Face Off (17 page)

“Sure, sure. Just hold on a minute, and I'll get it for you.” Patrick punched hold, replaced the phone in its cradle, then went to his customer file.

“What was that all about?” Nellie asked as she popped her head around the curtain.

“Well, you won't believe it,” Patrick answered her. “Do you remember the pretty colleen you loaned the rosary to yesterday? Suzanne Richards? Seems she caught some director's eye and they are trying to get in touch with her.”

“Oh, Patrick, you didn't give out her address, now did you?” She had honored the girl's wishes, and not told anyone, not even her husband, about Suzanne's real purpose in renting the costume.

Patrick stopped thumbing through his file and looked at his wife's white face. “What is it, Nellie? What's the matter?”

“Did you, Patrick? It's important, now!”

Patrick pointed to the phone. “Not yet. I put the man on hold while I looked it up. I don't understand. What's going on?”

Nellie walked briskly over to the phone, punched the hold button, and spoke into the receiver. “I'm sorry. My husband was mistaken. There was a young woman named Suzanne
Rivers
who rented a nun's habit from us, but that was at least two months ago. She needed it for a play. You'll have to forgive my husband,” she said, winking at Patrick. “Sometimes he gets a little addle-headed.”

*   *   *

Floyd slammed the phone down and sat staring at it. That brat had done nothing but cause him trouble since the day he had first laid eyes on her. In fact, his whole life had turned out wrong because of her. They could have made a fortune in blackmail, the two of them, but oh, no. Miss Priss would have none of that! Her and her voodoo, her witchcraft! Well, he would show her what the grown-up world was all about! Either that, or he would run for his life. He hadn't quite made up his mind which was the smarter thing to do.

*   *   *

After sixteen years in the Detective Division, Harry McDermott didn't think there was much that would surprise him. However, as he sat reading the report on Suzanne Richards, he was more than surprised, he was dumbfounded. If what he had before him was true, and he had no reason to think it was not, then Suzanne Richards had put away just about as many criminals as he, himself, had.

San Diego, Phoenix, Omaha, Long Island—the list went on and on. Serial killers, rapists, pedophiles—she had helped nail them all. Furthermore, she was held in high regard by all of the police departments from which he had received reports—including Omaha. That in itself was astonishing, given the skepticism of most police officers toward anything of that kind.

He picked up the manila envelope from Child Services, the agency he had contacted for earlier background information, scanning through the contents quickly. There was a letter addressed to him from a Ms. Savage.

Dear Mr. McDermott:

I'm sorry, but I was unable to trace the history of Suzanne Richards back any further than the third grade. She attended school in Omaha that year, but her father never sent any reports from other schools, even though the records were requested many times. Her name at that time was Suzanne Webb. Her father's name was Carl Webb. He committed suicide, and his daughter was placed at a local convent, the Doors of the Blessed Sacrament, where she was later adopted by a spinster lady, Miss Emily Richards, who has since passed away.

School records in Omaha show that Suzanne's mother was killed in a car wreck when Suzanne was five or six. But this was just a notation made by the principal upon enrollment, and they have no prior address to check further. I talked with the principal of Langston Elementary where Suzanne attended school, and he remembered her as being quiet, withdrawn, and a loner. After she discovered her father's body, the school scheduled her for counseling, but she was moved to the convent before it was started.

Emily Richards, the woman who adopted Suzanne, is a sister to the nun who was in charge of the Doors of the Blessed Sacrament, Sister Mary Elizabeth. Sister Mary now resides in the Holy Cross Retirement Home which is located in Sterling Heights, Michigan. If you need any more information, you could probably get it from her. I'm certain she would have better background information than I was able to find.

As you are probably aware, Miss Richards went on to become quite a noted psychic and has helped police in many states in the capturing of criminals. She is a real celebrity around Omaha.

If I can help you further in any way, don't hesitate to ask.

Sincerely,

Helen Savage

Harry hit his intercom button. “Jim, would you please see what you can find me on a Carl Webb, last known address, Omaha, Nebraska? He committed suicide there about twenty years ago. See what the Omaha police have on that, and see if you can find a previous address.”

“Will do,” Jim answered. “Who is he?”

“The father of Suzanne Richards. All I'm really looking for is where she came from, originally, whether she has any relatives around, that sort of thing.”

“Gotcha. I'll have it back for you in just a few minutes.”

It was probably nothing, but the thing that sounded strange to Harry, was the part about no records. In this day and age, it was just about impossible to so much as take a short walk in the park without some sort of permit. School systems were notorious for their paperwork. If they couldn't get the information from the father, why hadn't they contacted previous schools themselves? And how horrible for Suzanne to lose her mother at such a young age, then find the body of her father who had taken his own life! It seemed to Harry that Miss Richards had been surrounded by death since a very early age.

He picked up the report from Omaha again. It was clear that the police department had been solidly behind Miss Richards in the Underwood disaster. They found no fault with anything she had done to help in the capture of Nebraska's infamous serial killer.

One investigator from Omaha, a Charles Botello, had faxed a personal note saying how much they all missed Suzanne, and how the newspapers had done a complete flip-flop, and were now saying the intervention of Suzanne probably saved many lives.

So that was it. Suzanne had run from Omaha when the heat was turned on over the Underwood case. That was probably why she had done no psychic work in the months she had been in Kansas City.

Harry looked up as Jim entered his office. “I don't know what to think, Harry,” he said as he pushed a piece of paper toward his partner. “According to what I found out with just a couple of phone calls, Carl Webb has been dead for thirty-five years. He died at the age of eleven from an allergic reaction to aspirin.”

Harry looked up, puzzled. “Well, you must have the wrong one. My information is that Carl Webb committed suicide in Omaha. I'm pretty certain of that.”

“Right.” Jim nodded. “I took the Social Security number that the Omaha police gave me for a Carl Webb who committed suicide and ran it through Social Security to get a full background report. But the birth certificate belonged to this kid, Carl Webb, who was dead. His family lives in Pawhuska, Oklahoma, and I could find no record of your Carl Webb, before he showed up in Omaha.”

“So what are we talking about here? A graveyard pluck?”

Jim raised his eyebrows knowingly. “Sure looks like it to me. The guy comes to town and pulls the scam to get a new Social Security number. It used to be pretty easy. And of course if that's really the case, we do know one more thing about our man. At least at one point, he was in Pawhuska, Oklahoma, checking out grave markers.”

“Why would he go to all that trouble, and then kill himself a few months later?”

Jim shook his head. “Beats me. But maybe Suzanne will remember her real last name. She had to be, what, five or six years old? Perhaps old enough to remember if she had another name before Webb.”

Harry motioned for Jim to sit down as he picked up the telephone. “Operator, would you please get me a number for the Holy Cross Retirement Home in Sterling Heights, Michigan? And then I want to make a person-to-person call to a Sister Mary Elizabeth there.” He placed his hand over the receiver and spoke to Jim. “We have one other place to check before we talk to Miss Richards.”

*   *   *

The phone felt cold when the young nurse placed it in the hand of the old nun. Sister Mary Elizabeth felt for the cord to make certain she was putting the right end of the receiver to her ear. “Hello! Hello! This is Sister Mary. Is that you, Suzanne?”

“No, Sister Mary,” Harry spoke loudly into the phone. “My name is Detective Harry McDermott. I'm with the Kansas City Police.”

There was an audible gasp on the other end of the line. “Suzanne? Oh, please! Don't tell me something has happened to Suzanne!”

“No, no!” Harry practically yelled into the phone. “Nothing like that. Suzanne is fine. I am just calling for some information.”

“Well, land sakes, you didn't need to scare a body to death!” Sister Mary snapped. “And why are you yelling at me? I'm not deaf, young man!”

Harry lowered his voice. “I'm sorry, Sister. And I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm just looking for some information about Suzanne's birth parents. I understand Suzanne was adopted by your sister, Emily Richards. Isn't that so?”

So it was going to come out. After almost twenty years, the whole thing would come out. Would they arrest her for kidnapping or some such thing? No. Of course not. She was too old, too frail. But it would bring shame on the church. It was certain to do that.

The silence on the other end of the line was beginning to make Harry uncomfortable. “Sister? Are you there?”

The old nun's voice trembled as she spoke. “Yes, sir. I'm right here. I take full responsibility for my actions. And I want you to know, I acted alone. No one else at the Doors of the Blessed Sacrament knew what I did.” There. It was over. She had admitted her sin. Now maybe God would bring her home to be with Him.

“Ma'am?” Harry said, puzzled by her outburst. “You've lost me. Just what is it that you are taking responsibility for?”

The nun's eyes closed, wearily, as she bowed her head. “For letting my sister, Emily, adopt the child. She was too old and she was not married. But she loved Suzanne with all her heart, and the child loved her, also. It didn't seem like such a bad thing to do.”

“No, no, Sister Mary. I don't care about that. I'm certain you did what was right for Suzanne. All I care about is the name of her birth parents, if you know it. I'm not trying to cause any trouble for you about your adoption records. Truly I am not!”

Sister Mary could feel blood leaving her face, as her trembling hands clung to the receiver. It was time. She liked the sound of the detective's voice. She would tell him her story, and be done with it. “The man, he said, Carl, Carl Webb … took … but … but…” Sister Mary felt strange, as an overwhelming tiredness entered her body. She couldn't see the blood clot which had lodged in a small artery in her brain, but she knew exactly what was happening to her. “Not yet, Lord!” she tried to utter the words, but only a garbled sound escaped her lips. Tears formed in her sightless eyes as the phone dropped onto the floor. With her left hand, she felt for her rosary. “No, God, not yet. Please. I have to make this right.” She could tell no words were leaving her lips, but she also knew her God would hear her.

Chapter Seventeen

“Oh, hi, sweetie,” Suzanne said, looking up as Jessie came into the living room. “Did you have a good sleep? Do you feel better now?”

Jessie nodded yes to the last two questions, then sat down next to Suzanne on the couch. “I had a weird dream, though. At least I think it was a dream, and not, you know, the other.”

Suzanne put her arm around Jessie's shoulders and drew her close. “What was it? Can you remember?”

“It was the little girl we saw. You know, the one with Clark. She kept trying to get close to me, to warn me about some danger, but just as she would start to speak, a man's hand would come down and clamp over her mouth and drag her backward. Each time the little girl would get away from the man, but each time he came after her. Then once he threw her from the car, and she tumbled down a long hill, where no one could see her. No one but me, that is. It was so awful, because I knew if I couldn't find the place, the little girl would be lost forever.”

“I'm sure it was just a dream, sweetie.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I know seeing the little girl in that vision last night really spooked me. Have you heard anything yet?”

Suzanne nodded her head. “A little. The news had a short account of the murder. If there is any tie-in to Clark, they don't have it as yet. I've tried to get through to Harry or Jim, but either they aren't taking my calls, or they haven't received their messages.”

“I don't think I like Harry anymore,” Jessie said. “He was mean last night! Cranky and mean! I like Jim a whole lot more. I like the way he calls me
little darlin'
and tells me everything will turn out all right.”

“Yeah, I like Jim, too.”

“And not Harry?”

“I don't know. Last night I thought I hated him, but maybe he just had your best interests at heart.”

“Or maybe he's a jerk!”

“Maybe.”

“Not to change the subject, but what are we going to do today?”

“Absolutely nothing!” Suzanne said. “I was afraid when you collapsed like that last night. I think we had better slow down.”

“I only fainted,” Jessie answered haughtily. “Don't make a big deal of it. And we can't slow down. Not when we're getting closer.”

Both flinched at the loud clap of thunder that reverberated through Suzanne's little apartment. Jessie jumped up and ran to the window, just as the first large drops of rain hit the pane. As she stood at the window, holding the curtains back with one hand, she stared at two drops of rain which raced each other to be first to the sill. All of her thoughts and energies were focused on the drops of water, and it was as though time were suspended for the young girl. At last she turned slowly from the window. “We have to find Amy today. She will die if we don't.”