(2012) Colder Than Death (13 page)

“If that's the case, how does she justify her mother leaving her behind with an abusive drunk?”

“She thinks her mom had a plan. That she was going to come back for her, but when all the hubbub started with her father being accused of murder and with there not being a body, Gretchen thinks her mom concluded that if people thought she was dead she could disappear easier.”

“Under that scenario her mother just abandons Gretchen, leaving her with a father in an institution and no mother. Not a very loving gesture.”

“Gretchen explains that away by saying all the evidence indicates that her mom wasn't a very good mother. Actually, that's not the right way to put it. Gretchen thinks her mom wasn't ready for motherhood. But the aunt who raised her was. So Gretchen thinks that since she was still a baby her mother figured she wouldn't be too attached to her and that she'd grow up loving her Aunt as if she were her mother. But what Gretchen's real mother didn't count on was having a daughter like Gretchen.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that she wouldn't sit still without wanting to know what happened to her. She hired private investigators. That's where I got the idea to hire one.”

“Obviously her private investigators didn't find her mother.”

“Right,” Quilla said softly. “If I tell you something, will you promise absolutely never to tell Gretchen?”

“Absolutely.”

She pauses a moment, then said, “I think Gretchen's theory is all wrong. I think that somebody kidnapped her and killed her. Just like my aunt.”

“Since when did you think your aunt was kidnapped?”

“Always. When Gretchen first told me her theory about her mother's disappearance, I didn't believe it. I just pretended to. I was only thirteen. Gimme a break! What did I know? She was older. Everything she said sort of made sense, so I went along with it. But since they found aunt Brandy’s body I've been racking my brain to come up with possible theories and I know some of them are dumb, but the newest one I came up with has to do with Gretchen's belief that her mother's still alive. Del, this might be crazy, but the more I think about it I keep wondering if whoever killed my Aunt killed Gretchen's mother.”

Her statement bothered me. I wondered what she would say if she knew that the night before Perry had suggested the same thing, naming Kyle Thistle as the killer.

“Am I stupid to be thinking that, Del?”

“No. Two women disappear. It's a fair assumption.”

“Since they found my aunt’s body I've been thinking a horrible thought.”

“What?”

“That...” She looked out the passenger side window. “That maybe Gretchen's mother's body is lying in some other mausoleum in Elm Grove cemetery.” She looked at me. “Am I demented to think that? I mean, it's not like they disappeared three weeks apart. I figured it out. My Aunt disappeared nine years ago. Gretchen's mother vanished twenty-four years ago. Fifteen years apart. That’s not really a pattern. If the killer's the same guy, why would he wait fifteen years to kill again? What destroys my theory is that there weren't other killings. If somebody's been kidnapping and murdering women over the last twenty-four years, he certainly wouldn't let fifteen years slip between each victim, right?”

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. “There
isn't
a fifteen-year gap. Alyssa disappeared fifteen years ago. There
is
a pattern,” I said weakly. “There
is
”

She looked confused for a moment, then a sense of awareness overcame her face. “But you got the note from here and the postcard and... ”

“Whoever killed her could've sent them.”

“Del...” She looked terrified.

“First, Gretchen's mother. Twenty-four years ago. Then nine years later, Alyssa. Then seven years later, your aunt. If this is an accurate time line, whoever did it may have done it again in the last couple of years. Or maybe there are
more
missing women that we don't know are missing.”

“Did you ever wonder before if Alyssa was dead before today... before now?”

“Not with any conviction. I wondered if something had happened to her, if she'd been hit by a car in some strange town or if she had amnesia...things like that. But then the note came and it never occurred to me that she wasn't alive. Then the postcard came and that solidified it. There was no reason to think any other way.”

“But the words came out of you so easily now.”

“What words?”

“That Alyssa's disappearance fits into the pattern. If all these years you've been thinking that she's alive someplace out there, how could you suddenly think that she might've been killed fifteen years ago?”

“One thing always bothered me. There was no reason for her to send me a note, let alone a postcard. To her, I was history. She'd talked about getting out of Dankworth from the day I met her. I had this deep high school crush on her, so it was easy to hold on to the fact that the note meant that there was still hope that she'd come back to me. The postcard enhanced my hope. Until a minute ago when you mentioned Gretchen's mother’s body being hidden in a mausoleum back at Elm Cross it makes sense that Alyssa could be there too. Or somewhere. She's dead. And whoever killed her murdered your Aunt and Gretchen's mother and God knows how many more. We'll have to tell all of this to Perry. I'm gonna call him right now.”

The daytime dispatcher, Lucy Devane, took the call and informed me that Perry was checking out a three-car accident in the parking lot of Dankworth General Hospital. I told her to have him call me the second he was free and that Quilla and I were ready to meet with him.

“I threw up when we got the word that Aunt Brandy was found in the mausoleum. I always thought that the kidnapper took her away and held her prisoner or made her be his slave or that she got sold into a harem for one of those middle eastern sheik guys.” She paused for a few seconds. She seemed to be thinking. “Del, what you said about Alyssa and Mrs. Thistle both being in mausoleums at the cemetery: if that’s possible maybe we could check every one and... ”

“You just can't break into a mausoleum. Just like you can't exhume a body without getting a court order. A grave is considered hallowed ground. The only time a body is allowed to be disinterred is when a crime is suspected.”

“But isn't this connected to a crime? And isn't it fair to assume that if the killer hid one body in a mausoleum he'd hide all his victims in one?”

“There are dozens of mausoleums in that cemetery, Quilla. To open each one would take a huge amount of legal paperwork. Families have to be contacted. Permission given. Not to mention the manpower. Mausoleums are sealed. Relatives would fight it tooth and nail. It could turn into a nightmare.”

“Do you think that whoever killed my aunt put her in that particular mausoleum for a reason?”

“Sure. It was a great hiding place. If the idiots who broke into it hadn't done so, she never would've been found.”

“But did the killer have a specific reason for hiding her in
that
mausoleum in that part of the cemetery?”

“Most likely because it's so remote.”

“But could there be
another
reason. I'm trying to think like a good detective would, I'm trying not to leave a single stone unturned.”

What Quilla was saying prompted me to tell her about my cemetery buff theory. She listened quietly, then said, “Are they the ones who take a piece of wax paper and rub it against an old headstone?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't know people who did that had a name.” She looked pained and upset.

“They don't officially. I call them cemetery buffs.”

“I knew a cemetery buff,” she said softly.

“Who?”

She paused for a few seconds. “Aunt Brandy.” I stared at her solemnly, more than a little anxious.

“This is getting creepier and creepier,” said Quilla, nodding her head yes, looking confused and frightened.

Chapter 14

“You're sure?” I asked.

“Don't you think I'd remember something like that?” She looked as if her feelings were hurt. “Geez, Del.” She turned away and I was about to apologize when my iPhone rang.

“Hello?... Sorry, Tyler... I'll take care of everything, like we discussed... We need to talk, go over the arrangements... Right... Don't worry about a thing. I'll get on it immediately... Bye.” I turned to Quilla and said, “Today's no good to talk to Perry. Or to Gretchen. A friend of mine’s father died. I have to handle the funeral. Perry will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“I'll meet with him alone.”

“That's not a good idea. You'll say something that'll tick him off, he'll kick you out and nothing will be accomplished. Besides, he won't talk to you without me there.”

“This is bullshit.”

“I have to pick up a body. I'll take you home.”

“I'll come with you.”

“Are you crazy?”

“We should go over what we're gonna talk to Cobb about
whenever
we talk to him.”

“Not now. As of this instant, my mind is on arranging this funeral. Nothing else.”

Quilla was about to say something when my Blackberry rang. “Hello?”

“This is Gretchen Yearwood. I received a message from Quilla Worthington to call Del Coltrane at this number.”

The call caught me off guard. I think I smiled. A part of me felt happy to hear her voice. But even though I had a crush on her, the joy I would have felt upon hearing her voice was tainted by the realization that Alyssa might be lying dead in a mausoleum at Elm Grove. I felt torn. I'd spoken to Gretchen at the Funeral Home for maybe five minutes the night before and, less than half an hour ago at the cemetery, we'd just nodded at each other, but I felt such an attraction. She was a stranger, yet I knew intimate details about the loss in her life, I felt a deep kinship with her that was difficult to comprehend. But with Alyssa I had a history. Despite all the years, I felt a tinge of disloyalty.

“This is Del. Hi.”

“Quilla had an urgency in her voice that I'm not used to. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. It's just that she and I were talking about her Aunt's disappearance and your name came up and...”

My
name?” she said, surprised.

Quilla grabbed the phone. “Let me do this. You're too slow. Hi, Gretch... I'm okay... Yes!... I know this might sound crazy, but Del and I need to talk to you about your relationship with Aunt Brandy...Well, mainly because we want to talk to you
before
Perry Cobb talks to you... Because he found out you knew Aunt Brandy... Kind of indirectly through me...If we could talk to you it'll all make sense... Now?...” Quilla looked at me. “She can do it now.”

“I
can't
do it now.”

“Now's bad for Del...Uh-huh...Hold on, Gretchen.” She cupped the phone. “She has to take her dad to the eye doctor and then she has a meeting. The only time she can do it is right
now
.” Her eyes pleaded with me. “Can't the funeral arrangements wait a few minutes? It won't take that long. C'mon, Del If we can't meet with Cobb for a day or two, let's at least get Gretchen out of the way. The man who died is gone. It won't matter to him.”

“But it matters to his family.”

“Did anyone murder him?” She pounded her right hand on the dashboard. “Is anyone in his family going out of their mind with grief.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I've waited more than half my life to hunt down the guy who killed my Aunt. And if Gretchen has something useful to say, I don't think it's too much to ask for you to wait a few more minutes before you start burying somebody else.”

She glared at me. The passion in her eyes did me in.

“Alright,” I said with resignation.

She brought the Blackberry to her mouth and said, “We'll be right over.”

******

Within ten minutes I was pulling into the driveway of Gretchen's house, a well-kept Cape Cod with an addition on the back. Quilla was animated as she got out of the car, trotted to the front door and rang the doorbell. A moment later a hand reached out and open the screen door. I assumed Gretchen would be standing there to greet us. But it wasn't Gretchen's hand. It was a man's. Then I saw his face. He smiled as if he were a grandfather welcoming his grandchild.

I knew that it was Kyle Thistle. As I stepped into the house I knew he couldn't have killed Alyssa. He was in the institution. But I couldn't help wondering if I was looking at the man who killed Gretchen's mother and Brandy Parker.

Perry said that Kyle Thistle was in his mid-60s, but he looked closer to eighty. Oily gray hair turning white in spots, thinning in random splotches, a dulled look in his brown eyes and an inappropriate smile that I suspected was a permanent fixture. He had a confused, lost look about him that made him seem almost childlike. I wondered if he had always been like this or if it was the result of spending a dozen years in a state-run mental institution.

Quilla hugged him as if he were family. He patted her on top of her head. She loved it. Her need for paternal tenderness tugged at my heart.

“This is Del Coltrane,” she said as we stepped into the living room. “Del, this is Mister Thistle.”

He extended his hand and warmly said “Kyle.” I took his hand, amazed at how small and delicate it was.

Gretchen suddenly appeared, coming up to us from a hallway that separated the living room from the dining room. She was wearing the same clothes she had on at the funeral. She didn't look especially happy to see me. If anything, the passive expression on her face led me to believe that seeing me was no big deal for her. She nodded at me and hugged Quilla, saying, “Didn't think I'd be seeing
you
again today.” Then she turned to her father. “We'll be in the kitchen.”

Kyle ambled slowly to a recliner with a paisley design in the living room.

Gretchen led us into a spacious, comfortable kitchen that looked like it could be the set for a TV cooking program.

“Sit down,” said Gretchen, gesturing towards the large, round oak table. A burnished orange bowl with three Granny Smith apples in it was in the middle of the table.

I sat. So did Quilla. Gretchen leaned against the sink.

“What's this all about?” she said firmly, as if she were an attorney waiting to present an argument.