Sufficient Ransom (27 page)

Two patrol cars pulled into the cul de sac and parked on the street, on either side of Nora’s driveway.

“Why’re more police coming?” Ann asked.

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Olson,” the policeman said. “But I can’t tell you anything else.”

“Richard.” Ann turned around and sought her husband’s hand through the open partition. Her voice was unsteady. “Richard, I’m scared.”

He squeezed her hand in reassurance. “We’ll know something soon.”

Her eyes riveted on the windshield, Ann watched as two officers, a male and a female – both in uniform – alighted from one car. Two plainclothes men stepped out of the other vehicle. After Officer Morales greeted the group, he turned and indicated Chet, who had appeared from the covered entryway. Chet’s face was white, his eye sockets red, like he’d been crying.

“Mrs. Olson?” Officer Resco’s voice was far away, as if coming through a long tunnel. “Just a few more questions.”

An unmarked white van parked on the street in front of Nora’s driveway, blocking it. Two men and a woman jumped out of the van. They were wearing identical navy shirts, pants, and caps. Immediately,
one of the men started winding yellow police tape around a tree at the far end of the driveway. The tape secured, he walked it across the bottom of the driveway all the way to the fence that separated Nora’s property from her neighbor’s.

The female crime scene investigator—by now it was apparent who they were—was talking to a knot of neighbors who had suddenly appeared. The investigator turned and walked to the covered entryway, presumably to join her co-workers who had disappeared in the same direction, moments before. One of the plainclothes officers stepped up to the growing band of neighbors.

Officer Resco was asking about Ann’s fight with Nora at the restaurant. Ann answered as if in a dream.

The two male crime scene investigators returned to the van. They pulled the back doors open and lifted out a stretcher.

Ann’s heart leaped. Maybe Nora was just hurt.

They laid the stretcher on the grass next to the sidewalk. The taller of the two men returned to the car and pulled out a large, folded, plastic bag. With a zipper down the middle.

Instinctively Ann reached for the car door.

Officer Resco’s voice was sympathetic. “Last question.”

Ann felt like she was sinking under a great weight. “Please. I have to get out. I think I’m going to be sick.”

11:00 A.M
.

H
uddled on the sofa in the living room, Ann could hear her husband in the front hall inviting Tom Long into the house. Since Chet had confirmed her worst fears, Ann’s world had narrowed to two emotions: despair and guilt. Guilt and despair. If she hadn’t been so angry yesterday, none of this would have happened. Nora would have told her what she knew about Travis. Nora would be alive.

A rush of nerves brought Ann to her feet. She was afraid to hear the details the detective was sure to share with them.

The men entered the room.

Seeing her distress, Richard took Ann’s arm and gently guided her back to the sofa. When they were seated, he addressed the detective. “Please Tom. Tell us what happened.”

His gray eyes regretful, Tom Long quietly explained that Nora March had been strangled with a hair ribbon and then placed, fully clothed, in a bathtub of water. There were signs of a struggle—the bathroom floor was soaked with water that had apparently spilled from the tub. Toiletries from the counter were scattered about the floor. Homicide investigators were at the house collecting fingerprints, securing the crime scene, interviewing potential witnesses, and talking to friends and family.

Her head spinning, Ann imagined her elderly friend fighting off an assailant. The terror she must have felt.
And what about Travis?

The detective seemed to read her thoughts. “No news on your son yet. Julian’s working with Homicide going through Mrs. March’s house, her papers. Phone records. Everything. Something’s bound to turn up.” His voice was gentle. “Ann, I understand you and Mrs. March argued at lunch yesterday. You want to tell me about it?”

Ann hesitated. She was afraid to tell the detective the nature of their argument; she didn’t want to get Chet into trouble. Finally, she said, “Nora thought I was getting distracted. You see, lately I’ve been praying a lot, and going to church. She couldn’t understand.”

“New Way, right?”

Ann nodded.

“Her son’s the founder of that church, isn’t he?” Tom said.

“Along with Todd Pannikin,” Richard said.

“Mrs. March didn’t get along with her son, did she?” Tom asked.

Ann felt the need to defend Chet. “They argued a little. Every family has their issues.”

“What did you argue about?”

“Nora was an atheist,” Ann said. “And Chet. Well, you know what he does.”

Tom Long’s eyes narrowed just a little. “Things must have been pretty contentious between Mrs. March and her son.”

Ever since she lied to the police about the “warehouse” in Mexico, Tom’s eyes, when he spoke to her, Ann noticed, were less trusting. “It wasn’t like that,” she said. “If it weren’t for Nora, New Way wouldn’t exist.”

“Why would she bankroll a church, if she was an atheist?” Tom asked.

“I think she felt guilty. Chet had had a bad childhood. He didn’t get along with his father. He finally found a purpose in the church. Nora wanted Chet to be happy.” Ann heaved a sigh. “Can we talk about Travis now?”

“Okay,” Tom said.

Ann looked to her husband then back at the detective. “Do you think Nora was killed because she knew what happened to Travis?”

Tom shook his head. “We have no evidence to say either way. Like I said, we’ll know more after we go through her things.” He stood up. “I’ll call you as soon as we have more information.”

The detective gone, Ann turned to her husband. “Nora was killed because she knew what happened to Travis. I’m sure of it.”

Richard was sitting in the armchair, his head slung back, eyes closed. When he opened his eyes, there was a weariness in them that made Ann pause. “You’re thinking I really don’t know anything,” she said.

“Bingo.”

Ann didn’t blame her husband for doubting her, after Tijuana and the tunnel. Despite his skepticism, she felt compelled to try to piece things
together. “Come to think of it, the only person who’d want to hurt Nora is Chuck Blackmart. The feud between him and us started when Nora dumped his early pieces. It made his later work less valuable to collectors. Did I tell you that he thought I put Nora up to it? Blackmart was furious that a wealthy patron like Nora criticized his work publicly. Maybe—” Her head down, Ann talked on trying to figure how it all happened.

Ann heard glass clinking. She looked up. “Richard?”

Through the doors into the dining room she spotted a bottle of Glen Fidditch on the table. Richard lifted a glass of the amber liquid to his lips. He downed it without flinching. His eyes, when he turned to her, were bloodshot. “No more theories, Ann. I’m done with your theories and your goddamn
magical
thinking.”

C
HAPTER
21

Wednesday, October 24

9:30 A.M
.

T
he next morning, Chet accepted Ann’s invitation to come to the house and talk. Ann hadn’t seen the pastor since yesterday morning, when they found Nora. They sat in Ann’s kitchen nursing cups of hot tea. Chet’s eyes were red and puffy. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” he said.

“Did you know that we had a fight the day she died?” Ann hoped her questions wouldn’t upset Chet further.

“About what?”

“You.”

He carefully placed his cup on the saucer. “Me?”

“Nora said you were wrecking my mind with religion.”

Chet looked hurt. “What else did she say?”

“You’re angry, aren’t you?”

He hung his head. “I guess I am, a little. It’s selfish of me, after what’s happened.” His eyes were filling again.

“Chet, what did the police say to you?”

“They asked where I was,” he said. “What I was doing. Standard stuff.”

“Who do you think could have murdered your mother?”

His shoulders rose and fell along with a sigh. “I have no idea.”

Ann was silent for a moment, wondering how much she should reveal. Finally she said, “Did the police tell you that Nora left me several messages about Travis?”

Chet looked up sharply. “No. What did she say?”

“Nora had something important to tell me about my son. Did she ever talk to you about Travis?”

“Only in general terms. That it was terrible what happened. Who could have done it? That sort of thing.”

“So you know nothing?”

Chet’s eyes widened in hurt surprise. “Of course not.”

Ann’s curiosity about Nora was growing. “Did your mother have a will?”

Chet lifted his hands and let them fall on the table. “She told me she’d made one. The police are searching for it. Did you tell them you and Mother argued about me?”

“I did.”

“What did they say?”

Ann’s voice was quiet. “They asked about your relationship with Nora.”

“And?”

“I said that there’d been trouble between you, but that you’d come to terms.”

Chet looked like a rumpled orphan, unsure whether to burst out crying or say something nice about his dead mommy, with whom he fought all the time. “It’s hard for outsiders to know what goes on in a family.”

Ann felt the need to know more. “Do you think Nora’s in heaven?” she asked.

Chet looked down at his hands. “I pray she accepted Jesus into her heart. Before she died.”

“You wanted to save her soul, didn’t you?”

Chet looked so sad. “Yes.”

Ann remembered Richard talking about Todd Pannikin’s
Saving Souls for Jesus
book. She never understood how one went about
saving souls
. Maybe Chet could explain it to her. “Chet,” she ventured. “Help me understand this. I’ve heard a lot of people say, yourself included, that accepting Jesus is the way to happiness. To heaven. What does that really mean?” She was glad her question brought a smile to her friend’s lips. He looked like he could use a distraction from his troubles. She sure could.

“You know what I like about you?” Chet said.

Ann smiled back. “What?”

“You’re so earnest and naïve.” Chet shook his head once. “No. Naïve is not the right word. It’s more like you want to understand, but you go about it the wrong way.”

Her face scrunched into a questioning frown. “How so?”

Chet leaned back in his chair, his mother’s murder momentarily forgotten. “Jesus defies logic. You see, the rational part of your mind is in the way. If you let your heart do the looking and the hearing, you will see and hear Him. Think of it as opening up a third ear. We’re all born with two ears, right? Only those who are attuned to the mystical can hear God’s radio—so to speak—with that third ear. Or a third eye even. All of us see the material world with our two eyes.” He indicated his own with his index and middle finger, then hers. “But only the person who opens his heart to Jesus can see Him through this special third eye.”

“As you do?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“So I have to stop thinking and start feeling more?” Ann said, casting a furtive look over her shoulder. Her husband was locked in his home office on the other side of the kitchen. If he heard Chet talking like this, he’d have a
fit
.

“Stop thinking and start feeling,” Chet said. “That’s the way to Jesus and to eternal happiness.”

“I thought God gave man reason and free will,” Ann said. “So that we can think and learn about the world.”

Chet shook his head. “It’s really pretty simple, Ann. Think about how you want to spend eternity and act accordingly, here on earth.”

Chet’s reasoning was confusing.

“Getting back to Nora,” Ann said. “If she didn’t accept Jesus before she died, does that mean she’s going to pay for her
mistake
by burning in hell, forever? It seems kinda harsh of God. I mean, I thought God was supposed to be our father. A loving parent would never condemn their child to hell if they didn’t do that one thing he expected them to do. See what I’m saying? If a person lives a good life but doesn’t believe in God, then how could their “father” hurt them like that? Wouldn’t he just be happy knowing his child had made it through life okay?”

Chet was looking down at his hands apparently considering what she said.

Ann went on. “Or maybe it’s like this: God doesn’t consider an atheist to be his child and therefore feels he can punish the atheist. At will. But why bother? I mean if the child is not his, why should he care?”

“We’re all God’s children, Ann.”

“Even if we don’t want to be?”

Chet’s voice had an edge. “Yes. Think about it—”

“You just said I shouldn’t think. I should feel more.”

“Look. This is a big subject. All you need to know is that God—our heavenly Father—knows what is best for His children. Meaning all of us. A child cannot know what a parent knows. He doesn’t have the context. Because we’re His children—”

“—whether we like it or not,” Ann said.

Chet ignored that. “We have to do what He says.”

“And you believe your mother saw the
light
before she died?”

A deep sorrow settled over Chet’s features. “I hope so.”

Richard came out of his study where he had locked himself in for the duration of the pastor’s visit. His eyes were bloodshot again. Ann could smell whiskey on his breath.

“Richard, please don’t…”

“If that bastard comes around again I’ll kick his sorry ass to hell where he belongs. You hear me?”

“You hate him that much?”

“You damned right. Giving you false hope.” Her husband’s face was dark and tortured. “We were soul mates once. Now look at us. We barely know each other.”

“Richard, please. Let’s talk—”

He turned abruptly and left the room. The door to his study slammed shut.

The distant sound of music drifted through the air. Their neighbor was at his piano again. At the kitchen door, Ann could hear him singing, Bob Dylan’s
Forever Young
. The lyrics rose in plaintive melody.