by David Bishop
“Women were less financially independent, weren’t they? You would know better than I. I’m close to Paige’s age so we don’t have the personal recall of those times.”
“Very true, yes, very. After World War II, the men came home and took back most of the jobs which women, including my own mother, had worked during the war. Most women returned to being housewives and mothers. Not all. Some refused to give up the working world. But, in those days, woman, caught in bad marriages, who had children often didn’t have the skills to earn enough to support their children and themselves. In the 40s and 50s, not to mention before that, jobs were not so open for women, and sexual discrimination in hiring was rampant.”
“But some women did work. Didn’t they?”
“Oh sure, but, generally speaking, women who worked were secretaries, nurses, teachers, or store clerks. Those were the routine jobs for women. That was still largely true when I graduated and entered the work force. High schools largely developed women for those jobs, and being housewives. Most other job types were considered men’s work.”
“What about you? Did you work as a young married women in the, what the 70s?”
“How ‘bout a refill? There’s a big pot. I keep it on in case someone stops by, although visits from homicide sergeants are rare.” She smiled.
Barbara Davis went over to the counter and brought back a full glass carafe. “I was working when I met Paige’s father. A few years later, I retired to focus on housekeeping and raising Paige.”
“Let me guess. Teacher? You are well-educated and well-spoken.”
“Thank you for that, but no. I worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. My husband did as well. We met there. In those days, our jobs were not something we could talk about openly.”
“That sounds interesting, not to mention important. You were a trailblazing woman. I admire that. I thought about that sort of thing. FBI, CIA, something like that, but, in the end, I followed in my father’s footsteps. He was a local cop, me too. Like you, I had a child. That always changes things, for the better of course, but work-wise as well.”
“In my day, I would have envied your … latitude I guess it would be. You were able to stay in your profession. In my day, a good wife was expected to focus on her husband and children. At least that was true in my circles.”
“Did you resent that? I mean, would you have preferred to stay on the job, at the CIA, had it not been for the social pressures of the time?”
“Yes, I think so. Yes. No doubt about it. I would have. I was very good at my job. The men got to go out into the field and execute the plans I developed, but I was good at it. They always came back safely. The missions were always accomplished. But my husband expected me to be a homemaker. Then there were the pressures at work. The Agency had its point of view about proper behavior and roles for wives. That too is very different today.”
“Did you get out in the field some? Did I ask that correctly?”
“Yes, uh huh, women did some field work, me included, but not often. As I said, doing was man’s work. Some women, including me, and I felt lucky to get into it, got to plan. The how-to-pull-it-off stuff, shall we say. Rodger and the men mostly carried them to fruition.”
“You miss it?”
“Yes and no. To bring it back around to our earlier discussion. I was a woman without power, without financial independence. That became increasingly true the greater number of years I remained out of the workforce.”
“So, you held your marriage together. You sucked it up, as you referred to it a few minutes ago.” Maddie noticed Ms. Davis’s eyebrows had lowered, her fingers drawn tight against her other arm.
“I don’t mean to suggest there were no happy marriages in my day, but women did feel a greater need to hold marriages together.”
“I see lots of pictures of Paige, a couple of a man. Is that your husband?”
“No. The man in those pictures is my brother, Russell, when he was much younger. I have no pictures of Rodger. I had packed all his pictures in a box when I moved back to the States from France. Out of all those boxes, that one box never made it home. So, now, I have no pictures of Rodger.”
“Did you have a favorite one?”
“I did. I don’t know if I should describe it, but, sure, why not? After sundown, Rodger’s head often got cold. When that happened, he had an old gray herringbone Ben Hogan style golf hat he would wear. My husband also suffered from cold feet so he slept in golf socks. You know those short ones that stop at the ankle. One night, well, first I need to tell you that Rodger slept naked, so this one night before coming to bed he had on his golf socks while still wearing that hat, and nothing else. I got a picture before he knew I was taking it. Of course, that photo never got put on the mantle so to speak, but I loved that picture. It remains what I see in my mind when I think of Rodger … Did I shock you, Sergeant?”
“I love it. Thanks for sharing that story. Those kinds of moments are what cement a truly intimate relationship.”
“I recall the theme song from an old TV program, Sergeant. The show was considered rather racy in its day, All In The Family. As I recall, the theme song for the show was: Those Were The Days. The show was funny, but, as I remember it anyway, it was in part predicated on the idea that women should know their place. With humor added, it was a last glimpse of the ways things were in my day. Starting at about that point in history, the underpinnings of the man-woman relationship began changing rather rapidly.”
“Those changes, greater equality for women, more financial independence, came in part because of women like you. What you did helped advance my rights. Thank you.”
“That battle goes on, Sergeant.”
“Divorces have gotten easier. In your day there was the need to show cause. The court focused on assigning blame. Now it’s more like mutually agreeing to void a contract. The only thing messy nowadays is dividing the assets.”
“And custody of the children and their support. I trust your divorce went well on that score?”
“Pretty much. Support was granted. Although, not always paid, at least not promptly. He’s done better at that this past year or so. He’s got a new wife, a rich new wife. He tried to get custody of our son after that. Fortunately, that didn’t work. I can’t imagine life without my son.”
“I’m happy for you, Sergeant.”
“Thank you. Ms. Davis, we are trained to stay away from discussing our personal lives. I probably should not have been so candid. I hope you can consider this a personal visit, sort of off-the-job talk.”
“Of course, Sergeant, I appreciate your feeling that way.”
“So, how many years were you and Paige’s father married?”
“Close to thirty years.”
“But you’re still a young woman, Ms. Davis. What happened, divorce, like the rest of us? Well, not exactly like the rest of us. I did divorce my husband. You thought about divorce. And Paige had spoken with a divorce attorney the day before Sam was killed.”
Did she know her daughter had seen an attorney?
Ms. Davis smiled. A small, tight-lipped smile, her eyes narrowed. She knew.
“My husband, Rodger, Rodger Davis, I’ve kept his name, was shot and killed in Paris, France, working security for the embassy. His real job was CIA officer at the embassy. The security position was cover.”
“I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect with the comment about divorce.”
Ms. Davis shrugged. “As you said, I thought about it. I didn’t get as far as talking to an attorney as you said my daughter had. One could say I got a divorce by bullet.”
You may have been great at planning, but your field skills are not so good. After that thought, Maddie said, “It must have been tough. Being a widow, I mean, after being out of the workforce for years.”
“Pretty much. Paige and I persevered. Rodger being killed in the line of duty provided an excellent pension from the agency which started almost immediately. Without that, and the modest social securit
y I get from my working years, I would be lost today. Fortunately, there was also a healthy life insurance policy provided by the agency.”
“Seems you’re doing just fine. Lovely home and all, good for you.”
“The home was paid off when Rodger was killed. We had a separate life insurance policy that decreased with the mortgage balance. That made a world of difference.”
“His murder ever solved?”
“No. Those things rarely were in the days of the cold war, as it was called. You know.”
Maddie nodded. “Well, I doubt I can drink anymore coffee. And I should stop cheating the city and get done some of the work they pay me to do.”
“Thank you for stopping, Sergeant. You filled in an old woman’s late morning and early afternoon. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure, a great chat, very enjoyable.” Maddie stood up. “By the way, did you ever meet Bennie Gibbons, the boyfriend of Carla Roth who lives next door to your daughter?”
“No. I don’t believe so.” Ms. Davis’s voice had deepened when she said that. However, that may have been because she said it while rising from the kitchen chair she had been sitting in for over an hour. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason in particular. His name came up recently in our investigation. One of those loose ends we cops are always trying to tie off. After Carla and Bennie had been a hot item for several weeks, the man up and disappeared. Your daughter mentioned Carla had been looking to her for consolation this last week or so. Men, we can’t live with ‘em, we can’t live without ‘em.”
“Amen to that, Sergeant.” Ms. Davis reached out and opened her front door.
“I think Paige feels good about being able to return the favor. Carla has been such a good companion to her since Sam’s death.”
“To think I could have been there, with my daughter I mean, that night.”
“None of us know when tragedy is going to strike. Don’t be too hard on yourself about all that.”
“I know. You’re right. Still, a mother wonders about these things. My brother, he’s single, invited me to accompany him to a fundraiser for the U.S. Senatorial candidate, the Democrat hoping to unseat McCain. I could have been with Paige rather than rubbing elbows with the politicos when Sam when shot.”
“It would have changed nothing. Still I understand your feelings.” I also realize you just established your alibi for when your son-in-law was killed. We’ll check it.
“God bless Carla. I’m sure she was invaluable to my daughter. Thanks for filling me in.”
“I thought you might want to know. I think it’s been sort of therapeutic for your daughter to help Carla in return.”
“I’m sure that’s true. Paige can be a bit of a mother hen at times. Thanks for stopping, Sergeant. Please come back. I’m home most of the time and the coffee pot is always on.”
“You’ve been very gracious. Making time for me when you didn’t know I would be by. Thank you. And thanks for the great coffee.”
“My pleasure. I had nothing planned, just settling in for another lazy day. I’m glad you came by.”
After pulling away from Barbara Davis’s home, Maddie parked around the corner, behind a van. She wasn’t certain why. Her curiosity was up and she quickly decided to wait for a while to see if Barbara Davis left.
Five minutes passed before Paige’s mother backed out of her garage and drove up the street the opposite direction, away from Maddie. When Maddie saw Barbara turn left at the end of her street, Maddie went straight ahead to pick her up at the next intersection. When Barbara turned right from there, Maddie did the same following her from one block behind.
Maddie wasn’t certain why she was following Barbara Davis. Perhaps it was the woman’s CIA background. Maybe it had been her attitude when they first met at her daughter’s home. Then again, Maddie was curious why Barbara would say she had no plans and anticipated a lazy Tuesday at home when the position of her purse and keys had suggested she did have plans, and, in fact, did leave as soon as Maddie left.
Chapter 18
Barbara Davis took I-60 heading south, she got off and went west on Baseline Road, toward the South Mountain area. When she pulled into the gun club parking lot, Maddie dialed the cell phone of Jed Smith, her former partner who had retired about a year ago. He was a shooting enthusiast, lived nearby, and was a fine investigator.
“Jed.”
“Maddie?”
“I need a favor. Right now. Can you break free?”
“Break free? Hell, I’m retired, you know that. I got nowhere I need to be and all the time in the world to get there. What’s up?”
“I’m following a suspect, no, not a suspect, a might-become-a-suspect. It’s a stretch. I’m flying on instinct here. She just pulled into the gun club where you shoot. Are you decent? Can you get down here fast?”
“I live ten minutes away, you’ve been over. As for decent, never really, but I’m up and dressed if that’s what you meant.”
Maddie went on to give Jed a description of Barbara Davis, that she just took a rifle out of her trunk. “She’s just standing there. No. She appears to be waiting for a man about her same age. He just got out of a black Lexus with tinted windows. He’s wearing those silver sunglasses and a low hat. Yes. She’s waiting for him. He’s coming to her. He’s got a leather rifle case slung over his shoulder.” Maddie added his description. “They definitely know each other. They hugged. They just walked into the range, out of my sight.”
This guy’s too old to be Bennie Gibbons.
If he had been Gibbons, Maddie would have fallen in it and come up smelling roses. She had no idea of the man’s identity, but she’d know soon. She jotted down his car license number.
“Maddie, earth to Maddie. What is it you need?”
“I’d love to hear what these two are talking about. Bring your rifle. See if you can get close enough to overhear something. Right away, hey?”
“I’m already backing out of the garage. I’ll be in position in fifteen minutes at the outside. I’ll get back to you.”
With that, Jed was gone. Maddie headed for the station hitting the speed dial for her partner.
“Hello, Maddie. Where are you?”
“Later on that. Right now I need you to run this plate for me. Call me when you got the registered owner.”
Half way to the station, Maddie made a sudden turn and headed for the home of Paige Crawford which she estimated might take her six or seven minutes to reach.
* * *
“Hello, Paige, got a few minutes?”
“Of course, Sergeant, anytime. Come in. Anything urgent?”
Yes. I wanted to get to you before you had a chance to speak with your mother.
When Maddie shook her head, Paige said, “I was sitting out back, will you join me?”
“That would be nice,” Maddie followed. Then Paige stopped and turned.
“I can’t offer you any coffee. I emptied the dregs and washed the pot about an hour ago. I just made some hot chocolate. That’s really unusual for me, but for some reason it just seemed comforting or something. There’s enough for two cups. Interested?”
“Super. I have hot chocolate with my son every now and then.”
“Marshmallows?”
“That would be nice. Just don’t tell. I’m not sure homicide sergeants are supposed to be seen in public drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows.” She laughed as Paige dropped several miniature marshmallows into two glass mugs each full of steaming chocolate. The two of them then headed for the back door to the patio.
When the two women had sat down, Paige said, “Okay, Sergeant, to what do I owe this visit?”
“I stopped to see your mother this morning. Thought you should know. Your place is just off line a few blocks between her home and the stationhouse where I was headed. I decided to stop. Didn’t want you to think your mother and I were talking behind your back.”
“Heavens no. Did you find her home?”
“Yes. Uh-huh
. We had a lovely visit. She’s a nice woman. We chatted for a good hour or so.”
“How’s the chocolate?”
“Nice. Marshmallows seal the top to keep it hot. You sounded surprised your mother was home.”
“Tuesdays, usually before or during noon, she goes shooting with her brother, my Uncle Rusty. Ah, Russell Mueller. That was my mother’s maiden name. That’s all. They must have taken a rare Tuesday off.”
So, that was her brother. His age was about right. Why didn’t Barbara just tell me she was on her way out? Didn’t want me to know she was a shooter? That her brother was? Get close Jed, get me some dirt.
“The two of them are both shooters?”
“Not shooters, marksmen. My uncle competed in the ’64 Olympics, got a bronze in standing rifle competition. That was a lot of years ago.”
“Your mother too?”
“In those days, I don’t think Olympic shooting competition included women, but Uncle Russell says mom often outshoots him. They still compete to see who buys lunch after their Tuesday shoot.”
“They ever get you into it?”
“Some when I was pretty young. I really didn’t enjoy it all that much. Then along came puberty and I got into taking aim at the boys.”
“Yeah,” Maddie chuckled. “I surely understand that. Were you any good?” Maddie laughed, then said, “I meant at the shooting, not the boys.”
“Won a girl’s competition once, eight-to-ten year olds. That let me end my shooting career at age nine. I had held with the family tradition. Funny how that sort of thing is in my mother’s and my uncle’s blood, but for me it holds no interest whatsoever.”
Besides, you were in the house when your husband was shot, or so you and Carla say.
“I hear we’ve got a mutual friend, well, an acquaintance, anyway”
“Who’s that, Sergeant?”
“Ryan Testler. I understand he came to your rescue.”
“He was quite chivalrous actually. I had a flat the day before Sam was killed. Mr. Testler pulled over and changed it for me. How did you meet him?”
“We met in a restaurant. We were each dining alone, a conversation developed. We sat together.”