The stainless steel table bolted beneath the viewing window was sticky. She tried to clean it with a hanky without success. She wouldn’t lean on it, that was all. It probably had never been cleaned after any visit.
Celeste took a sniff. The mix of odors reminded her of moldy laundry, body odor, and grease. She placed a hand over her nose and mouth to stifle the smell and prevent herself from gagging.
The chamber’s ceiling leaned on her while the floor pressed up. She became light-headed from the oppressive heat and stench. She was about to keel over when a sound of a gate opening startled her. Celeste lurched forward. She hit her head on the glass that separated her from the roomon the other side. She quickly checked to see if anyone noticed her clumsiness. She pressed her forehead against the window and struggled to see to the end of the room from where the sound came.
Suddenly, with little warning, a young man in prison blues and leg shackles shuffled past the line of windows and stainless steel stools. His leg chains scraped against the floor like those worn by the ghost of Christmas Past.
Chad sat opposite Celeste. With his hands chained loosely together, he lifted the receiver from a telephone mounted to the wall and gestured to Celeste to do the same.
Celeste’s thoughts spun in a dizzying motion, almost blurring her vision. The man facing her was alive and no longer in one of Pilar’s photos. She pressed the receiver to her ear.
“Pilar looked exactly like you,” Chad said as though he were Celeste’s good friend.
Suddenly Celeste regretted being there with the man who took Pilar from her. She might be no match for a convict, yet Celeste was determined not to let it show. She stared at Chad Wilbanks and answered, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Pilar told me a lot about you. She loved and respected you.”
This murderer spoke to Celeste like he would to his next door neighbor. She wanted to slap him, no — beat him. How could he even dream they had anything in common? Yet, they did. Pilar. Celeste took control of her anger and began her questioning, “Look, Mr. Wilbanks …”
“Chad,” he interrupted, “call me Chad. After all, we were practically relatives.”
His bright, childlike smile disgusted Celeste. His cockiness portrayed arrogance. “Look, Mr. Wilbanks,” she repeated with more forcefulness, “I am not here to chitchat. I’m here to find out what part you played in my daughter’s death.” The man on the other side of the glass so reminded Celeste of Marcus. Both could be charming and nonchalant in a situation like this one. Even their physical resemblance seemed uncanny. She had often heard everyone has a double somewhere in the world. Although if the two were placed side by side, the likeness would probably be less visible.
Chad never flinched at her sudden accusation. He was more in control than Celeste thought. Perhaps the visit would prove futile. Yet, Celeste wasn’t about to waste the trip and decided she didn’t have the time to pussyfoot around. “I’m going to ask you straight out,” she stated. “Did you have Pilar killed?”
Chad squeezed his eyes shut and remained like that for several seconds. When he opened them, he said with syrupy persuasion, “I thought we could be friends. I thought we could help each other grieve.”
“Grieve,” Celeste slammed her hand down.
Chad jumped at her sudden outburst.
“What do you know about grieving?” she yelled. “Whatdo you know about losing your only child?”
“I loved Pilar. I….”
“You wanted her money.”
Chad laid the receiver on the table. He glared at Celeste with more hate than she had ever seen in anyone. His eyes changed from a radiant mink brown to vacant black. She was sure he’d have killed her if he were a free man. After all, it had once been easy for him to commit murder.
Narrowing her own eyes to show as much determination and fearlessness as she was able, Celeste mouthed with exaggerated movement, “Pick up the receiver.”
Chad’s face immediately turned into the little boy’s she saw earlier. He coiled the telephone chord in his hand. A tear fell from his right eye. He was a good actor, really good.
Chad lifted the receiver and said, “I would never have hurt Pilar. She was different.” His voice was quiet, yet squeaky like a teenager going through puberty.
Chad’s acting wouldn’t persuade Celeste. “She had money, right?” she challenged.
“No. That wasn’t it. She understood. She really loved me.”
“You used that love. You used her trust. You had her killed, didn’t you, Chad?” She leaned against the glass separating them to show she would not be intimidated by someone locked in a cage.
“No!” he shouted, and stood. The officer who brought Chad into the room scurried to his side. Through thereceiver held in Chad’s hand, Celeste heard the officer’s muffled orders, “Calm down or I’ll terminate the visit.”
Chad nodded without looking away from Celeste. As he slowly sat, he said, “I thought maybe she really could get me out of this place, either by paying someone,” he glanced over his shoulder, then back to Celeste and whispered, “or helping me escape. We had plans. And now I’m back to these.” He jangled the chains secured around his waist.
It was worse than Celeste thought. “So, she paid someone to help you?” she asked. How could Pilar help this criminal escape? Either way, paying off a convict or being an accomplice in a prison break, Celeste believed that in the end Pilar would have been murdered.
“Yeah. The warden and cops know everything. Pilar told me not to keep her letters. But.” Chad rested his forehead on the table and rolled it back and forth. Then he smashed his head against the table over and over again. With each impact he yelled, “Damn.” Then he raised his head — nostrils flared, eyes on fire, and mouth grotesquely wide — and shouted, “She could have saved me.”
Celeste was awed by his behavior but believed Chad had been rewarded for such outbursts in the past. She visualized him lying flat on the floor of a supermarket, pummeling the tile with his heels and screaming, “But I really need that Snickers bar.” Like that incorrigible boy, Chad seemed to believe his unruly whining would convince Celeste that he was innocent. He did not.
Celeste pushed the button. The officer dragged Chad away. His face was smeared with blood. He twisted his head so that his wild, accusing eyes never left hers. Within seconds he disappeared behind a door and Celeste was escorted from the booth. Barely able to keep her legs from giving way for the second time that morning, the officer secured a hand under her arm. Celeste pulled away. “I’m fine.” She left the area more determined than ever to find Pilar’s killer.
WARDEN WHITEFEATHER WAITED IN the lobby as though he’d been warned of Celeste’s abrupt departure. Once again his vigilance surprised her. He signaled the officer to withdraw and asked, “Are you okay, Mrs. Brookstone?”
“Yes.” She gazed over her shoulder to the visiting area. “But, I wasn’t as ready to meet Wilbanks as I thought.”
“Would you like to come to my office for a few moments?” The warden took Celeste’s arm and ushered her in that direction.
“No. No, I need time to myself to get a grip on what just happened.” She gently drew away. Wilbanks had been too self-assured. And she was also taken back by how much he resembled Marcus. Maybe there was something to the theory that rejected daughters like Pilar searched for a father figure with similar characteristics to the natural parent.
Warden Whitefeather answered in a soothing tone, “I understand. Perhaps we could have dinner this eveningand talk.”
“Perhaps.” Celeste offered her hand as a thank-you gesture. “Call the Landmark Inn later. I’ll see if I’m up to it.” Dinner with him could garner some answers to her many questions. Then she remembered that book about women in love with murderers she had brought along. There just might be an answer in it, too.
“You have to eat, alone or with someone.” Whitefeather’s endearing smile once again brightened the entire area. He wasn’t at all like Marcus.
In a similar situation, Marcus would have gone to the club without even asking Celeste.
chapter nineteen
SLEUTHS
OVER DINNER THAT EVENING Celeste and the warden shared their first names. Maxwell, or Max, somehow suited Whitefeather. Celeste discovered he was part Chippewa Indian and had lived in the Upper Peninsula most of his life. “Used to have a black ponytail in college.” He chuckled as he fingered the now mostly gray hair.
Celeste pictured Max as a gentle warrior. His facial features were chiseled into a finely honed image reminding her of the sculpted figure of Crazy Horse in South Dakota. Like that stone rendering Max looked more proud than handsome.
“After getting a degree in criminal justice from Michigan State,” Max explained, “and several assignments in other areas of the state I asked to be transferred back home.” He tilted his head to the window. “Never wanted to live anywhere else, I guess, despite the harsh winters.”
Celeste grinned. “There’s something to be said for the serenity of the north.”
“Mrs. Brookstone …”
“Call me Celeste, please. If we’re going to be sleuths together, we should be on first name basis.” She questioned her real motive for the intimacy, especially after the care she took in choosing her dinner outfit, a most flattering royal blue dress.
Max smiled, displaying a healthy set of teeth. “Good idea, Celeste,” he answered. “Let me get started by telling you right off that I had Chad Wilbanks’ cell searched when I got the news about Pilar’s murder.” He hesitated and studied her face as though looking for a sign that he might be treading too fast on painful territory.
“Go on,” Celeste encouraged and dabbed the napkin at the corner of her mouth. “I’m here to find out everything I can, no matter how disturbing.”
“Well,” he sighed. “We know Chad was good friends with an escapee named Tommy Johnson.” He stopped again. Celeste nodded to indicate he could keep going.
“We also suspected Chad was involved with your daughter. There were rumors. And she was so eager to help the inmates. I tried to warn her right from the beginning about getting in a relationship with a prisoner.”
Celeste now understood Pilar’s rants about how Warden Whitefeather thought she was vulnerable. He was correct and Pilar never liked it when her weaknesses showed. “What did you find in Chad’s cell when you searched it?” Celeste wasn’t confident she was prepared for his answer, but she had to know.
Max sipped his wine. “Unfortunately, nothing that ties him to Tommy since he escaped. But we found these.” He picked up a large envelope from the floor and handed it to Celeste. “You may wish to look at the contents later. They’re rather revealing, and provocative.”
Celeste took his offering. The touch of their hands created an intense warmth where their skin met. For a second she mulled over the idea of revealing the note Patterson found by Pilar’s telephone about meeting Tommy. She reconsidered. She’d better not say anything until there was no question about Max’s motives.
“Or if you’d like, we can go over them together.” Max sounded hopeful.
“I may need your support, or perhaps your explanation of what’s in here.” She lifted the packet. “I’ll have coffee sent to my room.”
“Good.” That charming smile spread across his face.
Celeste studied Max’s hardy, north country features. How could Pilar have missed that man’s warmth? Perhaps Celeste was too gullible in her vulnerable state. Perhaps she saw more pleasing elements in him than she should because she wanted to. Was that what Pilar did with Chad?
“Something the matter?” Max asked. “You’ve gotten pensive on me.”
“No. Just going over how much I didn’t know about Pilar’s personal affairs.” A lump formed in Celeste’s throat.
Max patted her hand. “None of us know all we should or want to know about our children. My sons all left the state and it’s hard to keep track of them now.”
Celeste recoiled. She had forgotten he could be married. As though he read her mind, Max explained, “My wife died five years ago in a car accident outside Muskeegan. That’s when I decided it was time to come home.”
Ashamed that her inner thoughts were so easily unmasked, heat flooded into her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t …”
Max shrugged and stood. He pulled her chair out. “Let’s get this ugly deed over. Maybe together we can come up with a plan to get Pilar’s killer.”
THEY SPENT SEVERAL HOURS going over pictures and letters that Pilar had sent to Chad. Though she used an alias, Carol Jones, Pilar’s familiar voice was so obvious in each typed line. The most damning evidence was Pilar’s description of her days at Scott Facility and the new medical and education programs she was trying to introduce. Given those facts anyone could guess that Carol Jones was really Pilar. Max explained that Pilar had chosen a name from a visitors’ list. When the investigators followed up on what they thought was a promising lead, they discovered Carol Jones was an inmate’s now dead grandmother.
The unabashed intimacy Pilar showed frightened Celeste. She appeared indifferent to being discovered in an affair with a prisoner, a serial killer. It was an involvementthat would have ended her medical career and could have put her behind bars. Celeste showed the pictures to Max. “How could she be this derelict?”
“People in love often do funny things.” Max examined the titillating photos one more time. Then they both thumbed through the stack of material from Chad’s cell in silence.
“We also pulled Chad’s visiting card,” Max said, “to check who had been to see him.” He gave Celeste the card.
Several names, all women, were listed including Jane Carson, but she was denied entry. More heart-stopping was a visit from an attorney the day after Pilar’s murder.
Max also showed Celeste a Detroit Free Press newspaper clipping dated July 18 that recounted Pilar’s slaying and the manhunt. “What does all this mean?” she asked when she realized all Chad’s visitors were women, including the lawyer.
“We can’t prove anything,” Max answered, “but I’d say Chad knows more than he’s letting on.”
Celeste put the visiting card aside and reread the letter Pilar wrote to Chad on Mother’s Day after their brunch together. “So that’s where the $3,000 went.”
“What?” Max peered over her shoulder. “What $3,000?”
Celeste told Max that she and Detective Patterson talked about the odd withdrawal from Pilar’s bank account. “But he should have copies of all these by now, shouldn’t he, Max?” Celeste shook the letters at him.
“Yes, I’m sure I told Patterson about the deposit. But I’ll call him first thing tomorrow to be positive.”
Surprised by his answer, Celeste asked, “You knew?”
“It’s prison procedure. Any time a large sum of money is deposited into an inmate’s account, I’m notified. Then we monitor the prisoner’s mail and phone calls.”
“Why? What could you find out?”
Max returned what he’d been reviewing to the pile and patted his hands along the edges so the stack was even. A fastidious gesture when compared to his rumpled outfit and the disarray of his office. “Usually such a large deposit means the prisoner is dealing in drugs or is involved in some other illegal activity,” he answered and sat near Celeste. “Especially someone like Chad Wilbanks who has attempted to escape already.”
Celeste fumbled through the pictures over and over. Many were of Pilar alone in her apartments. The skin on Celeste’s face tightened when she found the one that showed Pilar lying naked on a bed. “What desperate need did Pilar have that she succumbed to this?” she asked Max without expecting an answer. “She was so beautiful. So intelligent. She could have had anybody.” Then she sat still and stared at the evidence of her daughter’s hidden life.
“Celeste? A dollar for your thoughts.” Max offered.
She chuckled, “What happened to a penny?”
“Inflation, you know.”
Celeste looked toward Lake Superior. “I was justthinking about all the nice young men out there who could have been Pilar’s partner.” She faced Max. “Pilar’s world was always so much bigger than mine. Yet I never thought it would lead her to this.”
“Umm,” Max acknowledged. “No matter how we try as parents, it’s not always easy to guide our children in the direction we desire.”
Returning to the stack of letters Celeste noted they were all typed except for the two dated the week before Pilar died. They were in pen. Seeing her handwriting, Celeste felt as though Pilar was still alive. She ran a finger over the words and shuddered at the eerie sensation.
The handwritten letters also mentioned Pilar’s contacts with Tommy and the plan to get Chad out of prison by bribing a judge. Max was right; the letters revealed Pilar’s connection to Tommy, but there was no indication that Chad had influenced her. Pilar’s words showed a woman in despair dealing with a treacherous convict or convicts. In her letters, Pilar repeatedly displayed her despondency as she went on and on reassuring Chad he was the only man for her. That she’d do anything to be with him. She never mentioned that giving up her life was in the plot.
“What do you suppose Pilar meant by Plan B?” Celeste asked Max.
“I can only assume there was some sort of escape scheme if the attorney didn’t pan out.” He shook his head. “A key to the infirmary windows was found in Chad’s cell. But an escape was fantasy.”
The cheerful handwritten letter dated Mother’s Day made Celeste feel left out and empty. Celeste read about Chad and Pilar’s plans to settle in Africa. How silly of Celeste to think she would go with Pilar. Her heart sank even further when she read the part about Pilar’s visit with Maryann Wilbanks.
Celeste laid the pile down and gazed out the window at a passing freighter. “Do you know that Pilar kept the letters Chad wrote to her?” she watched the freighter’s lights flicker in the waves.
“No,” Max answered, “but I suspected they would turn up.”
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