The Abduction of Mary Rose (17 page)

"He's dead, for sure. But we don't know that this is the man who called you. Now, don't go jumping to conclusions, as you've got to admit you have a tendency to do. Though I agree it's possible."

 
"It's more than that. It's probable. Why didn't you tell me about this, Sergeant? Why did you let me go on? Never mind, it's easy enough to check out. Just have his wife listen to the tape. She'll certainly know if it's her husband's voice or not."

He told her he planned to do just that. "But she's in pretty rough shape right now. I'm going to give her a little time before I hit her with this."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she repeated, softly now, just wanting to understand.

"Norman Banks' murder is under investigation. I've already told you more than I should have. I don't want you interfering in this."

"Then you do believe me." But if he truly believed the implication of that call, wouldn't he have already played the tape for Mrs. Banks? Would he really wait a day or two until she recovered from the shock of her husband's murder to find out if it was the same man?

When did they give a damn about the victim's family? How much had they cared about my great-grandfather? About his pain? His loss?

"Look, I know that someone called you," he said. "But it's a big leap from that to Norman Banks being one of the two men who abducted Mary Rose."

She didn't see it as such a big leap. Maybe he even wanted to be found out. "A lot of years to carry such a burden, Sergeant. I think he read my story and became unglued, called the other one. That would have posed a threat to his killer. The alpha of the two."

The sergeant agreed her theory had some merit. He wouldn't go further than that, but she was encouraged. She felt a new excitement, new hope. They were going to solve this thing. She knew it. "I'm going to track down Mr. Seaton," she said. "Talk to him. Maybe he'll remember something more after all this time has passed."

"I thought we agreed you'd leave this to the police."

She ignored the comment. She'd agreed to nothing. "I take it you no longer think I should just put the whole thing behind me?"

"Would it matter if I did?"

"Not really. When are you going to let Mrs. Banks listen to the tape?"

"A day or two."

"Will you call me right after she hears it?"

Instead of answering her question, he asked her if she knew a Frank Llewellyn. She heard the slightest trace of irritation in his tone and understood he wasn't exactly thrilled that she'd pulled strings to get the file. Tough. She also had a feeling he admired her tenacity.

He nodded. "I figured. Not much in it, is there?"

"No. I didn't really expect there to be. But naturally I hoped." At least he'd looked at the file and hadn't simply dismissed her as some kind of crackpot as she'd concluded.

Molly let out a yowl and in the same moment someone rapped at the door and the attractive black policewoman, who could have been a high-fashion model, opened it a fraction, gave her a smile, and said to the sergeant that the mayor wanted to talk to him.

The open door had let in the din of banter, laughter and ringing phones. Naomi picked up the carrier and left the police station, but not before getting his promise that he would call her as soon as he played the tape for Deborah Banks, whatever the outcome.

* * *

The mayor was gone, leaving him with the problem of citizens complaining about prostitution and drug deals on Water Street, especially since they opened the strip club. So let the city close it down, he'd told her in the nicest way possible. In the meantime, they'd do their best to tone things down. 

Now, setting the problem on the back burner, Sergeant Graham Nelson sat quietly at his desk going over his conversation with Naomi Waters.

Was she onto something solid here?
Well, he'd know soon enough. If she was, he had to consider the possibility that she was in very real danger. He had no illusions that the bastard who brutalized that girl all those years ago would have developed warm and fuzzy paternal feelings toward a biological daughter he had no idea of until he saw her picture in the paper and read her story. In fact, if facts played any part here, it would be in his best interests to kill her and dispose of her body. But he also had to know that if she did go missing, he'd be hunted down like the cur he was. We couldn't be letting that happen to the woman and then to her daughter.

Let's hope he has a job to go to and didn't follow her here this morning. Better still, let's hope she's way off track on this whole thing and I don't have to worry about finding her dead someplace.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the dregs left in the pot.

He had to admit, she was damned convincing, not to mention pretty as a sunset, and kind of vulnerable in her determination while fiercely focused on avenging Mary Rose Francis. She reminded him a little of his kid sister, Angie. He was proud of Angie, loved her to pieces, but once she got hold of something, she was like a dog with a bone. Try to take it from her and you might end up punching in your friends' phone numbers with a hook.

Speaking of phones. He picked up the receiver and called Deborah Banks, asked her if tomorrow afternoon was convenient for him to come see her. Sounding a million miles away, she said that was fine. He told her he had a few more questions, saying nothing about the tape. He'd wait till he got there to spring that on her. By the time he hung up, the coffee in his gut had turned to oven cleaner, and he took the roll of Tums from his shirt pocket and popped a couple into his mouth and waited for the burning to go away.

Gotta lay off the coffee
, he told himself.

Chapter Twenty-Five

More than a week passed and Naomi had no word from Sergeant Nelson. During that entire time she'd done little else but hang by the phone and listen for strange noises in the night. She had also taken to keeping a knife under her pillow.

Disappointment tasted like ashes in her mouth. She had thought he finally believed her when she left his office. What happened since then? She answered her own question. The voice didn't belong to Norman Banks and therefore he saw no point in calling her. But he had promised he would, one way or the other.

The one phone call she did get was from Charlotte, and she let the machine take it. She felt mildly guilty about not returning the call, but the thought of evoking more of Edna's venom made her resistant. The last thing she wanted was to be drawn back into the woman's web. And she could be, through Charlotte. She knew intellectually she was too old to allow herself to be intimidated by Edna, but those old childhood tapes playing in her head didn't know that.
No matter how old I get, I'm always that same little kid around her, eager to please, knowing I never will. I need to work on that. Aunt Edna is a racist; she can't help herself. Odd, though, considering Mom was the epitome of tolerance and compassion. Why would her sister be so different? Or maybe Frank was right and she just resents me for usurping her position with Mom.
Naomi could even understand that, but it didn't make her feel any better. In the end, it was probably a combination of things. The truth was, she'd never know exactly what made Edna tick. And right now, she told herself as she picked up the telephone receiver, Edna was the least of her problems.

"River's End Police Department, Detective Henderson," the pleasant-voiced woman said. Naomi introduced herself and asked to speak with Sergeant Nelson. After a slight pause, the woman told her that Sergeant Nelson had suffered a mild heart attack and was in the hospital. Stunned, Naomi listened as the woman reiterated that it was a mild one, and that he was being released today, and would be taking early retirement. "Is there anyone else who could help you?"

She was remembering how flushed he had looked to her that day. Answering the question, she said, "No, no thanks. Although … I may be calling you back."

The news had shaken her, but he must be okay if they were releasing him. A wake-up call. If he heeded the warning and changed his lifestyle, he could live a long and healthy life.

Since the case had never been reopened, it wouldn't be passed on to anyone else. So she was back to square one. Well, not quite square one. She still had the tape.

Naomi slid the phone book out from under the phone, looked up Norman Banks' number, and dialed it.

Chapter Twenty-Six

"No," the woman answered in a frail, sad voice, no one had asked to her listen to any tape. "Last week the policeman—I forget his name, nice man, said he was coming out to talk to me, but he never showed." She agreed to see Naomi if she came along now.

"I have an appointment with my doctor later this afternoon," she said.

Naomi promised not to take up much of her time, saying she'd explain about the tape when she got there. Now, fifteen minutes later, she was on the road, excited, hopeful. At the same time, she didn't feel good knowing she was going to draw fresh blood from an open wound, but she didn't see that she had any choice. She would have preferred Sergeant Nelson did the deed, but through no fault of his own, that hadn't been possible. If he'd given the case to anyone else, she would have heard about it. No, she was quite sure she was the last thing on his mind.

As sorry as she was to hear about his heart attack, she was also relieved to know he hadn't simply written her off as an irrational, overly emotional female. She'd underestimated him. She knew she could have given the information to Detective Henderson on the phone, but then that would have meant more waiting, if they even bothered to follow it up at all. No. She needed to know now, one way or the other, if the voice on the phone belonged to the murdered man, Norman Banks.

Molly howled at her from the backseat, not at all happy with being back in the carrier, on her way to who knew where. "Sorry, girl," she said over her shoulder. "I know you hate this as much as I do."

Molly fell silent and Naomi's thoughts turned to Charlotte. It wasn't right to just ignore her like she'd been doing. Cowardly, to say the least. Maybe she'd drop in at the gym tomorrow and have a chat with her.
Wouldn't hurt me to sign up for a yoga class.
No better stress reliever she could think of. And she could use the exercise. Then again, there were probably rules about bringing your cat to class. Still, nothing stopping her from dropping in for a couple of minutes and being up-front with Charlotte. She owed her that much.

Molly complained and Naomi spoke to her in soothing sounds until she quieted again. Minutes later, she turned left onto Barnesville Road, where Debbie Banks lived, most recently by herself.

A hundred yards along, the car left the pavement and she was now driving over a rough, potholed dirt road, forcing her to ease off on the gas. All signs of the city were behind her now. She passed a couple of old barns, sway-back farmhouses that hadn't yet met the bulldozer. A silo. Saw an old rusting tractor sitting in the middle of a field. Here and there, more modern bungalows had gone up.

She passed a small grocery store with a Pepsi sign out front. The house was three miles past the store, Mrs. Banks had told her, small and beige with brown trim. Blue Toyota in the yard.

Focusing her attention on finding the house, Naomi didn't notice the light-coloured van following her, keeping a fair distance behind her car. Once she looked in the rearview mirror, but saw only Molly standing on all fours in her carrier, paws against the door, eyes wide and unhappy. Feeling helpless, Naomi apologized again. Poor Molly, she hated the car. She's pure housecat. It wasn't fair that she couldn't be home where she was content. At the same time, she couldn't take chances with her life. She'd never forgive herself if anything happened to Molly.
I've turned us into the hunted. Even the haunted.