A Wrongful Death (14 page)

"Did you meet, even casually, with Elizabeth Kurtz during that period?"

"Nope."

"Will you tell me the motels you stayed in after you left Mr. Norris's cabin?"

"After my credit card statement arrives. I don't remember."

She bore with it for an hour, then stood. "I've told you all I can."

He pursed his lips in disapproval. "Ms. Holloway, the state police and my own bureau take the possible kidnapping of a child very seriously. He may be in grave danger, may already be dead. It is our sworn duty to try to locate him, and your responsibility as a law-abiding citizen to aid us in any way we ask."

She nodded solemnly. "I understand, Agent Whorf. Since I have already told you all I know, now would it please you for me to start telling you stories about how Elizabeth and I sat over a campfire conspiring to get rid of the little bugger? Or about the slave-trade marketer we met at midnight on Fisherman's Wharf and dickered with over a sale price? Give me a minute or two and I can probably come up with several additional scenarios for you to follow up on."

Agent Whorf flushed, and Janowsky's face turned a shade darker brick red. He stood first. "Let's go," he said to the young FBI agent.

"Yes, of course. Yes." Whorf stuffed the notebook into his pocket and gave Barbara a look that she assumed was meant to be threatening. "I'll be in touch with you."

I'm sure you will," she said, and walked to the door, opened it and waited for them to leave. Before the hallway door closed all the way, she said to Maria, "They're going out to get a malted milk shake or something. No more visitors today until Dad and Bailey get here."

It was not much of an office party, Barbara had to admit later, with only the small crew of her team present, but they ate the empanadas that Maria produced, and some of the cookies, drank wine or coffee, and Jack Daniel's for Bailey.

They talked about coming events, a party, a dinner party, music at the Hult Center, and exchanged presents. By five-thirty it was over. Bailey pulled on his ugly coat, wrapped a six-foot-long scarf about his neck, then paused on his way out. "Almost forgot," he said. "Looks like they've found out something about the gun. They sent someone down to Sacramento to check out a gun dealer at a show just about the time they figure Kurtz was in the area. If they nail that down, it's curtains for Carnero."

"Gun show when?" Barbara asked.

"Weekend of November eighteenth. Puts her in the cabin a few days later, with a gun in her possession."

"One she didn't use," Barbara commented.

"Oh, well. Who goes armed to take a shower?" He wished them all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year and left.

After the others had gone, Barbara took one last look about and left also. She had a date with friends for dinner.

She had not mentioned the visit by the FBI. What would have been the point? she asked herself. Nothing to be done about that. Bailey had gloated about the coming week and a half, fishing, playing golf, taking in the sun, and Shelley was brimming over with holiday spirit these days. Not a good time to introduce gloom and doom. She felt that she was being pressed tighter and tighter into a corner, now especially if they could put Kurtz in Sacramento that weekend, while she, Barbara, had been in San Francisco. Forget it, she told herself sharply. Leonora Carnero was the one being put in a box. If Elizabeth Kurtz really had bought a gun, and if that gun turned out to be a Luger, that would cinch it, as far as the police were concerned, no doubt. Where Carnero disposed of it would matter little.

Barbara was home again that night by eleven, after dinner with two good friends. Janey, a child psychologist, had asked at one point, "Did you know that there are more suicides this time of year than any other? People get depressed. But also, some people who are at death's door just don't go through until the holidays are over and done with. Go figure."

That had dispelled the good cheer, at least for a time. Three single, professional women, never married, and as Janey had said in the past, they couldn't keep a flame alive long enough to get warm all the way through. Why not? Barbara asked herself in her apartment that night. Why not? What was lacking in them? Was anything? The question posed by Dr. Sanger came to mind again: "What are you afraid of?" Nothing, she snapped back at that voice in her head.

They would prod and prod to learn where she had spent the days in San Francisco, she knew, and there was no way on earth she would ever tell them. But if Elizabeth Kurtz had been in Sacramento that weekend while she had been in San Francisco, they would come back to it again and again. Account for your time down there. Where were you? Who did you see? Did you return to Oregon by Interstate 5, go through Sacramento? She knew the process well, having watched it play out with clients many times. They were not likely to leave it alone.

She drew a bath and used a lovely new bath oil Janey had given her. Years before, they, the single women, had all agreed — no more things to be put away for safekeeping — give consumables. The oil was expensive, the fragrance elusive and faintly spicy. It felt wonderful on her skin and the steam smelled wonderful, but instead of relaxing, Barbara kept coming back to the problem of Elizabeth Kurtz. Where had she taken the child? Who would dare keep him with the FBI on the case, the state investigators, the Amber Alert? And how to account for Mrs. Cortezar's acceptance that he was well and being cared for, when presumably she was deeply attached to him? And why was Sarah Kurtz, who had never seen him, the one publicly demanding, begging for his return?

There were too many unknowns, she decided, and left the tub only when the water had cooled. But still not ready for sleep, she put on her robe and slippers and went to her office to jot notes of those few things she did know, instead of worrying over the many she didn't. Kurtz had been savagely attacked, and probably left for dead, or at least left to die unattended in the cold rain. She had gone to the shelter and stayed for five days, left with stitches in her head. Jason had been with her. Next she showed up in the apartment. Why had she come to Eugene? And where had she left Jason?

She shook her head impatiently. Just the things she knew, she reminded herself. Kurtz had called at four, then again ten minutes later. She had been afraid, terrified. She had called her friend from childhood, her almost sister, or her lesbian lover, depending on whose story was to be believed. Leonora had flown to Eugene, rented a car and had gone to the apartment, and should have arrived by the time Kurtz was making her second call to Barbara.

She stopped writing, and gazed at the wall, thinking. It didn't make sense. If Elizabeth Kurtz had known when Leonora was due in, she would have expected her by the time she called. Why choose that time to go take a shower? Especially since only a few minutes before she had been ready to go to Barbara's office. And that didn't make sense, either. If she was expecting Leonora, why call Barbara at that time? She didn't know when to expect Leonora, she decided, but then why was the door unlocked? If it had been locked, how did the killer, Leonora or someone else, get into the apartment?

Would she have left her door unlocked? As terrified as she had sounded on the phone, it just didn't seem possible. She must have opened it herself, admitted perhaps the one person she trusted, then showered.

Moving on, she reminded herself. Just the things you know. Leonora had found her friend dead, or so she said, and she had run out to call her friend's mother, who was her adopted mother as well. Barbara couldn't even imagine what that call had consisted of. But Mrs. Cortezar had left almost instantly to come to Leonora's aid, to identify her daughter, have her cremated and take her ashes home for burial. And she accepted that a beloved grandchild was well and being cared for, accepted the word of the woman who was very likely going to be accused of murdering her biological daughter.

Barbara scowled at the timetable she had jotted down, but it was inescapable. There was not enough time for anyone except Leonora to have committed the murder. Just what you know, she thought, and nodded. Elizabeth Kurtz had been terrified on the phone, and Leonora's hysteria had been real. Her runny nose, uncontrolled sobbing, her pallor, they had been real.

She left it at that and went to bed, but it wouldn't stop going round and round in her head. She hoped that Mrs. Cortezar had warned Leonora of her danger, advised her to seek counsel right away. Her shock and dismay at hearing Barbara say that Leonora was in danger of being accused of murder had also been real, she thought. She was certain that Mrs. Cortezar had not even considered it before Barbara said the words.

It was a long time before she began the drift into sleep. Then, more asleep than awake, she was dreaming that she was in the witness chair and the questions were being flung at her with a furious intensity. Who did you see? What did she tell you? Why did you go to the cabin? Who was she running away from? Where did she put the boy? Exactly when did you first meet Elizabeth Kurtz? She looked across the courtroom at Leonora Carnero, whose head was bowed, her curls thick around her face.

Barbara twisted and turned in protest and flung her hand up, and the motion woke her up entirely. She sat up, shook herself violently, but before she could lie down again, her mind cleared.

Wide awake now, she got up and put on her robe and slippers and went to her office, where she stared at the timetable she had made earlier. "Oh, my God!" she said.

Chapter 14

At nine in the morning Barbara called the cell phone number Mrs. Cortezar had provided for Leonora Carnero only to get the voice mail. "Ms. Carnero, this is Barbara Holloway. I have to talk to you. I don't think Mrs. Cortezar realized the danger you may be in. Call me back as soon as you can." She gave her number and hung up.

The return call came five minutes later. "I have to talk to you," Barbara said crisply. "You must not make a statement to the police until you have consulted counsel. We need to talk."

"But I... They had me make a statement yesterday," Leonora said. "They said it was routine."

Barbara drew in a breath. "Stay right where you are. I'm coming over there."

The condo apartment was in one of the newly sprouted glass and black high-rise buildings behind the sprawling mall, and mall traffic was backed up to the access streets as cars circled trying to find parking spaces. Stop-and-start traffic for a mile or two, frustrated drivers, a light rain, it was not a good morning, with little evidence of Christmas cheer. A sign in front of the building Barbara was looking for had a Leasing Now sign out front, and flaps beckoning. It also had a security desk in the lobby with a bored attendant. She gave her name and waited impatiently for him to call the apartment, then motion for her to go on to the elevator. Leonora's apartment was on the third floor.

Everything smelled new and vaguely of cheap perfume and plastic. Off-gassing like crazy she thought, wrinkling her nose, wanting to hold her breath.

Leonora opened her door and stepped aside to admit Barbara to a room with ultramodern furnishings, molded pale wood, a lot of chrome and striped drapes in shades of pale blue and silver. Cold and expensive, Barbara thought.

"What do you want?" Leonora asked, staying by the door.

"To save your neck if you haven't already put a noose around it," Barbara said, taking off her jacket. "Did you sign a statement? Were you under oath?"

Leonora nodded. "They said it was routine in an investigation."

"Right." Barbara walked through the living room, glanced into an adjacent dining area and kitchen, then returned. "Is anyone else here?"

Leonora shook her head. "What do you want?"

"It's time to stop playing games," Barbara said coldly. "I don't know how much damage you've done, but considerable. Your mother retained me to look out for your interests, and I intend to do that, if possible." She moved closer to Leonora as she spoke, and without warning she reached out and lifted the woman's hair from her forehead and face to reveal a fresh-looking scar above her eyebrow, nearly at her hairline. "We'd better sit down," Barbara said. "And don't give me any bullshit about who you are. It's too late for that."

Leonora looked as if she might faint, and clutched the doorknob. Barbara took her by the arm and pulled her away from the door, shoved her onto the sofa.

"I think you'd better do some pretty fast talking, Elizabeth," Barbara said furiously, standing over her. "That woman in the apartment, that was Leonora, wasn't it? And your mother identified her as you. Jesus! Are you both insane?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. Her eyelashes were short and blunt, not the long sweeping lashes of her photograph. "I sometimes think I must be mad," she said. She put her hands on her face, her hair, as if reality checking. "I may be mad."

"Well, snap out of it and tell me what the hell you think you're doing."

"I panicked," Elizabeth said. She touched the scar, hidden again by her curls. "They thought I was dead. If they knew I wasn't they'd be back and make sure next time. I didn't know what to do."

"Hold it," Barbara snapped. "Start further back. You called Leonora to fly out and meet you. Then what?"

Elizabeth drew in another deep breath. "That day I met Leonora at the airport but we didn't have time to talk. I wanted to see you before you left the office, and I thought she and I would have all night to talk. I collected her suitcase while she signed for the rental car, and I gave her the apartment key and told her I had to see you and I'd come as soon as I could. I told her how to get to the apartment. She said she wanted a shower and a drink, and I said there was sherry."

She bowed her head. "She liked a good sherry."

Standing, she glanced about the apartment in a distracted way, then sat down again and folded her hands. Her voice was low when she continued. "I couldn't call you right away. One pay phone was out of order and people were using the others. While I waited I tried to think how much to tell you. I hadn't decided yet. Then your secretary said you were out, and I had to wait even longer. When you said they had been asking about me, I was afraid they'd be watching. I had a coffee, thinking, and I decided that might even be better, to see you and Leonora together, tell you both. I didn't expect you until five, and I knew Leonora would be taking a shower. There was no rush. Then I went back and I.. .I found her."