The Cliff House Strangler (33 page)

When my cab reached Annjenett’s safe house, I was forced to put the matter aside, at least for the time being. The same young maid answered my ring, only this time she recognized me and I was shown directly to the parlor. Alexandra Sechrest joined me almost
immediately, looking even more worried and drawn than the last time I’d visited.

We spent several minutes speaking of inconsequential matters, after which I inquired if she could give me Gideon Manning’s address. “I must meet the man before the hearing,” I explained. “There are several questions I wish to ask him.”

A shadow crossed Alexandra Sechrest’s lovely face. “I would prefer not to involve him in this, but I suppose that’s impossible.”

“I’m afraid it is.” I placed little hope on the answer to my next question, but it was necessary to ask. “Please, Mrs. Sechrest, have you been able to think of anyone who might verify the platonic nature of your friendship with Mr. Manning?”

Alexandra Sechrest let her breath out slowly. “I’ve given it a great deal of consideration since our last meeting,” she said at last. “Unfortunately, I cannot think of anyone who could swear to it in a court of law.” She tilted up her chin in an unexpected gesture of defiance. “Unless someone never leaves your side, is with you every day and night for weeks on end, how could they possibly swear to such a thing?”

“They couldn’t, of course.”

She gave a dry little laugh. “The thing I find most absurd about my husband’s accusation is that he has engaged in countless extramarital affairs. He no longer makes much of an effort to be discreet.” The laugh turned into a half sob. “Yet no one takes the slightest interest in
his
infidelity. It is so terribly unjust!”

Not trusting myself to get started on a subject that rankled the very core of my being, I merely stated that I agreed and let it go at that—for the moment.

Alexandra was studying my face, as if trying to gauge my thoughts. All the while, she betrayed her nerves by twisting and un-twisting the long, slender fingers that lay in her lap.

“Miss Woolson, I beg you to tell me the truth. What will happen to my sons if Luther convinces the judge that I’m an unfit mother?”

I considered how best to answer this question. I preferred that my client enter the courtroom on Friday feeling positive about her prospects. On the other hand, she would have to be prepared for the worse, which, at this juncture, appeared the most likely culmination of the case. In the end, I decided that only the truth would serve.

“I fear they’ll be sent to live with their father,” I said, forcing myself to go on even as I observed the anguish on her face. “Your husband has enlisted the services of a very competent attorney, who will seize upon any opportunity to win his case. You must realize, Mrs. Sechrest, that the most damaging accusation a man can make against his wife in a custody battle is that she is immoral. I can think of no court that would give such a woman custody of her children, especially two boys over the age of seven.”

She sank back into her chair, appearing suddenly exhausted and drained of hope. Clearly, she had not allowed herself to truly contemplate the idea that she might permanently lose her sons.

“Dear Lord,” she said in a very faint voice. “What are we to do?”

Now that Mrs. Sechrest was aware of the worst that could happen, it was time to rekindle at least a small flame of hope. I infused my voice with purpose and resolve.

“We will start by questioning Gideon Manning. Until this past week, he was in your husband’s employ, whereas you’ve been out of the house for more than a month. We can only hope that he is privy to, or perhaps has overheard, some of your husband’s plans. We must also learn what Mr. Manning will say if he is called upon to testify during the hearing.”

“Surely Luther wouldn’t call Gideon to testify on his behalf,” she said, looking askance.

“No, but
we
certainly will. That’s one of the reasons I must speak to him. It’s important to determine what kind of witness he’ll make on the stand.” I drew out my notebook and began jotting down notes. “I must also visit your neighbor, the woman who
took you in last week after Mr. Sechrest’s attack. What was her name again?”

“Mrs. Jane Hardy,” she said. “She is a widow.”

“Yes, I’ll make a point of speaking to her. Also, have you talked to your sister yet? You said she saw some of the bruises your husband inflicted.”

“I’ve spoken to her, but she’s reluctant to appear as a witness. She’s concerned about our mother and the effect this will have on our family’s reputation.” She lowered her eyes. “There has never been a divorce in our family. Mama is of the opinion that I did not try hard enough to make it work. She’s of the old school, which does not believe in airing one’s dirty linen in public, no matter the provocation.”

“I see,” I said, although in truth I found it hard to countenance a mother who would prefer her daughter to remain in an abusive marriage rather than to lose face in the community. “The question is, Will your sister stand up for you despite her misgivings?”

“I think—well, at least I hope she will,” she replied, looking uncertain. “I know she believes I should have my boys. And she and my mother have never cared much for Luther. Yes,” she pronounced with more conviction. “I will ensure that she appears on my behalf.”

We spent the next half hour going over our strategy for the divorce hearing, after which I caught a brougham to the address Alexandra had given me for her boys’ former tutor. It was not Gideon Manning’s residence, but his brother’s house in the Mission District. Since Manning had been a live-in tutor at the Sechrest home for the past two years, Alexandra thought he might have gone there until he could find a place of his own.

I was in luck. A pretty young woman with thick brown hair braided about her head answered the door. She looked a bit fatigued as she attempted to balance a fidgety baby boy of about ten or eleven months on her right hip, but she still managed a broad smile. “Yes, miss? Can I help you?”

Giving her my name, I explained that I was representing Mrs. Sechrest in her divorce and would like to speak to Mr. Gideon Manning. After a moment’s hesitation, and a curious look that traveled from my hat to my boots, she threw open the door and invited me inside.

It was a small house, simply furnished, but neat and clean. There was a homemade hooked rug in the hallway, and several pictures hanging on the walls looked to have been painted by a talented amateur. I could hear the sound of a slightly older child playing with a barking dog somewhere upstairs.

“I’m Loretta Manning,” she told me. “Gideon is my husband’s younger brother. He’s been staying with us for the past week.” She shifted the plump, wriggling baby to her other hip, then said, “I think Gideon is upstairs in his room. If you’ll please wait in the parlor, I’ll tell him he has a visitor.

Thanking her, I made my way into the room she had indicated. The parlor boasted a comfortable-looking sofa and several armchairs, a well-stocked bookcase, and a pianoforte located in the recess of a large bay window. The fireplace mantel contained a matched set of pewter candlesticks and several family photographs, including one of two small boys, the baby I had just seen and a boy of about three, probably the one I could hear running around upstairs. A mending basket lay on the floor beside one of the chairs, and a book had been left open, facedown, on an end table, as if the reader had been suddenly interrupted. It was a friendly, cozy room, one that the family actually used, rather than reserving it for the sole purpose of receiving guests.

I had been waiting only a few minutes when a tall, clean-shaven young man wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a rather inexpensive, although presentable, brown woolen suit joined me. He had a full head of sandy blond hair, an angular but pleasant face, and very penetrating dark brown eyes, which regarded me quizzically.

“Good afternoon, Miss Woolson, I am Gideon Manning,” he said, coming over to shake my hand. “My sister-in-law mentioned
that you’re representing Mrs. Sechrest’s interests in her divorce petition.”

Returning the young man’s handshake, I said, “Yes, Mr. Manning. That’s why I’ve come to see you this afternoon. I apologize if the questions I must ask appear overly candid, but the circumstances leave me no choice.”

The unemployed tutor regarded me seriously. “I understand, Miss Woolson. I wish to do everything I can to help Mrs. Sechrest.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, Mr. Manning.” I reached into my briefcase and pulled out my notebook. Obtaining his permission to jot down any pertinent facts concerning the case, I said, “Now then, I understand you were recently dismissed as tutor for Mrs. Sechrest’s two young sons by her husband, Luther Sechrest.”

The young man sank into the chair opposite me, his expression grim. “Yes, I was.” Once again he studied me, as if trying to judge how much he might safely confide. At last, he seemed to make up his mind. “Has Mrs. Sechrest mentioned the reason for my dismissal?”

“Yes, actually she has,” I said. “I understand Mr. Sechrest has accused you of carrying on an improper relationship with his wife.”

“That’s exactly what he inferred.” His voice betrayed anger and a sense of injustice. “I assure you it’s not true. Not one word of it! I cannot understand a man who would slander his wife in such a despicable manner, especially when he himself is so untrue to his marriage vows. Of course, for men, it’s different,” he added with a note of derision, unwittingly echoing Mrs. Sechrest’s recent sentiments. “They’re judged by an entirely different set of standards than their wives. Still, it’s unforgivable to put those poor boys through such an ordeal.”

“I quite agree, Mr. Manning. That’s why I’m determined to do everything in my power to ensure that those children are returned to their mother, and that these slanderous allegations are proved to be completely without merit.”

“I pray that you will succeed, Miss Woolson. Mrs. Sechrest is a loving, dedicated mother. Unfortunately, quite the opposite is true of her husband. During my two years service in their home, I observed little indication that Luther Sechrest cares one whit about those boys. He leaves the house before they’re up in the morning and returns home long after they’ve been put to bed at night. I’m convinced he’s merely using those children as weapons against his wife.”

“Sadly, that’s often the case in divorce actions,” I said unhappily. “When one or both parents use their offspring as bargaining chips, or to achieve a power advantage over the other, it’s the children who suffer.” I glanced down at my notes, primarily to regain my composure. The welfare of children caught in the middle of a rancorous divorce contest was a cause I hoped one day to address.

A child’s raucous laughter came from upstairs, followed by a dog barking in excitement.

Gideon Manning smiled affectionately. “My three-year-old nephew, Simon,” he explained. “He and his dog, Muffin, can get carried away at times. Soon little Lenny will start to walk, and I shudder to think of the bedlam my brother and sister-in-law will be forced to endure.”

His expression belied his words; he looked as if he were describing a slice of paradise, the life, perhaps, he envisioned for himself one day.

Almost regretfully, I went back to the task at hand. “Have you ever known Mr. Sechrest to use corporal punishment on his children?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.” His face grew hot with justifiable anger. “He seems to have reserved that particular hell for his wife. Have you seen her bruises, Miss Woolson? Only a cowardly brute would sink to such depths of depravity.”

“What about his job, Mr. Manning?” I continued, not allowing myself to be sidetracked by yet another issue close to my heart. “I understand he’s employed as foreman at the Leighton Mining Company?”

“That’s his official title, but for all intents and purposes, he runs the company. Mr. Leighton is in his eighties now and has no children, so he depends on Sechrest to make all but the most important business decisions. There’s talk that he may leave the plant to Luther when he dies, but that’s mainly conjecture. I’ve never met Mr. Leighton personally.”

“What does the company do?” I asked, honestly curious.

He smiled a little sadly. “Ironically, the boys asked me that very question several weeks before Mr. Sechrest terminated my services. They seem to have a very sketchy idea of their father’s responsibilities at the plant.” His eyes took on a distant look, as if he were reliving that lesson with the children, and perhaps others. Then, with a sigh, he explained. “Leighton Mining works with limestone shipped in from various West Coast quarries. Depending upon how it’s processed, it has any number of uses, including the manufacture of paper, glass, soap, textiles, and concrete, to name just a few. Chiefly, though, it’s used in construction. In fact, many train stations, banks, and office buildings here in the Bay Area are made primarily of limestone.”

“How interesting,” I said, realizing that my knowledge of this industry was more limited than I’d realized. “Mrs. Sechrest tells me that you provided services for her husband other than tutoring the children. Is that correct?”

He gave a wry chuckle. “Let me put it to you this way. Mr. Sechrest made certain I earned every cent of my salary. When I wasn’t busy with the boys, I did his accounts, along with a good deal of his correspondence.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Frankly, I think Mr. Sechrest is marginally illiterate. He can read at an elementary level, and do simple sums, but I suspect that’s the extent of his abilities. Not that the man is stupid. Actually, he’s exceedingly clever, if not exactly intellectual, if you take my meaning.”

“Yes, I do,” I said thoughtfully. “Given his limited education, how does he manage to run Mr. Leighton’s company?”

“Evidently, Mr. Leighton employs an accountant who takes
care of the company’s finances, and of course an attorney reads and approves all of the firm’s contracts. And as I say, Sechrest is a clever man. He always makes certain to have someone on hand to help him if he runs into a problem, even if that person doesn’t realize exactly how he’s being used.”

I phrased my next question carefully. “Did you ever come across anything that might be interpreted as . . . illegal?”