Cloudland

by Joseph Olshan

  She finally came on. “Hi, Catherine, I don’t mean to horn in, but he’s not supposed to talk too much or get worked up.” She actually sounded annoyed. “When that detective barged his way in here he really wore Anthony out.”

  I reluctantly asked, “Should I call back?”

  “No. As long as you don’t mind my giving the notes to you.”

  “Not at all.”

  “So this is basically Anthony’s shorthand of what the FBI told him.

  “Two and a half years ago, before Tammy Boucher, the first victim, another woman was reported missing in Holyoke, Mass. Ann Marie Wilkinson, wife of a helicopter pilot who fought in Afghanistan back in ’01. Apparently her husband, Christian, came home from the war with nightmares and his wife woke up once with his hands around her throat. Mother-in-law described him as overcome by memories. Like hallucinations. The couple had been living in Vermont but then moved to Holyoke shortly before Christmas in 2006. Once in Holyoke, the mother-in-law had trouble reaching them. For days on end. The daughter made excuses. Mother-in-law couldn’t reach them either on Christmas Day or the 26th of December, 2006, and drove a hundred and ten miles down 91 to check on them. She had a duplicate house key, and when no one answered the door, she let herself in.

  “There was a Christmas tree, gifts unopened. Nobody had been there for days. The house was really cold. Seemed to have been a hasty departure, clothes everywhere, scuff marks on the wall near the front door. She turned up the heating and called the police. The couple never returned.

  “FBI was brought in, went on something the mother-in-law told the police, that her daughter warned her that Wilkinson might pick up and have them move somewhere else. They considered his possibly kidnapping her. Then, a few months later in the spring of 2007, Tammy Boucher, victim number one, disappeared in Charlestown, New Hampshire. Her body was found a month later in dense woods, stabbed and strangled.

  “Wilkinson finally was located in Charlemont, the far western corner of Massachusetts, living alone. He told the police and FBI Ann Marie had left him before Christmas. Never bothered to contact her family. Claimed they’d been against the relationship and figured they were behind her leaving. He said his heartbreak caused him to leave hastily. Spoke fondly of Ann Marie, and blamed the war for his depression. He appeared distraught during the questioning.”

  I heard Anthony asking Fiona to give him the phone. “Hi,” he said, “I’m on again. A little revived. So this guy has been a suspect for a while. They’ve been keeping an eye on him. And Prozzo has known about it and apparently been doing his own tracking of the guy and digging around.” I heard Fiona muttering a protest in the background. “Anyway, the DNA sample found in Elena Mayaguez’s car was matched to a sample found in the Wilkinson apartment in Holyoke.”

  I digested his declaration for a moment. “So then this guy is the killer.”

  “Mom, what is going on?” Breck interrupted.

  “Can you just wait a second?” I hissed at her.

  “We definitely have a killer. Problem is he can’t be found and questioned because … he’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah, the reason why the FBI agent called to begin with was to tell us the guy died just over a week ago.… Give me a second.” I heard Fiona once again objecting to his carrying the conversation any further. I wanted to be annoyed with her, but I knew she was right, that Anthony was probably wearing himself out and shouldn’t be talking at all. “The FBI tracked him in…” He hesitated. “Florida, living with another woman and her daughter, but by the time they showed up at his house, Wilkinson was gone. Apparently he went to Abilene, Texas. That’s where a man, a woman, and her daughter were found in a motel room dead of gunshot wounds. It was ruled murder and suicide. The man’s DNA was digitized and sent to Washington and it too was matched to Wilkinson’s.

  “Prozzo believes there are at least two killers at large. And now his theory makes more sense than ever before. Because of the striking differences between the murders of Angela Parker and Elena Mayaguez. The Seventh-Day Adventist pamphlets were found in Angela Parker’s pockets but not in the pockets of Elena Mayaguez. Or anywhere in her car. Angela was strangled and stabbed. Elena was not.”

  “But all the others were.”

  “Yes, so that means there are even more variables. One thing we do know, with Marjorie Poole and Angela Parker, it was obvious that the killer wanted to leave a signature, to leave pamphlets where they could’ve been found.”

  I was still hoping pitifully that Matthew somehow might not be involved in any of the murders. I heard Anthony take a deep, troubled breath and exhale. “I just can’t understand why Marco would keep the information about Wilkinson’s identity to himself. Anyway, he came to the hospital saying that because Matthew Blake comes from a Seventh-Day Adventist background, and because he lied to you about when he came back from the Far East and because he assaulted a woman in Burlington while you were having a relationship with him—all this is compelling evidence against him.”

  I sighed and then admitted to Anthony that Matthew had actually been at my house a few days ago, the night he called.

  “Oh, really?” Anthony said. “So that wouldn’t have been the time to talk to you about the case anyway.”

  Fiona stepped in yet again to admonish Anthony for being on the phone. I had to agree with her and reluctantly said good-bye to him.

  When I was done with the call I explained everything, and to their credit, Breck and Violet listened carefully.

  “No matter how complicated this is getting…” Breck began, “I’m sticking to Matthew. How can Matthew explain why he lied about how long he spent in Thailand?”

  I knew she was concerned about my getting drawn back in by him, and so I purposely said, “Don’t worry. I wonder the same thing.”

  “Yes, I’d want to hear what that reason was,” Violet agreed.

  “In the meantime, don’t phone him,” Breck seconded her.

  * * *

  Dismantling and reassembling and puzzling over my conversations with Anthony, I slept not a single minute that night. Prozzo’s hoarding of information was nightmarish and incomprehensible and I couldn’t help wondering if it somehow involved Matthew. Needless to say, my nerves were totally shredded by morning. I felt like a zombie when I wandered downstairs and found Violet dressed in a velvet bathrobe, holding a steaming mug of coffee. Through a pair of mullioned windows, she was observing Mrs. Billy and Virgil rooting around the backyard. “They’re so lovely.… We really should find ourselves a dog,” she murmured.

  “Why don’t you?”

  “It’s up to Breck,” she said in a faraway voice, and then turned to me. “We do travel a lot, so that would be difficult, especially for a young one.”

  I told her that her foresight about possible neglect was admirable.

  Glancing at her watch she said, “Okay, I’m about to get into gear. So you have everything you need?”

  I told her I thought so.

  “I don’t know what Breck is planning today but we have charge accounts at the grocery store and the pharmacy and the dry cleaner, should you need—”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  While Breck was driving Violet to the train station, I checked my voice mail at home. Matthew had left two more messages. One said, “What is going on? Why haven’t I heard from you? Catherine, please call me!” The second: “Okay, I didn’t want to get into this on the phone, but this Detective Prozzo showed up here. There is something really important about him that I need to discuss with you. I know what he’s trying to prove. Please call me as soon as you can.”

  I called him immediately, got no answer, and left a message saying I was out of town and to try me on the number that displayed, my cell phone. Breck returned a bit later and hung around the house for the rest of the day, as if to repress my urge to contact Matthew. The day seemed to trudge by while I waited for his phone call. I hadn’t heard from him by the time she got a text mes
sage from Violet, who needed to wear something the following day that was still at the dry cleaners and asked her to pick it up. Breck agreed but seemed irritated by the request. When I politely declined her invitation to ride along, she left reluctantly. The moment she pulled out of the driveway, I checked my cell phone and realized with great annoyance that the battery had died. I plugged it into the charger and dialed voice mail.

  This time Matthew had left a long one. “I can’t believe you’re not picking up, especially after the message you left me. I’ve tried calling you six times. Where are you?” He sounded aggrieved. “Okay, so Prozzo is coming back to see me again in a while.… Look, I’m sorry I lied to you about Thailand. I did go but only for a few weeks. I was embarrassed because I told you I was going away for a long while to get away from you and I … just couldn’t stay very long. I was lonely. And I was really ashamed of this and having to tell you that it was the reason why I came home. Like when I went to Sweden. I guess I just hoped it would all get easier in my head and then I’d be able to contact you when I was feeling … different, less attached. But also I was afraid that when I finally contacted you, you wouldn’t respond. Believe me, Catherine, there were so many times these last two years when I wanted to call you and almost did and I … but, in your heart of hearts do you really think … just because I lost it once with you. You know what happened … it was only because I just couldn’t stand to … lose you,” he garbled. “And I stopped almost as soon as I started.

  “But here’s the other thing, the more important thing. I am pretty positive this guy, Prozzo, is the father of somebody I dated very briefly at Saint Mike’s. A girl named Stephanie Prozzo, who was not all there. There’s a lot more of that story to tell. I’ll explain to you when we talk. But please, please call me as soon as you possibly can.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  BRECK ARRIVED HOME ten minutes later, burdened with plastic sheaths containing dry-cleaned suits and dark dresses, most of which I assumed belonged to Violet. She found me sitting practically catatonic at the kitchen table. She left the hangers up on the inside knob of the kitchen door, came in, and stood before me.

  “You look freaked out.” I relayed the message I’d received from Matthew. She asked if I’d actually spoken to him and I shook my head.

  Breck sat down next to me and crossed her legs. “I’m so glad you’re here with me and not up in Vermont.”

  I didn’t answer.

  She leaned toward me. “You need our help now.”

  I didn’t need anybody’s help.

  Breck went silent, thinking. Then she said, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe Matthew knows the detective’s daughter. It sounds too coincidental. I think … he’s trying to trick you into seeing him again.”

  “Trick me? Come on!” I pushed back in my chair, wishing I could escape somehow, not only Breck’s company, but escape myself. I didn’t know what to think or do.

  “He’s a liar, Mom. If his lies about Thailand are pathological, don’t you think he’d lie about the daughter to try and discredit her father? Her father, who seems to be closing in on him?”

  I looked away. “I have no idea.”

  “Let’s face it, Mom, Matthew is manipulative. God help us.”

  I leapt up from the table, disconnected my phone from the charger, and found the number of Anthony’s room at the hospital.

  “Who are you calling now?” Breck asked.

  There was no answer. I dialed the hospital main number, and they said he was no longer in the room and they weren’t sure if he’d been moved or released. Then they asked if I were a family member, and this disconcerted me. I dialed his home telephone number and there was no response. I tried his cell phone and reached his voice mail. Where was he? Where was Fiona, for that matter? “He’s totally out of contact!” I told Breck. “This is very unlike him.”

  “Complications? Maybe due to his concussion?” Breck wondered aloud.

  I could hardly even consider it. My natural inclination was to try Matthew again. When I told Breck this, she said, “Mom, are you listening to yourself?” Then grabbed both my arms and, trying to sound compassionate, said, “If you’re not listening to yourself, listen to me.”

  “I don’t want to listen to you. I don’t need you to save me. Much as I appreciate the effort,” I added, hoping this would soften my statement.

  Breck went on. “You’re addicted to this man.”

  “I’m not addicted to him! I love him.”

  Breck gasped and looked stupefied. “You still love somebody who tried to hurt you?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

  “You love somebody who put his hands around your neck with the worst of intentions?”

  “He stopped.”

  “He realized what he was doing and that he probably would go to jail for the rest of his life.”

  “Yes, exactly, he realized!”

  “But he still did it, Ma. Which means he could do it again.” Breck released her grip on my arms, wiped her tearful eyes with her wrist, and then put both hands gently on my shoulders. “All these women, Ma. All these dead women were strangled first. Strangled before they were stabbed.”

  And then a devastating realization hit me. If Matthew’s hands in the end were too enfeebled by damaged nerves to strangle, then wouldn’t he have to rely on other means, such as a knife, to complete a murder?

  With that the phone rang. Breck picked up the cordless and read the number. “Vermont.”

  “Just answer it,” I said.

  I heard a woman’s voice ask for me, and Breck say, “Who’s calling, please?” She frowned and covered the mouthpiece. “Nan O’Brien?”

  I grabbed the phone, my mind still staggering from the sudden reckoning, and it was all I could do to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “Catherine,” she began, “I spoke to my friend at the Burlington police department and have some information for you … can you talk now?”

  “Yes … I can talk.”

  “Okay. According to him, my friend, somebody did place an assault charge against Matthew Blake. It was investigated and ended up being dismissed. It was a girl he apparently dated very briefly. Her name was Stephanie Prozzo.”

  “Stephanie Prozzo?” I cried out. “She was the victim?” and looked, horrified, at Breck.

  Nan went on. “My police friend says she was unstable, her story didn’t seem credible. Full of contradictions. They didn’t end up pursuing her accusations very far.”

  “Hang on a moment.” I turned to Breck. “Matthew wasn’t lying about Stephanie Prozzo.”

  Breck threw up her arms in exasperation and left the room.

  “Now, may I ask you what’s going on?” Nan said. As overwhelmed as I was, I did my best to briefly explain everything.

  “And I have a bit more. Apparently this girl has had quite a history of psychiatric disorders. She’s been in and out of hospitals. She nearly died a little more than a year ago. Suicide attempt. Still living in Burlington when it happened, waitressing. She told the police and the people at Fletcher Allen hospital that she was in love with a man called Matthew Blake. Now, apparently, she’s living at home.”

  Then something occurred to me: the anonymous letters received by the college, could Stephanie Prozzo have mailed them? Could she have been the one who helped derail my teaching career? I now filled Nan in about how the FBI found a DNA match to a man in Florida, who somehow realized they were trailing him and escaped, and how Prozzo had known about the man but hadn’t shared it with any of his colleagues. We both fell silent for a few moments, each trying to sift through all the contradictions and recently revealed truths. “So what this means,” Nan said at last, “is that this Prozzo guy is withholding some evidence and manipulating other information.”

  “He’s trying to make the link to Matthew stick.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “It has to be because of his daughter. He must be beside himself over her.”

  S
he said, “I would agree.… So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, Nan. But I have to do something.”

  “Whatever you do, Catherine, please be careful. And try and stay in touch with me.”

  When I got off the phone, I called Breck into the kitchen and relayed what I’d heard. She remained skeptical.

  “I am now going to call Matthew.”

  “Well, I won’t witness that. I’ll be in the garden.” Breck stalked out of the room.

  This time I was able to finally reach him. “Where have you been?” he shouted. “I need to talk to you. It’s about Prozzo. And who—”

  “I know,” I said, and told him what I’d learned from Nan, who had intimate contact with the Burlington police department. “Is he there now?”

  “He showed up this morning and left and said he’d return in fifteen minutes. He never came back. When he arrived yesterday he told me I couldn’t leave. He knows my car and the license plate. He said if I left he’d have the police track me down.”

  “This whole thing about his daughter … it’s like he’s trying to frame you. You can’t answer any more of his questions. You’ve got to leave there.”

  “But how? Where do I go?”

  “Give me a second to think.… Okay.” There was one clear plan as far as I was concerned. “Matthew,” I resumed, “you have to give me the truth now.… That was a big lie you told me about living for two years in Asia. A lie you supported with other lies.”

  “You got my message, didn’t you? I told you why. And I did have an affair with that woman. It happened almost right away. That was one of the reasons why I wanted to leave the country.”

  “I shouldn’t believe anything you say. And I’m going to tell you, no matter how you spin this, you’re going to be thoroughly questioned and the truth will come out. If you lie to me now, I will turn my back on you forever. Which means if you end up in prison, I will have nothing to do with you.”

  There was a warbling sound and then he broke down and wept. Finally he said, “Then what do I need to tell you, Catherine?”