Shadows

by Edna Buchanan

  He shrugged. “Living up in Boca Raton, working as a bookkeeper.”

  “Do you have any idea who killed Dr. Wentworth?”

  “No. The morning after it happened, a detective came to our house. My folks nearly had heart attacks. But they confirmed that I was home when it happened.

  “Had the doctor lived, I might a found my son. What about the babies, Detectives? Lorraine only saw our son once, but she swore to me on the Bible that he was beautiful, perfect, and healthy. How did he die? Did Wentworth kill them?”

  “We’re not sure yet. They’re still doing tests,” Burch said.

  “I don’t understand.” Plummer rose from his desk, walked to a window, and stared out at passing traffic. “Why would she kill them? Babies were her bread and butter, her source of income. She profited from their adoptions. Why would she hurt them?”

  “All I know is that crib death ain’t contagious,” Burch said. “Did you know Pierce Nolan?”

  He turned to look directly at them. “I knew of him. He was a prominent, big-time man about town, but I never met him. His murder was the talk of Miami, stayed on the front pages for a long time. If one of those infants is my son, I’d like to know how the hell they wound up at his place.”

  “Good question.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “He lied,” Nazario said as they walked to the car.

  “Sure he did,” Burch said. “He’s a car salesman.”

  “Hard to read him.” Nazario scowled. “It’s like he has something wrong with him. But he definitely lied when he said he never met Pierce Nolan.”

  “I hear you. See his desk? How neat it was? Guy runs a big operation like that, tons a paperwork, yet not a pencil outta place.”

  On the way back to the expressway, a homeless man under the I-95 overpass waved and held up a crudely lettered cardboard sign:

  VIETNAM VET. LOST JOB. BABY DIED. WIFE LEFT. PLEASE HELP.

  “Guy looks way too young to be a Viet vet,” Nazario said.

  “Able-bodied, too,” Burch commented.

  A hundred yards later, at the on-ramp, stood another tattered wraith, holding up his own hand-lettered sign:

  WHY LIE? I NEED A BEER.

  “My kind a guy.” Burch slowed down. “Let’s give ’im a five. I’m so goddamned sick a liars.”

  “Look at this.” Nazario had checked records back at headquarters. “Sweet Lorraine, the love of his life, took out multiple restraining orders against Plummer over the years. Had him arrested twice for domestic abuse.”

  “I’m starting to lose patience with all these self-absorbed people playing fast and loose with the past.” Burch jabbed at his phone, punching in the number of Plummer’s ex-wife, Lorraine, in Boca.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I should talk to you,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, but I think you should. We’ll be up there in an hour.”

  “No, no, not here!”

  “Then we can arrange to bring you here,” he said.

  “Wait! Wait. I’m driving down to visit my grandchildren in North Miami tomorrow.”

  She agreed to talk to them then.

  They found Pauline Rahming working as a part-time assistant in a daycare center.

  A small woman with a curly gray perm, she had dark, darting eyes and a crusty manner.

  “I saw the stories in the paper,” she said.

  “Good,” Burch said. “Then we don’t have to explain.”

  Her eyes followed the children as they frolicked in the center’s backyard playground.

  “Go tell your boss you’re taking a time-out to talk to us,” Burch said.

  “I can watch the children and talk to you at the same time,” she snapped. “It’s called multitasking.”

  “I don’t like multitasking,” Burch said. “In fact, it’s one of my pet peeves. I find that people who multitask are invariably the ones who absentmindedly leave toddlers to die in closed cars parked in the sun in hundred-degree-plus temperatures because they are trying to do too many things at once. When I talk to people I want their full attention. We can make that happen by taking you downtown with us. You can focus there. You won’t have children, or anything else to worry about. Only us.”

  They took a back booth at a nearby diner, where they could drink coffee, bask in the air-conditioning, and talk uninterrupted.

  “My aunt Elizabeth was an early feminist,” Pauline Rahming said defensively. “One of the first, before her time. A hero. All she cared about in this world was what was best for those babies. Those ungrateful adopted children who showed up in the eighties didn’t appreciate what she gave them. Life. She gave them life. They slandered her, denigrated her memory, and impugned her motives, when most of them wouldn’t be walking this earth without her. She was brave enough to offer an alternative to abortion.”

  “Her motives weren’t entirely unselfish,” Burch said. “I understand she lived pretty well.”

  “True, she drove a big car, wore nice jewelry and fine clothes, but that was all part of the image she had to maintain. People need to have confidence in their doctor. And her expenses were staggering. A parade of police officers marched through the clinic like clockwork every Friday to pick up their envelopes. If she didn’t pay, they’d make trouble. She fed and sheltered the mothers, delivered the babies, arranged the adoptions. She worked like a dog. We both did. She took me in and raised me. Elizabeth Wentworth was a saint.”

  “She was no saint,” Burch said. “She murdered those babies.”

  Pauline Rahming’s jaw dropped. “She didn’t! She’d never harm an infant, or anyone. Never! Never! Never!”

  “Somebody did,” Burch said mildly. “Weren’t you the only other person there at the time?”

  Her eyes widened. “I love children. I’ve devoted my life to them. My only regret is that I never had any of my own.”

  “Did Aunt Liz keep records?”

  “The records!” She fiercely pounded a small fist on the Formica table-top. “The records, the records, everybody harps on the records! She had a little journal. More like an engagement calendar. That’s all. There were no filing cabinets stuffed full of records, there never was. That was the entire point, to protect the privacy of everyone concerned.”

  “Did you know Pierce Nolan?”

  Her eyes darted between them as if she were a defenseless creature cornered by predators.

  “We know your aunt knew him,” Nazario said gently.

  “Who told you that?” Her eyes never stopped moving.

  “Nolan was her prom date at Miami High. They’d known each other since high school.”

  She shrank back in her seat, shriveling up as though cold, shaking her head.

  “No,” she said. “It was elementary school. But they hadn’t spoken, or even seen each other in decades.”

  “So what finally brought them back together in August 1961?” Burch asked.

  She rocked back and forward, eyes distant.

  “We were in trouble,” she whispered, “terrible trouble. She had nobody else to trust or to turn to, and Pierce Nolan was a brilliant, influential man. Aunt Liz said he’d know what to do, how to help us.”

  “Did you kill the babies?”

  “No! Nobody killed them. It was an accident.” She dug a tissue out of her bag and blew her nose.

  “How did this accident happen?”

  “We were already under stress.” Sniffling, she crumpled the tissue in her hand. “The police wanted more money. A young man had gone to them, filed a complaint. He’d come to the clinic trying to see his girlfriend. Her parents had made it clear there was to be no contact between them.

  “But the pressure on us was nearly over. We could see the light at the end of the tunnel. We had seven babies in the clinic. The mothers had all been released and adoptive parents from all over the country were due to arrive over the next ten days to take their babies home. They’d already paid half the adoption fee, the balance would be paid then.

  “
Aunt Liz had been under so much stress, she needed to get out, and when the mothers had gone, she felt free to do so. The babies were beautiful, healthy, about to go to their new lives, and we’d have cash coming in.

  “She went shopping that afternoon, met a few friends for dinner, and they went out to a club afterward.

  “I didn’t feel well, so I went to bed earlier than usual. I felt queasy, as though I was coming down with something. It had started that afternoon.

  “My room was at the far side of the house, next to her office, but I knew I’d hear the babies. They’d wake me. When one cried, they’d all wake up to join in, and I’d have to get up to go feed them.

  “But they never cried. My aunt came in at about three A.M. and stopped at my room first to ask how they were, if they’d all been fed.

  “All I remembered was her shouting and shaking me. I couldn’t answer. I was slurring my words. She slapped me, furious. She thought I’d been drinking. That I was drunk. Then she saw the canary dead in its cage.

  “She started to scream, ‘Oh no! The babies! Oh no!’

  “She ran to the nursery. But she was too late. They were all dead in their cribs. She dragged me out of bed, out into the backyard, then ran back inside to open all the windows.”

  “Carbon monoxide?” Nazario said. “Was a car running in the garage?”

  “No,” Pauline said mournfully. “It was the gas company. They’d been changing the lines to natural gas. A crew from the gas company had come earlier in the day. They did some work, changed the lines to the refrigerator. We had a gas-operated refrigerator then. Somehow the fittings weren’t right. I don’t know the specific details, but it killed them all. Would have killed me, too, if she hadn’t come home in time. She unplugged the refrigerator, turned on fans, opened all the windows.

  “I couldn’t even put my own shoes on. Couldn’t keep any food down, had a headache for three days.

  “Aunt Liz didn’t know what to do. The new babies that the parents were coming to take home were all dead. The police were demanding more money. That young man kept coming, banging on the doors shouting that he wanted to see his infant son. We were in terrible trouble.”

  “You might have called the police,” Burch said.

  “My aunt would’ve gone to jail, there would’ve been terrible publicity. Her life would have been ruined. She said we couldn’t tell anyone. She wrapped them all up. Put them in a box. It was the heat of the summer.” She shuddered, eyes wet.

  “She was desperate, out of her mind. She finally decided to call Pierce Nolan. Old friends were the best, she said. She told him we needed his help, begged him to come. Said he was the only one she could trust, pleaded with him, for old times’ sake.

  “He came. He was horrified when he saw what had happened. He agreed that it would ruin my aunt and all the young women who had given those babies up for what they believed would be better lives.

  “The world was closing in on us. The next knock on the door could be the police or the parents. We had to get the bodies out of there. Pierce Nolan put the box in the trunk of his car. He said he would find a temporary place to keep them until he could take them out on his boat and bury them at sea.

  “He said we were to never talk of it, or call him, again.

  “We were so grateful, we were both crying. Aunt Liz was still in financial trouble, still had to deal with the adoptive parents, but she thought she could talk her way out of it without having to return any money. She decided to tell each couple that the child they’d been promised had died unexpectedly. Then she’d promise them a healthy baby within the next few months. Naturally they’d be upset and disappointed, but she thought they’d wait.

  “The first couple arrived the next day. The woman cried, the husband was furious. He demanded their money back and threatened to call the police and the newspapers. He accused her of operating a racket, of selling their baby to another couple who offered more money. She tried to calm him down for more than an hour. I thought she had.

  “There wasn’t that much for me to do with the babies gone and no pregnant girls upstairs, so I went to a movie the next day. I was upset and depressed. I cried every time I went into the nursery. So I went to a matinee, saw a John Wayne Western.

  I couldn’t remember anything about the show later. What I saw when I came home erased it from my memory. I found my aunt Elizabeth dead, blood everywhere. It was horrible. Somebody had killed her. I didn’t know if it was the parents who had been there, some other set of parents, the police, that angry young man, or a robbery. She was always paid in cash, and kept money on hand to pay the police. Someone may have known that at times there was quite a bit in the office, but there wasn’t then. Nothing seemed to be taken. Except her little book, but the police might have taken that during their investigation.”

  “Who do you think killed Pierce Nolan?”

  “I don’t know.” She sounded weary. “He was a decent man.”

  “You’ve had all these years to ponder it,” Burch said. “Who do you think killed your aunt?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is who killed those babies. Me.” Her features collapsed. “It was me. I should have known something was wrong when I began to feel sick. It was my fault. All of it was my fault,” she whispered.

  “No,” Burch said. “It wasn’t.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The detectives took Pauline Rahming’s sworn statement at the station and went home early.

  Riley felt jubilant. Burch was troubled.

  He stepped into his foyer, turned right, stumbled, and heard a gong-like sound as a sharp pain shot up his shin.

  “What the hell is that thing?” he asked as he hopped on one foot.

  “A Ming dog.” Connie gave him a smooch on the lips.

  “Ain’t the sheepdog enough? What’s this one made of, cast iron?”

  “I think so. It’s for protection.”

  “It sure didn’t protect me.” He rubbed his shin and winced as Jennifer breezed by and kissed his cheek.

  “Hi, Daddy. Bye, Daddy.” And she was gone.

  “Hey, where’d she go? What’s that she’s wearing? That looked like a bathing suit top and shorts.”

  “To the municipal pool,” Connie said. “There’s something going on.”

  Burch looked out the front window. “There’s something going on all right. She just jumped in a car with a strange boy. Looks like an old Volvo.”

  She joined him at the window. “He’s not strange, that’s Zell.”

  “How old is he?” He peered out, trying to see the tag number, but the car had already pulled away.

  “Seventeen, I think.”

  “What do we know about him?”

  “He’s a nice kid. Nothing to worry about. She’ll be home in time for dinner.”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Not Will, Zell.”

  Burch sighed and followed Connie into the kitchen. He’d planned to offer help with dinner. His heart wasn’t in it.

  “Where are you going, honey?”

  “Have to check something out. I’ll be right back.”

  The municipal pool was only eight suburban blocks away. He was almost surprised to see the old Volvo actually parked outside. No sign of Jennifer.

  He strode past the rest rooms and cabanas toward the sparkling Olympic-sized pool. He didn’t see them. Seething, he whirled around to go back and check the car. That’s when he saw them. Splashing in the kiddie pool, surrounded by tots. He stared at the children, stepped closer, and felt a painful catch in his heart. The palm of Jennifer’s hand supported the stomach of a little one who was attempting to swim but couldn’t seem to kick or turn her head from side to side.

  A friendly middle-aged woman greeted him as he watched. “Are you the parent of a special-needs child?”

  He swallowed, then spit out the truth. “No. I’m a special-needs parent.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Because of my job, I c
an’t seem to trust my own children.”

  “She’s watching TV,” the nurse told Nazario cheerfully. She sat knitting at the kitchen table.

  Nazario found Fleur curled up in bed, watching a tape.

  “How you feeling?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer, eyes glued to the television screen.

  “Whatcha watching?” Following her gaze, he did a double take.

  She was watching graphic hard-core porn.

  “Hey.” He gaped at the images. “Where’d that come from?”

  “It was delivered this afternoon,” she said, her voice a dull monotone.

  “Dios mío.” Upon second look, there was no mistaking the half-moon tattoo on the female star’s ankle.

  “You?”

  She nodded, still watching, biting her lower lip.

  He sighed. “What does he want?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars,” she said slowly.

  “Who is he?”

  “I…I knew him in high school. I was happy to see him at the party. I trusted him.”

  Nazario watched a few more moments of the tape, arms crossed. “You were unconscious, Fleur. Look. You were totally out of it. Ese hijo de puta.” That sick son of a bitch. “You were raped.”

  “I don’t remember it.” She sounded numb. “I knew something happened because I had my dress…Shelly’s dress…but no underwear.”

  “What is he threatening?”

  “To send it to my father and show it on the Internet.”

  “We’ll take it to the Sex Crimes Unit. This pervert has to go to jail. For a long time. They have a special prosecutor—”

  “I can’t!” The raw pain in her cry stopped him. “I won’t.” She pulled the sheet over her face.

  He patted her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Fleur.”

  “I want it to go away.”

  “Do you have the money?”

  “No, it might as well be fifty million. He thinks I have money because my dad does. He doesn’t believe me.”

  “You talked to him?”