by Alison James
‘Mrs. Starling?’ Rachel called out to her. ‘Could I have a word with you?’
She was expecting hostility, but was met with a beaming smile. ‘You’re the young English lady: Ernie told me about you.’
Rachel extended a hand. ‘Rachel Prince. Nice to meet you.’
‘Call me Norma, dear.’ She pointed to one of the cars with her stick. ‘You better follow me.’
Chapter Forty
‘Now my dear, what can I fix you?’
Rachel was perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa at Norma Starling’s house. She had followed her there in her own car, hanging back patiently while Norma ignored green lights, stamped randomly on her brakes and swerved across lanes to avoid imaginary objects.
The house was a modest three-room, single-storey dwelling – little more than a trailer – on a scrubby, unfenced lot in the tiny, featureless town of Ashwood. There was disorder and dirt everywhere, from the heaps of clothes on the furniture, to the discoloured carpet tiles and the milky film of grime on the windows. Norma had changed into a pair of pink fluffy slippers when they arrived, and her second order of business had been to feed the two vulpine German Shepherds that circled round her thighs. The small living room was pungent with the scent of cheap canned dog meat, but at least their meal was keeping the animals confined to the far end of the kitchen.
Rachel accepted a glass of iced tea, and cast around for a clear surface on which to place it. ‘Let me do that,’ said Norma, jumping to her feet and clearing space on a side table, which she wiped with a sour-smelling cloth. Next to the glass were two photos; one of a gap-toothed Ethan as a child and one of a young bride with lank mousey hair and hazel eyes. The pale green ones must have come from the Rowe side of the family.
‘Is that your daughter?’
‘Yes, that’s my Kathleen, may God rest her soul.’
‘You must miss her.’
‘Yes dear, yes I do.’ Her eyes grew misty. ‘Now, let’s have a nice chat. Tell me all about yourself.’
She’s lonely, thought Rachel, feeling bad about having to tell this woman lies. But she was at least in a position to give her some much-needed company. She spun the party line about doing academic research on prison inmates, giving herself credentials from Berkeley, which Norma accepted without question.
‘And are you married, dear?’
Rachel shook her head.
‘Well, that’s a pity, good-looking girl like yourself. Maybe you’ll find yourself some handsome college professor. Have yourself a house full of babies.’
‘I don’t think so,’ smiled Rachel. ‘But I do have a son. He’s eighteen.’
‘How precious.’ Norma beamed. ‘And you went to talk to my Ethan?’
‘Yes, yes I did. This morning.’
‘Not that I expect he had much to say. He was never very good with his words, even as a little boy.’
The giant dogs had finished inhaling their meat, and sat themselves either side of Norma’s chair like heraldic beasts. Norma fondled their ears.
‘What can you tell me about Ethan’s father?’ Rachel asked.
‘Not a whole lot. On account of he didn’t stick around long.’
‘Raymond Rowe, is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Handsome devil he was, but that made him a poor sort of a husband.’
‘And he and Kathleen only had one child together?’
‘Yes, just Ethan. After Ray left, Kathleen took up with a man from out Willowdale way, Billy Turner. She had two more babies with him.’
‘Ethan said they were boys?’
‘Yes, Tyler and Drew. When Kathleen passed they were only three and five, and they went to live with their daddy. He remarried, and moved away, out of state. I never see them no more.’ She pointed sadly at a photo of two small boys, darker in looks that Ethan.
‘And Ethan came to you?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And do you know if Ray had more children?’
‘I don’t know what happened after, he never kept in touch. Not with me. He left Oregon for a while and went east. I do know that he was married before he met Kathleen, and they had a daughter. Harley, I think she was called. Harlowe?’
‘But you never met her?’
Norma shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think Kathleen did either, even though it was her stepdaughter. I’m not even sure where she lived. Apparently, she was the smart one. She got the brains in the family, instead of the good looks.’
Rachel shifted her weight to free the soles of her trainers, which were sticking to the carpet tile. She took a tentative sip of her iced tea.
‘Can I refresh that for you darlin’? Get you something to eat?’
Rachel shook her head, even though she was hungry. ‘Ethan mentioned his cousin to me. Said she stayed with you too?’
Norma nodded, patting the back of one of the dogs. ‘That’d be Rainey. She’s my son Charlie’s youngest.’
‘And how old is Rainey?’
‘Twenty-three. Two years younger than Ethan.’
‘Do you have a photo?’
‘Somewhere I do, yes.’ She shuffled into her bedroom and came back with a picture. Rachel sat straight up in her chair. Rainey was an attractive female version of Ethan, with fair hair and a winning smile.
Young, blonde, pretty.
‘Do you still see Rainey?’
Norma shook her head. ‘Haven’t seen her in several years. Not since she was around eighteen or nineteen. She went to Portland.’ She said this as though it was the moon. ‘I get a Christmas card from her. A birthday card too, when she remembers.’
‘And what is she doing now? Do you know?’
Norma shook her head. ‘She seemed to just move from job to job. Didn’t graduate high school, so she just had to take work where she could find it, you know?’
‘And what kind of girl is she, would you say?’
Norma sighed. ‘She was always feisty. My little hell cat, I used to call her. She ain’t of much use to your study though, seeing as how she and Ethan haven’t had contact since they were little. She’s never visited him.’
‘Do you have an address for her, anyway?’
Norma heaved herself up and searched through heaps of papers in a bureau until she found what looked like a birthday card.
‘Last one she sent me, I believe.’
She handed it to Rachel, who copied down the name and address on the back of the envelope.
Rainey Starling, 2725 NE 14th St, OR 97212
‘And your son Charlie,’ Rachel asked as she scribbled, ‘Is Rainey his only child?’
Norma shook her head. ‘Middle of three. He’s got Steven, who’s twenty-four, and Brianna.’
Another female cousin. ‘And Brianna is?’
‘Just turned eighteen, this last week. She’s a senior at high school, but she’s going to be graduating this summer.’
Rachel looked down at her notes. ‘Did you just have the two children yourself, Charlie and Kathleen?’
‘I’ve got Lynette too, my youngest, but she’s never married, never had kids.’
The sad-eyed dogs had become restless, weaving round Norma’s legs, nudging the arms of her chair.
‘If you’ll excuse me dear, I really ought to take these darned critters for a walk. They’ve been shut in the whole afternoon. You’d be welcome to join me, and then stay for some dinner.’
Rachel stood up, peeling the seat of her trousers from the greasy chair cushion. ‘That’s very kind, but I really need to get back to Berkeley and start writing up my notes.’ She was already envisaging a cleansing soak in the claw-foot tub back at the Sweet Briar Inn.
She put her hand over Norma’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘But thank you so much, you’ve been very helpful.’
As she drove back in the direction of Madras, she stopped and took photos of direction signs to places named ‘Horseheaven’ and ‘Antelope’. After her bath she would send them to Brickall, accompanied with a suitably
witty quip that did not betray just how desperate she was to hear from him. Sooner or later he would have to reply.
Chapter Forty-One
Since Boston I’ve been keeping my head down. Lying low.
Outwardly I stick to my regular daily routine. Work, chores, trips to the store. At home I continue with my research, mentally prepping for a new opportunity. I’ll have to be patient after what happened last time. I can’t afford to go drawing attention to myself. But I’m prepared to wait.
I’m also waiting for law enforcement to come knocking at my door. I accept that it has to be a possibility, however remote. But day after day goes by, and nothing happens. I’m left to my own devices, to my own dreams and desires.
I’ve got away with it. Again.
Chapter Forty-Two
On this Sunday, Rachel decided, she had earned a lie in.
She reclined in her lacy four-poster, filling in the Rowe/Starling family tree. The names Harley/Harlowe, Charlie, Steven, Brianna and Lynette were all added on their respective branches. It should have been a calming, even therapeutic activity, but her heart was racing and her limbs felt taut. She had slept fitfully, unable to stop thinking about Rainey Starling. Rainey fitted the physical type. She was the right age. If any of them was Miss XX, then she was in the running.
After indulging in a calorie-dense Break-your-fast in the inn’s chintzy dining room, Rachel checked out and began the two-hour drive across the featureless plain towards Portland. This must be what they mean when they talk about Badlands, she decided, as she passed abandoned mines and fenced-off ghost towns.
The landscape made her uneasy, and she was relieved when she arrived in Portland a little before one. Tree-lined, brick-paved streets and trams gave the city a vaguely European air, and there were coffee shops, wholefood stores and bookshops everywhere she looked. The atmosphere of urban civilisation re-energised her. Despite growing up in suburban Purley, Rachel thought of herself as a city girl.
The address Norma had given her was on the north-east side of the broad Willamette River; a neat brick Arts and Crafts bungalow on a pleasant suburban street.
A man of around forty opened the door. ‘Yes? May I help you?’
‘Could I speak to Rainey Starling please?’
He frowned. ‘Rainey… who?’
‘Rainey Starling. I believe she lives here.’
The man shook his head. ‘Not now she doesn’t. I’ve been here the past year and a half. It must have been before then, I guess.’ He moved to shut the door.
‘Wait –’ With her ingrained police instincts, Rachel whipped out a hand to stop him – ‘did she leave a forwarding address at all?’
‘Not that I know of. Sorry.’
Rachel returned to her car to sit and brood for a few minutes. Her time on the beat had instilled in her that you didn’t abandon a lead without at least doing some door to door. Asking around. She spoke to an elderly woman in the house next door, who said she remembered Rainey, and her keeping some questionable company, but didn’t know where she had gone. There was no reply at the house on the other side of number 2725.
A small neighbourhood café and bakery was the next port of call. The young man behind the counter, who had dreadlocks and impressive flesh tunnels in his ear lobes, remembered Rainey too.
‘Yeah, she was cool. Came in here with her boyfriend quite a bit.’
‘Do you know where she moved to?’
‘I don’t, like, know the address, but I think she stayed in Portland.’
This news was only a very minor triumph, but Rachel celebrated by taking a seat in the café and ordering the house cold-press coffee and a surprisingly good lentil salad.
She took out her phone and called Rob McConnell’s cell. He did not pick up, and she didn’t leave him a message. He was probably still celebrating Annie’s birthday, she thought, suppressing irritation. It pained her to admit it, but after only a couple of days she was missing him. Missing his physical presence, but also his perspective and his input with the case. The ease with which they had bounced their ideas and theories to and fro had been extremely satisfying. It was a bit like working with Brickall, only without the mood swings and the swear words.
There was no time to sit and mope. She scrolled to Mike Perez’s number and tried that.
‘You really need to stop calling me on the weekend, Detective Prince.’
She could hear the smile in his voice, and found herself smiling too.
‘Good to hear your voice, Perez.’
‘Likewise. How’s my English buddy?’
‘I’ll come straight out with it: I’m in a bind, and I really need some help.’
‘Where the hell are you, anyway?’ Perez asked.
‘Portland. Oregon.’
She updated him on her return to the US after the third murder of a CasaMia host, and that she was now on a hunt for relatives of Ethan Rowe.
‘So I went to his cousin’s address here in Portland, only she’s moved.’
‘You want me to find another address for her.’
‘Please.’
‘Okay…’ Perez sighed. ‘I guess I could either spend my Sunday afternoon at the gym, or I could unofficially hack into the DMV and social security records of your suspect.’
‘You’re the best, Mike.’
‘Don’t think I don’t know you’re only using me for my access to government databases.’
‘Let it never be said.’
He laughed. ‘Leave it with me, Prince. Or should that be Prince-ess? See what I did there?’
‘I do. Like I said, you’re the best.’
* * *
An hour and a half later, Perez phoned her back.
‘Apartment 3, 1315 North West Upshur Street. Only you never heard that from me, okay?’
Rachel scribbled the address on the back of a paper napkin. ‘Never. But I still owe you one.’
‘Yeah, you keep saying that.’
She programmed the new address into the hire car’s cheap satnav and set off. The building was in the Slabtown district north of downtown Portland; a tired 1980s block that housed several apartments. She rang on the bell for Apartment 3, but there was no reply. Thrash metal music was audible from one of the apartments on the first floor, but when Rachel rang the bell for the other apartments there was no response bar the testy barking of a dog. It was back to waiting in the car.
After a couple of fruitless hours her bladder was bursting from all the coffee she had drunk. Rachel capitulated and drove to a Holiday Inn a few blocks away, where she reserved a room for the night. This allowed her to drop off her bag and use the bathroom. It now was six o’clock and starting to go dark. She returned to the apartment block on foot this time, more than ready to get some exercise. As soon as she approached she could see that there was a light on in Apartment 3. She rang the bell.
The intercom squawked. ‘Hullo?’
‘Is that Rainey Starling?’
‘This is she. How may I help you?’
‘My name’s Rachel Prince. Can I come in and talk to you please?’
There was a short pause. ‘No way, sorry. I don’t let in people I don’t know. Not when it’s dark.’
‘Please, Rainey. I’m a friend of your grandma. Norma.’ This was almost true.
‘My gramma doesn’t have no friends that talk like you do. You’re probably some kind of crazy person.’
Rachel quelled her rising frustration. ‘Okay, I tell you what, just open the door a crack and talk to me. You don’t have to let me in if you don’t want to.’
‘You might rush me. You might have a gun, like a mugger or something.’
Rachel rested her forehead on the door. She was tired and she was hungry, and she was close to losing her rag. Or blowing her cover. Or both. ‘I won’t. I promise. And I don’t have a gun.’
There was a silence of several minutes. Rachel leaned on the bell again.
‘All right, all right. You can come up, but you’ve got thirty secon
ds and then I’m going to call the cops.’ The door was buzzed open. Rachel walked up the stairs and tapped lightly on the door of Apartment 3. It opened a few inches. All Rachel could see were heavily kohled eyes.
‘Hands where I can see them.’
Sighing, Rachel raised her hands.
The door was pulled back several inches more, and there stood Rainey Starling. Young, pretty and blonde. And heavily pregnant.
Chapter Forty-Three
‘When’s the baby due?’
Rainey opened the door fully. ‘On Wednesday.’ She pressed a hand to her rotund abdomen, the bulge of the baby sitting low, poised for its arrival. ‘Can’t come soon enough, I’m telling you.’
‘You must be very uncomfortable.’ Rachel thought back to the last few days of her own pregnancy, and how every hour had seemed like a week.
‘You got that right. I’m exhausted. You got kids?’
Rachel nodded. ‘One.’
‘Well then you probably remember this bit ain’t much fun.’ She looked Rachel up and down and seemed to relax a little. ‘I guess you may as well come in. Standing makes my back ache.’
Rachel followed her into the apartment and sat down at the table in the neat, homely kitchen. Through the doorway that led from the hall into the bedroom she glimpsed a white bassinet, a heap of tiny pink clothes and a huge packet of newborn disposable nappies.
Rainey put the kettle on and made them each a herbal tea. ‘So you know my gramma?’
Rachel gave a brief summary of the fake research study. ‘I went to talk to Norma yesterday.’ When she could have saved me a lot of time and effort by telling me about the baby, she thought, exasperated. ‘I’m sorry; she didn’t mention you being pregnant.’
‘She doesn’t know,’ admitted Rainey. ‘I guess I should call her.’
‘Before Wednesday might be a good idea,’ smiled Rachel, as Rainey put a Japanese teapot and two matching porcelain cups on the table and lowered herself heavily onto a chair.