by Kate Wilhelm
12
AS CHARLIE AND DEBRA RASMUSSEN TALKED at the kitchen table, she often got a listening look on her face, and once she stood and said, “Perhaps I should go see if they need anything.”
Charlie shook his head. “She’s in good hands. What happened at that meeting about the house?”
She sat down again. “Pamela Bainbridge had it exactly right,” she said. “Someone suggested that if the checks are not located, we should have a contractor go in and dismantle one room after another until we find them. Someone else mentioned that the contractor would have to restore everything to excellent condition afterward, of course. An argument began about how much all that would cost and in the end we might have nothing.” She shook her head. “Meanwhile I have to make certain that security is doubled for tonight’s concert. We decided not to cancel it, and that took a certain amount of discussion this morning.” She glanced at her watch and looked down the hallway once more.
“Tell me something about the power structure here,” Charlie said. “How big is the sheriff, how much does the chief of police control? Who provides security for the college? Things like that.”
She was talking about local matters when finally Constance and Jenna appeared in the doorway. Both Charlie and Debra rose from the table.
“I thought I smelled coffee,” Constance said.
Jenna was pale, her face puffy, and her eyes red-rimmed, but she was present. She was there. Despite the ravages of shock and grief, she was strikingly beautiful with thick auburn hair cut short, very fine high cheekbones, a nicely squared chin. Her eyes seemed to be either green or blue, probably depending on the light. Her rumpled pants and shirt did not hide the fact that her body was a perfect match for her lovely face.
“I’ll bring coffee to the living room,” Debra said.
“Why not here?” Charlie suggested. “Jenna, I’m Charlie, and you’ve met Constance. We’re going to look into this affair. Have you had a bite to eat today?”
She looked startled at his matter-of-fact tone, or the idea of food, or possibly the way he was assuming that she had already agreed to have someone look into the death of her sister. He pulled a chair out from the table for her and she sank down into it. He pulled another one out for Constance and gave her shoulder a little good-job squeeze as she sat.
“I’ll make you a sandwich,” Debra said. “You’ll keel over if you don’t get some food.”
“I don’t think I can eat anything,” Jenna said faintly.
“Of course you can,” Charlie said. “Everyone does. Now, will you want a hotel room, or stay here a day or two, or what?”
Debra Rasmussen gave him a curious look when he offered her house as refuge for Jenna. Hastily she said, “You are perfectly welcome to stay here.”
“Thank you. You’ve been so kind, but I want to go to Eve’s apartment. You have a college to run and I want to be there. I need to be there. There are things I have to do… ”
“Okay,” Charlie said. “When you’re ready we’ll take you. The police already had a look to make sure it hasn’t been trashed, and that no one’s hanging around, so that’s all right.” He knew that they would have been looking for a sign of a boyfriend, drugs or paraphernalia, for a lot of things.
“Dr. Rasmussen has offered to have her secretary take you to the police station to talk to the sheriff tomorrow,” he said. “We all need to exchange phone numbers… ”
And just like that, Constance thought with relief, this had turned into a more or less normal meeting, instead of an awkward situation where no one knew what to say.
Debra Rasmussen brought a sandwich and napkin and Constance helped her with the coffee. Jenna stared at the sandwich without moving until Charlie said, “Compromise. Eat half of it now and we’ll wrap the other half for later. Do you use sugar?”
She shook her head, but she picked up half of the sandwich and took a bite. Charlie could smell tuna fish. It smelled good, better than the sausage sandwich he’d had. He kept the conversation going, exchanging numbers, getting the address for the apartment, arranging a time for the visit to the police station, and Jenna ate half a sandwich.
Minutes later, with half a sandwich in a plastic bag, Jenna’s overnight bag in hand, her purse over her shoulder, they were ready to go. Jenna thanked Debra Rasmussen again, Charlie said he’d be in touch and they left. He would have bet any amount that they would not be out of the driveway before Debra Rasmussen had a stiff drink. Then she would be back in her office at the administration building trying to cope with an overflowing voice-mail box, probably parents at the door, security, and a bunch of trustees.
Charlie drove straight to the Hammond house. Following Rasmussen’s directions, he turned onto the side street to park near the outside stairs. When they first arrived days earlier, the town had been almost eerily quiet, but that afternoon there were young people everywhere, on bicycles, skateboards, on foot, even roller skates. Music came from all sides and the sound of voices and laughter was pervasive.
They left the car and went up the stairs. At the covered landing, Jenna’s hand was shaking too hard for her to fit the key into the lock. Constance took it from her, unlocked the door, and stepped aside for Jenna to enter.
#
At first glance Eve’s apartment appeared inspection-neat. No dirty dishes in the sink, no clothes piled up on chairs, heaps of papers or books on the kitchen table, nothing apparently out of place except for a pink robe on a chair in the kitchen. After entering, Jenna stood motionless for a minute, then slowly walked into the living room, through the doorway into the bedroom, out, and into the room Eve had turned into a study. While Charlie and Constance waited for her in the kitchen, he picked up the robe and noted the pocket stretched out of shape, marks from a clothes hanger, two cigarette burns, and stains that could have been coffee or Coca Cola. He handed it to Constance, who examined it as carefully as he had done.
“Twenty years old,” she said in a low voice. “Dirty, old dirt, old stains. It wasn’t Eve’s.”
He nodded and put it back on the chair. Jenna came from the study and said, “I have to call my mother.”
“Mind if we look around a little?” Charlie asked.
She shook her head, walked into the bedroom, and closed the door. Charlie and Constance went to the study. He went to the armoire, which had a single wire clothes hanger. That’s where the robe had been for a long time apparently, he noted. On the bottom of the armoire was a length of clothesline. Constance was at the desk gazing at a framed picture of two lovely young women, Jenna and Eve, and their parents, who looked proud and happy. Both girls resembled their mother. And both of them were beautiful. Constance shook her head sadly and looked over the tapes on the desk. She picked up the novel and leafed through it without trying to read the variously-colored highlighted passages, yellow, blue and red. It would take studying, she thought, but it had been made unreadable with all the highlighting. Charlie joined her at the desk and looked over the notebooks, three steno pads, and one notebook with a blue cover and side spiral. He slipped that one into his pocket. It matched the imprint in the pocket of the pink robe. He left Constance looking through a journal with a metal clasp and went back to the kitchen. No wine, no alcohol of any kind, no cans of soda. There was milk in the refrigerator, a few apples, cheese. He put the half sandwich in and began to glance inside the cabinets.
Constance stood near the open door where she could see the bedroom door across the living room as she read as fast as she could the last few entries in the journal. Eve’s happiness with her apartment, love of the lake and swimming every day, her elation in furnishing the study so cheaply, meeting Dorothy Dumond, meeting Earl Marshall, his hitting on her. Interviews. The last entries she had written were simple one liners. Who is he? And I could be wrong. She had drawn a line through that one.
She put the journal down as th
e bedroom door opened and Jenna emerged. She had been weeping again.
“How is your mother?” Constance asked, walking into the living room.
“Dad said she’s doing better. He reminded me that he gave me a couple of tranquilizers. Said I should take one and try to sleep. He’s always saying you should get more rest, get more sleep… ” Her voice trailed off.
“In this instance he’s exactly right,” Constance said. “Jenna, there are the taped interviews Eve made with Dorothy Dumond and Earl Marshall. May we take them to listen to tonight? We’ll bring them back tomorrow.”
Jenna nodded. “Whatever you think will help.”
“Do you want me to stay with you for a while?” Constance asked. “You know, if you feel like talking, or just having company.”
She shook her head. “I… I’d rather be alone now. I’ll take a bath and try one of Dad’s tranquilizers. I’ll be all right.”
“I know you will,” Constance said. “And I know you’re exhausted. I hope you rest well. We’ll pick you up for lunch tomorrow. Give me a call when you’re finished with the sheriff and we’ll come for you.”
Jenna came to her and embraced her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Just thank you.”
After Jenna saw them out, as they approached the car Constance said, “Do you know where a bookstore is?” Charlie gave her a suspicious look, and she added, “While I’m buying a book maybe you can find some wine, and possibly cheese and crackers or something.”
“Consider it done,” he said. “His book? Marshall’s?”
“Of course.”
Charlie knew where a bookstore was and found when he got there that parking was impossible. He parked a block away, then headed for the supermarket and Constance to the bookstore. She was not surprised to see a display of Earl Marshall’s books near the checkout counter. Of course, since he would be the star of the ceremony to reward his achievement, his book would be in demand.
In their mini-suite later, Charlie moved two chairs and a small table to the balcony, and Constance brought out a bottle of pinot noir and a plate of cheese and crackers. They listened to the taped interview with Dorothy Dumond.
“Not so much an interview as a scripted monologue,” Charlie muttered when it ended. “Well, we know Andrea heard all about the deaths of women who got involved with Bainbridge men.”
“And that Earl Marshall was a pampered, overprotected boy,” she said. “I wonder just how jealous Dorothy Dumond really was of Andrea, or if it was a case of her being resentful of an indolent wife sponging off the family and traipsing around all day, up watching television all night. And smoking. Don’t forget that part, she smoked.”
Dusk had fallen as they listened to the tape. “Seven twenty,” Charlie said, “and I want some dinner pretty damn quick. Had enough for now?”
“Absolutely. We’ll have to find something on the other side of town, I guess, or risk being blocked by people coming in for the concert tonight.”
As they drove through town a few minutes later, it was like going upstream against a current choked with obstacles. On foot, in cars, and riding bicycles, people were streaming to the park for the evening concert. “Lemmings heading to the ocean,” Charlie muttered, stopped by a cluster of young people dawdling in the middle of the street, apparently waiting for another like cluster of kids to join them. They all moved on, and Charlie inched forward.
At the far end of the campus they found what turned out to be a very good Italian restaurant. Eating veal marsala, pretending he didn’t know that she had ordered and was really eating sweet breads, Charlie filled her in on what he had learned from Debra Rasmussen.
“So everyone has a place and knows his role in it,” he said. “A neat hierarchy, firmly entrenched, unwritten rules strictly enforced. And they want to keep it that way.”
“Equilibrium disrupted, equilibrium to be reestablished PDQ.”
“So once more to the trenches,” he said. “Ready?”
She already had her purse in hand.
#
Before driving back to the gingerbread house, Charlie made a detour in order to go past the park in its entire length. Cars lined the streets in the area, and it appeared that the park was crowded. Two motorcycles blocked the street at the entrance to the park. He spotted security men near the swings and spaced along Adams Street at regular intervals. The music was clearly audible as he drove by. The orchestra was playing “Oklahoma.”
“Somewhere along here,” he said near the end of the park, where it was dark and no one was in sight except a security man. From across the street, a woman in a light-colored shirt would be visible over the parked cars until she sat down. Anyone in dark clothing probably would not have been visible. When he drove past the establishment house where Rasmussen lived, no car was in the driveway.
After returning to their room Constance picked up Earl’s novel and Charlie started to leaf through the spiral notebook he had taken from Eve’s apartment. Soon he put it down again. He could make nothing of the passages, bits of dialogue, descriptions. It was nine thirty. He sat on the side of the bed, took off his shoes, and lay down.
At twelve thirty Constance woke him with a touch. “Time,” she said.
He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and put his shoes on. Five minutes later they were in the car. No one was in sight at the park and most of the cars that had lined the street were gone. Few lights were on in houses at that hour. He drove straight to the Bainbridge house and halfway up the drive, where he stopped and turned off the car lights.
“Let’s do it,” he said, gathering up a trash bag and the flashlight. He put the gloves in his pocket and they walked the rest of the way to the house, where an outside light at the entrance was on and pale lights in various windows could be seen. Keeping in shadows, they continued around the house to the side where the garage was and stopped at two garbage cans. Constance held the flashlight as he opened a can. He put on the gloves and picked up a white garbage bag with a yellow tie that had no spray paint on it. Constance played the light over the other neatly tied garbage bags until he said enough. There was only one unsprayed bag. Constance held a black yard-trash bag open and he dropped the garbage bag into it, and tied the trash bag. At the car, he put the bag in the trunk. They got inside and he backed out of the driveway, then drove to the gingerbread house.
13
THE NEXT MORNING CHARLIE HEADED UP Adams Street, past the Bird Lady’s house and on to the state park. He drove slowly on the park road until he spotted what he was looking for, a place where he could pull off the road, leaving the car parked in such a way that it shielded him and Constance from a passerby. He retrieved the trash bag from the trunk, split open a second one and spread it on the ground, and, after putting on latex gloves, dumped the garbage on the plastic. He picked through coffee grounds, scraps of food, apple cores, bits of paper, and finally lifted a smaller plastic bag and opened it.
“Got it,” he said in satisfaction, peering inside. Constance held another garbage bag open and after retying the one he held, he let it drop into hers. She pulled the ties closed.
#
He gathered up the garbage in the plastic, added the gloves, and returned everything to the trash bag, then walked a short distance to a big can chained to a stand and dumped it in. He put the remaining garbage bag in the trunk of the car, closed it, and they got in.
“Now for Pamela,” he said, driving again, this time through the state park and out to the state road.
When they entered the Bainbridge house, Tricia and Lawrence were in the kitchen. Lawrence faced Charlie and said, “You’ve been around for nearly a week, mostly not here. What the hell are you doing?”
“Making progress,” Charlie said. “Where’s Pamela?”
“Out there,” Lawrence said, jerking his thumb toward the terrace. “What did you find out abo
ut the girl Stuart met at the store? What’s the story on that?”
“Not sure yet. See you in a couple of minutes.” He strode past Lawrence out to the terrace. Constance stood by the door.
Pamela jumped up when she saw Charlie, stubbed out a cigarette and started toward the kitchen door. He caught her arm.
“Not yet. Let’s talk.”
“No way. Not here.”
She pulled and he held her arm harder. “Now,” he said. “In a while the cops are going to be here asking you questions. I want to ask the same questions first, and I want straight answers.”
“Why the cops?” she said with a quick glance at the kitchen door. “I’ve got nothing to tell them.”
“You do. It seems you had a ringside seat at the circus last night. Sit down and let’s have it. Who did you see?”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” she said, but she sat down and lit another cigarette.
“Knock it off. I know you saw Rasmussen. Who else?”
“Sure I saw her. So what?”
“Who else? Did you see Eve Parish?”
“I never even heard of her.”
“Look, Pamela, if you’re wanted on a DUI or kiting checks or something over in Atlantic City, that’s okay by me, but the cops might want to run a check on you and they might not like it.”
“They don’t have any reason for something like that.”
“Maybe they’ll find a reason.”
“You scumbag. They don’t have anything on me,” she said. “No one wants me for anything. So get lost.”
“They could invent something on the spot,” he said. “Who else did you see?”
“Those bastards! They’d do that, wouldn’t they? Yeah, I saw a girl cross the street and go in the park. I couldn’t see her after that.”
“You just sat out there, swinging away and saw nothing. Bringing back childhood memories of better days. Right. Who else?”