A Wrongful Death (7 page)

"I'm Brice Knowlton, this is my sister Rita " he said.

Barbara nodded. "What can I do for you, Mr. Knowlton?"

"That's a problem," he said. "I'm not sure exactly. I'm a teacher at the University of Oregon, biology. She's an artist, pottery, things like that. I guess we just want a little advice. I can pay you," he added quickly.

"Why here? Why not the office?"

"We've read about you, how you talk to people here, advise them, without their having to make an appointment first. And we wanted to see you now, not wait a week or two, so we took a chance." He glanced at the door, as if afraid it would open and another client would interrupt. "It's about Elizabeth Kurtz," he said.

"I see," Barbara said, lying. She saw nothing, and felt as if the whole world, strangers off the street, wanted to talk to her about a woman she had never met. "Hold on a second." She got up, went to the door, and took down the Barbara Is In sign, then returned to her own chair.

Brice Knowlton visibly relaxed a little. "A couple of weeks ago we read that Joe Kurtz died, and his funeral was being held up in Portland, and that Elizabeth and Terry Kurtz had been divorced. That much was in the newspaper here. Then we heard that she was missing and that she had been attacked and you were on the scene, and we thought that if you were in touch with her, maybe you were our best bet to get in touch with her, too."

He said this all in a rush, then ran his hand through his thin hair and shook his head slightly. "That's all we want from you, a way to get in touch with her."

Barbara regarded him thoughtfully. "I grant that the funeral, and perhaps even the divorce were reported, but that she's missing? That she was attacked? I don't recall seeing a word about either in the newspapers."

Brice glanced at his sister, who tightened her lips and leaned back in her chair. "Go on," he said. "Tell her. It doesn't make any sense otherwise."

He sounded like a big brother ordering his little sister around, Barbara thought, watching them. She looked defiant, and he kept his gaze on her steadily. Then she shrugged and said, "My boyfriend works in the records department at city hall. They posted her picture and the kid's and they've sent it up and down the valley and coast. They're looking for them."

"The attack? Is that posted?" Barbara asked.

Rita shook her head. "No, but there's been talk at city hall, because you're involved somehow. They like to keep tabs on you, I guess. My boyfriend knows we're interested in the Kurtz bunch and he told me."

Well, if they had been serious about putting out an APB on her, that would have caused some talk, Barbara thought. She stood. "Let's have some fresh coffee," she said, going to the kitchen to ask Martin for it. He was already preparing a tray with cups and the carafe.

"Okay," she said, resuming her seat. Martin followed close behind her and put the things on the table, then quietly withdrew again. "There's got to be a little more than that. What's the rest of the story?" She poured coffee for Brice at his nod. His sister looked at it with disapproval and shook her head. An herbal tea type, Barbara thought, and refilled her own cup. She watched Brice, who seemed to be holding an interior monologue the way she had seen professors do in the past, as if gathering too many facts, too much data into a package that students could grasp.

When he spoke, evidently he was choosing his words very carefully. "We have reason to believe that some years ago there was a serious mishandling of certain papers that properly should have been released to our father. If Elizabeth has had a falling out with the Kurtz family, there is a possibility that she could come to our aid, since she is a trained scientist, one who understands the importance of provenance in such matters, and who would recognize how important those papers could be."

"Oh, knock it off!" Rita said, giving him a scornful look. She leaned forward, and her cheeks were suffused with color as she spoke. "It's a simple thing, not the long way around a barn without showing anyone the door. They stole from our father and she might be the first chink in the high wall their lawyers and their money built. They stole from him, and ruined him financially when he tried to get his rights back, and they destroyed his reputation. They destroyed him in every way. If I could gather them all in one big rotting pile and drop a bomb on them, I'd do it. If she's a decent person who was around them more than a day or two, she must know what they're like, and she might know something about what they did. And if she feels about them the way they deserve, she'll help us. She might want to drop that bomb herself."

"Rita! That's enough," Brice said. His voice was quiet, but it was the voice of an authority that she evidently recognized, and she subsided, leaned back in her chair again and crossed her arms over her chest.

"None of that is material to what we want," Brice said then to Barbara. "I don't know what your relationship is to Elizabeth Kurtz, if she's your client, whatever, and we don't need to know. Neither am I asking you to compromise yourself as an attorney. Just a simple request. That's really all I came for. Just a request for her to talk to us. Here. In your office, wherever it's convenient for her, and whenever she will."

He pulled out his wallet and took out a card, put it on the table. "My address, phone number at school and cell phone number. I can write you a check now, or you can send a statement to that address, whichever you prefer."

Barbara shook her head. "You don't owe me anything. Mr. Knowlton, Ms. Knowlton, please believe me, I have no way to get in touch with Elizabeth Kurtz. I can't pass your message on to her. I happened to be in the same area when she was attacked, that's all. Synchronicity. Coincidence. Happenstance. Just not by design. I never met her, never talked to her and I'm not even certain that the woman who was attacked was in fact Elizabeth Kurtz, although everyone seems to assume that she was."

"You just happened to be over there, that out-of-the-way place that no one ever heard of before?" A look of disbelief, then a cold look of withdrawal crossed his face, and stiffly he stood. "Sorry we've taken your time. Let's to "he said to Rita.

She was already on her feet, pulling on her jacket. Her look was contemptuous as she glanced at Barbara. "You're in their pocket. Dad was right. Find out how much the other guy is paying a lawyer, up it by a buck and you've got yourself an attorney, at least until the money runs out." She had marched to the door as she spoke, she yanked it open and walked out. Brice was at her heels.

Barbara continued to sit still for a moment, then slowly rose, all thoughts of shopping gone. She went to the kitchen door to tell Martin and Binnie she was leaving, and drove back to her office in deep thought. She couldn't blame them all for assuming that she and Elizabeth had planned to meet. It was an unlikely place, deserted, private. But this was a whole new wrinkle. It seemed that every time she thought a picture was forming in her mind, something came along to shatter it into unconnected shards.

At four she entered the reception room and waved to Maria, as she headed for her office.

Maria stopped her at the door. "Oh, Barbara, I just hung up. Elizabeth Kurtz called. She said she'd try again in ten minutes, just in case you returned. I told her I wasn't sure if you would."

"Thanks. Put her on the minute she calls back. No other calls until then. Finally, the elusive Elizabeth."

Two weeks ago to the day, she thought at her desk. Just two weeks since she had dragged the unconscious woman into the cabin. Now, she thought, maybe she'd get a few answers to questions that seemed to increase dramatically day by day.

It was a long ten minutes, but finally Maria buzzed. "Barbara Holloway," she said. "Ms. Kurtz?"

"Yes. I have to talk to you. Are you free? Can I come now?"

"I want to talk to you, too," Barbara said. "Your former mother-in-law, your ex-husband and today two people named Knowlton all assume that we're in touch. It's time to make that a reality."

"They've been talking with you? Terry, his mother? Oh, my God! They'll be watching. I can't come there!" There was a pause, then she said, "I have an apartment. Will you meet me at the apartment? Don't tell anyone! Please, don't tell anyone where I am! What time do you usually leave? Don't draw attention or anything. They might be following you! Oh, God!"

"Calm down, Ms. Kurtz. Take it easy. I'll leave at five as usual. Traffic will be heavy, and I'll make sure no one is following me. Where are you? What's the address?"

Traffic was as heavy as she had known it would be at that time of day. She turned off Chambers onto Twelfth, stopped at the curb to make certain no one was following, then continued to Polk and turned again, this time heading for Eighteenth. An apartment complex near an Albertson's supermarket, Elizabeth Kurtz had said. That would be at Chambers, Barbara knew, and passed the address to park in the Albertson's lot. It was packed, and the fog was heavy again.

She was certain no one had followed her, and she walked back on Eighteenth to the apartments, six of them in a line. Elizabeth had said hers was first, closest to Eighteenth. Barbara rang the bell. Traffic noise was loud, and Christmas music was blaring from one of the apartments. She rang the bell again.

When no one came, in exasperation she tried the doorknob. The door swung open and she entered a dark apartment. A light from another room provided the only illumination. Barbara gasped.

A woman was lying on the floor near the door to the lighted room. Barbara ran across the living room and dropped to one knee to feel for a pulse, but when she touched the woman, she knew she was dead. She stood up and backed away, fighting nausea. Again, she thought dully.

This time most of her face had been destroyed by a wound to the head. Her hair was wrapped in a towel with a spreading red stain and more blood was under her cheek. She was wearing a pale bathrobe, her feet were bare. A bigger pool of blood was under her body.

The door suddenly flew open, and two uniformed police officers, and a sobbing woman entered. One of the officers had a drawn gun pointing at Barbara. The woman looked at the body on the floor and screamed.

Chapter 8

"You might turn a chair away from the body and let her sit down," Barbara said to one of the officers, as the woman continued to scream, staring at the body as if paralyzed, unable to turn away. "And you might want to look around for a child. He could be hiding in a closet or something."

The other officer was on a cell phone, no doubt calling homicide. It was apparent that neither of them knew what to do about the hysterical woman. The one Barbara had spoken to turned a padded chair toward the window and touched the woman's arm. She screamed harder and Barbara went to her, took her arm and pushed her down into the chair. She stopped screaming, buried her face in her hands and shook with sobs. Barbara sat down in a nearby chair, facing the room, watchful.

"What's your name? Who is she?" the officer asked, nodding toward the dead woman.

"I don't know who she is. I assume it's Elizabeth Kurtz. I'm Barbara Holloway, and I haven't a clue about who she is." She pointed toward the sobbing woman.

"Do you know what happened?" he asked.

"No. I had only just got here when you guys came in."

He let it go at that and stood by the door as his partner went through the apartment, turning on lights. They were careful to keep clear of the victim, and touched as little as possible. There was no child.

Barbara pulled her cell phone from her purse and the officer told her to stow it. "I have to call my father. He's expecting me and he'll worry." She hit the speed dial button and ignored the officer, whose hand had moved toward his holstered gun. "Dad, it's me," she told his answering machine. "I'll be delayed, so you two go ahead without me. I think Elizabeth Kurtz has been killed and we're waiting for homicide to get here. I'll tell you about it later." Frank picked up as she spoke, but she broke the connection as the officer came toward her, as if he intended to grab the cell phone. "See, just to keep him from worrying. All done."

The homicide unit arrived, and Lt. Vern Standifer regarded her with a dour expression. They had met before, and she had never seen him smile. He was tall and underweight, with a fair complexion and gray eyes, and he had a pale mustache. "They said you were on the scene. What's the story?"

"I had an appointment with Elizabeth Kurtz at this address and when I walked in I found her on the floor. The officers and this woman came in immediately after me. And that's all I know about it."

"Right, "he said skeptically. He pulled a straight chair around and sat before the other woman. She had quieted, with both hands pressed against her face. Now and then a convulsive ripple shook her whole body. "Miss, who are you? What's your name?"

"Leonora Carnero," she said in a faint, dull voice. Barbara looked at her more closely, remembering what Terry Kurtz had said. He'd heard Elizabeth talking to Leonora and he knew. Leonora had black hair in tumbling curls about her face, nearly to her eyes, and she was dressed in jeans, a loose jacket, sneakers, the same kind of clothes Barbara wore when flying. She glanced toward the door where there was a roll-on suitcase with a garish red and yellow tie and an airline baggage claim on the handle, along with a small, wine-colored carry-on.

"I flew in and she said to come here and when I came in, she was..." She began to sob again. Then, brokenly, she said, "I was sick, vomiting, and crying, and I had to call Mother and tell her, but I couldn't find a telephone. And she said I had to call the police. I couldn't find this address. Mother said to call the police. I had to look in her purse for the address book, and she was dead and I had to call Mother..."

"Hold it, Ms. Carnero. You came here and found the victim, is that right?"

"She said to come here. I flew here. I didn't want the police to tell Mother or for her to see it on the news and I couldn't find her number. Her room, her things, on the floor, everywhere. I had to look in her purse for the number, and I was sick..." She lifted her head from her hands and stared straight ahead, with her nose dripping, tears running down her face. "I had to call Mother."