“Strange,” Jack murmured as he replaced the receiver in the cradle.
After the call Jack went back to the porch he’d been painting, but thoughts of Olivia’s call picked at his mind. He knew unexplained silences were not simply a lack of words. Silences often covered a secret. What secret could Olivia Doyle be harboring, he wondered. There were no loose ends in the Doyle case, at least none he knew of…unless he’d missed something. A small detail he’d overlooked? A threat that still lingered?
He rolled through the case in his mind. Horrible as the murders were, the facts confirmed every detail of the story. Scooter Cobb was dead. Sam Cobb had retired from the police force a broken man, a man who, despite the number of friends he had, never once stopped by the station to say goodbye. Who else could pose a threat to Ethan Allen, he wondered. Who else, and why? By eleven thirty a number of questions pushed against Mahoney’s brain, so he left the porch half-painted and went down to the station house.
Dan Griffin was sitting at the desk. “Your aunt get hold of you?”
“My aunt?”
“Aunt, cousin, something like that. Can’t recall the name but she telephoned here this morning, and I gave her your home number.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mahoney said, “I spoke with her.” Why would Olivia Doyle pretend to be my aunt? Something wasn’t right.
“Aunt Anita,” Griffin said. “That was it; some problem with Aunt Anita.”
“Anita, huh?” Mahoney prided himself on remembering the details of a case. Small details; that’s what made the difference in nailing the guilty guy and exonerating the innocent one. There was no Anita involved in the Doyle case. Unless…
Five minutes later he was in the storage room digging through a carton of closed case files. Da…De…Dod…Dol…Dur
The Doyle file was missing.
A double murder produced reams of paper, hundreds of pages of investigative reports, interviews, lab tests, blood analysis, fingerprints. How could a file of that size disappear?
Mahoney turned to the storeroom manager. “Hey, Charlie, anybody sign out the Doyle file from that double murder last year?”
“Nope, nothing’s out right now.”
“Nothing, huh?” Mahoney went back to his desk. A troubled feeling had already settled in his stomach. He’d taken longer than he should have to tag Scooter Cobb as a suspect in Benjamin Doyle’s murder. Maybe he’d also missed something else. Maybe friendship blinded him to other involvements. It was never easy turning against a fellow officer, and given his fondness for Emma he’d been reluctant to see the truth of the Cobbs, even when it was staring him in the face. If he’d been blinded then, was he being blind now? Was there a chance Scooter Cobb’s death didn’t end the story?
If there was nothing more to hide, why was the Doyle file missing? Something wasn’t right. After eighteen years on the force, Mahoney knew there was seldom a smoking gun. The truth hid behind small, everyday details that were right there in plain sight. The Doyle murders had been an especially troubling case, one that bothered Jack to the point where he kept a slim folder of notes in the locked drawer of his desk. He unlocked the drawer and pulled the folder out. No mention of an Anita. He dialed Olivia Doyle’s number.
When Olivia picked up the receiver a familiar voice said, “Missus Doyle, this is Detective Mahoney.”
Thinking this time she’d start the conversation the way she originally intended, Olivia answered, “How delightful to hear from you, Detective. The family’s well, I hope.”
“Everyone is fine.” Without giving Olivia a chance to ask about Sam Cobb’s knee, he said, “Why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Olivia tried to sound casual, not like a person whose stomach was turned inside out from a serious case of nerves. “Why on earth would you—”
“Who’s Aunt Anita?”
Olivia hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, it’s a long story.” She started at the beginning, told of the robbery at Klaussner’s, and how Ethan Allen brought seven-year-old Jubilee Jones home with him that evening.
“At first I thought the child was lost, that maybe she’d wandered off and forgotten where she was to meet her brother. Then Ethan told me she’d been sitting right where the brother had left her.”
“And the brother didn’t come back?” Mahoney asked.
“That’s right,” Olivia replied. “According to what Ethan Allen said her brother went into Klaussner’s, and that was the last she saw of him.”
“Are you saying the girl’s brother was involved in the robbery?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I have my suspicions. I suppose it’s possible her brother was, but I know for certain she had nothing to do with it. Jubilee honestly believes her brother went into the store looking for a job.”
“What about the parents?”
“Deceased. I think the kids came here expecting to live with their aunt.”
“Do you have the aunt’s name or address?”
“Regretfully no.” Olivia’s answer was tentative at best. “I think Anita was related to the mother, which would make her maiden name Walker. But she could have been a sister-in-law, not sister, and in that case her maiden name would be Jones.”
“This aunt, is she married?”
“No idea,” Olivia said.
“What’s the brother’s name?”
“Paul. Paul Jones.”
“Any chance he has the aunt’s name and address?”
“I can’t say.” Olivia went on to tell him the boy could be in the hospital, or he could be the escapee who disappeared. After explaining the belongings in Jubilee’s travel bag she asked, “Don’t you find it rather hard to believe a boy who’d value that sort of memorabilia over more material things would be involved in crime?”
“You never know,” Mahoney answered. “You just never know.”
Olivia went on to tell the few facts she knew. Anita lived in Norfolk twenty years ago. Seven years ago she’d mailed five letters from Wyattsville, and in her younger days Anita and her sister, Ruth, had lived somewhere close to a bay.
When there was nothing more to tell, Olivia said, “Detective Mahoney, I’ve trusted you with the fact that Jubilee is staying with me, but I’m hoping you’ll not tell anyone else.”
Mahoney chuckled. “Well, I’m not going to report it, but if the child has a family she really should be with them.”
“I know,” Olivia said, “and that’s what I’m hoping for. But until we find them…” She left the alternative unspoken.
“For now that’s okay. But—”
Before he could say something about calling the authorities, Olivia said, “Right now Jubilee has no one. She sees Ethan Allen as a replacement for her brother, and I know this is only a temporary solution, but …”
Mahoney pictured his own daughter who had turned seven a few months earlier. She had two siblings, a mother, a father, grandparents, but what if there was no one? He pushed aside the thought and said, “I’d like to help, Missus Doyle, but this case is not in my jurisdiction. What you really should do is call the authorities in Wyattsville and—”
“Chesapeake Bay,” Olivia said. “That’s where Ruth and Anita grew up. They swam in the bay when they were younger, so she’s obviously from your area.” Olivia told him of her telephone conversation with Frances Margaret Jones. Although the woman had never mentioned Chesapeake Bay it seemed a logical enough guess since a good part of the bay lapped at the edges of Virginia’s eastern shore.
“Chesapeake Bay?” Mahoney repeated dubiously. “Well, I guess in that case I could check around, see what I come up with. But I still think you should—”
Not wanting to hear the same advice several others had already given, Olivia thanked him and hung up the telephone before he had a chance to mention the child welfare department.
Jack Mahoney
Okay, you and I both know the Chesapeake Bay isn’t exactly an area for beach swimming, so this isn’t really a
case I can justify taking on—officially, that is. But after dragging my feet on the Cobb arrest, I figure I owe Olivia Doyle.
The woman is a bit odd at times, but she’s someone with good intentions and I don’t doubt she’s got the kid’s best interest at heart. I’ll buy that she honestly believes the girl is telling the truth about her brother looking for a job. But I’ve come across some pretty convincing liars in my day, and it wouldn’t be the first time one kid lied to cover up for the other.
I’ll give this Frances Margaret Jones a call and see if she knows anything more than she’s saying. On Monday I can take a run over to Wyattsville and check on the kid in the hospital. We’re talking about a few hours maybe. I’ve got no problem with that.
This job forces you to be cynical and focus on the facts, but when something is out of sync my gut starts arguing with reason. Right now I’ve got a serious case of indigestion. It’s telling me kids who cart around family pictures, a Bible, and a baby sister aren’t the type to be robbing stores.
It doesn’t stand to reason—but then I’ve been wrong before.
The Long Weekend
After Loretta called on Saturday, Olivia immediately grounded both Ethan Allen and Jubilee.
“Neither of you are to step foot out of this house,” she said, “and there are absolutely no exceptions.”
“What if Dog gets loose and I’ve got to go chase him?” Ethan asked. “What if—”
Before he could grab onto another outrageous thought, she repeated, “No exceptions!”
Olivia had a growing fear grumbling through her stomach and was not in the mood for discussing the fine points of their punishment. Not only was finding Anita proving to be far more difficult than she’d originally thought, but Jim Turner had for the third time called a special meeting of the Rules Committee to discuss the disruption a child brought to the building. At the latest meeting Jim insisted he’d seen Ethan Allen riding his bicycle across the lobby, a stunt which he believed would ultimately be the ruination of Wyattsville Arms. When a heated argument broke out, Fred McGinty told Jim that being president of the association wasn’t the same as being God and that he should stop making a mountain out of a molehill. When the other members of the committee applauded, the meeting ended.
Fred assumed the complaint was forgotten, but Olivia knew better. Jim Turner was a man who didn’t forget. If he got wind of a second child being in the apartment, there would be an eviction notice shoved under her door within hours. It was a necessity that she keep both kids out of sight until she could locate Anita Walker-Jones or Missus whatever her married name might be.
Ethan Allen had barely finished his breakfast when he began wheedling to go outside. It was Saturday morning, and chances were good his friends already had a basketball game going.
“You need anything from the store?” he asked.
“No, I don’t,” Olivia answered. “And I’ve already said you’re staying in today.”
“But errands ain’t the same as—”
“No.”
It continued all morning. Ethan had seventy-six arguments for going out and not a single reason for staying inside. First he complained checkers were boring. Then they couldn’t do the one thousand piece puzzle because some of the pieces were missing. When Olivia suggested a game of cards, he looked up with a grimace.
“I ain’t interested in playing Old Maid,” he said emphatically.
He went on to say he wasn’t one bit interested in straightening the mess in his room or watching television shows meant for little kids.
“What about Jubilee?” Olivia asked. “Maybe she wants to see those shows.”
“She ain’t interested either,” Ethan answered.
“Let her decide for herself,” Olivia said. She turned to Jubilee and asked, “Don’t you want to see the Saturday Cartoon Carnival?”
For a moment it looked as though Jubilee was going to nod yes, but then she looked over at Ethan Allen and defiantly shook her head in exactly the same way he’d done. “Unh-unh,” she echoed. “Cartoons is for babies.”
Ethan Allen gave a proud grin.
Now defeated on two fronts, Olivia handed over the poker chips and a deck of cards. When they settled at the family room table, she whispered in Jubilee’s ear, “Please don’t tell your Aunt Anita I allowed you to play poker.” She turned and started to walk away, but Jubilee’s answer trailed after her.
“I don’t think Aunt Anita gives a damn,” she said.
Olivia turned back in her tracks.
“Jubilee! Who taught you to say such a thing?” she demanded. She knew the answer when Ethan Allen slinked down in his chair and started looking smaller. After an obviously overdue reminder of her rules about cussing, Ethan Allen settled into playing cards and gave up trying to gain his freedom.
Although the child’s answer had shocked Olivia, she walked away with an odd feeling of gladness. She could see how Jubilee had indeed latched onto Ethan Allen as a substitute for her brother. Apparently it didn’t matter whether a person was seven or seventy, when you lose someone you love you cling to any life raft floating by. Right now Ethan Allen was her life raft. For now it was a workable solution. Finding Anita would change things. It would give Jubilee a new life of loving and being loved.
Having one child to care for had been more challenging than Olivia ever thought she could handle, and this sample of having two was proving nearly impossible. She couldn’t imagine why young couples rushed to add a second, third, fourth, and sometimes fifth child to the family tree.
Weary of thinking such weighty thoughts, Olivia brewed herself a cup of cinnamon tea and sat at the kitchen table. Although she tried to concentrate, map out the possible ways a person could be found, the slightest sound threw her off track. The children laughing, a horn beeping, the rustle of trees—they were all saying something, but Olivia didn’t know what. She was lost in thought when the doorbell bonged.
Certain it could only mean trouble, Olivia shushed the kids and did not answer the door.
“Open up!” Clara yelled.
“Thank heaven it’s only you,” Olivia said and swung the door open.
“Only me?” Clara repeated. “What kind of a greeting is that?” She bristled her way past Ethan Allen who was telling Jubilee he’d raise her five and call.
“Do you know what those kids are doing?” Clara frowned.
Olivia rolled her eyes and nodded. “Playing poker.” Without any further explanation, she headed back to the kitchen.
Clara followed along and plopped down on a chair. “I suppose you heard?”
“Loretta called first thing this morning. She said the boy in the hospital has refused to talk. He won’t even give them his name.”
“Yeah, well, Loretta ain’t got all the facts,” Clara sneered. “I just came from Fred’s, and he was on the phone with his niece. She was there and knows what happened!” Before Clara could get to what she was trying to tell, the doorbell started bonging again. Not just once but several times with no pause between one gong and the next.
When the door opened Fred McGinty rushed in looking as if he were about to explode. “We’ve got problems! Last night Linda was at the hospital—pediatrics not intensive care—but after I asked her to check on the kid, she stopped by ICU and found out he’s regained consciousness.”
“But that’s not the problem,” Clara added.
Olivia’s eyebrows shot up. “What is?”
“The boy can’t remember anything,” Fred said. “Nothing. Not even his name.”
Olivia gasped. “Dear God!”
“Worse yet,” Fred continued, “Sid Klaussner is still in a coma!”
Olivia gave a second gasp, and Clara nodded knowingly.
“Detective Gomez was there last night trying to talk to the kid.” Fred lowered his voice and continued in a gravelly whisper. “Gomez said if Sid don’t make it, they’re gonna charge that kid with murder.”
“Oh dear,” Olivia replied. “What if the
boy is Paul and what Jubilee says is true?”
“That’s a problem,” Fred said. “Right now he don’t even know his own name, so how’s he gonna tell what happened?”
In a terrified voice Olivia said, “Without him, how are we going to find Anita?”
“And,” Clara added, “if he isn’t Paul, then where’s Jubilee’s brother?”
Olivia’s cinnamon tea suddenly became far too inadequate for the situation. She set a pot of coffee on to brew and added a small strip of okra. Although Canasta swore there was nothing magical about okra, Olivia simply couldn’t lose the feeling of contentment that came from knowing it was there.
Olivia filled three cups, and they sat around the table trying to create a plan that would enable them to find out what they needed to know without giving away what little they knew about Jubilee and her brother. George Walther joined them a short while later. The only thing he had to report was that the scuttlebutt around the station house indicated they’d gotten a good set of fingerprints from where one of the assailants had banged open the cash register.
“But they haven’t gotten an identity yet,” George said sadly.
“If the fingerprints belong to that kid in the hospital, he’s had it,” Fred said, “whether or not he remembers what happened.”
“There seems to be no good answer,” Olivia said sadly.
Clara slapped her hand down on the table. “I ain’t for giving up! We had a bigger problem with Ethan Allen and found a way to fix it.”
“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “Ethan’s situation was a lot worse. We found a way to stop that crazy-ass murderer after him. If we could do that, we can for sure handle this.”
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