by Jan Burke
“You said you found cigarettes. What brand?”
“Chesterfields and filtered Pall Malls. From what you told me, the Chesterfields might be Katy’s — none were smoked in the car, though. We found stubbed-out Pall Malls in the ashtray of the car, and on the floor of the backseat, so those might be the killer’s. No lighter.”
He also told me — not for publication — that among the bloodstains in the car were ones the lab had been able to type, from blood that had soaked into the foam of the seats before it dried. A section of the backseat cushions had type O embedded in them, and spatter patterns on the headliner were consistent with someone striking several blows with a blunt instrument, most likely the flashlight. Stains in the area of the driver’s seat were type O. There were also stains of type B in the backseat.
“Type B? So another person was wounded or perhaps killed there?”
“It’s a possibility, although there is much less of the type B. We can’t say that all the stains are of the same age.”
“But no third body? Human body, I should say?”
“You think Woolsey might claim the dog was type B?”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” I said. “Where’s that other person?”
“He could be living next door to you, for all I know.”
“Lefebvre, there’s something else you should know about that farm.” I told him about the bootlegging story.
He was silent.
“Sorry, I should have mentioned that earlier.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I waited. Eventually he said, “I may have to tell your friend the construction supervisor that more excavations are needed because you mentioned this bootlegging theory.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “You were already planning to dig when you realized missing diamonds and other evidence might still be buried out there.”
He laughed and told me it served me right for not continuing our spirit of openness, but I could tell it was okay between us.
“Am I invited to be there when you dig?” I asked.
“I’ll let you know. It will be sometime tomorrow, I think.”
I told him I was going to think about things and would call him back. He told me he was always interested in my theories. I tried hard to detect any possible amusement in his voice when he said that, but either he was serious or I was fooled.
“Are you dating Max Ducane?” he asked.
I was surprised by the question. “No, I’m not.”
That was met with silence.
“I don’t have anything against Max,” I said. “It’s just that I’m still hung up on someone I was interested in back in Bakersfield. Which is so stupid, because we never really dated, just spent time around each other on the job. And besides, someone called me a few weeks ago to tell me he’s seeing someone else.”
“He’s a cop.”
“How on earth — did you check up on my life in Bakersfield, for God’s sake?”
“Not at all. The other day at Woolsey’s office, the things you knew, the way you spoke and reacted — I don’t know, gut feeling, I suppose. I found myself thinking that you had dated a cop.”
“Well, I hadn’t. Dated, I mean. And it doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“No. And it’s not my business.”
“No, it’s not!” I said with indignation.
He didn’t hide his amusement at that.
42
H .G. GAVE ME PERMISSION TO BORROW A CONFERENCE ROOM FOR A couple of hours. I gathered some colored scrap paper, scissors, and tape together, then left a note for O’Connor and went to work. By the time O’Connor walked into the conference room, I was separating a string of paper dolls. “Good God,” he said, halting in the doorway.
“Come in,” I said, “I’m trying to figure something out.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Very funny. Have a seat. I need to make a dog, a boat, and some cars.”
He started looking over the layout on the table. I’ll admit it looked like a poor imitation of a Playskool village that had met up with a steamroller.
“It’s the first Friday in January 1958,” I said.
I pointed out the locations first. White sheets of paper I had labeled cabin, marina, farm, Linworth mansion, in-laws’ mansion, Katy’s house, Warren’s location, and unknown.
Next, I showed him my blue, golden rod, and lavender paper dolls. The blues ones were labeled Rose, Jack, Katy, Todd, Thelma, and Barrett. A smaller one was labeled Baby — I hadn’t been able to make myself write “Max” on it. I finished the paper dog and put him with Katy.
“Victims in blue?” O’Connor asked.
“Yes — innocent ones, anyway. There are some dead people in these other groups, too.” The goldenrod ones were labeled Gus, Bo, Lew, and Betty. I put question marks on all but one of the lavender dolls. That one was labeled Boss.
“God, do those colors look horrid together,” O’Connor said with a wince.
“You want to be an art critic, we’ll put you in charge of the funny pages.”
“Some days, I think they make more sense than the front page. Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?”
“Wait — I’m almost done.” I cut out eight green rectangles. I labeled six of them Buick, Imperial, Ducanes’ car, Katy’s car, Bel Air, and Sea Dreamer. I put question marks on the seventh and eighth.
I surveyed my handiwork and said, “I’ve been hearing about what went on that weekend, but I haven’t been able to work out the logistics or get an overall picture.”
He frowned, then moved all of the people except the baby, Gus, Boss, Rose, and the question marks to the Linworth mansion. Good. He was going to play.
“Don’t forget their cars,” I said. He moved the Bel Air and both Ducane cars over to the Linworths’ as well.
I put Rose, the baby, and Gus in the Ducane house and parked the Imperial nearby.
“Let’s start with Jack,” I said. “I think his being taken from the party was one of the first things to happen.” I put Jack, Betty, Lew, and Bo in the Bel Air. “We don’t know where they took him for round one of the beating, or how long that went on, but eventually they drove out of town and left him on the farm.”
I drove it along the tabletop, past the marsh and out to the farm, resisting the temptation to make car sounds. “What time did you say he was taken from the party?” I asked.
“No one noted the exact time. Between eleven and midnight.”
“Just before Katy and Todd left the party with Todd’s parents, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay — so probably before Jack is dumped out of the car at the farm, the Ducane party is on its way to the boat.”
“Yes, that sounds right,” O’Connor said. “Except they stopped off at Thelma and Barrett’s mansion first.”
“Yes. Katy and her in-laws were in separate cars,” I said, putting Katy, Todd, and the dog in the paper roadster. “We know they stopped by her in-laws’ mansion, because Katy’s car was found there and Thelma and Barrett’s car was found at the marina.”
I moved Katy’s roadster to the paper marked in-laws’ mansion, and brought Thelma and Barrett’s car there, too.
“Did Katy and Todd ever get any farther than the mansion, though?” O’Connor asked.
“I don’t know. Someone was waiting for them, either at the in-laws’ place or at the marina. The marina is more likely.”
“Why?”
O’Connor agreed that a stranger’s car would look less out of place there, and less likely to draw attention than in the Ducanes’ neighborhood. It would be darker at the marina, even darker in 1958 than it was now.
“So let’s say they all get into the in-laws’ car, and Thelma or Barrett drives.” I left Katy’s roadster at the in-laws’ mansion. I moved all four people, the dog, and the elder Ducanes’ car to the marina. I put a couple of the question-mark figures there, along with the Buick and the Sea Dreamer. I frowned.
“What’s wron
g?”
“Just trying to picture the seating arrangement in the Buick. I talked to Lefebvre.” I told him what Lefebvre had said about where the bloodstains were.
He got a distant look in his eyes, as if he was trying to picture the car and occupants. “You don’t really need the bloodstains to see it. A man working alone wouldn’t leave Todd and Katy together in the backseat. They might attack, or try to escape. The killer forced Katy or Todd to drive, and rode in the backseat with the other hostage.”
“And the other man took Thelma and Barrett out to sea?”
“Yes.”
“How did he get back ashore?” I asked. I picked up a piece of paper and started shaping it with the scissors.
“You’re making a second boat?”
“There had to be one, and someone else to operate it while the killer was aboard the Sea Dreamer. They left the Sea Dreamer adrift and returned to shore in the smaller boat.”
“No — too many people. They wouldn’t involve so many.”
“Are you kidding? They used three people to beat up Jack.”
“They had to get him away from a party — the middle of a crowd. They had to make sure he wasn’t going to interfere with their plans for Katy. And he had a reputation for being able to defend himself.”
“I hear you used to finish his fights for him.”
“Not true, especially not when he was younger. He finished plenty on his own. And for that matter, they might have assumed I’d be with him that night.”
“True. Lucky you weren’t.”
“I happen to disagree. If I had been there … but there’s no use wishing it.”
We talked it over, and decided that Lefebvre’s theory made sense — that the original plan had been to keep Jack alive, a plan which had only been altered when Bo Jergenson had left him in the wrong place. There was no other explanation we could think of for moving Jack from the farm to the swamp.
“Back to the Sea Dreamer,” I said. “If you’re right, how does the killer get back to shore?”
“He didn’t need to abandon it far from shore. The storm probably took the Sea Dreamer farther out than he left it. He could have been closer and used a scuba suit.”
“Okay, I like the scuba idea. Less manpower and fewer boats involved.”
We talked about the possibility that all four of the Ducanes and the dog went aboard, and weren’t taken hostage until they were out at sea, away from any witnesses, but decided their captors would see that as full of risks. The killers would have been forced to try to follow the Sea Dreamer in the dark, and without attracting attention. The Ducanes might have been able to fight back or use the radio or manage to escape, especially — on a boat that large — if they weren’t all grouped together.
“Pirate movies make boarding another vessel look easier than it is,” I added. “And you told me that the fisherman who found the yacht didn’t see any signs of a struggle or that anyone had used life jackets. The killer was aboard from the start and abandoned the yacht after Thelma and Barrett Ducane were dead. My guess is, they were drugged or knocked unconscious and drowned.”
“Why not just shoot them, too?”
“Because that would show up if and when the bodies washed ashore. If you want people to stop looking for Katy and Todd, you have to make it seem as if everyone might have been lost overboard that night.” I looked at my notes. “The coroner found salt water in Thelma’s and Barrett’s lungs, so they were alive at some point when they were in the water. In cold water, in evening clothes, they would have had difficulty swimming even if they regained consciousness. I think someone took them so far offshore, they didn’t have a chance of getting back in alive. And if they were taken out into the fog, the Ducanes might not have even known which direction to swim in to reach shore.”
He nodded. “The killer then brings the Sea Dreamer closer to shore, abandons it, and swims to the beach. He made a couple of mistakes, though. He left it too pristine, didn’t turn the radio on, and took the key. Probably force of habit. Maybe he expected the yacht to break up in the storm that was on its way. But the boat survived.”
“Yes — do you know what became of it?”
“Warren sold it to Lillian. She has it maintained, but I don’t think she uses it much, if at all.”
“Another museum?”
He shrugged.
I was beginning to get a picture of how tightly Lillian held on to the past.
O’Connor pointed to the sailor question-mark doll and said, “What became of this one after he finished with the Ducanes?”
“For now, let’s put him in the unknown headquarters of the Boss, the unknown mastermind of all these activities.” I also put the question-mark car there, for the Boss to escape in.
“Unknown?” O’Connor said. “I think I know his name: Mitch Yeager. I think I’ve known that for years.”
I studied him. He had mentioned Yeager before. Time to ask some hard questions. “Did you believe that before you knew Kyle Yeager might be Max?”
He paced, and rubbed a hand through his hair, making a mess of it. “I suppose so. I never had an ounce of proof, mind you, and never came close to finding any. He wasn’t even in Las Piernas that weekend, from all I could discover. But there was that note Katy left, and — frankly, I couldn’t think of anyone else who would have the power to do it, or who hated Jack more than he did.”
“Hated Jack? Why?”
“Jack wrote stories that ultimately helped to put Mitch’s brother in prison, and almost sent Mitch there himself. Cost him a fortune in legal fees. Mitch nearly got Jack fired from the paper — Old Man Wrigley had enough spine to say no to that, but he wouldn’t let Jack write about Yeager.”
“Spine? I’ll bet Jack’s stories sold papers. And Jack could have had his pick of the L.A. papers.”
“That’s true,” O’Connor said.
“What about the others? Did Mitch hate the Ducanes?”
O’Connor shrugged. “I don’t know. They socialized and seemed to have been friends. The Ducanes helped him out when he was in trouble, bought his companies so that he’d have the cash he needed. There weren’t many people in a position to do that during the Depression. He bought the companies back, eventually.”
We were silent for a long time, looking at all the paper figures on the table- top.
“Let’s leave the question of the mastermind open for now,” I said. “Let’s just try to figure out what happened, okay?”
He seemed ready to object, then nodded. “We know the couples were separated, and that only Thelma and Barrett stayed at the marina. While all of that was going on, Katy and Todd and the dog were killed and put in the trunk of the Buick.”
“Which ends up on the farm. Griffin Baer might have been there that night, operating the tractor.” I looked at my notes again. “Jack told you he saw an old man operating it, right?”
“Yes.”
“Griffin Baer was sixty-two in 1958.”
“Jack had a skinful of martinis and a concussion.”
“Was he wrong about anything else?”
“No,” O’Connor admitted. He started pacing again.
None of this was going to get any easier on him, so I watched him for a minute or two before I said, “I think the killing must have taken place after the Buick was driven to the farm. And I think Katy or Todd fought them.”
He halted and stared at me. “What makes you say so?”
“The windshield. The fact that the car was wrecked. Maybe one of them was already dead when the other struggled — I don’t know. But Jack said the car’s grill was smashed in before it was buried.”
I told him about the dog fur being found on the flashlight, the signs that someone in the backseat bled — perhaps after being struck with the flashlight, too. “That had to be Katy, I think. When Woolsey finally releases the autopsies on Katy and Todd, we’ll know more. Todd was probably driving. Maybe Katy started fighting the man who took them.”
“More likely her
than Todd,” he said quietly.
I tried to picture it. “Something happens to make the car go out of control, maybe the struggle in the backseat distracts Todd, or he’s shot — I don’t know. Blood ends up on the windshield. The dog is probably killed by a blow from the flashlight. Katy is hit with the flashlight, several times. She’s also shot, so maybe he shoots her after she’s unconscious.”
I heard him make a sound, as if he had been struck himself, and waited a moment before going on. He sat down.
“The killer puts Katy and Todd and the dog in the trunk, probably with Griffin Baer’s help. He takes off in a car that’s already waiting for him at the farm.” I moved the second unknown car to the farm.
O’Connor didn’t say anything. He looked toward the paper version of Katy’s house.
“Gus Ronden kills the nursemaid, Rose Hannon,” I said. “He doesn’t mind that part of it — he’s cruel. He might have someone with him, but I think it’s more likely he’s alone.”
“I agree.”
I put Gus and the baby in the Imperial, but before I moved it, I said, “Now, this is really important — blood matching Rose Hannon’s was found on clothing at his house, but nothing indicating the baby was there, right?”
“Right. Dan Norton searched the place for any sign of the child. Nothing was found. And the neighbor didn’t hear or see a child.”
“So he either killed the baby before he got home, or handed it off to someone else. No type O blood on the clothing Gus left in the hamper?”
“No,” he said slowly, “but an infant that young could be smothered or killed in any number of other ways that wouldn’t cause bleeding.”
“Yes, but this goes back to what I was saying when we were over at the Ducanes’ — if the baby was supposed to be killed, Gus Ronden would have killed it there. And if the baby was just supposed to be held for ransom, why not take the nurse along as a hostage, too?”