The mechanic steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “The past colliding with the present.”
Sharp summary. Superman really did have X-ray vision. I nodded and gulped more soda.
Clark plucked the eyeglasses from his nose and rubbed them against his shirt sleeve. With a thumb, he flicked the paint fragment onto my sheet of paper.
“But you can’t tell more than that, right? Confidential. Like a doctor. Or a priest,” he said.
I shook my head and doubled the paper so the lint and paint flakes settled into the crease. Then I folded the leaf into a small square and stuck it in my pants pocket. I matched his summary with my own: “Old case, old car. New clue.”
I downed the Coke, stood from the desk and shook Clark Kuo’s hand. “Thank you, Supe. This is a big help.”
“Sure thing. Next time bring that Honda your girl drives. It’s due for inspection next month and those misaligned tires’ll never pass.”
I hit the street, hoping exercise would blow the vapors of motor oil, leather, and car wax from my lungs. I didn’t need the headache inkling behind my right ear. As I trotted toward the office, I hammered out the angles of my hypothesis with every step. A brick wall and a blue Buick Royal sedan, vintage 1992, swirled in my dark thoughts. By the time I reached my desk, the theory and the headache were churning at gale force.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
When I made the appointment to see Carolyn Wiley, I asked Allard Swann for the use of a private room. I wanted some place quiet where I could set Carolyn at ease, get her to relax as I tossed tough questions at her. I expected Swann would clear a parlor or an unused bedroom. But, when I arrived at the Memory Center the evening after my consultation with Superman, the director led me into his own office.
“Will this be all right, Mr. Rook? I know you said you wanted some place tranquil and private, so I thought this would be the best spot for you.”
“I don’t want to put you out of your own office. We can chat somewhere else if that’s more convenient.”
“As many times as you’ve helped us with Mrs. Wiley, I don’t think we can thank you enough for all your assistance. Anything you want, Mr. Rook, you just have to ask. I’ve instructed Dalton to bring Mrs. Wiley to you as soon as you let us know you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now. But I don’t want to disturb her routine.”
“No, this is actually a good time. Carolyn has just finished eating supper. She usually remains downstairs for an hour or so after her meal for some TV before she’s ready to be helped to bed. So, she should be quite prepared to visit with you.” He wiped perspiring hands across his stuffed vest. “Well, then, if you’re all set, I’ll tell Dalton to bring in Carolyn.”
Swann stepped from the room, leaving me to sink into one of the two heavy arm chairs that faced his desk. After a few minutes, the door opened and Carolyn Wiley fluttered in. She was dressed much as she always was, this time her shirtdress was green with cheerful orange piping and matching orange buttons down the front. An unbuttoned sweater in navy-blue covered her thin shoulders. Her snow-white hair was freshly trimmed, emphasizing her sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes. I wondered what Dr. Swann and the attendant had told her about her nighttime caller.
Whatever they’d said, she recognized me as the son she missed so much. “Oh, Carl, how wonderful to see you again! I was so hoping you would stop by to visit with me.”
Her brown eyes danced with joy; her mouth opened in a wide smile. She reached up to pat my cheek as she stepped around me. We settled onto a long sofa next to the black steel safe.
“They must be driving you like a mule at work these days. I’ll speak to your supervisor tomorrow and tell him you need more time off. And they should let you leave the office at a reasonable hour. You’re not a servant, you know. They need to treat you with respect, Carl.”
“Oh, they’re pretty good to me. No complaints at work.”
“Well, that’s wonderful to hear. Makes my heart glad to know you’re doing alright. What do they have you working on, any big new cases? I know legal work is confidential. But is there anything you can share with me?”
Her son worked for a major law firm in Seattle, but I had no clue about the specifics of his assignments. I kept my replies vague to not disrupt the imaginary world Carolyn had constructed around me. The more she believed me, the more she’d confide in me.
“My cases are varied. Some big, some small. The clients are demanding, but I like the work. It keeps me on my toes and I never get bored.” True of my private eye job. Maybe true for Carl too.
“Then that’s just perfect for you, isn’t it, sweetheart? Just what I always wanted for you.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, darling. You can ask me anything you want. That’s what mothers are for.”
She entwined her fingers and settled them against her flat stomach. She looked at me with an open, eager expression. Guilt dripped like caustic acid into my chest.
“You remember that time there was a body, a dead body in the basement? What happened to it?” The transition was abrupt, even crude. But I hoped Carolyn would follow me without balking.
A wrinkle deepened between her clear brown eyes, but she didn’t hesitate to reply. “Oh, now, Carl, I told you not to trouble yourself anymore about that. It happened so long ago. And we’ve forgotten all about it, haven’t we? Best to leave such things lie, I think.” She turned a watery smile on me and smoothed her thin hands over the skirt of her dress, pressing it flat against her knees.
The thread of memory was frayed, but I pushed on. “I’m trying to remember what happened. When I came home… I mean, I can’t remember everything the way I want to. Can you help me remember what happened that night?”
I hoped I was wrong. That my guesses about what took place twenty-five years ago were misguided attempts to bring order to a twisted past. I wished Carolyn Wiley would look at me with sad disdain and reject my stories as fantasy.
But after a moment of consideration, she sank into the cushion. Her voice grew warm and milky, with that sing-song cadence mothers use to recite a bedtime fairy tale they’ve told over and over again.
“You were late coming home, like you always are. I hate it that you have to drive home from the office so late at night. It’s quite hard to see after dark, especially in the rain. There was so much rain that night. You made it all the way home to our block safe and sound, when Boom! Just like a deer, that girl jumped out in front of your car.” Imitating the impact of the collision, Carolyn clapped her hands together.
The sound shocked me, forcing my lips into a tight grimace. Moisture dried on my tongue.
Carolyn responded to the surprise on my face with the same soothing tones she must have used in the past. “Oh, Carl, don’t worry. It’s all right, darling. It’s all right to be afraid. I know it startled you. You look just like you did when you got into an ugly fight at school, like a frightened and confused little boy.”
“Where did I park my car?”
“Oh, that car! You loved that car, didn’t you? Such a beauty. First one you bought with your own money. You called it your first-place trophy. Never knew a boy could love a mechanical thing the way you loved that blue Buick.”
The grim pieces fell into place, so I rushed on before distraction overtook her jumbled mind. “But where did I leave it that night?”
“I told you to leave the Buick at the corner near the stop sign. No police ever come down our street after dark anyway. Why should they? Our block is so quiet, respectable and safe, you know. Never any trouble in our neighborhood.”
“And when I ran to our house?”
“Your eyes looked just like they do right now, all wide and round. And your hair was sticking up all wild on your head. You looked just like those times you came home after school with your knees skinned and your
shirt torn and your hair sprung every which way.” She leaned forward, then stroked her hand above my left ear, smoothing the curls with a tender touch.
She continued, low and urgent. “I told you not to worry about anything. It would be all right, I said. We would take care of everything once we got her into the basement. You understood. You saw that I was right. So, together we carried her all the way from the street to the basement door.”
“Was she bleeding?” I lowered my eyes. Heavy tears collected in the corners.
“Oh, no. Not at all. Not at all. She was clean and neat in her yellow sweater. She looked like a pretty little canary bird. Quiet, sleeping in your arms. I knew she wasn’t, of course. But you weren’t sure. I had to tell you.”
“Then did we call the police to come get her?”
“Oh, no, darling, why would we do that? They couldn’t help her, could they? No doctors, no police, nobody could help her anymore.” Carolyn stroked the edge of my jaw, gently tugging at the bristles. “That poor girl was gone. I told you the best we could do was to lay her to rest in the back room in our basement. Keep her safe from harm there.”
“So, we laid her in the back room?”
“Yes, she looked so comfortable there, didn’t she? Curled like a sleeping child. I found a blanket to keep her warm and we covered her for the night.”
“I remember crying.” I blinked, releasing the teardrops to serve my purpose.
“Yes, you cried an awful lot that night, Carl. I held you in my arms all night, rocked you like when you were a pretty little baby. Just rocked all night, the two of us together. Like always.” Her body swayed against me, acting out the memory. I felt her heart tapping next to mine.
“And in the morning, you drove your car away. I don’t know where you put it. You were gone for a long time. Such a beautiful car, I know you were sad to see it go.” She sighed as if feeling the loss all over again.
“And then we had to hide her.”
“Yes, now you remember, don’t you?” She patted my hand in approval. Her skin felt dry like feathers. The wispy touch sent shivers across my wrist. “It was you who suggested we drag those leftover bricks from the new patio out back. We brought them in little by little because they were so heavy. I carried one or two and you carried one or two. Until we had enough.”
“The wall took so long to build. I remember that.”
“Yes, you got angry a time or two at how slow we were going. You were always such an impatient little man, Carl. Always in a hurry. But I reminded you all good work takes persistence and careful attention. So, we had to take our time and do it right.”
I pulled a finger along my lower lip, muffling my words. “But I don’t remember putting up the drywall over the brick.”
“No, you didn’t do that, Carl. You don’t know how to do that kind of handiwork. Never did.” She smiled at the foolish thought, then ran fingers through her downy hair. “Remember my friend Helen Jessup? She was always fussing and worrying about her son Tyrone because he couldn’t get a job after school. So, I asked her if he could do some carpentry work around the house and she said yes, he knew carpentry. I paid Tyrone to come over every day after school to put in time finishing our basement.”
I lifted my voice to a light and eager tone, like I relished the flood of memories. “He framed the rooms with two-by-fours and then put up the drywall and then all that painting.”
“Yes, now you remember it, don’t you!” She smiled in approval, drawing her palm over the nape of her neck, patting the thin strands. “Tyrone was slow at his carpentry work. A little slow-witted too, if you ask me. But I would never say such a thing to poor Helen, she loved that boy so much. And in the end, he did such a fine job, neat as a pin too. He complained a time or two about strange smells, but worth every penny I paid him. And to see how proud Helen was of her boy’s work. Oh, Carl, it just made my heart sing to see her so happy.”
I gulped down the bile. “And nobody knows.”
“Yes, of course, Carl. Nobody knows.”
Carolyn patted my hand again, stroking her frail fingers over the veins and tendons in soothing circular patterns. I felt the tension in my body dissolve as she touched me.
With our story at an end, she turned the questions on me. A gentle chiding tone entered her voice and her eyes narrowed as she studied me. “Now, you know you can’t hide anything from me, Carl. A son can never hide from his mother. So, tell me, what happened to your face today? How’d you get those scratches?”
She pointed a wavering finger at my cheek and pursed her lips.
“I got into a fight at school, Mama.” The name slipped out, natural and easy. Role-playing melted into reality in the gauzy theatre we’d created together. No regret clinched my throat, so I added the rest of my truth: “Just like before.”
She clucked her tongue and frowned. “Those the same children who picked on you before?”
“Yes, the same ones.” I remembered them; taller and bigger than me, pale faces tensed with grins as they circled, chanting my name. Shelba, Shelba. Not Spanish, not English. An awkward name in every language. Shelba.
“Why didn’t the teachers stop the fight?”
“They never saw us, Mama. We were on the other side of the school yard. The teachers couldn’t see.”
“Well, I’m going to have a word with Principal Conrad about this tomorrow. It’s his job to protect every child. He shouldn’t let those delinquents get away with such terrible mischief at the expense of the littler ones. Come here, baby, let me see it up close.”
Carolyn tugged at my forearm until I knelt, facing her. With a gentle finger on my chin, she turned my head, inspecting my wounded cheek in the dim light of Dr. Swann’s desk lamp. “Can you tell me what you were fighting about?”
Buried truth tumbled from my gut, spilling in old phrases onto her bosom. “I tried to protect a girl, Mama. But I couldn’t.”
“Well, the important thing is, you tried your best.” She sighed through a thin smile.
“I wanted to save her, but I couldn’t. I lost her, Mama. I lost her forever.”
Carolyn pulled me toward her. I laid my injured cheek against the soft folds of her breast, inhaling lavender’s powdery fragrance from her dress. Tender thumbs glided over my eyes, erasing hot tears. Fingers stroked my hair, winding through the curls. Low murmurs of solace and sorrow reverberated from her body to mine. Her tears slid past my ear as she whispered, “Baby, don’t worry. Don’t cry, my darling.”
Maybe I should have been repulsed by Carolyn’s uncaring response to the accident that killed Dreamie Ross. I knew her gentle attention to me now mirrored the loving support she gave her son then. Maybe I should have pulled away, rejected Carolyn’s soothing embrace. But I didn’t. I wanted her comfort. Needed the peace of her boundless love. Our losses blended without canceling one another. I knew about Carl; she knew nothing about Annie. I didn’t say a word to dispel the brutal cloud of memories, hers and mine. I let the past, dear and callous, encircle us.
The next day, I called Archie Lin to my office. I outlined for him the events of the night Jayla Dream Ross died twenty-five years ago. I handed him the folded packet with the blue paint chips and told him about Clark Kuo’s analysis. I showed him the pictures I’d taken of the keepsake Buick key fob in Carolyn Wiley’s dresser. Her souvenir of buried disaster. The evidence fit, the cruel story gelled. But Archie doubted prosecutors would bring a manslaughter case against a seventy-six-year-old dementia patient. He said he’d contact Seattle police about interviewing Carl Wiley on his role in the deception that erased Dreamie’s life and death.
After Archie left, I crept into Norment Ross’s office to tell him what I knew. His lost Dreamie had been killed in a traffic accident, her death hidden for decades by careless people whose bloated egotism overrode decency or empathy. The old man didn’t cry at the news. Neither revenge nor understanding w
as within his grasp.
After a quarter century, resolution was all he had left. At least I had given him that solace.
I waited to get home that evening before I phoned Carl Wiley in Seattle.
I wanted to be ready for the call. So, I prepared like a boxer for a title match. I stripped to my undershirt, unbuckled my belt, kicked off my shoes. I rotated my shoulders, loosening the muscles in my back and neck. I flexed my fingers until warmth surged from palms to nails. My stomach knotted under my lungs, so I chugged a Corona standing in front of the open refrigerator. The beer helped ease the knot a little, so I downed a second bottle. Herb the cat rubbed my ankles until I dumped a scoop of dry kibbles in his bowl.
Carl Wiley picked up on the second ring. I stated my name, no greeting or introduction or weather report. I told him how I’d rescued his mother from their former home.
The asshole tried to simper and sneer his way through excuses for his gross neglect. “What business is it of yours to interfere in the private matters of my family?”
“I made it my business when your mother called me by your name. Carl.”
“You – you despicable interloper. You know nothing about my family. And you care nothing for my mother.”
“If we’re measuring care by the hour, then I come out on top, Carl.”
“You stay away from my family.”
“This is about my family too, Carl. About the people you broke with your reckless car ride twenty-five years ago.”
I could hear the sharp gulp of breath. Then a cough. “What are you talking about?”
“Your mother told me how she helped you cover up the death of that young woman. The one you crushed with your precious blue Buick.”
“You don’t know anything. You’re lying.”
“I know enough, Carl. I found the body in the basement where you stuffed her. Your mother told me the rest.”
Another violent intake of breath. Then smacking of lips. His voice cycloned to a shriek. “You – you vile imposter! I know your kind. You people are predators who victimize the elderly. You assume a false identity, pretend a fake relationship. You devise a phony intimacy to worm your way into her good graces. You’re hoping to pry money from my mother, aren’t you?”
Murder My Past Page 22