Agnes Hahn (6 page)

“I can hold my head high,” he lied.

T
HE NATURAL LIGHT IN THE ROOM WAS DIFFERENT THIS
time. It seemed gray, muted, even though it was midafternoon. And this man was different. Agnes had never seen him before. He said he wasn’t with the police, but he didn’t say where he worked. Only that he wanted to help with her case.

He probably wasn’t another psychiatrist. They’d let her wear her own clothes with Dr. Leahy. This time, they grabbed her from her cell and steered her into the conference room, still in her jail-issue jumpsuit.

Agnes made eye contact, briefly. Nice looking, athletic. His jeans fit well but not too tight. Her eyes stopped at the polo player insignia on his button-up shirt. The smooth texture of the shirt, with the creased sleeves, screamed dry cleaning, starch. A waste of money.

But his voice was slow, calm. She looked up again, and then down, but she stayed on his face long enough to catch his smile. Was he one of the good ones?

Not a good one.

Agnes looked down and scanned her orange jumpsuit, then tugged upward on the collar, cinching the lapels together. She wanted to look up at him again, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

“Miss Hahn, I have some information that might get you out of here. But it might shock you.”

“You can get me out? Really?”

Jason leaned across the table. “I think so. But you have to listen to what I say. It’s about your family.”

Agnes focused on the spinning wheels of the tape recorder. This was one of the pocket-sized models. What family? There wasn’t any left.

“First, I found out you weren’t born in Mendocino. You were born in Petaluma.”

She kept her eyes on the recorder and shrugged.

“Your mother passed away right after your birth, but both you and your twin sister were fine, healthy babies.”

“Twin sister?” She looked up and held his stare. Her head bobbed up and down. “I have a sister.”

“You already knew that?”

Her eyes danced around the room. That’s what’s been missing in my life. “Yes.”

“You didn’t mention it before.”

“It was just a feeling.” But now, she talks to me.

“Have you had that feeling long?”

A wide smile. I have a sister. “As long as I can remember.”

“Have you ever seen her? Talked with her?”

No.

“No.”

“Did your aunts ever tell you that you had a sister?”

“No.”

Jason drummed his fingers on the table. “Agnes, who is Edward Hahn?”

As far as she knew, she was the last of the Hahns, except for Ella, whose identity was lost in her ravaged neural circuits. She was the final progeny in a lineage of females narrowed by untimely deaths and marriage refusals. No, that wasn’t right. She and her sister were the final ones.

“Agnes?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve never heard of him?”

“No.”

“You told Dr. Leahy that your aunts’ sister was your grandmother, and that she lived in Illinois. Right?”

“Yes.”

“According to my research, your two aunts didn’t have another sister. They had a brother, named Edward. He lived here in California. Around Petaluma. All I can find on him is that he fought in France in World War II. Got a Purple Heart. Then he vanished.”

The bastard.

What? The voice wasn’t making sense. Was it trying to trick her? Agnes shifted in her chair and picked the table grain with her fingers. “That’s not what Gert told me.”

“Edward Hahn had one child, a daughter, named Denise Hahn. Your mother.”

Agnes slapped her hand on the table. “Gert wouldn’t lie to me.”

Jason pushed his chair back from the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d like to know what I’ve found out about your family. Do you want me to go on?”

Yes. Yes.

Gert wouldn’t lie. Neither would Ella. There was no way. Was there?

“Agnes? Do you want me to go on?”

She looked up. “I don’t know.” He had a kind face, his eyes filled with concern. His eyes. There was something in them. Was he one of the good ones? “I guess so.”

“Edward Hahn was your grandfather, but I can’t seem to locate him. There’s no record of his death, so I presume he’s still alive. If he is, he’s not going by Edward Hahn anymore. I need to talk to him. As far as I can tell, he took custody of you and your sister after your mother died. Do you remember anything about that?”

Gert let me sit on her lap. Her lap was always a safe place. The only safe place. Agnes’s eyes blurred.

“I know this is upsetting, but I need you to think back. Do you remember anything from before you went to live with your aunts? Why you ended up with them? Why your sister didn’t?”

You know.

No. I don’t remember. Tears tracked down her cheeks.

“Agnes?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry. This is really important. I can’t find a trace of your sister or your grandfather. I need to find them. I think it’s your sister who’s doing all these terrible things.”

Agnes waited, but the voice was silent. “Can I go home now?”

J
ASON ROLLED UP THE WINDOWS OF THE
V
OLVO,
punched a code for a stored number into his cell phone, and hit the speaker button before setting the phone on the passenger seat. A click followed the second ring—a world record.

“Hey, give me a second. Okay?” Tapping filled the silence.

Jason gripped the steering wheel, pretending it was his brother’s throat. “Donnie? What’s going on? You’re not bent, are you?”

“Oh. It’s you. What do you want, little brother? I’m kind of busy right now. And I’m expecting a call.”

“I have a job for you. I need some information on—”

“Yes! I think I got it. Hold on.” More tapping.

“Donnie? This is costing me.”

Tapping.

“Donnie.”

“Okay. Okay. What’s so important?”

“I have a job. You want it?”

“What’re you paying?”

“I’m already giving you two hundred a month. That comes with chores.”

“Yeah, but I need more. You know. That doesn’t even cover rent.”

“What the hell are you on? You sound like you’re half lit.”

“Nothing, little brother. I swear. I’m just jazzed. I’m about to hack a hacker. Give him an eye-for-an-eye. Microsoft should give me a medal.”

“Microsoft would probably give you a job. If you’d apply.”

“You know I don’t do the eight-to-five. Besides, they probably do urine tests.”

“Why don’t you turn the hacker over to the authorities?”

“They wouldn’t do shit. Besides, he’s just a soldier. He’d get probation. I’ve got a jail sentence I’m about to insert onto his hard drive. It’ll tear his electronics a new one.”

“So, how about the job?”

“Yeah. No problem. But I need you to get off the phone. Call back in about an hour and leave the information on the machine.”

“You’re not going to smoke any salad, are you?”

“Don’t need to. I got a beep in to a young lady. She should call any minute. Don’t want to waste this natural high.”

“Donnie, wear a rubber.”

Dial tone.

U
NPLEASANT MEMORIES SURGED BACK WITH
J
ASON’S
first steps into the care home—bright; busy; the forced, homey feel of a Holiday Inn. Flowers everywhere reflected the unnatural colors of faded silk and plastic. He hated the sensations. A few years back, he had done a story on nursing home abuses, only to find that nineteen out of twenty were wholesome, healthy places with reasonable care and happy residents.

But he’d come away from the investigation with a strange feeling about the institutions. In the better homes, including this one, all of the residents moved as if their lives were carefully choreographed and monitored. Even at the busiest times, they slid through the hallways with calm efficiency. Like zombies.

He took a deep breath and entered the dining room. His timing was perfect. The cattle-like residents herded in for their evening meal, but once through the double door entry, they changed. One after another called out greetings across the room in a ritual that bordered on spontaneous. Jason chuckled. Maybe their outbursts signaled relief when their mental head counts confirmed their ranks hadn’t thinned in the last twenty-four hours.

Supper seemed to be the highlight of the day, and the clamor and gaiety reminded him of a junior high lunchroom, minus the airborne food. He pulled back a chair and nodded at the white-haired woman seated in a wheelchair. Ella Hahn returned his smile.

He hesitated, unsure why. He had expected erratic behavior or, at the least, a slight separation from reality. But the brightness in Ella’s eyes seemed to draw energy from the room. He sat, momentarily mesmerized.

“Are you visiting today, dear?”

“I came to see you,” he said.

“That’s nice, dear. I’m going to have the chicken.”

“The chicken sounds good.” He pretended to read the menu. “Actually, I came to talk about Agnes.”

“Oh, is she visiting, too?”

“No. She couldn’t make it today.”

“That’s nice, dear. I think I’m going to have the chicken.”

“You remember Agnes, your niece.”

“Is she visiting today? It’s a nice day for a visit.”

“Ella, Agnes needs your help. Can you remember anything about her?”

“Who’s that, dear?”

“Agnes. Your niece.”

“Maybe she’d like the chicken. Is she visiting today?”

“No, she couldn’t make it.” Jason knew about Alzheimer’s. Knew the symptoms and the prognosis. But this was his first conversation with an actual patient. Ella didn’t even recognize a woman she had raised from a little girl. It was a good thing Agnes wasn’t here.

“That’s nice, dear.”

Jason met the gaze of a gentleman across the table. He was decked in a gray pinstripe suit and bright red tie.

“You won’t get much out of her, I’m afraid,” the man said. “We call her Re-run. I think you see why.” The gentleman reached his hand across the table. “Name’s Earl. Been here for almost a year.”

“Do you know much about Ella or her family?”

“No. She lives in the assisted-living wing. They let her eat supper with us. It really perks her up. My wife was the same way before she passed. I guess that’s why I sit with Ella, to keep her company.”

“Is she ever lucid?”

“I’m not the one to ask. You see that young lady over there in the purple tunic?” The man pointed with a crooked finger. “She’s the one who looks after Ella during supper, and takes her back to her room.”

Jason rested his elbows on the table to get a better view. The woman looked young, maybe late twenties. Slim. She faced away, chatting and giggling with two of the dining room attendants.

From the back, she looked good, but more. A name came to mind. Eugenia. The woman had the same hair, the same figure. And her left hand was propped on her hip, inverted, the tip of her ring finger slipped into her back pocket. Just like Eugenia used to do.

He squinted, expecting to see a plain white-gold band and a three-quarter-carat teardrop diamond reflecting every bit of light in the room. But there was no ring.

He turned to the natty gentleman. “Do you know her name?”

“Who’s that, dear?” Ella’s voice was soothing, like the tranquilizing tones of a grandmother.

“The woman in the purple top over there. Do you know her name?”

“No. Is she visiting?”

Jason looked across the table and shrugged. He suppressed a chuckle, and covered his smile with his napkin. He pinched his own thigh as a punishment for the inappropriate response. “Yes. I think she came to see me. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go talk to her.”

“It was nice to see you, dear.”

Jason patted Ella’s forearm as he stood. He nodded at the gentleman, who returned an exaggerated wink.

“To be young,” the gentleman said to the tablecloth.

Jason stopped short of the young lady’s shoulder. He felt the stir of past emotions, but his body refused to move. It wasn’t Eugenia, but the draw was just as strong. He wanted to see the woman’s face—needed to see it. But how would he react? Especially if she looked like her from the front. Conflicting feelings contributed to his paralysis. He wanted to know what happened to the ring. Not really. He already knew.

He stood back as if she radiated white heat. To him, she represented an incendiary mixture of anonymous mystery and passionate familiarity. And he’d only seen her back side.

Without moving closer, he reached out and tapped her shoulder with his finger. “Excuse me. I understand you take care of Ella Hahn.”

She turned and grinned.

She wasn’t Eugenia in a physical sense, but something in her smile, the way she tilted her head, reminded him of the good days. His smile was automatic.

“Who wants to know?” Her tone seemed more flirtatious than inquisitive.

He inched closer. “I work for the
Santa Rosa Press Democrat.
I’m covering the Agnes Hahn case.”

Her eyebrows arched high. “I heard they caught her. I’d like to shake her hand. My old boyfriend did a number on me and I’d like to do to him what she’s been doing.”

A little closer. “The woman in jail is Ella’s niece, and she may not be the murderer. I need to talk to you about Ella.”

The woman scanned downward to his shoes, then back up to his face. She put her hand on his elbow. “I have to go get her now. I get off at ten. Meet me out front?” She brushed against him as she passed, slowly sliding her hand off of his arm.

He turned and watched her exaggerated hip-sway. “Your name?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Ten o’clock. Out front.”