doesn't know where I am. But I think so. My aunt told me he keeps applying for parole and getting turned down. I guess the police would know. Maybe they'll reopen the old case and find out who really killed Jessie.”

“There's a police officer investigating the recent deaths,” I told her. I gave her D'Onofrio's number. “You should tell him everything you told me.”

“Couldn't you tell him? I don't really like going over all this again.”

“I could tell him what you said,” I agreed. “But I'm sure he'll have different questions. It'd be better if he hears it from you.”

Besides, I thought, as she reluctantly agreed to make the call, I told him I'd stay out of this.

I sat at my desk, stunned by what Amy had told me. And then I saw a figure moving down the street. I had a hunch I now knew who she was, and I wanted to talk to her. But I couldn't leave Ben alone. Then I heard my father's wheelchair coming through the door.

“Hi, Dad. Glad you're home,” I said, shoving my feet into loafers and grabbing my jacket. “Can you watch Ben for a second? I'll be right back.”

I took the elevator to the ground floor and sprinted through the front door. I hoped I wasn't too late.

I was in luck. The homeless woman was standing across the street, staring at our building.

“Elizabeth,” I called.

“Betty,” she answered, turning to look at me. “It's Betty.”

“Betty is short for Elizabeth. You're Elizabeth Anderson, aren't you? Jessie's mom.”

She smiled at me. “So you figured that out. I thought you would. You're smart, just like her. You don't really look like her, but I think she would have grown up like you. She was always curious too.”

“I know you've been through some really awful things,” I said to her. “But the police are taking another look at Jessie's case. And I can help you. There are organizations, places that help people who need homes.”

She smiled at me. “I know. I'm . . . I don't really need housing. I've been in a place since I got out of the hospital. Sort of a halfway house. And soon I'll be living on my own. I'm okay really. I know I went off the rails after Jessie disappeared. I kept thinking I'd find her. Even after I knew she was dead. This was the last place she was seen, you know. So I wanted to spend time here. But then I found out it really drove
her
crazy, seeing me around. That Marian Cole. She kept trying to get the manager to call the police to arrest me. Les Walter—he was a nice man. I think it was him who arranged for me to get into the hospital and get help. Or maybe the police. I don't know. But I knew it bothered her I was around. So when I got out, I came back. Not to find Jessie this time. I know she's gone. But just to keep an eye on Marian Cole. Because she knows what happened to my girl. I know that.”

I told her briefly what Cara and Amy had told me. “And I know that Sergeant D'Onofrio is looking into Jessie's murder again, in connection to Les and Ruth's deaths. But,” I said, gesturing at her shopping cart. 'Are you sure you have a good home? You're not sleeping outside? Are you sure you don't want me to help?”

“You're a nice girl,” she said, patting my hand. “But I'm really fine. This thing . . . well, people don't really look at you if they think you're homeless and are going to ask them for money. They particularly avoid you if they think you're crazy. It's an easy way to hang around the building without people bothering you or calling the police. But maybe I won't have to be here much longer, if the police are going to find out what happened to my Jessie.

She thanked me and pressed a scrap of paper into my hand. “The phone number at the place where I'm living. You call me if you learn anything more. You, or that police officer. He's certainly a handsome one, isn't he? And he thinks you're nice. I saw how he looked at you.”

I agreed to call her if I learned anything more. And I gave her D'Onofrio's number too. “He probably will want to talk to you,” I told her.

I went back to the apartment bursting to tell Dad what I'd found out. I probably should give D'Onofrio a call too, even if both Amy and Elizabeth had agreed to call him. He'd be angry, I thought, but the information might be useful. And I wanted to make sure Eddie really was still safely locked up.

“Dad, you'll never guess who I've been talking to today,” I said as I walked through the door.

“Can't wait to hear it, Becky. But can it wait for a moment? I just want to go back to the car for a minute. I went to the pool this afternoon, and I just remembered I left my bag in the car. I should hang my towel and suit up to dry.”

I offered to run down to the car for him but he waved me off. “Won't be a minute,” he said as he headed out the door.

As I waited for Dad, I wondered how he would react to what I had learned about Mariana and Eddie. Of course, I only
had Amy's view of what happened. But she seemed credible. And her story was backed up by what Cara had told me.

It was a while before I realized that Dad had been gone for far longer than he needed to go down to the parking garage and back.

I called to Ben to come with me. I didn't know what was up with Dad, but I wasn't about to leave my son alone.

As the elevator opened to the parking garage, I saw what I feared. Someone was lying on the floor in the middle of the garage.

“Dad,” I yelled, running toward the figure. Had he been hit by a car? The wheelchair meant he was low to the ground and sometimes hard to see. But wouldn't the person have stopped if they'd hit him? And where was the wheelchair?

As I got closer, I realized it wasn't my father. Cara was lying in the middle of the garage, bleeding from a large wound in her chest. I pulled off the sweater I was wearing and put it over her. And I pulled out my phone to call for an ambulance.
Really,
I thought,
I should have 911 on speed dial.

But where was my father? I heard a groan coming from behind me just as Ben called to me. “Mommy, Grandpa's lying on the ground,” he said, sounding scared.

Dad was lying between two cars. His wheelchair was on the ground beside him.

As I rushed toward him, I was relieved to see that he was moving, trying to get up.

“Dad, are you okay?” I called. “What happened?”

“I'm fine,” he said. His voice sounded steady. “Some bastard knocked me over. Then I heard a shot. What happened?”

“Oh, Dad. It's Cara. She looks like she's hurt pretty bad. Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, just bruised. The bag had slid to the back of the trunk and I was just trying to stand up to reach it. Then someone came up behind me and pushed me over. They knocked the wheelchair over on top of me. I just managed to get it off me and was trying to get up. I heard someone, but I thought it might be the person with the gun, so I didn't say anything. Then Ben found me.”

I gently helped my father back into his wheelchair, checking him for damage. His face and one hand were scraped, and he had a smear of grease on his jacket, but he seemed otherwise okay.