Agnes Hahn

by RICHARD SATTERLIE

  Ella returned Jason’s stare with a sweet smile and turned back to her plate. She didn’t pick up the dozen carnations he’d placed above her place setting. If Agnes managed to touch her emotionally, it showed only in her eyes. Ella’s grasp of the present hadn’t received the same boost.

  He turned to the gentleman across the table and shrugged. So far, he had heard about the old-timer’s service in the army during World War II. How he had campaigned in France, then Germany. He heard about how the flood of servicemen returning from the war created a frustrating competition for good jobs. How several of Earl’s friends had struggled for years.

  Jason’s mind drifted. Something didn’t sit right with this Earl character. He seemed out of place here, like he was too together, too capable. The reporter kicked in. This was a good place to gain access to widows and their bank accounts. It was also a great place to hide. Hide from what, though?

  The next breath wouldn’t come. Jason jerked forward in his chair and gasped. The old man’s stare seemed to go through him. Earl’s connection to Ella—it was convenient. Was he Eddie? Eddie wouldn’t be so brash to stay in such close contact with Ella, would he? On the other hand, it would be a great place to lie low. He thought of asking about a Purple Heart, but rejected the notion. If Eddie was ballsyenough to hole up in the care home, he’d lie about the medal.

  Jason shook his head, trying to clear it of the thought. It worked, but his new track wasn’t much better. He felt an overwhelming sadness. The dining room brimmed with life experience, with wisdom. But it leaked away right in front of him. Age contributed to one stream of loss, an inevitable one. But an additional breach produced an equal seep. He couldn’t identify it with certainty, but he had a feeling it centered on a narrowing of the residents’ lives, produced by their regimented existences. All of their basic needs were met. All according to set schedules. Spontaneity and individuality hid from sight, perhaps dusted off occasionally behind closed doors. Wisdom was maintained through use, and usefulness. Maybe they no longer felt useful.

  A sudden urge captivated him. Their stories needed to be told. The reporter in him began sketching possibilities, but stopped dead. That job should fall to their families. He surveyed the room. But where were the family members? Not one head bore the vibrant hair color of youth. That was the story that should be told.

  “Pass me your dishes, dear. Are these lovely flowers for me? I love carnations.”

  Jason turned in his chair. “Ella, I’m Jason Powers. We met earlier.” No expression of recognition registered. “I’m here to help Agnes with a problem.”

  “Agnes has a problem? Does she need money? I

  have a little saved up.”

  “No, she doesn’t need money. It has to do with your family.” That had an effect. Ella’s look of concern turned cold.

  “Why isn’t she here? I want to see her.”

  “She can’t come right now.”

  “Why not? I want to talk to her if she’s in trouble.”

  He feared losing to her defiance. “She’s in trouble. She needs your help.”

  “What can I do? I’m an old woman.”

  “Agnes found out about Edward Hahn.” He glanced across the table. The old man didn’t flinch. “She needs to know more about him. She needs to find him.” A gamble.

  “No.” Ella slammed the dishes together.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s family business.”

  “But Agnes needs to know. She’s in trouble with the police. The only way to help her is to find Edward.”

  “Why isn’t she here?” Ella shoved the dishes to the center of the table.

  “She can’t come until we clear this up. Can you tell me about Edward?” He hated to manipulate her like this, but it had to be done.

  Ella’s inhalation seemed to last forever. “Eddie is Agnes’s grandfather.”

  “His daughter was Denise Hahn? Agnes’s mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Agnes’s father? Did Denise marry?”

  “No!” The response jerked heads at nearby tables.

  The reporter spoke. Pursue that line. “Agnes doesn’t know anything about her father. Do you know who he is? Does Edward?”

  Tears filled Ella’s eyes. “I want to see Agnes.”

  “She can’t come until we find out about Edward, about her past. Maybe her father can help.”

  “No. He can’t.”

  “You know him?”

  Ella frowned, then lowered her gaze to her lap. Tears released. “There’s no other way?”

  Jason leaned close to her. A twinge of conscience objected, but he forged ahead. “I’m sorry. No.”

  “It’s Eddie.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “What’s Eddie? He’s Agnes’s father? I thought you said he was her grandfather? Oh … shit.” He felt dizzy, nauseous.

  Ella’s shoulders heaved with her sobs. He reached over and put his hand on her arm, but she pulled away. He leaned closer. “Ella, I have to know. Did Eddie do anything to Agnes and Lilin? Is that why you took Agnes? And why Lilin didn’t come, too?”

  Ella looked up abruptly, sending Jason back in his chair. A wide smile contradicted her tear-glistened cheeks.

  “It’s nice to see you, dear. Are these flowers for me? They’re beautiful.” She hugged the bouquet to her chest and inhaled deeply.

  CHAPTER 20

  JASON HELD THE CELL PHONE AWAY FROM HIS EAR, WAIT-ing for the obnoxious voice mail announcement. The unexpected, live voice paralyzed his tongue. He coughed it to life.

  “Glory be,” he said in a singsongy voice. “I got through. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket. Hold on.” He pushed the speaker button and put the phone down on the passenger seat.

  “Who is this?”

  Jason cleared his throat, and his mind. “It’s me, big brother. How you doing?”

  “Shitty. The landlord said I better give him some money or he’ll throw me out.”

  “Again?”

  “I don’t need you to get on me right now, okay? I’m really close to getting into a Chinese weapons manufacturer’s computer. At least I think that’s what they do.

  Can you read Chinese?”

  Jason shielded his eyes and mouthed a curse. “One of these times you’re going to get caught. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I’m going to throw in some pop-up jokes. Something about Russians. They should get a laugh out of it. If they can read English.” Coughing. “They won’t be able to trace it back to me.”

  “That’s what you said last year.”

  “I have a better security program now. Besides, I’m setting up the back door. I’ll do the installation from a library computer.”

  Jason lowered his hand and rolled his eyes. “I can’t keep cleaning up your messes. My savings account is nearly empty. And I’m not dipping into my pension fund.”

  “Are you forgetting who took care of that indecent exposure charge for you?”

  “It wasn’t indecent exposure. It was a ticket for urinating in public.”

  “You could have been branded a sex offender.”

  “Bullshit. Anyway, that was a long time ago.”

  “You’re welcome, little brother.”

  Jason shook his head. “Let’s not argue. I have some more work for you.”

  “Since you’re an ungrateful son of a bitch, my fee just doubled. I have a reputation to uphold. Working for known sex offenders is risky.” Chuckle.

  “I’m not paying double. You’ll get the usual amount. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’m about to get thrown onto the street. And you’re being stingy? Nice guy.”

  “Well, this time use the money for your rent or for food.”

  “I do need some salad.”

  “Marijuana isn’t food, jerk-off.”

  “You meat eaters are all alike. Just jealous because we vegetarians are so mellow.”

  Jason laughed. “Vegetarian? Your apartment has cheesebur
ger wrapper carpeting.”

  “Must be my evil twin.”

  “Well, I need the twin who doesn’t smoke the salad. Are you high right now?”

  “I don’t have any money. Remember?”

  “Good. I want information on an elderly gentleman from a care home here in Mendocino. His name is Earl Trent. I’ll e-mail as much as I know to get you started.”

  Long inhaling sound. “What do you want on him?”

  “God damn it, Donnie.”

  “Relax.” He chuckled. “Just kidding.”

  Jason rubbed his temples with his thumb and fingers. “The usual.”

  “The usual general information or the usual in-depth stuff?”

  “General. Start with voter registration here in Mendocino County. Go to a broker if you have to.”

  “A broker?” Donnie’s voice turned to a bellow. “Screw you. You’re asking me to do kindergarten stuff. I don’t need a fucking broker.”

  “Then why can’t you get anything on Eddie Hahn?”

  “I told you. I’m working on that one. He’s had some help. Some professional help. And he probably did it in the Jurassic—before computers.” Donnie’s voice returned to calm. “Do you know how hard it is to get something from back then?”

  “Well, keep trying. Can you still get into the Social Security System?”

  Donnie chuckled. “For the right price, and enough time, I can get into anything.”

  “I know you’re good. If you’d use your computer talents the right way, you’d make a great living. Probably outearn me.”

  “I could do that selling salad part-time.”

  “Thanks. Don’t rub it in.” Jason checked his appearance in the rearview mirror. “I do what I do because I like it. Not for the money.”

  “And because a sex offender can’t get a real job.”

  Jason thought of a good comeback, but it bordered on a sore subject—jobs. He took the safe road. “Oh yeah. On this guy, pay particular attention to aliases, previous addresses, things like that.”

  “Can you give me an advance?”

  “No.” Jason pounded his palm on the steering

  wheel. “Shit, Donnie.”

  “Why? Don’t you trust me?”

  “I don’t want you binging. I need results right away, not in a few days when your head clears.”

  An exaggerated exhalation. “I’ll use the money on rent and food. I promise.”

  “Good idea. You don’t want all that high-tech equipment tossed out in the alley again. And, Donnie. Do this one quickly and I’ll throw in a bonus.”

  “I’ll make you proud. I love you, man.”

  “Me, too, big brother. Take care of yourself. And use my cell phone. I’m not at home.”

  CHAPTER 21

  THE HAMMERING ON THE DOOR RIVALED THE POUND-ing in Jason’s head. He squinted at the clock—7:10 a.m. Just what he needed. Only Bransome knocked like a Sumo wrestler with a bad case of the runs. The door-jamb was pieced together after the last invasion, and it groaned with each smack of Bransome’s fist.

  “Hold on. Don’t break it down again.”

  The knocking stopped.

  Jason struggled with his pants. Bending over increased the throbbing in his head and scattered flickering stars in his peripheral vision. He limped to the door and released the chain, then stepped back before turning the lock.

  The door didn’t burst open. He turned the knob and pulled. The flash of morning light flooded the room and submerged his senses. Squinting turned the sight of Bransome standing outside the door, hands on his hips, into a surreal image.

  “Room service.” Bransome’s laugh echoed throughout the room, or at least through Jason’s part of it.

  Jason leaned around the edge of the door and peered through the narrow opening. “Real funny. Do you have a home, or do you live at the police station?”

  The laugher started up again, tinny this time. “You want to do this here or at my home?”

  Jason pulled back the door and hunched to the bed. He flopped on the nearest corner.

  Bransome slammed the door and hovered over the chair. “What, no coffee?”

  Jason grunted to his feet and shuffled to the hot plate. He turned the knob and leaned on the counter. “What is it this time? I didn’t do anything with Ella Hahn. She’s not my type. I like them a little more spry.” He straightened. “Is Ella all right?”

  Bransome fell into the chair and the Naugahyde emitted a prolonged hiss. “There was another murder. In Fort Bragg.”

  “Jesus. That’s just up the road. They are getting closer.” Jason rubbed his sandpaper chin. “Did you check Agnes’s odometer?”

  “Just came from there. Twenty-one, four eighty-three.”

  Jason ran his fingers through his hair, as if that would clear the cerebral cobwebs. “I don’t remember what it was before.”

  “Just fourteen new miles.”

  “How far is it to Fort Bragg?”

  “Ten miles, one way.”

  “So Agnes is off the hook?”

  “Yeah, but how about you? Where were you last night?”

  Jason pointed at the door. “The bar down the street.”

  “When?”

  “From around ten until midnight.”

  “You got proof? Can the bartender vouch?”

  He lifted his wallet from the counter and fished in the bill compartment. “I charged out at”—he brought the receipt close to his eyes and squinted—“eleven past midnight.” The receipt shook in his hand when he extended his arm.

  Bransome took the paper. “So that’s why you look so nasty.” He pushed the receipt back to Jason.

  “What was the time of death?”

  “Don’t know for sure yet, but the coroner guessed around eleven. I’ll get back to you once it’s established.” Bransome stood as the water kettle tuned up for a good screech. Jason lunged for the hotplate knob.

  “That’s it? You’re not going to ask me where I was before and after the bar?”

  “No. I’ll talk to the bartender. See if you were there the whole time.” He stepped to the door.

  “What about the coffee?”

  “You drink both cups. You look like hell.”

  Bransome opened the door and stomped out. The door slammed and the shock wave reverberated through the room.

  Jason grabbed his temples. “Bastard.” The pounding barely subsided when the motel phone rang, starting another cardiovascular drum solo.

  “Come on, Agnes,” he said and reached for the phone. “It’s early.”

  “Hello?”

  Silence

  “Hello? … Is anyone there?”

  He pressed the receiver to his ear. No dial tone, no breathing, just dead air. He hung up.

  “What’s she up to? Unless Bransome’s messing with me.”

  The card with Agnes’s cell phone number protruded from his wallet. He pulled it and unfolded his cell phone. “Agnes? It’s me. Did you call me on the motel phone?” “No.” Her answer sounded like a question. “Are you sure? Someone called but didn’t say anything.” “Did you see Ella? How was she?” “Did you hear what I said? Someone called me but didn’t say anything.”

  “I heard you. But I want to know about how the meeting with Ella went. Was she okay?”

  “She was fine. She made sense for a little while.” “What did she say? Did she ask about me?”

  If she only knew. “Not over the phone. Do you know about Fort Bragg?”

  “Yes. I really need to find Lilin, Jason.”

  He wasn’t so sure he wanted to now. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “Can you come for supper? To my house?”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  What’s wrong with today? he thought. This is important. “You don’t have to go to any trouble. Just fix something you already have there.”

  “It’s no trouble. But I want to make something special.”

  What would be special to someone like her?
Rude to ask. “I’ll check with Bransome to make sure it’s okay. I don’t want him getting weird on me again. What time?”

  “Six.”

  “I’ll call back if there’s a problem.”

  Jason fell back on the bed and immediately regretted it. The original plan for today was to run down to Santa Rosa to turn in some copy. He could have done it via e-mail, but he wanted to check on his brother. But he knew Bransome would come unglued if he returned and the place was empty. That meant a boring day would compound his hangover. He pulled his legs up on the bed. A good snooze would pass the time. A thin wisp of steam corkscrewed from the cup ofcoffee on the counter, heading for nowhere in particular.

  Jason clicked the lid of the laptop closed and congratulated himself. Got up somewhere around one. Got a hot dog and a Thirst Buster at the 7-Eleven. Finished off most of an old assignment, one that hadn’t recaptured his enthusiasm for weeks. It turned out to be a good day after all.

  The afternoon shadows passed his window and the light took on an amber hue. That probably meant another nice sunset. Weariness crept up his back. What now—supper or sleep? A decision for the idle, the homeless, and the lonely. He fell back on the bed.

  Leftover pizza and five bottles of beer crammed the knee-high refrigerator under the counter. He walked over to the TV and flicked it on. No remote control in this place. The newscaster spewed excitement as she read the latest breaking news, then broke for a set of commercials.

  Jason stacked the two anorexic pillows and leaned against the headboard. The Fort Bragg murder was yesterday’s lead. He’d have to wait to see if there were any new developments.

  The phone jarred him from relaxation. He let it ring two more times before he reached for it. “Hello.” Silence.

  He pressed the receiver tight to his ear. “Hello?” A muffled scraping came through, as if someone was covering the mouthpiece. “Who’s there?”

  The scraping stopped. Silence. “This isn’t funny. Tell your parents they want you—”

  Giggling.

  “Who is this, damn it?”

  Dial tone.

  CHAPTER 22

  JASON JERKED UPRIGHT IN BED. THE INABILITY TO FALL into a deep sleep had come and gone over the last several years of this life. On most nights, the slightest sound could bring his head off the pillow, particularly when he was away from his apartment.