The Sunset Witness

by Hayes, Gayle

  Joel introduced me to the Robinsons, who sat at their usual table by the window. I guessed they were in their fifties. They were dressed casually, but Wanda was well maintained, and both of them expressed themselves well and easily as if they were used to communicating with the public. They shared time at a condo at the top of the hill above Sunset with five other couples. The Robinsons usually stayed for a month in the fall and spring, but they were staying the month of June after switching with another couple. Phillip Robinson graduated from Villanova after his parents moved to Philadelphia from Illinois. After meeting Dennis Wagner, I was struck by what a small world it really is. The song kept running through my head all evening. It kept me feeling cheerful and bubbly, which seemed as important to the guests as the French cuisine.

  The last customers left at 9:15, and Joel supervised the cashier's reconciliation and deposit while I bussed the tables, used the carpet sweeper, refrigerated items used in plating the food, wiped off the menus, and emptied the dishwasher. Once Simone had shut down the kitchen grill, sauté station, and appliances, I cleaned them and the kitchen floor. The evening cashier, Breanna, had made a mistake, so she and Joel were opening the safe when I left at ten o'clock. It had been a busy six hours, but I was more excited than tired. I'd learned so many things in one night that I hoped I could remember them all. I was buoyed by the pleasant customers and reassured about working with Joel and Simone.

  There was a new moon and no street lights on Main Street, so I was looking around and over my shoulder in the dark as I walked to the beach house. The one overhead light in the parking lot had evidently burned out, so I was uneasy as I entered the lot and passed the restroom. I was so concerned about who might be behind me, that I didn't notice the light in the bedroom of the beach house until I was a few feet from the porch. I stopped where I was and tried to remember when I might have turned on the light in the bedroom. Then I remembered Dinah had gone into that area of the house to check for damages earlier in the day. She must have turned on the light and forgot to turn it off again. The kitchen was dark, so I was sure I'd found a rational explanation for the light.

  When I reached for the loose brick, I realized I forgot to keep the key with me as Dinah suggested. I hesitated for a moment, remembering her comment about parking lot riff-raff and the murder. Was a killer still on the loose? What if it was not Dinah but someone else who had left the light on in the bedroom? I was relieved when I lifted the brick and saw the key. If someone else had found the key and gone inside, would he have replaced the key under the brick? He probably would have kept the key or left it inside after looking for something to steal. On the other hand, he might be waiting inside to attack me. There were no cars in the lot. What if someone wandering the beach saw me remove and replace the key when I was distracted with Dinah? What if he'd committed the murder Dinah mentioned?

  As I was standing on the porch with my mind racing, I jumped at the high-pitched whine of two cats preparing to fight nearby. Then I laughed. I'd worked myself into froth over nothing. I reached for the key and opened the door to the kitchen, turning on the light. I immediately focused on the bedroom, turning on the light as I entered the living room. There was no sign of anyone. Then I wondered if someone could be hiding behind the screen that separated the bedroom from the living room, or in the closet, or in the shower. If I checked any of those places, I'd be deeper into the house, farther from the door, and more vulnerable to attack. I decided to look for a knife in the kitchen to defend myself.

  I'd turned around and taken only one step when I saw the knife. Sensations of fear crawled through my arms and legs, leaving me unable to move. I think I gasped, but I could not scream. The cats outside had called off their truce. Their high-pitched threats went right through me. Then I realized my back was to the living room. I moved away from it to the door, opened it behind me without taking my eyes off the knife, and ran from the house. I kept running until I reached Frank's house on Main Street.

  By the time I was knocking on Frank's door, he'd been asleep long enough that he was not easily roused. I instantly regretted waking him. I was afraid he would get excited and fall again. The light in the kitchen came on, and he shuffled toward the door, still tying his robe. I apologized and told him I needed a safe place to stay for the night. He went back to the bedroom to find a blanket so I could sleep on the sofa. I called 9-1-1 and then realized I'd not seen a police department or any official building in Sunset. I explained to the dispatcher that I was at a friend's house in Sunset and needed a police officer. I went to the porch to find Frank's house number. I told the dispatcher I was not in immediate danger but could not go back to my home. She promised to send an officer as soon as possible.

  While we waited for the officer, I told Frank someone had been in my house and might still be there. He asked if I'd like a glass of wine to calm my nerves, but I didn't want the officer to find that I'd been drinking. I begged Frank to go back to bed, but he wanted to hear about my first night at Twyla's. I was so rattled that it took me some time to remember. By the time I finished describing the customers and the tricks of the trade I'd learned from Joel, I was calm. When I thought about this later, it seemed obvious to me that Frank was too sleepy to care about these details at that late hour. He must have known I'd be more coherent and less emotional if I'd concentrated on something else before the officer arrived.

  Frank agreed to go back to bed about 11:30. He gave me a key to his front door, so I could let myself in without waking him once I'd finished with the officer. It was close to midnight when a deputy sheriff, Brad Nelson, knocked at Frank's door. He was in his mid-forties and fit. When he removed his hat, I noticed his head was shaved, symmetrical, and smooth. His eyes were a deep blue. He explained that Sunset was too small to incorporate as a city and have its own force, so the Agate County Sheriff's Department handled calls for help. Deputies did not do routine patrols around Sunset, so it took a while to get there. He said Sunset was usually a sleepy little beach town, because there were few tourist amenities like motels and shops and no attractions except the arched rocks in the ocean.

  I told him someone had been in my house, and I was afraid to go back alone. I didn't tell him everything, so he would experience the effect firsthand, as I had. Deputy Nelson drove to the parking lot and went inside with his weapon drawn the way I'd seen in the movies. It was difficult to believe this was happening for real to me. I'd never been in trouble or been threatened before. The lights were still on in the house when we arrived, so I could see the deputy go from room to room before he returned to the porch.

  "There's no one here. You'll need to give me your statement about what happened. I'll get my laptop so I can type it up as we go," he said.

  I was surprised when he said the mural was simply "kind of unusual" as he walked past me.

  I followed him into the house. "It's gone!" I said.

  Deputy Nelson was booting his laptop at the drop leaf table and turned around.

  "What's gone?" he asked.

  "When I came in alone, there was a knife sticking out of the girl's back. The girl in the mural had been stabbed!"

  Deputy Nelson walked over to the mural. "I don't see anything. Where was the knife?" he asked.

  "Right in the middle of her back. I didn't imagine this. I saw a knife!"

  Deputy Nelson suggested I look around to see if anything was out of place or missing.

  "I don't see anything else," I said. Then I realized I'd not been alone in the house before. The old fear crawled through my body, and I sank into the chair next to the table. “Someone was still in the house when I came in the first time. Whoever it was waited until I was gone, took the knife out of the mural, and left.” I was exhausted and afraid. If I'd not had to focus on the deputy's questions, I probably would have dissolved into tears.

  I told Deputy Nelson exactly what had happened earlier that evening. Then I told him I'd arrived the day before and gave him the names of everyone I'd met so far. I told him D
inah had mentioned there was a murder, and I wondered if they had a suspect. Deputy Nelson could not answer that and told me I'd get a visit from a detective the next day. He suggested I have Dinah change the lock on the door. He told me not to touch anything until the detective told me the scene had been cleared. I gave him my cell number and told him I'd be staying with Frank that night and would not return to the house until the detective contacted me. I thanked him for coming and put his card in my pocket. He packed my overnight bag to his vehicle after I'd put a change of underwear, my pajamas and robe, and my bag of toiletries inside. I turned off the lights and locked the door, making sure I put the key in my purse.

  Thursday, June 2, 2011

  The next morning I awoke to the sounds of Frank stirring in the kitchen. After not sleeping well for the previous two nights, I drifted off to sleep until my cell phone woke me again. It was a detective, Josie Gannon, from the Agate County Sheriff's Department. I agreed to meet her and an evidence technician at Frank's house in two hours.

  I wrapped my robe around me and went to the kitchen for coffee. I found a cup in the cupboard and was filling it when Frank came in from the porch with the newspaper. It was too windy to read outside that day. I used the bathroom and sat at the kitchen table with my coffee. Frank closed the newspaper and asked if I'd like toast and jam. I didn't need the toast and jam as much as I needed Frank's attention. It was comforting and reminded me of mornings when I was a child sipping cocoa while mother buttered my toast and spread jam on it. He asked why I was grinning. I told him he reminded me of my mother that morning and my father the day before at the diner.

  "You kind of remind me of my daughter the last time I saw her," he said.

  "I didn't know you had a daughter."

  "Had is about right. Donna would prefer I was dead," he said.

  "That's awful. I don't mean to judge her, but I can't imagine wishing my father was dead, and I wasn't always very close to him. Did Dennis mention anything about my father to you?" I asked.

  "No. Why would he?" Frank asked.

  "I detected some disapproval toward my father in Dennis' conversation yesterday."

  "Why weren't you close to your father?" Frank asked.

  "He was a criminal defense attorney. I was embarrassed by the kinds of cases he took. He and my mother had a terrible fight once. She accused him of representing scum, and he shouted the scum were the only reason we had such a cushy life. She broke every bottle of expensive perfume he'd ever bought for her. I could smell the mixture of perfume out in the hall the next day. They had to replace the carpet in the bedroom. I wanted to tell my father I'd be happy to give up our lifestyle if it meant I could be proud of him. But he had a temper, and I was afraid to confront him," I said. Frank was quiet. "Did Donna disapprove of your job?" I asked.

  Frank took a deep breath, chewed on his lower lip, and tapped on the floor with his cane as if to summon memories he'd chosen to forget. He hooked his right leg with the cane, and turned to face me, folding his hands on the kitchen table. He leaned toward me as if he feared someone would overhear.

  "I've never told this to a soul, Rachel. I don't know why I'm telling you now. Maybe I'm tired of packing it around." Frank took another breath. "I used to work on the docks in Seattle. Carmine Russo controlled everything that happened on the docks. He wanted the foreman to 'misplace' shipments of electronics. Reagan, the president, ordered tariffs on millions of dollars of electronics from Japan. Russo planned to sell the computers, TV's, and tools cheaper than people could buy them in stores with the added tariff and still make a nice profit. The foreman refused, and Russo killed him. I knew about Russo's threat, and I watched the hit on the foreman.

  "I wrestled with my conscience, and then I testified against Russo. My boss put up a reward for information on the foreman's murder. Russo's attorney accused me of being an opportunist to discredit me. The jury didn't believe it. They convicted Russo. The attorney for the state arranged for me to enter the witness program. My daughter was about your age at the time. My son was older and understood I had to follow my conscience. Donna accused me of being 'a big shot.' Once I accepted protection, I couldn't have contact with anyone I knew, including my family. Donna said it would've been better if I had died instead of the foreman. I haven't spoken to her since."

  We were quiet for a few seconds. "So that's why you left Seattle and settled in Billings?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Late last year, I got some bad news from my doctor. I contacted my son. I told him I'd been running long enough. I wanted to see him and Donna and then live out my last days by the ocean. I missed it living in Montana all those years. I knew I was putting myself at risk by contacting my family, but I figured I might have a few months before the mob found me. The cancer might finish me before they do," he said.

  "Did Donna refuse to meet with you?" I asked.

  "She said she buried me twenty-four years before and wasn't interested in digging me up now." Donna's cold words hung in the air between us. Frank reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose. "Truth be told, someone else took Russo's place. Honor be damned!" Frank said. He hit the table with his fist. "Nothing changed, except I lost my daughter." We were quiet for a few seconds before he continued. "Take my advice, Rachel. Never be a witness to anything."

  I was sitting with Frank on his porch, when Detective Josie Gannon and the evidence technician pulled up to the curb. I told Frank I'd buy him lunch after we finished. I shook hands with Detective Gannon and got inside the van. The evidence tech parked at an angle in front of the porch at the beach house. He got out and looked around outside, while the detective and I talked inside the van.

  I guessed the detective was a few years older than I. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and blonde. I thought it must be natural, because her eyebrows were so light, they hardly showed above the dark frames of her glasses. She had a way of keeping my attention focused on her eyes. Perhaps it was a trick detectives learned so people could not avoid telling the truth. It was only after we left the van and I followed her into the house that I realized she was about the same height as I, and she looked very fit, as if she worked out at a gym. She wore dress slacks, a red blouse, and clogs.

  As the technician went about looking for evidence, Detective Gannon sat at the drop leaf table and watched me go through my actions the previous night. The technician took my fingerprints, so he could compare them to what he found in the house. Then he handed me a crumpled piece of paper from the wastebasket in the bedroom and asked if I'd seen it before. The paper was white. A red marker was used to form the letters: SCARED YET? The words gave me chills. I'm sure Detective Gannon could tell from my reaction that I'd never seen the paper before. I told her there was paper in the wastebasket when I was loading my belongings into the house, but I'd not looked at it. She asked me if Sarah had mentioned anything about threats to her.

  "Sarah and I have talked very little. She said she'd found a better job as a graphic designer in Hoquarten and didn't like driving an hour each way so she could live at the beach. I was graduating from the creative writing program in Arizona, and it was perfect timing for me to take over her house and job while I tried writing my first serious novel. We've been playing phone tag ever since I got here. She left a message that she would probably stay in Hoquarten until the weekend. She told me to use the bed and said she hoped I wasn't disappointed in the house. She was looking forward to hearing about my first night at Twyla's."

  "Did she mention the murder in the parking lot?" Detective Gannon asked.

  "No. Dinah did. But she was in a big hurry to leave yesterday, so she didn't tell me the details," I said.

  "Sarah heard a scuffle in the parking lot a couple of weeks ago. She looked out the window on the door. A man was stabbed, and the perpetrator was standing over him. Sarah ducked away from the window after the man looked toward the beach house. Sarah thinks he realized someone might have seen him. She only told us about this when she started receiving threats. The
note in her wastebasket is similar to others she found under her door. Someone followed her from Twyla's one night, but she never saw who it was. She left her car unlocked the next day and found a soft doll with blonde hair and a knife through its chest on the seat. The last time I talked to Sarah, someone woke her the night before. She left the bathroom window open, and someone threatened her by saying creepy things along with her name over and over."

  The sensations of fear that had crawled through my arms and legs the night before returned.

  "Why didn't Sarah tell me about this?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.

  "Sarah was pretty terrified. My guess is she wanted you to assume her lease so she would be free to leave. She probably thought the threats would end when the killer saw someone else living here," Detective Gannon said.

  "But they didn't end. Someone stabbed the girl in the mural and then removed the knife. Why would someone do that?" I asked.

  "If it's the same person who threatened Sarah, he might not realize she's gone," Detective Gannon said.

  "But why remove the knife?"

  "Maybe he decided if he couldn't scare her away, he'd undermine her credibility," Detective Gannon said.

  "But he would have had to see her to realize he hadn't scared her away."

  "Sarah and I talked last Saturday. She said she was packing up to leave over the long weekend. You didn't see her when you arrived on Tuesday. If she left on Monday, the man who had threatened her could have seen she was still here. Maybe he didn't get around to entering the house until Wednesday night when you were at Twyla's working. Ordinarily, I'd tell you to find someplace else to live. But in this case, it might be best if you make your presence known. If the killer who threatened Sarah sees you instead of her, he'll think he succeeded in driving her away."

  "Now I know why Sarah has been making excuses for staying in Hoquarten. She probably thought that man would see me here all week and realize she's gone. I'm sure she wouldn't have put me in this position if she thought I'd be in danger. Something tells me she'll find an excuse not to come on Saturday, either."