Tom shrugged. ‘I don’t know. My ex-wife and I bought that house I live in together. Back then it was my dream house, now it’s just a place that reminds me of what a wreck my marriage was.’
Blair glanced over at him. ‘Mr Whitman said you had to leave the police force because of the tremor in your hand.’
Tom nodded.
‘But I notice you still carry a gun,’ said Blair. ‘How come?’
‘Well, I couldn’t shoot to the degree of accuracy that the job demanded,’ Tom said. ‘But I can still shoot the damn thing. And I have found that a gun is a useful tool to have on hand in this kind of work. Even if you don’t shoot it, it has persuasive powers.’
Blair laughed, disarmed by the frank way he spoke, although she had a feeling that he was normally a bit more taciturn.
‘I can imagine,’ she said. All of a sudden a sinuous blast of saxophone filled the car. ‘Mother, mother …’ a plaintive voice wailed. Blair rummaged in her pocket for her phone.
‘What’s goin’ on? Is that your ringtone?’ Tom asked. ‘That song is ancient.’
‘I know but I love it. It was my Mom’s favorite. Marvin Gaye. I always thought his voice was just … haunting.’
‘I think he was a tortured soul,’ Tom said. ‘You know he was killed by his own father.’
‘I did know that,’ said Blair, as she located the phone and lifted it to her ear. ‘Hey Eric. What’s going on?’ She mouthed the word ‘Work’ to Tom.
‘You done?’ Tom said.
Blair nodded and wadded up the remains of her sandwich in the paper wrapper and put it in his outstretched hand.
Tom opened the car door and got out. Blair briefly explained to Eric why she was going to be delayed in returning, while Tom carried the trash to a can near the entrance to the store and then came back to the car. He slid in and buckled his seat belt, as Blair ended the call and stuffed her phone back in her pocket.
‘Ready?’ Blair asked.
Tom nodded.
Blair began driving through the woods where Molly was found and then rolled up to the intersection with Fulling Mill Road.
‘This is the street,’ she said.
Blair turned left and almost immediately encountered the Knoedler’s driveway. She turned into the drive and slowly approached the house. There was a car and a pickup truck parked in the driveway. Blair pulled up behind them and indicated to Tom that they should get out.
They walked up to the door and knocked. After a few moments they heard shuffling noises and then the door opened. Carol Knoedler blinked at them with a pleasant, puzzled expression on her face.
‘Mrs Knoedler,’ said Blair. ‘I was here the other day. I’m Blair Butler. I was asking you about Molly Sinclair. About her murder?’
‘Oh sure,’ she said vaguely. She peered at Tom.
‘This is Tom Olson. He’s a private investigator.’
Carol nodded. ‘Are you having any luck?’ she asked.
‘Nothing concrete yet. Is Jenna here? I was wondering if I could speak to her again too.’
‘She’s upstairs,’ said Carol. ‘I’ll call her. Come on in.’
Blair climbed up the front steps and followed her into the house. Tom came in behind her and closed the door. Carol went to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Jenna,’ she called up. ‘Someone to see you.’
Blair thanked her and Carol nodded obligingly, although Blair had the feeling that Carol did not clearly remember her visit of the other day.
‘Would you like a seat?’ Carol asked.
‘Oh, no thanks,’ said Blair.
Tom looked around him and then spoke up. ‘Randy Knoedler? Doesn’t he live here?’
‘He used to,’ she said.
‘He doesn’t live here anymore?’
‘No,’ said Carol stiffly. ‘We’re divorced.’
Jenna was coming down the staircase. ‘Who doesn’t live here?’ she asked.
‘Your father,’ said Carol.
Jenna’s pleasant expression immediately darkened. ‘Why are you asking about him?’
Tom was unfazed by the warning in her tone. ‘Was your father living here when Molly Sinclair was killed?’
‘What difference does that make?’ Jenna demanded.
‘Well, your father was arrested several times for assault.’
‘Oh, that had nothing to do with Molly,’ said Carol.
‘A series of assaults, as I recall,’ said Tom.
‘He was just … stressed out,’ said Carol nervously. ‘Sometimes he would … lose his temper.’
Jenna turned on her mother. ‘I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him,’ she said.
‘It was all a long time ago,’ said Carol in an anxious, placating tone. ‘Water under the bridge. Best to forget about it.’
‘She finally divorced him,’ said Jenna. ‘He made everyone’s life miserable.’
‘Which was how long ago?’ asked Tom.
Jenna shrugged. ‘About … what?’
‘Eight years ago,’ Carol said quietly.
‘What does my father have to do with this anyway?’ Jenna asked.
‘I’m just wondering if he was living here at the time of Molly’s death,’ said Tom. ‘He was known to have a violent temper.’
‘He didn’t kill Molly Sinclair, if that’s what you mean,’ said Jenna, holding up her hands. ‘He wasn’t like that.’
‘You mean he kept it in the family?’ Tom offered helpfully.
Jenna did not reply, but looked at him with a resentful gaze.
‘I was just wondering if maybe someone from this house ran next door that day, looking for help …’ Tom ventured.
‘No, that’s ridiculous,’ said Jenna. ‘No one would do that.’
‘You’re sure,’ said Blair.
‘Of course she’s sure. We wouldn’t have,’ said Carol.
‘Jenna, can you recall—?’ asked Blair.
‘No. I’m sorry. I’d like to help you but …’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tom, ‘but I need to know. What precipitated the divorce?’
‘My kids made me do it,’ said Carol in a soft voice.
‘That’s none of your business,’ said Jenna tartly. ‘You should leave now.’
‘Ok, all right. We’re leaving,’ said Blair.
‘Where can I find your Dad?’ Tom asked in a firm voice that brooked no excuses.
‘He lives in Arborside,’ said Jenna.
‘Address?’ asked Tom.
‘Loring Road,’ said Jenna. ‘It’s a tiny town. You’ll find him.’
‘Would you mind if we looked in that little shed on the way out?’ Tom persisted.
‘What for?’ Jenna demanded.
‘Just trying to picture what happened,’ said Tom.
‘Knock yourself out,’ said Jenna coldly, taking her mother by the elbow and starting to lead her away from the door. ‘Come on, ma. I’ll make you some tea.’
‘Thank you, honey,’ said Carol.
Jenna closed the door behind them. Blair and Tom hesitated, as if waiting for it to open again and then Tom started back to the car.
‘What do you think?’ Blair asked.
‘Well, Randy Knoedler was a wife beater with a violent temper. It’s possible that while the kids were busy with their game, he and Carol got into it. Who knows? I know she denied it, but maybe she ran next door for help.’
‘I suppose it’s possible,’ said Blair. ‘But don’t you think the kids would have known that?’
‘Would they? Kids can have very selective memories. Those kids lived in a dangerous atmosphere. I’ll bet they were used to tuning it out.’
Blair had to admit this possibility. ‘Maybe.’
‘What sort of girl was Molly?’ Tom asked. ‘Was she timid, or, if she came across them fighting, might she have tried to … I don’t know … intervene?’
‘She was not timid,’ said Blair slowly. ‘She spoke up. I always admired that about her. Is that what you think happen
ed?’
‘I started wondering about that when you mentioned the Knoedler’s. All the cops knew Randy. He was a nasty piece of work.’
Blair nodded thoughtfully. ‘Now what?’ she asked.
‘Let’s take a look in that shed,’ Tom said.
Blair nodded and backed the car down the driveway till they got to a wide spot near the shed. She drove into it and turned the car around. Then she turned off the engine. She looked back at the house, but there were no lights on in the front rooms.
They got out and went up to the shed. The door was fastened with a latch that was about to fall off. Everything about the Knoedler’s property looked as if it had seen better days. Blair lifted the latch and pulled open the door.
There was a dank odor which seemed to escape in a cloud from the shed.
‘Let me go first,’ said Tom. He ducked his head to walk inside the shed and then motioned to Blair to follow. She went in behind him. There was a jumble of athletic equipment, garden tools and rusty bicycles in the shed.
‘Good hiding place,’ Tom observed.
Blair squatted down and looked out the little window cut into the wall. ‘Can’t see the Sinclair house from here.’
Tom leaned over and looked out the window. ‘No, but if you look through those trees, you can just see the driveway. She could easily have heard someone in the driveway, probably clearly enough to recognize their voices.’
Just then, the door to the shed was flung open and a tall young man in sweats with a bony face and clenched fists stood there glowering at them.
‘Connor,’ Blair explained uneasily.
‘What are you doing poking around here?’ the young man demanded.
‘Your mother said it was all right,’ said Blair.
‘My mother is in the house all upset, because of you.’
Tom raised his hands in a placating manner. ‘Your mother said we could take a look. We’re just leaving,’ he said.
Connor hesitated and then backed away from the door far enough to let them leave the shed.
Tom waited until Blair was out of the shed and near the car before he addressed the young man.
‘Do you ever see your Dad?’
‘No. Never,’ said the young man, glowering.
‘Do you have an address for him?’
‘No. He lives in Arborside.’
‘That’s only about an hour from here,’ said Tom.
‘Not far enough,’ Connor agreed.
‘Thanks,’ said Tom. ‘That’s helpful.’
‘I’ll tell you something. My father was a mean bastard, but he didn’t hurt that girl.’ Connor insisted.
‘How can you be so sure?’ Tom asked.
‘Why would he? He had us,’ said Connor bitterly.
‘I’m sorry to be bringing it all back,’ said Blair.
‘It never left,’ said Connor.
‘I’m surprised your Mom finally got the nerve to throw him out,’ Tom observed. ‘Most victims of domestic violence are too intimidated.’
Connor looked off into the distance, a bleak look on his bony face.
‘I told her if she didn’t, I’d kill him myself. She knew I meant it.’
Tom reached out and patted the young man’s wiry arm through his sweatshirt.
‘That was brave of you. You did the right thing,’ he said.
Blair shuddered as she turned on the engine and revved it, as Tom got back into the car.
‘They’re lucky to have gotten rid of that bastard,’ she murmured.
‘Lucky?’ said Tom.
‘Everything’s relative,’ said Blair.
Tom frowned. ‘They’re lucky he didn’t kill them.’
TWENTY-ONE
Leaving the Knoedler’s drive, they passed the entrance to Molly’s house and continued rolling past several large homes built far back from the street, including the one where Blair had spoken to the owner. The road twisted as it wound its way up the mountain and was intersected by several other roads. Blair glimpsed houses set back in the trees.
‘I don’t really remember any of this,’ she said. ‘After Molly died I never came over this way.’
‘Keep going,’ he said.
She continued driving slowly as a few flakes of snow began to swirl around the car.
‘Turn in here,’ he said.
It was the last property on the street. The road continued on, but the mountain rose up on either side of it and there were only trees visible, as far as Blair could see. She turned into the driveway and then slowed down to a crawl.
‘Wait a minute,’ she said. ‘This is familiar.’
‘Over that hill is the reservoir,’ said Tom. ‘And the power station. I don’t think anyone could have come from there. This is the last residence for a while. It was always called the Warriner place.’
‘That must have been Eileen Reese’s maiden name,’ said Blair. ‘Warriner. Remember I was telling you about my uncle seeing Joe Reese’s sister, Darlene? She lives here. Joe Reese is her twin. He was married to Eileen who grew up on this place. It used to be a farm. I don’t think they work it anymore, but it’s a sprawling property.’
‘You just realized that now?’ he asked. ‘That you know this place?’
‘I’ve only been here one time,’ Blair admitted. ‘I followed my uncle’s truck. He was driving like a madman. Trying to lose me, I suspect,’ said Blair. ‘Anyway we came up on it from the other direction. The reservoir side.’
Tom nodded and squinted out at the house as they approached it. ‘Looks like no one’s at home. No lights on.’
Blair agreed. Darlene’s car was not parked anywhere in sight, nor was Joe’s.
‘Darlene works in hospice care. Joe’s a bus driver. They’re probably both at work.’ She stopped the car and looked around at the farmhouse, which was nearly as run down as Uncle Ellis’s house. The barn was in no better condition.
‘Want to get out and look around?’ Tom asked.
‘Look around at what?’ Blair asked.
‘Well, Joe Reese and his wife were living here when Molly died.’
‘I suppose they were,’ said Blair. All she could think of was how furious Uncle Ellis would be, if he found out that she and a private detective were snooping around Darlene’s house.
‘I don’t think we should be poking around here. Besides, Joe Reese told me at dinner that he and his wife were away on a church retreat when the murder happened,’ Blair insisted.
‘Well, even so, practically everyone else on this street is a newcomer. These are the only people who might actually remember something.’
Blair sighed to cover her apprehension. Tom chose to ignore her. He got out of his side and walked up to the house. He peered in the windows. No one was there.
‘What are you looking for?’ Blair asked irritably.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Just getting a feel for the place. Everything between here and the Sinclair’s was woods in those days. So, I guess I’m just curious.’
He came down from the porch and Blair thought he was coming back to the car. But then he veered off toward the barn, he looked into a darkened window. Blair walked behind him in the muddy indentations of the gravel drive. She turned and looked at the house silhouetted against the trees and up at the sky as the gray afternoon light faded.
Blair shuddered. ‘I’m going back to the car.’
Tom turned to follow her and then stopped. Blair turned back to look.
Joe Reese, wearing work boots, overalls and a fleece vest, was coming around the side of the barn, holding an overflowing garbage can.
He reached for the door of the barn and then started and cried out, when he saw them standing there. ‘What the hell?’ he said.
‘Mr Reese, I’m sorry to scare you,’ said Tom. ‘We thought no one was here.’
‘Who are you?’ Joe Reese demanded.
‘I’m Tom Olson. I’m a private detective. I used to be a police officer. We’ve met before. And this is Blair Butler.’
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‘I know her,’ Joe said.
‘Hope we’re not disturbing you,’ said Tom. ‘We called out but no one answered and we didn’t see a vehicle.’
‘What do you want?’ Joe Reese peered at Blair. ‘Does your uncle know you’re here?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Blair. ‘It’s not really his concern.’
‘We didn’t mean to startle you,’ Tom said apologetically.
‘You didn’t. I was just putting this trash in the barn. I store it out here in the big cans until I have enough to make a dump run. Don’t have animals, so the barn’s not good for much else these days,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Blair, not certain what to say.
Joe stopped and stared at Tom. ‘So, you never said what brings you up here?’
Tom was forthright. ‘We are looking into Molly Sinclair’s murder. It happened about fifteen years ago. You might remember …’
Joe peered at Blair. ‘You were talking about that murder when you and your uncle came to dinner.’
‘I was,’ Blair admitted. ‘I’m still trying to get some new information about it. That’s why I hired Mr Olson here.’
‘Well, I don’t know a thing about it. I wasn’t even in town when it happened. My wife and I were away on a church retreat,’ said Joe.
‘I remember you saying that,’ said Blair.
Tom frowned. ‘When you got back to town, was there any sign that someone might have been making themselves at home on your property, while you were gone? Can you remember?’
‘I guess I’d remember that,’ said Joe indignantly. ‘Why would somebody be here on my land?’
‘I don’t know. An empty house. The owner away. Look, we know that somebody came to the Sinclair’s house on the afternoon that Molly died, banging on their door, pleading for help. We were trying to figure out where they came from. We looked at an aerial map at city hall and there just weren’t many places along this road that this visitor could have been coming from. So we drove out to have a look.’
‘Well, good luck with that. Trying to figure out what happened fifteen years ago,’ said Joe, with a chuckle. ‘I can’t remember what happened last week.’
The Girl in the Woods Page 17