by Dorien Grey
“Stretching speculation one step further, if Al knew about the tip, he might have offed his old buddy to keep him quiet, which may well mean Al’s starting to make mistakes. But until we can prove it…”
They continued their walk to the restrooms and Elliott waited outside until Brad returned.
“Would it be possible for me to be there when you talk to Marie?” he asked as they headed back to the field, where the game had just begun.
Brad shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, under the circumstances.”
“Me being your brother-in-law, you mean?”
“Yeah, that and the fact that we prefer not to have any sort of distraction when we’re interviewing someone.”
“Yeah, but this wouldn’t exactly be an official interview, would it? More like a conversation?”
“Still not a good idea.”
“Could I talk to her before you do?”
Brad stopped short and turned to him. “And why would you want to do that, anyway?”
“Well, for one thing, because she doesn’t know what’s in the letter—Cessy said Marie told him she didn’t read it—and I know she’s going to be upset by it. So, if you just spring it on her, she’ll probably be too upset to be able to think of anything else. But if I tell her what’s in it before you do, it might give her time to clear her head and think. Just as I was sure about the letter, I believe she knows something she may not even be aware she knows. The letter might trigger her memory.”
Brad hadn’t taken his eyes off Elliott. “Well, I can’t stop you,” he said. “But remember, you’re not a cop. Leave the investigation up to us. Understood?”
“Perfectly,” Elliott replied. He waited until they were almost back to Cessy before asking, “When do you plan to talk to Marie?”
“It probably won’t be until Tuesday at the earliest. We’ve got a couple leads to follow up on with the Cree case Monday.” He paused and gave Elliott a small smile. “Subtle question, though.”
* * *
The more time he and Steve spent together, the more comfortable Elliott was. He was impressed by Steve’s down-to-earth attitudes, which were very much like his own.
They drove out to an Old Country Buffet near the Lincolnwood Mall for dinner, then to a movie near the mall. They ended up at Steve’s where, as Elliott also thoroughly appreciated, the pleasant casualness of the earlier evening was offset by a Fourth-of-July testosterone fireworks display, which left them both seeing stars.
“How in the hell do you do that?” Elliott asked when he finally regained his breath.
Steve rolled over to grin at him. “Well, I’d like to say years of practice, but that’s not exactly true. Let’s just say it’s like ballroom dancing. I just follow my partner.”
Elliott reached out and took Steve’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “Yeah, well, you’re not bad at leading, either.”
He wasn’t aware that he’d fallen asleep until:
You’re through, I hope? I’ll go away if you aren’t.
Well, obviously since I’m asleep I’d assume we were through for the moment.
I just didn’t want to intrude.
I appreciate that.
So, you’re going to see Marie again?
Yes, to tell her about the letter.
I wish you didn’t have to. She’s such a kind soul; knowing Al isn’t my father’s son will upset her.
But you said she knows something else, right? Something she isn’t aware she knows?
Yes.
Well, perhaps this may somehow get her to recognize whatever it is. You still don’t know what it is?
No. As I say, she has put it so deep inside her mind I can’t see it. But I think it isn’t so much that she doesn’t know she knows it as that she refuses to acknowledge it.
Well, that’s certainly obtuse.
The mind is often obtuse.
Now you sound like a fortune cookie.
Elliott was aware, for the first time, of what he could only describe as a distinctly pleasurable if very slight tickling sensation.
Are you laughing?
Yes. Did you think I couldn’t? I just haven’t had much to laugh about recently.
Point. So, what happens now?
As I’ve said, we’re close. Marie has the key. She’ll use it soon. I feel it.
* * *
Monday morning, he called St. Agnes to leave a message for Sister Marie, saying he would like to talk to her after school if she was available, and left his number in the event that she wouldn’t be. He really wanted to talk to her before Brad did.
He increasingly shared John’s feeling that things were moving swiftly to a climax and that Marie held the key. If, as he was now gut-level sure, Al was responsible for John’s death, he couldn’t really see much direct connection between the letter and John’s death, especially if Al wasn’t aware of the letter. If he was, surely he’d have done his best to destroy it. And there was an almost five-year gap between John’s presumed first death and the date on the letter.
The afternoon was taken up with a meeting with Ted, Arnie and Sam, going over sketches Sam had done for the conversion of the Elmdale building—specifically the ground-level apartment—and refining earlier estimates of time schedules and labor costs for each aspect of the renovation.
Not having heard anything to the contrary from Marie, Elliott drove to St. Agnes at the close of the school day, and made his way to Marie’s room. He found her watering one of several plants, which hung in front of the windows and lined the bookcases and corner of her desk.
She smiled when she saw him and put down her watering can. “Come in, Elliott,” she said. “I was hoping to hear from you. Was the letter what you wanted?”
“Yes, Sister,” he said, moving into the room. “Thank you again for giving it to me. I understand you didn’t read it yourself?”
She gestured him to a chair and took her own seat behind her desk.
“No,” she said. “I know it is terribly un-Christian of me, but I really prefer not to think much about my father’s…past, and I assume the letter had something to do with that part of his life.”
“Yes, it did. It was from Al’s birth mother, who claims that Vittorio was not, in fact, Al’s real father.”
While he expected her to be shocked by the news, he didn’t expect the intensity of her reaction. She paled and bent her head forward, her hand over her closed eyes.
“Are you all right, Sister?” he asked anxiously, leaning forward in his chair.
Her eyes hidden behind her hand, she shook her head slowly without raising it.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just…I…” She removed her hand and raised her head, visibly pulling herself together. She looked directly at Elliott, then slowly rose to her feet.
“Elliott, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I’m not feeling well.”
He got up quickly. “Of course,” he said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
She managed a very small smile and the slight wave of a hand. “I’m fine, really. Perhaps I’m coming down with something, but I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”
She walked quickly to the door, with Elliott following close behind. Turning toward him, she extended her hand, which he noted when he took it was cold.
“We’ll talk soon, I promise,” she said, and without another word moved off down the hall, away from the main entrance.
He stood looking after her until she turned down another hallway and disappeared, then left the building.
* * *
He didn’t know whether to call Brad or not. Based on Marie’s reaction to hearing the contents of the letter, it obviously triggered something major, though he had no idea what. He decided against it, wanting to give her time to calm down sufficiently before Brad talked with her. He could sense that John’s anticipation equaled his own.
He deliberately went to bed earlier than usual, assuming John would let him know what was going on. If what
ever it was that Marie had kept locked in her mind had been freed, John would be able to access it, and tell him.
He discovered yet again that there are few things worse or more certain to fail than trying to fall asleep. His mind was like a roiling kettle, thoughts, images, ideas rising to the surface only to disappear before he could fully recognize them. Sensations. Emotions. No matter how he tried to hold them down, to force them back, they continued. The turmoil was not so much his as John’s. What was going on?
He tried yet again to initiate a conversation with John. It had never worked before and it didn’t work now.
And then it was morning. If he’d finally slept, he didn’t remember it, and he certainly didn’t feel like he had. And there had been no intelligible contact with John.
* * *
The morning passed as though time had turned into a stream of molasses. He did not even get dressed, but sat groggily in his living room drinking coffee and looking out over the city. The weather was a little too cool to sit out on the balcony, and a brisk wind from the lake lowered the temperature even further. He dozed from time to time, but he never sank fully into sleep.
At ten thirty, he heard his cell phone ringing, and hurried into the bedroom to answer it.
“Elliott, it’s Brad. You talked to Sister Marie.”
He wondered why, if Brad knew it, he found it necessary to say so.
“Yes, I went over there after school yesterday.”
“Well, I don’t know what the hell went on, but she called me this morning. She wants to talk to me at noon today, and she wants you to be there. Why would she want that? What did you say to her?”
Elliott tried to clear his head. “I just told her about the letter, and she got very pale and excused herself and left. I wasn’t there more than five minutes, and I didn’t invite myself to your meeting, I swear.”
“Well, since she specifically wants you there, I can’t keep you away, but I’m not happy about it and I wanted you to know that.”
“I’m really sorry, Brad. I’m not trying to butt into your business. I have no idea why she should want me there, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad she did.”
“Yeah, well. Meet us in front of the school at noon.” And with that, he hung up.
Brad’s anger with him was justified on one level, Elliott fully admitted. He couldn’t remember ever having that anger aimed at him before, and he felt bad about it. But he was glad Marie had asked for him to be present. He hurried into the shower.
* * *
Brad and a man Elliott did not recognize were standing in front of the school when he arrived. He assumed the man was Brad’s partner, whom he’d never met. Brad did not look happy.
“Elliott, this is my partner, Ken Brown.”
They shook hands.
Glancing at his watch, Brad said, “Class will be out in a few minutes. We’ll wait out here.”
They engaged in awkward small talk—he could tell Brad was still less than happy with him—until they heard the bells signal the end of class, the sound instantly replaced by the cacophony of voices as students poured into the halls.
The three entered the school against the vortex of milling students and made their way to Sister Marie’s room. The second-floor hallways were empty of students, which Elliott hoped meant their talk wouldn’t be interrupted.
Sister Marie was standing at the windows, looking down at the playground below, when Brad rapped on the open door. She turned and gave the men a weak smile.
“Please, come in,” she said.
Brad introduced Ken Brown, and after shaking hands, she indicated the two chairs against the wall, and started to pull her own chair out from behind her desk. “I’m sorry I only have two regular chairs,” she said, “but one of you can use mine.”
“No, no, Sister,” Elliott said. “I can stand. I’ve been sitting all morning.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, and he nodded. She then moved her chair back behind the desk and she, Brad and Brown sat down. Elliott leaned against the window ledge, being careful not to knock over any of the plants.
“I wanted Elliott here,” she began, “because I feel John would want him to be. Without Elliott, I never would have known what happened to my brother and I never would have allowed myself to accept the truth.”
“The truth, Sister?” Detective Brown asked.
Eyes downcast, she nodded. Elliott sensed her hesitation to speak was due to the difficulty of putting words to what she had to say.
“The truth about what, Sister?” Brown prodded.
She raised her head and looked him in the eye. “That my brother Alphonso is a murderer.”
If either Brad or Detective Brown had a reaction to her statement, they didn’t let it show. Elliott hoped his own surprise wasn’t registered on his face.
“You have proof that your brother Al killed your brother John?”
“I can’t prove that Al killed John, but I can prove that he killed our father.”
The two detectives exchanged a quick glance, and Elliott didn’t even try to hide his surprise.
“And how can you do that, Sister?” Brown asked.
“Because…I saw him do it. I saw Alphonso push our father down the stairs!” She was trying to remain calm, but the tone and speed of her voice reflected her mounting anxiety.
It was Brad’s turn to speak, and he did so as conversationally as he could. “Can you explain exactly what happened?”
Marie clenched her eyes shut and took a long, deep breath. Her arms were lying on the chair’s arms, her hands clutching the rounded ends. She released her breath, opened her eyes, and began her story.
“Al and I were home for my mother’s birthday. Mother and Lucille and Ellen, Alphonso’s wife and daughter, had gone into Lake Geneva for some reason. Father was upstairs in his study when I saw the maid coming up the stairs with the mail. I don’t know where Al was at the time.
“I went into my room to read. A few minutes later, I heard angry voices, yelling. Although I had my door closed and couldn’t hear the words, I recognized both Al and my father, and could tell they both were in a terrible temper. Which by itself wasn’t at all unusual, they were so very much alike.
“But this time it was even worse than usual. I went to my door and opened it. My room looks out over the landing and the hall to my father’s study. Al came storming out of the study, obviously furious. My father was right behind him, waving his arms and shouting something about Al being no son of his, and threatening to disown him. That was a threat he used often, to keep Al in line. I don’t think they saw me.
“They reached the landing, and Al suddenly spun around and grabbed my father by the shoulders, turning him so that Father’s back was to the stairs. He released him for just a moment as Father continued to yell at him.
“And then Alphonso reached up towards Father’s shoulders with both hands. I have convinced myself for five years that Father had begun to fall, and that Alphonso was reaching out to catch him. But all I have to do is close my eyes and I can see it vividly and know I was wrong. Alphonso wasn’t trying to catch him. He hit him on both shoulders with the palms of his hands. Father fell backwards down the stairs.
“I ran out of my room but by the time I reached him, he was dead. Alphonso just walked down the stairs, passed right by me, and went out the front door. He didn’t even look at my father—I was sure at the time that it was because he was in shock.
“And that’s when I convinced myself that it had been an accident. I locked what had really happened away in the back of my mind and would never allow myself to let it out…until Elliott told me about the letter. How mother got the letter, I don’t know. And if she read it, she never said a word.
“I didn’t say anything to anyone about what I’d seen because I simply could not allow myself to believe that it was not an accident or comprehend how or why Alphonso could do such a thing. But, of course, he could. I’ve been in denial about Alphonso most of my life, ex
cusing his cruelties by telling myself I should love him because that’s what God wanted me to do.
“But I’m not God. When I found out about the letter I realized that Alphonso killed my father because he knew this time Father was serious about disowning him. If Al could kill my father, he could easily kill John, and I’m convinced that just as Cain killed Abel, Al killed John.”
“Would you be willing to testify against Al in court in the death of your father?” Brad asked.
For some reason, she turned to Elliott and looked him in the eye. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I would.”
* * *
They left about ten minutes later, after Marie agreed to making a formal statement. Elliott, sensing that Brad wasn’t willing to discuss anything about the situation while his partner was present, bid his good-byes and headed for his car. He hoped Brad would call that evening, though if he didn’t, he would just have to accept it. He didn’t want to alienate his brother-in-law any further than he already had.
That Marie had actually seen Al push her father down the stairs had come as a total surprise, though he immediately realized that was exactly what John had been referring to when he said Marie knew something she refused to admit she knew. He could understand how difficult for her to finally acknowledge the truth.
As for why Al hadn’t destroyed the letter, he suspected Sophia had found it before Al could, probably immediately after Vittorio’s death, before Al had the chance to go through Vittorio’s things. He may not even have known Vittorio had gotten his information through a letter.
But knowing Al killed his father still was not proof that he had also killed John. He could only hope that Brad and the police would be able to link Al to Charlie Cree’s murder and then somehow to John’s.
But if nothing else, Al would finally get at least a part of what was coming to him.
* * *
Unlike the previous night, he had no trouble at all going to sleep.
I didn’t know.