Live and Let Die (16 page)

He didn’t buy it though. He couldn’t. As much as he tried, he just couldn’t. And even though he knew he shouldn’t act so irrational, shouldn’t pepper her with constant questions about what she was doing and where she was going and who she was with, he just Could. Not. Help. Himself.

Why couldn’t she just devote herself to him the way he had to her?

“O
h, my God,” Sondra whispered.

“Wow. She looks just like Tracy. They could be twins,” Ricky said.

“Pause the tape,” Sondra said as she peered in for a closer look. She studied each detail of the smiling woman’s face from a picture taken at what looked to be a family function, stunned at how much Carol Henderson looked like Tracy. Same coloring, hair in a similar style, almost identical.

“Hang on a sec. I’ll be right back.”

Sondra ran towards the newsroom to find Cicely. She found the tiny newswoman dwarfed behind a huge computer monitor, where she was pounding away on her keyboard.

“Cicely, I need you to come back and look at something.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just, please, come look at this,” Sondra said as she began to walk back to the editing bay. The two women sat down and Ricky cued up the tape. Much like Sondra and Ricky, Cicely almost fainted when she saw Carol Henderson.

“My God, they could have been twins,” Cicely murmured.

“That’s what I said,” Ricky chimed in.

“This is the woman I saw in the autopsy photos. No question in my mind.”

Cicely leaned back in her chair. “Jesus. This is just… unreal. I can’t believe no one made the connection at the time,”

“Ricky, can I get a dub of this?”

“No problem,” Ricky replied, his fingers springing into action as he worked to do the transfer.

“Can you tell me if you have any more stories about her?” Sondra asked.

Cicely turned to the computer next to the editing bay. “Yeah, I can check the archives. Hang on.” Cicely tapped out a few words into the computer and waited. She shook her head, a resigned look on her face.

“Just that one. Now that I think about it, that was about the time of those bombings in L.A. and then the sniper attacks in New York. Pretty much pushed everything else off the page.” She leaned back in her chair and looked at Sondra. “Looks like Carol Henderson’s disappearance fell through the cracks.”

Sondra rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t surprise me. Being black and all.”

Ricky snorted in agreement as he handed Sondra the DVD.

“What now?” Cicely asked.

Sondra simultaneously dropped the dubbed DVD in the bottom of her bag and pulled out her cigarettes.

“I’m going to see what I can find out about Carol Henderson.”

“Shouldn’t you let the police know about this?”

“I will. Soon.” Sondra shook her head as she extracted a cigarette from the pack. “Of course, they’re the ones who fucked this up to begin with. I just want to search out a few more things first.”

Cicely folded her arms across her chest and looked at Sondra. “Do you think she’s still alive?”

Sondra let out a deep sigh and shook her head. “I don’t know. Sondra looked at her watch. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll call you. Thanks Ricky.” Sondra stood and rushed out of the station.

“I
need to see Detective Wallace. Now.”

“Have a seat.”

“Tell her it’s Sondra Ellis and that it’s a matter of life or death.”

“Aren’t they all? Have a seat,” the desk sergeant repeated.

Frustrated, Sondra plopped down into what was probably the same rock hard wooden chair she’d sat in before. To her surprise, Detective Marion Wallace appeared within moments.

“Ms. Ellis?”

Sondra jumped up. “I have something you need to see. I found the woman in those pictures.”

“Ms. Ellis, I know you want it to be a different woman in those pictures—”

Sondra held up the DVD from Channel Four in front of Marion. “Just look at it. You’ll see right away that I’m not nuts.”

Marion narrowed her eyes at Sondra for a moment before she flashed a look at her watch. “This better be good,” she muttered.

“I promise you, this is going to change everything.”

Sondra followed Marion toward an interrogation room where there was a DVD player. Sondra handed the DVD over to Marion and watched her load it up. Sondra held her breath as she waited for Carol Henderson to appear.

Marion was perched on the edge of the table in the room, arms crossed. One look at Carol Henderson and her hands dropped to her sides as she stared at the screen.

“Holy mother of God,” she whispered. She paused the DVD several times and rewound it. Finally, she looked at Sondra.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Cicely Anderson at Channel Four. Actually, I had her pull all the stories about Tracy and this one wound up in the pile by mistake.” Sondra began to tick off the facts on her fingers. “Carol Henderson was from Hyde Park, disappeared about the time Tracy did, hasn’t been seen since. Maybe Carol and my sister were connected somehow, I don’t know, but—this means Tracy is out there somewhere.”

Silently, Marion began to walk back to her desk and Sondra found herself experiencing déjà vu as she swore she saw the same junkies, thugs and prostitutes today that she’d seen before. She sat down in the same chair.

“What are you doing to find my sister?”

“Well, we’ll reopen the case, but I have to tell you, the chances of finding her—”

“What? You think she’s dead?”

“Ms. Ellis, it’s been three years. The chances that your sister is still alive are slim to none.”

Sondra looked at Marion, the slender thread of hope snapping inside her before she finally averted her eyes. “What now?”

“We’ll get Carol Henderson’s family in here to ID the photos—”

“Are you going to start looking for Phillip?”

“We’ll find him to notify him that we are reopening the case.”

Sondra’s eyes widened. “That’s it? You aren’t going to bring him for questioning?”

“Ms. Ellis, I already told you, he had a rock solid alibi—”

“I don’t give a shit what he had. He lied about that woman—I took one look at those pictures and knew it wasn’t her. You took one look at Carol Henderson and there was no doubt in your mind. And then he had the body cremated?” Sondra shook her head and took a deep breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Miss Ellis, I know this is hard, but you’ve got to let us do our jobs.”

Sondra was silent for a few moments. “Did you do a DNA test on the body?”

Detective Wallace pulled out the case file, searching for the information before shaking her head. “No. Your brother-in-law refused the test, saying he was positive it was his wife.”

Sondra started to pace the room. “Listen, he wrote my mother a letter not too long ago and told her he’d gotten remarried. It came from an address in Michigan, which turned out to be completely bogus. I couldn’t find any record of a current address for him. So where the hell is he?” Sondra sat back in the chair and raked her fingers through her hair, trying to stave off what she knew was coming. She couldn’t help it. She dissolved into a quivering mass of salty tears and raw nerves. Marion handed her yet another fistful of Kleenex from the box on her desk.

“Like I said, we’ll let him know we’re reopening the case. Right now, that’s the best I can do.”

Sondra dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose as she stood up. “Yeah, well that’s not good enough.”

Without a word, Sondra turned and stalked out of the station.

T
he waiting had been excruciating. Every time the phone rang, he jumped, hoping it was the police telling him he needed to come in and ID his wife’s body. Of course, people assumed it was because he was
afraid
it was a call telling him it was his wife’s body. However, each time he answered, he always called out his wife’s name, with just a touch of hope and hysteria.

Finally, early that Friday morning, the police showed up at his door to escort him to the morgue.

Mr. Pearson, we’re so sorry, but we need you to come down. We may have found your wife.

He would look at them with quiet desperation. His in-laws would exchange nervous glances and clutch each other’s hand. He would take a deep breath and ask the detectives if they were sure and they would nod uncomfortably and say that yes, they needed him to come down. Fighting back tears, he would hug Mimi, put a hand on Gordon’s shoulder and whisper that he would be back soon. His father-in-law would offer to come with him, and he would shake his head and nod toward his mother-in-law and say no, stay here, she needs you.

He would ride in silence in the back of the car, watching the scenery whiz past him. The detectives would lead him to the room full of metal drawers, their voices echoing in the cavernous space, even though they were speaking in hushed tones. One detective would nod to the coroner who would grasp the handle firmly and pull the drawer out. He would peer for just a moment at the woman’s face, and manage to choke out that yes, it was her, it was his wife. He would refuse the DNA test, saying he was positive it was Tracy and they just had to accept it.

Then, he would break down completely, the sobs coming like a gale force wind. The detectives would hold him up, one at each elbow and take him to another room, offer him some water or was there someone they could call? He would refuse and ask what happened.

Well, Mr. Pearson, she was found down on Belmont Harbor. We found her wallet nearby and she was wearing the jewelry you described. We think a mugger attacked her then smashed the rock into her face.

He would hunch over, unable to turn off the tears, moaning and wailing, asking how could this happen. If only I’d stayed home that weekend. Eventually, he would work himself into such a state that a shrink would come in and give him a sedative. The detectives would take him home and he would look at his in-laws and confirm their worst fears. Yes, their daughter was dead. In halting, wispy tones, he would relay what the police had told him about how she died. His mother-in-law would lose it completely, and his father-in-law would cry silent, pained tears. And he would cry too, careful not to overdo it, because that would be suspicious.

The body would be cremated and a memorial service would be planned. People would tell funny stories, people would cry.

And they would all be watching him.

He would play the role of grieving husband to the hilt.

They all thought he was some stupid nerd that got lucky when he scored her.

He fooled them all.

S
ondra added yet another cigarette butt to the impressive pile at her feet. She was sitting on the concrete risers at Oak Street Beach, trying to calm down. Ever since her encounter with Detective Wallace, she’d been trying to quell the wave of emotions running rampant inside her—anger, fear, frustration, desperation, confusion, and sadness. In Sondra’s world, that meant chain smoking and today she was setting a record.

Phillip’s face floated in front of her. He’d done something—she just knew it. But what? She didn’t trust the police. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anybody.

Sondra jerked a hand through her matted waves, her mind on point. And then, it came to her and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. She pulled up the number on her phone.

“I need a favor.”

“Which would be… ”

“I need Nicky’s number.”

“I always knew you had a thing for him. I guess now that I’m out of the picture you have clearance.”

“In his dreams. Yours too, apparently.”

“I always was a vivid dreamer.”

“Seriously, I need him to find someone and you said he’s the best.”

“Looking for a new husband?”

“As if anyone could replace you.”

“True. Alright, I’ll play along. Who are you looking for?”

“Phillip.”

“Ah, yes, the oh-so-odd brother-in-law. And why are you looking for him, love?”

“Ugh, it would take me forever to explain. I’ll tell you all about it one night over dinner at Le Colonial.”

“Love, you’d have to put on a dress for that. Do you even own one?”

“One. I’ll wear it just for you.”
“My, my. I am atwitter with anticipation. Mostly about seeing you in a dress. I think our wedding was the last time.”

“Ha, ha. Now are we gonna dance around all day or are you going to give me Nicky’s number?”

“Oh, but I’m having so much fun.”

“You’re the only one.”

“Hardly. Do you have a pen?”

“Yup.”

“800-555-9170.”

“Thanks, Gary. I owe you big.”

“Which is why you’re taking me to Le Colonial.”

“Talk to you soon.”

“Goodbye, love.”

Nicky was a bounty hunter whom Gary had met over twenty years ago in Las Vegas after Gary pummeled him in a back-room poker game. Each spring, the two men—who on the surface couldn’t have been more opposite—would take a jaunt down to Cabo for a week of tequila-fueled bonding and endless rounds of poker with the locals. That was the extent of the relationship. There were no phone calls exchanged throughout the year, no occasional emails inquiring how the other was, no Christmas cards with hastily scribbled good tidings. They would simply each show up the second week of April at a little bungalow on the beach and take turns buying the booze. Sondra had never even met him.

Nicky picked up on the first ring. “Yooooo. Who dis?”

“Nicky, it’s Sondra. Gary’s wife. Well, ex-wife.”

“What’s up girl? How’s G doin’?”

“Same old Gary. Listen, I need a favor and you’re the only one I know who can help.”

“Shooooot.”

“I need to find my brother-in-law. It has to do with my sister’s disappearance, and just a whole lot of things I can’t really get into, but I need to you to find out where he is. I’ll pay you, whatever.”

“Awww, for you baby, this one’ll be on the house. What’s his name?”

“Phillip, Phillip Pearson. I don’t want you to confront him or anything, just find him and tell me where he is.”

“Consider it done. Now, tell me what you know.”