Liar: An Irene Kelly Mystery Part 43

"Maybe I'll put off meeting Barbara," Travis said, and Frank laughed.

Frank started poking a finger into the statue. "Hold it," I said. "There's a limit-"

He looked back into the bottom of the statue, ignoring me. "Get me a pair of tweezers."

"Tweezers!"

"Please."

Well, it was the magic word, after all.

With tweezers in hand, he began picking at something inside the statue.

"What is it?" Travis asked.

"The reason the bulb won't fit. There's something rolled up inside here."

Travis looked over at me.

"Travis, you said this was the only thing among your mother's possessions that your father had given to her ..."

"And he gave it to her to protect her," he said softly. "To protect her from Gerald?"

Frank soon began complaining that if we didn't give him some elbow room, he wouldn't be able to get the object-something made of metal wrapped in paper-out without tearing the paper.

But a few minutes later he succeeded, and handed a short flat key and what at first appeared to be a scroll of thick paper to Travis.

"Is that a safe-deposit box key?" I asked.

"Too short," Frank said. "Maybe a cash box, something like that."

Travis, who had taken a seat next to Frank on the couch, handed the scroll back to him. "Could you help me unroll it?"

Frank carefully unrolled the scroll, which turned out to be a small envelope. It was the size of the envelopes invitations and thank-you notes sometimes come in, about four-by-six inches, and it was addressed to Arthur Spanning at an address I didn't recognize at first, but marked "Personal."

The address was written in black ink in a rough hand. There was no return address, no stamps, no postmark, but at the top of the envelope, a different hand had penciled in the number twenty-five and circled it.

"The office address?" I asked Travis, finally remembering.

"Yes. He told me that he had most of his mail sent there, not only because W would read it to him, but because it was the one place he would be every day-otherwise, he alternated between our house and the farm, and later between his apartment and the farm. But even if he couldn't get into the office during the day, most evenings, he stopped by to check his mail."

"Ulkins was there all the time?"

"No. Ulkins would tape-record the mail, usually just summarizing it. See this number twenty-five? Ulkins wrote that. He numbered the envelopes, then said on the tape, 'Letter one is from so-and-so, regarding x and y...' and so on. My father would listen to it as soon as he got a chance, whenever he had a moment. Sometimes that was in the afternoon, but usually it was late in the day."

He explained who W/Ulkins was to Frank as he turned the envelope over. There were two red ink marks on the back, from a pair of rubber stamps. One was the figure of a hand.

"Hand-delivered," Travis said, pointing to it.

The other stamp was a date-all numerical. "Date received," he said.

"The day Gwendolyn DeMont was murdered," I said.

"Should I-should I be handling this?" Travis asked.

"Probably no prints, but just to make sure, here," Frank said, and using the tweezers but making the barest contact otherwise, he removed five index cards and the page of a calendar from the envelope. All were as curled as the envelope, but using the eraser end of a pencil to hold down one end and the tweezers to hold the other end, Frank held them open.

The calendar page was from the same date, the day of the murder. On it, someone had drawn a crescent moon.

"This doesn't have anything to do with the actual phase of the moon," Travis said. "It means 'This night.'"

On each of the five index cards, symbols had been drawn.

"What do they mean?" I asked Travis.

He pointed to a simple house shape with other symbols within it.

"I'm not sure. The symbols on the inside of the house shape mean, 'Rich people live here.' When we used to leave the notes for one another, our house was drawn like this, but with a heart inside."

"Maybe it was a symbol for the DeMont farmhouse," I said. "Especially if Gerald and your dad devised it before your dad lived in it."

Frank held the next one open. "A zero?" I asked.

"Yes, in a way," Travis said. "It means 'Nothing to be gained here.'" The next one also seemed familiar. "A diamond?" Frank asked.

"No, see the little protrusion at the bottom?" Travis pointed to it. "It's a hobo sign for 'Hold your tongue.'"

Neither of us guessed at the next one.

"This means 'A crime has been committed here,'" he said. "And this last one means 'Be ready to defend yourself.'"

"He killed her," Travis said. "Gerald kept hinting about this great favor he had done my father, but he didn't really admit killing her."

"He warned your father with hobo signs. These papers are what he was looking for," I said. "And this key."

We had told Frank about our encounter with Gerald, but only the basics. Now Travis filled him in on the details, then said, "I know he'll be convicted of murdering my mother, and maybe even charged with attempted murder for trying to kill me. Killing Ulkins, the way he hurt Irene, and tried to kill her-there may be convictions for that, too. He should go to jail for a long time, and I should be satisfied.

"But if Gwendolyn's murder is left as an open case, it isn't enough." He paused, then added, "I feel sorry for her, but I'd be kidding myself if I said I wanted justice for her sake. It's more selfish than that.

"I want to clear my father's name. I mean, he was a bigamist, yes-that I admit. But he didn't kill his wife. My family-my father, my mother and I-we paid for that murder. We were punished for it, even though my father was innocent." He stopped himself, shook his head. "No, that's not true. He didn't kill her, but he wasn't innocent."

"Your father protected Gerald," Frank said.

"Yes," Travis said. "He protected the killer."

"His only brother," I said. "A man who had raised him."

"His brother's keeper," Travis said. "And G.o.d knows, Gerald was his keeper in every sense of the word." He turned to Frank and said, "Is there any hope of using these to convict him of murdering Gwendolyn?"

Frank looked at the curling papers in silence for a time, then said, "Using them as evidence? There are some problems. Even if you could find prints or DNA on the envelope, there's the problem of where the evidence has been all this time, who's had a chance to tamper with it, and so on-not that I think they've been anywhere but in this night-light, but a defense lawyer would probably have them thrown out in no time."

"Oh."

"But that doesn't mean the police can't make use of them," Frank said. "I know some of the guys over in Los Alamitos. Let me talk to them about it. Gerald was obsessed about getting these from your mother and you. A good interrogator might be able to show this to him without saying a word, and maybe he'll give it up."

Travis didn't say anything.

Frank said, "Used to be, we could use the methods of some of these wild women private eyes out there, and smack the bad guys around until they confessed-but those days are over."

Travis smiled a little.

"Fortunately for us," Frank went on, "Rachel made him polish her shoes with his face, ribs and a.s.s, so I think his spirits will be a little low. Trust me, I have experience dealing with this kind of turkey."

The next day, Travis asked me to go with him to St. Anthony's to see Father Chris, to learn where Arthur had been buried. As we drove to the church, I thought of our last visit there, and of the housekeeper's warm welcome. That in turn reminded me of things she had said then, and suddenly several pieces of information I had heard over the last few days fell into place.

I looked over at my cousin, whose errand had put him in a somber mood. He was sitting stiffly, his injuries undoubtedly making the ride uncomfortable.

"Travis," I asked, bringing him out of his reverie, "do you remember when Mrs. Havens was your family's housekeeper?"

"We never had a housekeeper at our house," he said. "Mrs. Havens kept saying she worked for my father. She must have worked for my dad after my parents separated."

"I think she may have worked for your father and Gwendolyn, before Gwendolyn died."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"Father Chris called her 'Annie.' The housekeeper at the DeMont farm was named Ann Coughlin. Different last name, but maybe she remarried, or changed it. I just think it's unlikely that your father had two different housekeepers named Ann."

"But that would mean she was the one who found Gwendolyn's body..."

"More than that. Suppose she hadn't mopped the floor where your father walked, or disturbed the place on the bed where your father put his hand into Gwendolyn's blood?"

"He would have been arrested for murder. Dad's alibi wouldn't have mattered much if Richmond had found that evidence intact."

I shrugged. "Richmond might have blown it in some other way. I'm beginning to doubt that Mrs. Coughlin was just some befuddled old lady who messed up a murder scene, though. I think Richmond a.s.sumed that's all she was, and she took advantage of that."

She greeted us at the rectory door, again fussing over Travis. Father Chris had been called out to a sick parishioner's house, she explained to us. Would we please wait? Travis and I exchanged a glance. We were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with questions for her; Father Chris's absence would make asking them less awkward.

"I'm so glad you're safe!" she said, seating Travis in the most comfortable chair she could find. "I read the stories in the paper." She gave me a wink. "If I wasn't gray already, that would have done the trick." She propped a pillow behind him, then looked between us.

"She may be your cousin," she said to him, "but I don't see much of your mother's side of the family in her. And I still say you look just like your father. Oh, I don't mean all bruised and so, but I thought so even when I saw you as a baby."

"You saw me as a baby?" he asked warily. "But my father didn't have a housekeeper then."

She hesitated only slightly before saying, "Oh, he did, just not at your mother's place."

"You worked for him at the DeMonts'," I said.

She sighed. "Yes, you've figured that out, haven't you? Well, I don't guess I'm obliged to keep these secrets after all that's happened. Yes, I worked for Mr. Spanning at the DeMont place, and for Papa DeMont and Miss Gwen before him."

"Ann Coughlin?" I asked.

"Yes, that was my first married name. Mr. Coughlin died and I later on married Mr. Havens. Mr. Havens, G.o.d rest his soul, died a few years back. Mr. Havens was always good to me.

"But Mr. Coughlin! He used to lose his temper with me every now and again, and he wasn't above using his fists on me. Called it 'teaching me a lesson.' Probably would have killed me one day, except young Arthur-oh, he must have been about eighteen then-he found out about it and put a stop to it. Told Mr. Coughlin there'd be none of that on the DeMont place, or he'd give him a lesson of his own-one that would make him feel like he'd been to college." She laughed. "Mr. Coughlin never laid a hand on me after that. Well, all I'm saying is, I knew who helped me, didn't I? And I never forgot it. And I was proud to be able to help him whenever he needed it."

"When Gwendolyn was murdered-" Travis began.

"Yes, I helped him then, too. I was shocked, of course, but I knew he wasn't the one that had done the killing."

"But you couldn't be certain!"

"Who on earth could be any more certain, I ask you? I spent more hours in that house with the two of them than I did in my own home. Arthur was never anything but kind to Miss Gwen. There wasn't a mean bone in his body. And he never would have done anything to harm her." She paused, then added, "I knew your daddy and I knew his brother, too-from the time your daddy was a little boy."

"If you saw Travis when he was a baby," I said, "you must have known about Arthur's other life."

"Yes. As I say, you can't hide much from the person who cleans your house and washes your clothes. I'm sure there are plenty of people on this earth who will judge him harshly for what he did, but I won't be one of them. That's all I have to say about that. He helped me when everybody else just pretended not to see anything wrong-that man got me out of a living h.e.l.l. I would have done anything to try to repay him for that."

She turned to Travis. "I was always begging him to work it out so that I could see you, so proud he was of you. So one day, I told Miss Gwen I had some shopping to do, and he told your mother he had some shopping to do, and I got to see you! Oh, I was thrilled. You could just see how much he loved you, how precious you were to him. I told him then and there, he was right, having you was worth the world. The very world."

"Thank you, Mrs. Havens," he said softly. "For telling me that, and for-well, thank you for everything you've done for us."

"Travis," I asked, "do you have the key with you?"

"The key!" she exclaimed. "But surely you can't need it now! I read where they caught him! He's locked up, right?"

Travis pulled the little key from his pocket. "Gerald? Yes, Mrs. Havens, but we want to make sure he stays locked up."

She frowned, then said, "Wait here, I'll be right back."

By the time she came back, her new boss had returned. That's how it worked out that when we opened the small strongbox, a Catholic priest happened to be present. I wasn't surprised to find a knife with a broken tip and dark stains on it. But I was surprised to see it resting on a pair of stiff, blood-stained gloves.

"Don't touch anything in that box," I warned the others.

"How did my father get these?" Travis asked.

"Well, you don't have an older brother, so there's no way you could know," she said. "But one thing a younger brother always knows about an older one is where he likes to hide things. Arthur found these that Sunday, he told me, and I helped him hide them before the police even knew she was dead. Gerald was fit to be tied, of course, but Arthur told him if he ever brought any harm to you or your mother, someone else would turn that over to the police, along with some notes. I was the someone else!"

"But-but Mrs. Havens!" Father Chris said, looking at his elderly housekeeper in an entirely different way. "This was evidence! The woman lay there murdered for a full day after you knew about it!"

"I loved Gwen, Father, but she was dead. Wasn't going nowhere, right? And what was more important, to protect three innocent people's lives, or let the likes of Harold Richmond use that evidence to hurt them? And before you say another word, Father, ask yourself if Arthur Spanning could have possibly paid a higher price for loving his brother as himself. If anything, that man loved his brother too much!"

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out. She was back less than a minute later to say, "Two weeks notice, Father. Time I retired. Travis, you call me."

I'm still not sure if it was the notes, the knife, or Reed Collins's bold a.s.sertion (made without checking with any lab) that DNA could easily be lifted from the inside of Gerald's gloves that made the difference. Reed liked my theory that Gerald's wetsuit trick indicated a certain fear about leaving DNA around, and put it to the test.

Personally, I think having his a.s.s kicked by a woman so disordered Gerald's way of looking at the world, he took one glance at the notes, knife and gloves and started unburdening his conscience. This, I'm told, took the form of a lot of ranting about b.i.t.c.hes who could have been happy with him, traitorous brothers, wh.o.r.es and b.a.s.t.a.r.ds-but the district attorney, a judge and a jury of his peers were able to sort it all out and find him guilty.

I took Travis to meet Leda DeMont Rose and her granddaughter. They quickly set him at ease, and by the end of the visit, they were well on their way to becoming friends, even though Laurie's first glimpse of my badly mauled cousin must have made her believe I had lied about his good looks.