The Abduction of Mary Rose (18 page)

There was the house, just as Debbie Banks had described it. She pulled into the drive behind the Toyota.

Behind the house, a wedge of silvery grey-coloured lake reflected the gathering clouds in the low-hanging sky. The damp air crawled inside her jacket. There was a saying in River's End: 'If you didn't like the weather, just wait an hour and it'll change.' She cracked the window open a little more and got out of the car, locking the doors.

"I'll just be a few minutes," she promised Molly through the window, who looked at her as if she were Judas in the flesh.

She had to skirt around a couple of mud puddles to get to the door. As she pressed the bell, a neighbour's dog began barking, sensing an intruder in its territory. Amidst the barking, the door opened and a woman with pink-rimmed eyes said hello. Her dark hair made her paleness all the more noticeable, even beneath the makeup. A powder blue coat was draped over her arm. A not-so-subtle hint, Naomi thought.

"You're Naomi Waters. Please, come in."

Naomi offered her condolences and her effort felt wanting. "I'm so sorry to bother you at this time, Mrs. Banks. I can't even imagine what you must be going through. I do know what an intrusion this is and I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important."

She nodded. "It's okay. You said something about a tape. Please, sit down." She gestured to the sofa, laid her coat over the back of it, and sat down. "I have a few minutes. I mentioned to you on the phone that I have a doctor's appointment. I haven't been sleeping too well. You've probably gone through a few sleepless nights yourself, having just lost your mother. Well, both your mothers, really."

She’s read the story, knows who I am.
"It's not true what they say, that time heals all wounds," Naomi offered. "But it does get easier. If that's any consolation."

"Not much." She gave some semblance of a smile. "It'll help a little when I'm able to put my husband to rest. The police are still holding his body in the morgue. Please. This … tape."

She took the recorder from her purse, and slipped the tape in the slot. "I'll sit here by the window if that's okay," Naomi said. "I left my cat in the car." Without any change of expression, the woman told her to sit wherever she was comfortable. Without further preamble, Naomi hit play.

Deborah Banks didn't break apart at the sound of the voice as Naomi had feared she might, but the paleness of her skin seemed to grow even paler. Her willingness to listen to the tape was costing her. It was obvious to Naomi that the voice on the tape was that of her husband. She was not surprised, but gratified to know she'd been right.

When the tape clicked off, Deborah Banks searched Naomi's face, bewilderment coming into her own sorrowful eyes. "I don't understand. Why would he be calling you? Who is this man he's talking about?"

"I hoped you might know. I'm sorry," she said gently. "I know this is hard for you. But I believe your husband was with the man who abducted Mary Rose Francis, my birth mother, on that June night twenty-eight years ago. You read about that in the paper?"

"Yes. It was horrible what happened to her, but you're wrong about…."

"Please, hear me out. I don't know what their association was, but you heard him say yourself that he tried to stop the other man."

She couldn't help wondering how hard Norman Banks had tried, or even if he'd been part of the attack on Mary Rose. If not, then what? Did he freeze in the face of such evil? Was he afraid to intercede? Perhaps he’d not been all he might have been on a different day? She would never know for sure.

As Deborah Banks sat listening, Naomi saw fear creep into her eyes, mingled with her puzzlement and her grief. "You were his wife, you knew him," Naomi said. "You loved him. So I don't need to tell you he was basically a decent man." Whether this was true or not, she didn't know. Would never know. But she felt a need to say it. "That's why he called to warn me. And I believe that's why he was murdered."

The last thing Naomi wanted was for Deborah Banks to be on the defensive with her. She would close herself off, along with any information she might provide to help her find the killer.

"So long ago…." she said.

Naomi's saying that she believed her husband had been a good man seemed to have its intended effect, which in turn made Naomi feel less guilty about intruding on her grief. If Sergeant Nelson was on the case, he wouldn't have been too pleased at her intrusion, but he wasn't and someone had to ask the questions.

"I met Normie around that time," she said. "We didn't get married until a couple of years later."

"Do you remember who his friends were back then?"

"I don't think he had any … well, no one special anyway. Normie's always been something of a loner. He learned to be on his own as a kid, being sick and all, like I told the policeman, Sergeant Nelson. Yes, that was his name. I remember now. As a child, Normie was small for his age, a little different. No, I don't recall anyone in particular. So long ago."

The outcast she was describing might be vulnerable to someone with a stronger personality, Naomi thought. Someone who befriended him, made him feel like he belonged.

She had to ask it. Be double-sure. "Then you're absolutely sure the voice on this tape belongs to your husband. You could swear to it in a courtroom if you had to."

She looked surprised at the question. "Courtroom? Yes, And of course, I'm sure. Just a minute. She left the room and came back minutes later with miniature a tape exactly like the one in the recorder. She played it.

"Hi, you've reached the Banks' residence. We're not available to come to the phone right now. Leave a message at the beep and we'll get back to you."

A generic message, but definitely the same voice. A relaxed, easy voice, not afraid or secretive.

"Can I take the tape with me?" Naomi asked. "I know it's important to you and as soon as I make a copy, I'll bring it back"

"Okay. I took it out of the machine because hearing their dad's voice upset the kids when they called. I didn't mind for myself personally. I like hearing his voice. I imagine he's still here, that none of this … happened."

Naomi nodded. She had another thought. "Do you remember where he was working when you met him?" He'd crossed paths with this guy somewhere during his lifetime. They didn't just meet on the night they took Mary Rose.

Thin brows furrowed, trying to recall, Mrs. Banks finally told her he had worked in an auto body shop. "In River's End, on Pine Street. He quit not long after we got engaged and went to work for Harris Woodworking. That body shop was torn down years ago. I think there's a Wendy's there now."

She had to start somewhere. "That place where he worked. Do you remember the name?"

The frown deepened and she shook her head. "'The Shop' was all I ever heard it called." She glanced at her watch. Naomi stood up at once.

"I'm sorry. I'm holding you up. You've been a great help, Mrs. Banks. She scribbled her number on a scrap of paper and handed it to her. "If you think of anything else…."

"Call me Debbie, please. I'll call you, of course, if I think of anything that might be helpful. I want Normie's killer found as much as you do. More, I expect."

Naomi didn't argue the point.

The woman put on her coat and picked her purse up from the sideboard, and the two women left the house together. Debbie Banks was locking her door when the neighbour's dog began barking again.

* * *

As Naomi drove back to town, Sergeant Graham Nelson was still in his striped pajamas and robe sitting in the La-Z-Boy, half-watching CNN on TV, and mulling over the Mary Rose Francis case. And he was thinking of Naomi, which would have surprised her. Thinking how abandoned she must have felt when he didn't call her back. She probably knew by now what had happened; she would have called the police station. She wasn't the type to go away without answers. If she tried to engage anyone else's help at the station, he hadn't heard about it. He'd called a couple of times to see if there were any breaks in the Norman Banks case, and was told there was nothing. He mentioned the tape Naomi had left and the possible connection with the Banks' murder, but it didn't garner much interest, and he got the distinct impression that he was being blown off, that his opinions were not welcome, and tolerated at best. "Enjoy your retirement, old man" was what he heard loud and clear, though not in so many words. What was actually said were things like, "Get well soon" and "take care of that ticker". Oh, yeah, and they envied him. He heard that a lot. Lucky him, done with all this crap that never ended. Rest, they said. Only thing you need to catch now is fish. Ha ha.

A call came over the police band amidst crackle and static and he leaned forward, eager to catch the details, engaged in his day once again, grabbing on to the link to his old life. A service station had been held up over on Elm, near the baseball field. The perps, who appeared to be a couple of kids the owner thought he recognized, took off running when he grabbed a baseball bat from behind the counter.

Out of habit, he jotted down their descriptions in his notebook as they were related, trying to ignore the fragility of his body since the heart attack, that he felt like a very old man, shaky and weak, like his guts had been hollowed out. They told him he had to give himself time to recuperate. He had to take it easy. Well, he wasn't stupid; he knew that. Didn't mean he had to like it.

He sipped his green tea brought to him by his health-conscious younger sister, Angie, grimacing at the fruity taste and longing for a strong coffee. He was bored out of his mind with all the resting. Too much resting could kill you.

And he hated fishing.

* * *

The auto body shop was a long-shot, Naomi thought, but worth a try. She'd drop in at the library on her way home and check out the city directories from that time. Shouldn't be too hard to find an auto body shop that had been operating on Pine Street in the mid to late eighties.

As if reading her mistress' mind, Molly protested loudly from the back seat, and Naomi decided she'd had her fill of travel for today. "Okay, Molly, take it easy. We're heading on home." The library would have to wait until tomorrow. Maybe she'd even get lucky and find something useful online.

The visit to Deborah Banks hadn't gone as badly as she'd feared. In fact, she wished Sergeant Nelson was still on the job so she could call him and give him her news.

Where from here?
she asked herself.

She could still take both tapes to the police station, maybe talk to that Detective Karen Henderson, let her listen to them. But what did they really prove? Only that one of the two men who grabbed Mary Rose that night called to warn Naomi that she was in physical danger. A man who turned out to be one Norman Banks and who himself had ended up dead.

Maybe that's enough, she thought. Enough to persuade them to open the case again. But she wasn't convinced.
I need to find out who killed him. I need a name.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Had she continued on to the library she would have missed Charlotte, but as it was, she found her waiting for her on the front doorstep, looking tentative but with heels dug in, as only Charlotte could.

"If Mohammed won't come to the mountain, then the mountain must come to Mohammed, right? Ya gotta admire my timing."

Charlotte's grin was a tad forced, but she had an air of determination that Naomi had witnessed a long time ago in little skirmishes with Aunt Edna. She'd been ringing the front doorbell when Naomi pulled up at the curb. Her blue and silver mountain bike was propped against the house.

"Good to see you, Cuz," Naomi said, and it was. She could use someone to talk to. "I actually was planning to drop in to see you at the gym tomorrow."