Читать книгу The Last Government Girl - Ellen Herbert - Страница 18

12

“Drink, please.” Jess nodded to the glass of water on the small table in front of this mountain of a man.

He straightened in the chair, lifted the glass in big calloused hands, a working man’s hands, and sipped. His coarse hair streaked with gray was combed straight back from his forehead, and he was deeply tanned from working outside. A wedding band width of pale skin encircled his ring finger. Why he had stopped wearing his ring?

Wafting from him was the smell of sweat and lavender, huge purple fields of it. Not that it was easy to smell anything in here with the sink area cordoned off for Alonso’s dark room. The almond-like smell from the potassium cyanide’s fixing bath permeated. Jess had become so used to the smell, it barely registered.

“What happened to me?” the man asked Jess, who sat opposite.

“Fainted. Keep your eyes straight ahead, so you don’t do it again.”

Jess hated for him to see their case map, but they couldn’t take him to their bungalow, it being so close to the house. “What’s your name, and why were you following us?”

“Vernon, Vernon Lanier.” Vernon crossed one leg over the other, hunched, and brought his hands to the back of his head as if to protect it. He showed them his ID card from District Construction.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Mr. Lanier.” Jess took his own badge from his pocket and showed Vernon. “We work for the Bureau of Investigation.” He angled the lamp’s light on Vernon’s long horsey face. “But we need some straight answers, or we’ll have to take you down to DC police headquarters.”

“I know who you are. You’re Jessup Lindsay and Alonso Crooms. Seen your picture in the paper. That’s why I followed you.”

Jess exchanged a glance with Alonso, who gave a frustrated shake of his head.

Ever since Thad Graham’s story about them appeared in The Herald, their office phone hadn’t stopped ringing. Mothers who didn’t receive their weekly letters from their daughters feared they’d been murdered. Police from the Maryland and Virginia suburbs demanded to be filled in on the details. How many girls had been murdered, and where? Why hadn’t they been informed?

And a few crazies called to confess. Still they had to be checked out, every call a waste of time.

Jess even got grief from Mrs. Trundle, who insisted he take his supper in the kitchen with Alonso from now on. “I can’t have my niece and Miss Margolis associating with someone who does your kind of work, Mr. Lindsay.”

Ruth had given Alonso a copy of their newspaper photograph in which she’d outlined their faces with their identical jaws and cleft chins. She also drew round Tojo glasses on both of them. A broad hint they looked alike.

“Jess, look at this.” Alonso pointed to the sole of Vernon’s boots.

Jess got up to see. Vernon tried to set his foot down, but Alonso held on.

Vernon’s shoe had tiny holes in the sole.

Jess’s pulse kicked up a notch. Although the towpath murder happened before they came on the job, they were given the evidence collected. An item of special interest: the photograph of a footprint. That photograph was on the back wall attached by colored string to the location of the government girl’s body found on the C&O Canal.

Jess grabbed Vernon’s hand. “There’s tar under your fingernails. You’re a roofer.”

“That’s not against the law.” Vernon tried to get up from his chair, but Alonso brought his hands to the man’s broad shoulders and kept him seated. “I didn’t kill her. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Okay.” Jess sat, reached in his shirt pocket, and pulled out a pad. “Tell us why your footprints were found near her body, Mr. Lanier.”

Vernon told them about sleeping in the abandoned lockkeeper’s house. “She must’ve screamed, but I didn’t hear her.” He was trembling. “I feel her eyes on me now. Could you take her photograph down?”

Jess raised an eyebrow at Alonso. Vernon was strange, but he was their first real lead. Five dead women, all kinds of crazy clues, but this man was the closest they had to a witness.

“Sure, Mr. Lanier.” Alonso sent Jess a look. “I’ll take it down.”

They would test Vernon. Jess would make sure Vernon didn’t look behind him.

Alonso had blown up photographs of the five girls’ faces, their eyes open, their faces startled in that last moment of life. Five death masks. The photographs were tacked to the back wall alongside a huge map of the Washington area marked with the murder locations, the Georgetown Reservoir, the Rock Creek Park, the C&O Canal, Roosevelt Island, and Arlington Cemetery. Clues printed on paper were attached to the various locations by colored string.

Alonso climbed the step ladder and covered the entire wall with a sheet. He got down and returned to the desk. “Is that better?” he asked Vernon.

“Now Doris is looking at me through a veil…” Vernon’s voice broke. “I feel her eyes...”

Alonso and Jess exchanged a startled glance. “How do you know her name?” Jess almost shouted.

Vernon could have read it in the newspaper. Thad Graham had done his research and dug up all the girls’ names. Ray K. says the reporter has a source within the MPD, but Jess suspected that source might be Ray himself.

“Her name was in her coat,” Vernon said.

“Did you cover her in her coat?”

“I did.” Vernon nodded.

Jess pounded the desk a moment in frustration, then wrote in his notebook.

A killer, who covered his victim, meant the killer felt regret, even shame for what he had done. Doris Reynolds was the only victim who had been covered. This killer had no regret or shame.

“By covering her, you disturbed a crime scene, Vernon. That’s illegal. Police need to see the body in situ.”

Vernon kept his head lowered. “I can hardly get my breath with her eyes on me.”

Alonso went to the case map, took all the girls’ photographs down, and stacked them between large pieces of cardboard for safekeeping. He left the sheet over the maps and clues and put the stack of photographs under the camp bed.

Jess watched Vernon to make sure he didn’t look around. Could Vernon tell her photograph was no longer on the wall?

Alonso returned and said, “How’s that, sir?”

Vernon lifted his head and inhaled. “Thank you, Alonso.”

Maybe Vernon had that sixth sense. What some called intuition, but was so much more.

Vernon rose partway from his chair. “This is for you.” From his pocket, he pulled out something small. “Found it on the path near her. I shouldn’t have taken it. That was wrong of me. Forgive me.” He gave it to Jess, sighed, and slumped in the chair.

Jess examined the twin silver bars. On the back were two prongs. “It attaches to the uniform’s collar with these.” Jess brought the bars to his own collar to show Alonso.

“Captain’s bars.” Alonso extended his hand. Jess gave him the insignia. “Brackets attach to the prongs and hold them in place.”

“If she ripped the bars off, the uniform would have a ragged collar, right?” Jess looked at Alonso, who said, “Couldn’t be worn again.”

Jess wrote in his notebook. The captain would have to be Army or Marines since a Navy captain was a high rank and would be older than their killer, or so they had decided. How many uniforms was a captain allotted? Did the officer have to account for the loss of a shirt? Was it easy to order another?

Alonso stood behind Vernon and took their father’s gold watch from his pocket, signaling what he wanted to try. Jess set his palm on the desk, his fingers spread wide, gesturing they needed to lower the tension first.

Alonso stepped over to the desk. “Would you gentlemen care for a cool drink?” he asked with a slight bow.

How easily Al switched into his manservant role.

“Sounds good to me,” Jess said. “How about you, Mr. Lanier?”

Suspicious, Vernon looked from Jess to Alonso and back again before he dropped his chin in a slow nod. “I would appreciate it.”

“May we call you Vernon?” Jess sat back. When Vernon said sure, Jess told him their first names. “Where you from Vernon?”

“I hale from a little place called Frog Hollow between Harpers Ferry and Shepherdstown.”

“I thought I recognized West Virginia in your voice.”

“Yep, I’m a mountain man. My pap worked the mines. Died in a cave-in. Myself, I like high airy places, mountains and rooftops.” He slumped in the chair. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Go ‘head.” A cigarette would relax him.

Vernon took out a pack of rolling papers and a grimy leather pouch. How steady his hand was as he filled the paper with golden brown tobacco from his pouch. He lit up and took a long drag, his eyes closing with pleasure. Jess set a saucer in front of him to be used as an ashtray.

The clink of bottles sounded. Alonso placed three soda pops on the table, grape, cherry, and orange. The bottles were dewy from the refrigerator they’d bought and hid from Mrs. Trundle, who complained about her electric bill.

With his pocket knife, Alonso popped their tops. “Choose your poison, Mr. Vernon.”

Vernon took the cherry, brought it to his lips, and almost guzzled the whole thing in one gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You going to arrest me for taking the pin?”

“No.” Jess sipped his grape soda. “Tell us about that night and morning again.”

Vernon went back over everything.

Jess leaned across the table and looked into Vernon’s gray ghost eyes. “The mind can be like a crowded cupboard, Vernon. Sometimes things get stored in its darkest reaches, things we don’t even know are there.”

Alonso cut the lamp, while Jess studied the man’s strong face.

Vernon’s eyes fixed on Jess, while his hand reached for the pop bottle he set on the floor beside him. He finished off the soda, set it back, and took another drag on his cigarette, depositing its ash in the saucer.

Jess marveled at how two-handed people juggled items. “Vernon, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Vernon dropped his chin in a deep nod. “You’re talking about things we know, but don’t know we know.”

“Exactly,” Jess said, “even if it sounds like a riddle.” If ever there was a candidate for Al’s technique, it was Vernon Lanier. “Bear with us a minute, Vernon.” Jess got up from his chair and went to stand beside Vernon.

Alonso sat in Jess’s place. “This isn’t going to hurt, Mr. Vernon.” Alonso produced the railroad watch from his pocket. Actually it was their father’s watch, which Alonso carried. Jess disliked anything heavy in his pocket. One-armed, he was unbalanced enough.

“I want you to relax and keep your eyes on this here watch.” He dangled it by its chain a few inches in front of Vernon’s eyes. “Don’t look away now. Stay with the watch, stay with it.” He kept repeating, his voice going lower.

For a few minutes, Vernon’s eyelids fluttered, the refrigerator’s hum the only sound in the room.

“Your eyes feel heavy, heavy. Let them close let them sink into their sockets.”

Vernon’s eyes closed. Jess had to fight to keep his own eyes open. His brother’s soft voice always lulled him.

Alonso said, “Go back to that night in March. You’re asleep in the lockkeeper’s cottage. You’re lying on the stone floor, sleeping, but something almost awakens you. What do you hear?”

Vernon was silent for a long moment. “I’m so tired.” He speaks in a whisper. “I have a crick in my neck. I roll my head and hear soft thunder, once, twice.” Vernon slumped forward and flinched. “A roar and white metal comes at me…”

Voices from the alley interrupted. Ruth was explaining about the time difference between here and Europe. “Our Jasper is already in France, Mama.” Ruth was talking about her brother in the Army.

“Lord Jesus, keep him safe,” Miss Minnie said.

Vernon shook his head like he had water in his ears. “I was dead asleep. What did you do to me?”

Alonso stood. “I was helping you remember that night.” He got the Farmer’s Almanac from the bookshelf and checked the date.

Jess sat, wrote soft thunder in his notebook then flipped through his pages of notes. “You said you heard soft thunder in your sleep that night. Twice you heard it.”

Vernon looked surprised. “I don’t remember thunder.”

“According to the Almanac the night of March 25th was clear and cool,” Alonso said, “with a full moon.”

“Yep. That’s what the police report says, too.” Jess studied Vernon who shrugged. “Then you said there was a roar and white metal came at you.”

Vernon brought his thumb and index finger to either side of his mouth and wiped. “That happened the next day, after I found her.” He told them about a white delivery truck whose brakes must have given out and almost hit him on the way home.

Jess and Alonso exchanged a puzzled look. Maybe the killer followed Vernon and tried to run him over. “You say a man appeared and helped you back on the road?”

“He was in a chicken truck heading to West Virginia. Nice fellas. They rode me almost all the way home.”

“Is it possible that chicken truck was the one that tried to run you over?”

Lowering his eyes, Vernon said, “I travelled in the back, so I never seen the front of the chicken truck, but I don’t believe they were one and the same.”

“Do you remember the license number of the truck that tried to run you over?”

Vernon closed his eyes. “Don’t believe it had a front plate.”

“How long a time was it between you finding the girl’s body and almost getting hit by the truck?”

“Maybe half an hour.”

Jess said, “Describe the truck.”

“Well, it was white and smaller than the chicken truck. And when it picked up speed, it rattled like the exhaust pipe was loose. And it still had its chrome bumper.”

He said this because the War Productions Board encouraged drivers to hand in their bumpers for scrap metal. “What kind of things might this truck have carried?”

Vernon made a face. “Bread, laundry, newspapers, maybe even milk…I don’t know.”

Jess stuck his pencil behind his ear and sat back. “When it comes to murder, I don’t believe in coincidences, Vernon. You find a young woman dead and a little while later a truck tries to run you over.”

“I see what you mean.” Vernon scrubbed his bristly jaw. “But I don’t know why he would want to do that.”

“Tell me about every person you saw after you found her body.”

“Nobody except a fisherman I passed on the bridge, but it was misty. I didn’t see him too good.” Vernon closed his eyes tight. “One thing, though. He told me he caught a big catfish, but he didn’t have a bucket, so where’d he put his fish?”

Alonso picked up his orange soda from the desk. “He didn’t catch a catfish from the bridge,” he said. “Catfish are bottom feeders. You fish them in shallows.”

“Describe this fisherman.”

Vernon closed his eyes. “He wore an old canvas hat stuck with lures pulled low on his head. That’s all I remember.”

Jess wrote this in his notebook.

Vernon stood. “Look, I gave you the pin. Now I’ve got to get back…”

“So you work for District Construction?” Jess stood as well and faced him.

“Uh-huh.” Vernon’s eyes skated from Jess’s.

He was lying, something he wasn’t good at. “Give me your address in case we need to talk to you again.”

“2010 Prospect, Georgetown. It’s a rooming house.”

Jess sat and wrote it, noticing how Vernon had touched his left ring finger, where he’d once worn a wedding ring. His lies had to do with a woman, probably not his wife.

Alonso said, “The smell from that rendering plant in Georgetown must keep you up nights.”

“Amen to that. You don’t want no breezes off the water.” His eyes avoided theirs.

But Jess didn’t smell the rendering plant’s stink on Vernon’s clothes.

“We’ll let you go, Vernon. But first we need to fingerprint you. We can do it here or take you downtown. It’s your choice.”

Vernon dropped back in the chair.

Jess got the ink pad and papers from his kit. With a rag, Alonso wiped and dried Vernon’s hands, inked his fingers, and pressed each fingertip to paper.

Vernon lifted his hand and stared at his inky fingers, his expression grim. No one enjoyed being fingerprinted. “I didn’t kill her.” He looked from Jess to Alonso.

In the movies, Vernon would be cast as the crazed killer because of his size, his wild gray hair, and deep set eyes, but Jess couldn’t see a government girl going off with him. Still he had to make sure the man had no criminal record, not here in Washington or in West Virginia.

“Here you go, Mr. Vernon. Use this to clean them.” Alonso gave him the rag and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “I take a picture of every witness,” Alonso told him and moved around the room turning on all the lamps for brightness.

“Right,” Jess said. Since there’d been no other witnesses, what Al said was true.

Vernon perked up and stood. “Haven’t been photographed in years.” He dug a comb from his pocket, strode to the little mirror on the wall, and primped. Jess almost laughed.

Alonso positioned Vernon closer to the window and snapped his picture, the flashbulb going off like a brilliant dying sun.

Vernon stood blinking. “Sure would like to see what your camera says I look like.” A wide grin opened his face. “Been told I’m a lovely man.” He gave a pleasured laugh.

“I’ll make a copy for you,” Alonso said. “Come by Friday evening long about this time, and I’ll give it to you.”

Great idea. That way they could talk to Vernon again.

“All right.” Vernon’s grin stayed fixed. “I’ll come through that back gate and knock downstairs.”

Jess and Alonso followed Vernon into the alley. Past the gate, Jess clapped his hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “Vernon, if you think of anything else, you don’t wait ‘til Friday.” He handed Vernon his card. “Call us.”

Vernon stuck the card in his shirt pocket, lifted his hand in farewell, and strolled off down the alley. Jess and Alonso watched him.

“I best go separate Vernon’s truth from his lies,” Alonso said. Once Vernon turned the corner, he slipped away, following the roofer.

Almost at the end of the alley, little boys were having a shoot-out with their fingers and sticks as guns. One of them yelled at Alonso, “Got the jump on you.” Alonso clutched his heart as if he’d been shot before he rounded the corner.