The Silver Anniversary Murder (21 page)

26

The Portland police brought Nick Brinker in for questioning. I felt terrible for Jessie, although she must have known what was going on if she lied to me about the article in the paper. Still, she was a young wife and mother, and her husband might be charged with a terrible crime.

He admitted that he was Eileen’s partner but denied he had done any killing. That, he said, was all Eileen’s doing. She had used chloroform on the woman and a gun on the man. He identified the caliber of the gun as the same that forensics said had been used to kill Ronald Brinker. He said Eileen had buried that and the small bottle of chloroform in a cemetery near Oakwood. Eventually, they were dug up with his help. Then a series of test-fired bullets were compared to the bullets taken from Ronald Brinker’s body, and a match was made with the suspect gun, a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson Airweight with a one-inch barrel.

After Ariana left town, Jack and I had a little talk about the money she dug up in Madison. I didn’t want to talk about it publicly and had told Ariana how I felt.

“Did you see that money?” Jack asked.

“I saw the suitcase and one packet of bills.”

“So you only know what was in the suitcase from hearsay?”

I thought about it. “I guess you could say so.”

“I don’t think you’ll have a problem.”

When Nick Brinker was extradited to New York State, I asked Joe Fox if I could see him. I went up on a warm day when Eddie was in day camp and Jack at work. Prisons make me nervous, and I was glad to have Joe accompany me to the room where Nick sat waiting for me. Joe had promised us a private talk and I trusted him.

Nick hardly looked like himself. He had lost weight and his face was haggard. Had I seen him on the street, I would not have recognized him.

We had a long talk, most of which was irrelevant to the homicides, but he told me some things that put the last few pieces of the puzzle in place.

“How did you get to know Eileen Foster?” I asked.

“She called me a long time ago—I don’t remember when. She knew I was Uncle Ron’s nephew and she was curious about the Brinker inheritance. I told her Dad had left Mom his share. I think she gave me a thousand dollars after he died. My sister got that, too.”

“Did you know about Ariana?”

“Uh-uh. At least, not at first. I knew Eileen had a grudge, but I figured it had something to do with money. She called me a few months ago and asked if I would help her out. She said there was money and she would split it with me fifty-fifty. I have to tell you, I could have used it. We’ve had a hard time and whatever it was, even ten thousand, it would have been good to have.

“Eileen said she had located her sister and brother-in-law, and she wanted me along when she went to talk to them. I thought she might be afraid for her safety, although I didn’t know why.”

“And you came to Oakwood with her?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his hands over his face at that point, and I thought, He must be wishing he’d never taken that trip.

“Tell me what happened, Nick.”

“We found them in their apartment. I didn’t know Eileen had a gun with her until that day. She’d put it in the suitcase she checked on the plane. She said she was sure they’d never find it and she was right. She threatened them with it and had me tie Uncle Ron up with some plastic things she had. That was when I knew I’d bitten off more than I could chew.

“She asked them where Ariana was and they didn’t answer. She got mad, she screamed at them, but they just sat there. Then she asked them for money. She said she’d spare their lives if they gave her money. They just sat there like pieces of wood. I could see Eileen was getting madder and madder. Every second they didn’t say anything, she got closer to blowing up. You know, she’s not a real stable person. She said something to me—I think she was in a nuthouse for a while.”

I cringed at the word. “A mental institution?”

“Yeah, whatever. I can tell you she scared me a couple of times. Maybe they knew that, Uncle Ron and his wife. Maybe that’s why they were so scared of her.”

That could be yet another reason why they kept running, I thought. “When Eileen demanded money from them, did she mention any special amount?” I asked.

“Nah. She had told me they had a lot of money put away. That’s what she wanted. Then she asked me to hold Elaine for a minute, and she put something on Elaine’s face. She slid down to the floor and the next thing I knew she was dead. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t know what was going on.”

“I understand,” I said, watching him become almost tearful.

“Then she asked Uncle Ron again where the money was. He didn’t answer. He kept looking at Elaine lying there on the floor. He was—honest to God—he was in tears. I was too, if you want to know the truth.”

“And then what?”

“She shot him.” He trembled as though the memory was too much for him. “She pushed the gun right into his chest and shot him, just like that. And they were both dead. We took their jewelry off, we went through their wallets. And when it was about one or two in the morning, we carried them out to the car wrapped in blankets.”

Later in the conversation I asked him about the trip to Madison.

“I went home after the—after it happened. Eileen had made a crazy phone call after we emptied the apartment— she had had me shoot her gun into a pillow—and she said someone would find the bodies, and then their daughter would show up and she would get the money from her. With the apartment empty, people would think they had moved, evidence would be gone, and the police would be in a state of confusion.”

“Nick,” I said, interrupting, “your blood was found in the bedroom in that apartment.”

“Oh yeah, the blood. That was Eileen’s idea. She said to prick my finger and leave some on the rug to throw the police off. We never thought we’d be found, at least I felt pretty confident.”

“Go on with your story. You said Eileen waited around in Oakwood.”

“Right. I couldn’t wait around, but she did. A couple of weeks later, she called and told me to take the first plane out here. The daughter had arrived.

“It was crazy. We watched this girl. She went to your house. She went to a motel. Then one morning, the two of you went to the airport.”

“And you followed.”

“Yeah. Eileen drove the SUV. I got out when you and Ariana went to the curbside check-in. I was so close to you, I thought you might have seen me. I heard her say Madison to the baggage guy, and I dashed back to where Eileen was sitting in the car.”

“And you drove to Madison.”

“Yeah. Eileen said she knew where you were going.”

“What did you expect to find in the house?”

“I don’t know. Eileen didn’t tell me much. We broke into the house, looked around with a flashlight, and got out. There was nothing there. I called Jessie later and she told me Ariana had called, so I flew home. That was it. I never saw Eileen again.”

Like so many of the homicides I have looked into in the past several years, this was another sad one, one in which I could understand why the killer did what she did. I could see how she could come to regret the decision to give up her child, made before the child was born, before she had a chance to look at her, to hold her in her arms. And without any difficulty, I could see the Brinkers’ side just as clearly. They took possession of their daughter when she was only a few days old and they considered her theirs, as she truly was. The demand to give her up must have been so shocking, so frightening, that they could think of only one response.

Having observed similar cases in the news, I would guess that had they attempted to mediate, they might well have had to share their child. They wanted her for their own. And they died for it.

Ariana had a simple funeral and burial for her parents. Jack took the morning off and we went together. I was pleased to see Det. Joe Fox put in an appearance. When it was over, Ariana returned to the hotel and left for Chicago later in the day.

She sent a postcard from Chicago about a month later saying she was fine. And later in the summer she sent another one from Guatemala. She sounded very happy.

But the most unexpected thing happened in the fall. Eddie went back to school, this time in the first grade. He was very excited, as we all were, and he began to read soon after the beginning of the semester.

As it was fall, I did the seasonal change of clothes, putting away the shorts and bathing trunks and short-sleeved shirts and replacing them with cool-weather clothes. I asked Eddie to pull out the shoes and stored items in the corner of his closet so I could get rid of the accumulated dust. He went inside and came out with an armful of things. We set them on the bedroom floor, and I started through them to decide which we would give away and which we would keep for another season.

“What’s this?” I asked, coming on a small package wrapped in brown paper and kept together with several rubber bands.

“I don’t know. It was on the floor. Look. Here’s my baseball I couldn’t find.”

“Well, put it where you’ll have it in the spring.” I removed rubber band after rubber band, finally opening the brown bag. I pulled out a small packet, also rubber-banded. And my heart stopped.

It was a stack of hundred-dollar bills with a note.

“This is for Eddie’s college education.”
Not another word.

I recalled that Ariana had gone up to put Eddie to bed one night and she had taken the straw bag upstairs with her. No other explanation made sense.

“What is it?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing important. Let’s go through the shoes.” My heart pounding, I rewrapped the bills in the bag. I would show them to Jack tonight.

I called the Chicago phone number but it was disconnected. I tried Guatemala, but that, too, was out of service. I tried information, but there was no Ariana Brinker in Chicago or Madison. Eventually, I put the packet in our safe-deposit box along with our insurance policies. It seemed an appropriate place.

I haven’t heard from Ariana since the last postcard. She must be having a good time.

By Lee Harris

(published by Fawcett Books)

The Christine Bennett Novels:
THE GOOD FRIDAY MURDER
THE YOM KIPPUR MURDER
THE CHRISTENING DAY MURDER
THE ST. PATRICK’S DAY MURDER
THE THANKSGIVING DAY MURDER
THE PASSOVER MURDER
THE VALENTINE’S DAY MURDER
THE NEW YEAR’S EVE MURDER
THE LABOR DAY MURDER
THE FATHER’S DAY MURDER
THE MOTHER’S DAY MURDER
THE APRIL FOOLS’ DAY MURDER
THE HAPPY BIRTHDAY MURDER
THE BAR MITZVAH MURDER
THE SILVER ANNIVERSARY MURDER

MURDER IN HELL’S KITCHEN
MURDER IN ALPHABET CITY

Books published by The Random House Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call 1-800-733-3000.

The Silver Anniversary Murder
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Fawcett Books Mass Market Original

Copyright © 2005 by Lee Harris

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Fawcett Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

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eISBN: 978-0-307-41739-8

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