Lethal Lineage

by Charlotte Hinger

  “You carry that with you here? In Western Kansas?” Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, like he was trying to make sense of it all. “We’re not in the middle of an African tribal war. Why?” Then his face flushed. His words broke off and I knew he was remembering the man’s terror, the scars all over his body.

  “Always. I am never without it.” His voice was flat.

  “Is that how you killed Mary Farnsworth?” I blurted the words.

  Talesbury spun around and skewered me with his cold eyes. “Madame, I’ve told you. I did not. I am not a killer.”

  “Are you denying that there was poison on the tip of the stiletto that killed Chip. From a poison dart frog?”

  “I do not carry lethal poison. I didn’t put it there. My nephew acquired it from the internet. I knew he had been visiting websites and he asked me a lot of questions, but I thought he was investigating Mary Farnsworth’s murder. When I picked up my satchel, the credit card receipt for the purchase of the poison that killed Chip was laying by his computer.”

  I recalled Brooks telling me that someone had their frogs mixed up. No doubt Deal had screwed that up too.

  An ambulance pulled into the yard.

  “Thank God,” he said. He stepped back as they rushed inside and knelt beside Irwin Deal. Talesbury shoved us out of the way and hurried over to the men. “You must act quickly. I used curare. He needs physostigmine immediately.”

  The men froze. “Never heard of it,” one of them said, slowly rising to his feet. “Never heard of it.”

  “My God,” Josie whispered. “Oh my God.” She reached for my hand. Western Kansas ambulances carry supplies for situations likely to be encountered, not an array of exotic antidotes.

  Talesbury lurched toward his nephew and started to do CPR. The EMTs looked at one another. One of them stepped forward. “Sir, it won’t help. He’s already gone into paralysis. Defibrillators won’t help in this kind of situation either.”

  Talesbury rose and took a few faltering steps toward the cross in front of the church. He steadied himself on the railing. “I’m not a killer,” he whispered. “Not a killer.”

  We watched the EMTs load the body. Then, Brooks beckoned to Sam and me. “Arrest him. Let him call his lawyer. Matthews?”

  I nodded.

  “He and the county attorney can slug it out over the charges. And Lottie, there was no little arrow sticking out of Mary Farnsworth’s body.”

  ***

  Curtis Matthews made short work getting the bishop released. It was clearly a justifiable homicide, and there were ample witnesses to the fact that the man did not intend to kill Deal.

  “Where will you go?” I asked as Talesbury gathered up his belongings and prepared to leave the jail. “Back to Irwin’s house?”

  “No, Miss Albright, my lawyer has found me a house to rent right here in Gateway City.” He looked at me hard. “I’m not leaving, if that’s what you are hoping. I own land here, and I plan to create a place where children can be safe.”

  “I wish you luck, sir.” That was almost the truth. I couldn’t tell if he was more stricken by his nephew’s death, or the fact he had lost his moral purity.

  “There’s something else I would like to know. You called the historical society and started to leave a message and then changed your mind. What did you want to say?”

  He stared at the calendar on the wall, his face sallow with grief.

  He did not reply.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  We live with a number of failures. Just suck it up. Get over it. Go on. It’s an American mantra. But I didn’t believe I would ever get over our inability to bring Mary Farnsworth’s killer to justice.

  I tried. Josie went back to Manhattan, Keith continued to serve as a deputy, and the KBI slunk back to Topeka as frustrated as I.

  Keith had urged me to go on my favorite outing—the Kansas State Historical Society. After I prowled through the archives, I planned to spend a weekend at Josie’s town house.

  I had barely gotten started on my research when an attendant passed me a pink slip stating that I’d gotten a call from Nancy Brooks. Our cell phones aren’t allowed inside the room, so I stacked my material, left, and walked outside.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here. I want you to drive to KU Medical Center with me.” There was no mistaking the excitement in her voice. “They called an hour ago. Mary Farnsworth’s family has come to claim her body.”

  Stunned, I went inside the research center, gave materials I’d checked out back to the archivists, retrieved my purse and cell phone from the locker and drove to the KBI headquarters.

  “Did they give you any more information?” I asked Brooks on the drive to Lawrence. “I’m floored.”

  “None, whatsoever. There’s paperwork, and of course the State Coroner called the KBI immediately.”

  We went to the medical examiner’s office and he led us to a small private room. “They are waiting for you,” he said. “I told them there would be questions.”

  Brooks was the first through the door. She stopped abruptly. Inside were two women. One, carrying a briefcase, was petite with silver blond hair. The room was warm. She had removed her suit jacket and carried it over her arm revealing a gorgeous gray silk charmeuse blouse. Her pearls appeared to be real.

  Next to her was a tall black woman in a dark mustard-colored pantsuit. Her black hair was close-cropped in a natural Afro. Her queenly bearing enabled her to wear a large amount of gold jewelry that would be ostentatious on a less confident woman.

  Neither one seemed likely to be a member of Mary’s Farnsworth’s family. Brooks and I exchanged looks: I don’t think so.

  Then I saw their identical stylized silver crosses with a ruby off-center heart.

  The blond gazed at Brooks’ badge, smiled, and extended her hand. “I’m Annette Brown and this is Claudette Rodon.” We introduced ourselves.

  “Well ladies, as you might imagine we have some questions,” Brooks said.

  “We’ve anticipated that. So let’s begin by proving our connection to Mary.” The black woman smiled broadly and nodded her head at the woman holding the briefcase. She opened it and took out two grey gowns and unfolded black headscarves. The gown was identical to the garment hanging in Mary’s closet I had mistaken for a muumuu.

  Then she reached for a group picture. There were five women in grey habits with black headscarves edged with a white band. I glanced up and studied the two of them. “You’re both in it, and this is Mary?” I pointed to the woman on the end.

  “Yes,” said Annette “That was Mary.”

  “And the other two?”

  “Dead. There are three now.”

  Three again. Talesbury had said “three” when I first told him about Mary.

  “We suspected you would require proof,” Claudette said. “Although we never wear these garments now.”

  “You are Catholic nuns?” Brooks looked skeptically at their expensive clothes before she examined the picture again.

  “No, Episcopal sisters. If we were Catholic, Mary could not have become a priest.”

  “I assume Mary was a member of your order?”

  “Yes. She was Sister Maria. I was Sister Claudine. Annette was Sister Anne.”

  “You’re using past tense,” I said. “Don’t you take vows for life?”

  “No, not all of us. Mary did, and so did Sister Theresa. There are many religious orders in the Anglican Communion. Ours was not a contemplative one. We were out in the world. We have two year renewable vows. Annette and I both renewed ours three times.” The black woman’s voice was musical with a trace of an accent I couldn’t place. She smiled at the blond woman. “Annette became a medical doctor, as is her husband.”

  “And you?”

  She shrugged. “An artist. Or so they tell me.”

  “I know who you are!” The name suddenly clicked. “Claudette Rodon! I should have recogni
zed it.” I turned to Brooks. “Miss Rodon is gaining quite a following for her paintings of African village life.”

  “I’m surprised you would be aware of my work.”

  “My specialty is African American history.”

  “I’m an American citizen now, but I was born in Morocco.”

  “You also have a reputation for humanitarian work.”

  She shrugged again.

  “Where are you taking Mary’s remains? You said you are taking her home.”

  “To Africa. Burundi. To the place where our mother house once stood. This was her request. Most of our sisters are buried there. We also want her vestments for a proper ceremony.”

  “Once stood? Where your mother house once stood?”

  They stiffened and exchanged looks.

  “It was destroyed during the Hutu-Tutsi Wars,” Dr. Brown said. “Everyone was massacred except us five. Many of our sisters were subjected to rape and terrible torture. Frankly, we would rather not discuss this.”

  “There’s no need to do so,” I said. “The garments, the picture is proof enough that you have a claim to Mary’s body.”

  “We’ve been years trying to put it behind us. In fact, as you might imagine, we are quite reluctant to make the journey back there. But it’s a sacred trust. Mary had no living family. Just us. She clung to the memory of happier times when we lived in community. We’re bound to make this trip.”

  “I’m so very sorry.” Brooks bowed her head for a second and raised her hand to her forehead as though screening her eyes. “You have my deepest sympathy,” she said. Then she recovered and drew a deep breath. “We have a number of questions about Mary Farnsworth.” she said crisply.

  They froze. Deadened their eyes, as though braced for an ordeal. I was reminded of Bishop Talesbury’s inscrutability when he was questioned.

  Brooks opened her briefcase. “Would you mind if I recorded this?”

  A shadow crossed over both their faces. “We would prefer not to.”

  Brooks decided instantly. I knew the last thing she wanted was for these two women to consult a high-dollar attorney, and by the looks of them they could easily afford it.

  “All right,” she said. “No tapes. Provided you answer all my questions fully and do not withhold any information.”

  They exchanged looks again. Then Claudette nodded reluctantly. “We no longer have any reason for secrecy. The war is over, but habits remain. It’s difficult to retrain our thinking.”

  “Ask away,” said Dr. Brown. “Let’s get this over with so we can do what needs to be done. We are busy women with a long trip ahead of us.”

  “There’s a table in the next room where I can take notes.” Brooks rose and held the door open and we filed out. She placed her pad in front of her, pen ready. “You are not under oath, but of course we expect you both to answer our questions fully and honestly.”

  They nodded.

  “I’m giving you fair warning, however, Mary Farnsworth’s death has attracted a great deal of attention within the bureau. Do not risk being held over for any reason. If you refuse, I can hold you over for obstructing an investigation. A session with Agent Dimon will be very unpleasant.”

  “We’re accustomed to unpleasant interrogations,” Claudette said. Her eyes sparked with contempt.

  Brooks softened. “That was thoughtless of me. I apologize.” Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes and stared at the table. “Let’s get down to business.”

  “Please start with some basic information,” I said, hoping they would relax. “Tell us about your life now.”

  Both were married, although only Dr. Brown had children.

  “Please tell us how you both learned about Mary’s death.”

  “After we fled from Africa we located in a South American region, Suriname, for a very short time. There’s a priest, Fr. Reilly, who’s been there for years. It’s generally known he’s the one who passes along information.” Claudette’s voice was flat, her eyes expressionless.

  Dr. Brown glanced at her and took over. “This is the first time we’ve heard from him since we’ve made new lives in America. He told us about Mary.”

  “Suriname is a rather odd place to go,” Brooks said. “Why would you have felt the need for…”

  “Such cloak and danger stuff?” There was no mistaking the bitterness in Dr. Brown’s voice. “Because we were being pursued by a vicious consortium of men. Our order rescued children. You’ve heard of the legions of child soldiers recruited by both sides?”

  Brooks nodded.

  “We helped them escape this terrible entrapment. Tried to put their souls back in their bodies. We kept lists of these children to help their parents find them. But when the Hutu army was defeated, the leaders panicked and worried they would give testimony. They wanted our lists. Two of us were…” Then Dr. Brown stared straight ahead.

  “I doubt these details are relevant to this investigation.” Claudette trembled. She glared at Brooks. “You want me to tell you what all these savages did to those two sisters? You enjoy hearing about gang rape? Torture? Mutilation? Or perhaps you would prefer that I catalogue what’s possible to do to little boys? Do you enjoy that more?”

  “I…” Brooks stammered. “No…please, you’re right. Let’s move on to how you got to Suriname.”

  “A bishop placed us there. We did not work with him, but word reached him that the five of us had survived. A Tutsi man hid us, then helped us escape. Bishop Talesbury made all the arrangements. We were in Suriname for a very short time before we all moved to America and went our separate ways.”

  Brooks and I exchanged looks. “Tell us more about this Talesbury.”

  “We only saw him once and that was when we left Africa.” Claudette wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “We would have known him anywhere if we had ever seen him again. But we didn’t.” She reached for a tissue. “His eyes. That beard. A haunted man.”

  I recalled my first impression when he walked down the aisle at St. Helena. Like he had stepped out of an El Greco painting.

  “He would have recognized us too, I think. If not our faces, our terror. He stood on the dock and watched us sail away. He risked his life for us. No one could ever know he was the one who arranged for us to be relocated. Theoretically, he was on a different side in that insane war. We were in a Tutsi region and he a Hutu area. We both did the same kind of work, but there were no sides really. Both tribes were bent on destroying the other.”

  Dr. Brown chimed in. “But we were pursued. Even in Suriname. That’s where they got Sister Theresa.”

  “They are all gone now,” Claudette said, her voice thick with tears. “We thank God. The war has flared up over and over, but every single one of the persons pursuing us has been captured. We bless the freedom of this country. Our lives. Even Mary found peace.”

  Brooks lifted her head from her notebook. “Who helped you relocate?”

  “Fr. Reilly helped all three of us. After Teresa’s death, we knew we could no longer stay together in Suriname. We didn’t need any fake ID’s or such, because in Africa we were only known by the names we assumed in the mother house. Besides, all records of our previous lives had been burned. And obviously, we look different without our habits.”

  Claudette rose and walked over to a pitcher of water on the stand in back of the room. She filled a glass and went back to the table.

  “Fr. Reilly told Mary that Bishop Talesbury kept in touch with an aunt in Western Kansas and that she knew of an opening for a social worker. Mary had been ordained a priest in Burundi. It was a perfect fit. She adored children. All children.” She shuddered. “So many dead now.”

  Dr. Brown reached for the group photo and put it back in her briefcase. “Of course the Bishop Talesbury never knew where any of us ended up. Nor did he know about any of our backgrounds or abilities. We were among many who fled. Fr. Reilly must have helped a thousand refugees relocate.”

  Brooks g
lanced at the clock. “You’ve already identified the body?”

  They nodded.

  “OK. Let’s move on to the most crucial questions. We’re hoping you can shed some light on the circumstances surrounding Mary’s death.”

  They looked at her with puzzled expressions.

  “You do know, don’t you, that Mary was murdered?”

  Dr. Brown gasped and reached for Claudette’s hand. “No, no, no. That war is over. We’re safe now. We’re safe. All those evil men were killed. All of them. God in Heaven. I have children. I have children.”

  “God in Heaven,” Claudette whispered. “They found her.”

  Stricken, Brooks stood and turned away. I leaned against my elbows and held my head. I could not look them in the eye.

  God help us all. No one had told them.

  Chapter Fifty

  “How did she die?” Claudette asked. “How was she murdered?”

  I was afraid she would fly into pieces if I gave the wrong answer. “She was poisoned. Killed somehow with…”

  “With the poison of the golden dart frog,” Dr. Brown said before I could get out the words. “There. In Western Kansas after all this time.”

  Claudette sobbed. Terrified, they both rose and tried to comfort the other.

  “We are desperate to find the person who did this,” Brooks said. Her face had become a death mask as she struggled to keep her emotions at bay long enough to do her job. “What can you tell us? I hate having to question you, but we are so very grieved over this death. Clearly you both know details we don’t. Do you know who killed Mary Farnsworth? Can you give us a name? A motive? A method? Anything at all?”

  They said nothing.

  I tried asking a less threatening question. “Was Mary ever in the witness protection program?”

  “No. She considered it but after Sister Teresa was killed she worried that about the reliability of people in the FBI.” Annette gave a weak smile. “But there are other groups who can help one disappear. Where better than Kansas?”

  “You must understand,” said Claudette. “There was no one we could trust. They used everyone. Old women. Children. Persons you would least expect.”