The Mother's Day Murder (24 page)

“I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Bailey.”

“Does Katherine know this?”

“Yes. We don’t know who the woman was, but it doesn’t matter.”

“You want her name?”

“No. I just wanted to clear up the use of Katherine’s name.”

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

“I will. And she asked me to send you her love.”

I called Joseph and told her quickly what I had learned. She asked for the phone number in Alaska and I gave it to her. It was a short conversation. I had Eddie’s dinner to put together as well as ours and there was nothing further to discuss. The mystery of Randy’s parentage had been solved. I would never know who Randy’s mother was, but I didn’t need to. Her parentage and her murder were separate, except that it was her search for her mother that had led to her demise.

When Jack and I talked later, I told him where my thinking was leading me now. “Randy spent a week or two in and around St. Stephen’s. During that time she
befriended Tina Richmond, stole her purse, took a novice’s habit from the laundry, and, we’re both pretty sure, went through Joseph’s files. She found me there and decided I might be able to help her approach Joseph, although I think she got cold feet about that. She told me she had come here by train and taken a taxi from the station.”

“But none of the drivers admit driving her here.”

“So let’s assume that someone at St. Stephen’s drove her.”

“You mean one of the nuns?” I could hear the shock in his voice.

“Maybe a nun, maybe someone who works at the convent. There’s a cook, her helper, the groundsman, and some other people who work there. Some of the nuns have cars. The people who work there have cars. Randy could have asked one of them—maybe paid them—to drive her here.”

“That’s a lot of people to interview. Do you know which nuns own cars?”

I shook my head. “Randy needed two things, a ride to Oakwood and information about Joseph. Maybe one person gave her both, maybe it was two separate people. She wanted to find out who Joseph was, where she came from, whether she could have had a child, things the nuns wouldn’t ordinarily tell her. I’m going to sit down and review every person I can think of at St. Stephen’s and see if I can figure out which one might be blackmailable.”

“Just by thinking about it?”

“As a first step anyway.”

“Hey, if you can do this all in your head, I know a thousand detectives who’d like to get in on your method.
They’ll put you on the squad payroll. Their case clearance rate will skyrocket.”

“Let’s see if I succeed first.”

“Good luck, kiddo.”

That’s the way I felt. I was sure of one thing: No one would gossip about Joseph to a stranger. After dinner I started writing down names as they came to me. As each name appeared on my sheet, I was faced with the impossibility of considering that that woman could have been blackmailed and, even worse, could have fired a bullet into Randy Collins.

There were the elderly nuns in the Villa. It was crazy to think that a woman—a nun—in her seventies or eighties could have been part of this. There were the active nuns, all of whom I knew, none of whom I disliked, mistrusted, or feared. Angela was a friend. Grace had embroidered the beautiful chapel cloth that my mother-in-law had given to the convent as a gift in honor of our marriage. I considered one after the other, trying to think of gossip I might have heard, a hint of a possible scandal. What kind of scandal can a woman who has lived in a convent for twenty or thirty years become involved in?

I pushed away the sheet of paper and started another. Harold the groundsman. Harold has dedicated his life to the convent. He is grumpy and difficult, but there is no question he loves his job and reveres the nuns.

I knew nothing about the cook, Mrs. Halsey. What had Joseph known when she hired her? Maybe there was something there. And then there was Mrs. Halsey’s assistant, Jennifer, who had recognized Randy’s picture but had not seen her wearing the habit. Jennifer was
close to Randy’s age. If she didn’t have her own car, maybe she had borrowed her mother’s and taken twenty or thirty dollars from Randy to drive her to Oakwood. She would have to work a number of hours to earn that much money.

I started feeling encouraged. Maybe this would prove fruitful. And maybe, instead of calling Joseph tomorrow to ask about these two women, I would ask Angela. Angela had her fingers on the pulse of the convent.

I sat back and pushed myself to think of other people that might have known personal information about Joseph or who had a car, or both. Some kind of cleaning service came in to clean up the dormitory and the classrooms. I would have to get their names.

And then it hit me. There were men working on renovating dormitory rooms. I had met them and they had denied knowing Randy, but people don’t always tell the truth. Randy could have met them, especially as she was squatting on the same floor in the dorm that they were working on. Perhaps one of those men had driven her to Oakwood. I tried to recall how old those men were and how many there had been.

“You getting somewhere?” Jack asked, looking up from the newspaper.

“Maybe.”

“Got a coupla nuns who’re murder suspects?”

“Don’t be nasty. I’m thinking of workmen in the dormitory.”

“OK. Sounds a lot better than a nun.”

“He could have driven her down here that Thursday afternoon and dropped her off at the corner.”

“Why’d he come back on Sunday?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Maybe he was going to drive her back to St. Stephen’s on Sunday and he came early.”

“Who did Sister Joseph meet on Sunday morning?”

“I have no idea. Maybe she just decided to go to mass somewhere else.”

“It’s a loose end, Chris.”

“Only if I can’t put my finger on a killer.”

In the morning I called the convent. Angela answered and I asked her what she knew about the men working in the dormitory.

“I’ve never seen them, Kix. Joseph hired them and they’ve been around for a while. They should be finishing up soon.”

“Are they there today?”

“They should be.”

“Can I talk to Joseph?”

It took a few minutes before they found her and when she answered I could tell she was in or near the kitchen because of the noise.

“Joseph,” I said, “I’ve been thinking about people at St. Stephen’s who might have driven Randy to my house. I’d like to come up and talk to the workmen working in the dormitory.”

“They’re here today. That won’t be a problem.”

I said I would leave very shortly and would bring Eddie along. Before I left, I called and let Jack know where I was going.

“You better watch yourself,” he warned. “I don’t need a hostage situation with my wife and son as hostages.”

I promised I’d keep Eddie away from my suspects, which didn’t satisfy him very much, and we took off.

Two of the nuns in the Villa took Eddie for a walk while Joseph and I went to the dorm. Upstairs the men were working, talking loudly enough that we heard them as we climbed the stairs. When they saw Joseph, they quieted down and became very deferential.

“This is my friend Mrs. Brooks,” Joseph said. “We would like to ask you gentlemen some questions, one at a time so that we don’t stop your work.”

“You’re the lady with the picture of the dead girl,” one of the men said.

“That’s right.”

“We told you we didn’t see her.”

“There are other things we want to talk to you about,” Joseph said. “Mr. Grassly, would you like to come with me?”

The man who had just spoken put down a tool and wiped his hands on his white cotton overalls. He followed us to the room Randy had lived in and Joseph unlocked the door.

“I’ll wait outside,” she said. “Take your time.”

“What’s this about?” Grassly said. “We told you we never saw her.”

He seemed a lot more nervous than when I had spoken to him eleven days earlier. “Mr. Grassly, I think you may have driven that girl somewhere about two weeks ago.”

“I never saw her. I don’t know who she is.”

“What kind of car do you drive?” I opened my notebook and took out a pen.

“I don’t have to tell you that. The police were here last week. We all talked to them. We told them we didn’t see her.”

“That was last week. I know a lot more today than I did then. I think she came and asked you men for a ride. Mr. Grassly, this girl was murdered. I need to know how she got from St. Stephen’s to the next place she went.” Having made a terrible mistake in my questioning of Barbara Phillips, I was being extra careful now not to give anything away.

He stared at me. He was sitting on the desk chair and I was on the bed. Nothing of Randy’s was in the room. It was an unlived-in dormitory room, waiting for a student to move in.

“She came to us,” he said. “She said she needed a lift, she would pay us. I said, ‘OK, I’ll take you.’ ”

“Where did you take her?” My voice was almost soft. I felt as though, if I weren’t careful, some fragile bond between us would break.

“Down almost to the city.”

“To where?” He had caught me off guard.

“To the city, you know, New York. She wanted to go to New York but I wouldn’t take her all the way. I hate driving in New York. I found a subway station, must’ve been on Broadway, way up in Manhattan. I let her off there and I got back on the highway and came back. I never saw her again.”

“What day was that?”

“I gotta think.” He pulled a little booklet out of his pants pocket. It was one of those agendas that you get free from stationery stores or banks. He flipped a few pages that were dirty with thumbprints. “It coulda been that Thursday two weeks ago.”

“What time did you drive her in?”

“After work.”

“And you think it was Thursday.” Randy had shown up on my doorstep that Thursday in the early evening.

“Maybe Wednesday. Yeah, I bet it was Wednesday. I hadda get something to take home that day. I did it on the way back.”

“Were any of the other men with you?” I asked.

“Nah. I was driving the truck. The others had their cars, at least one of them did. I took her myself.”

“Did she tell you where she was going?”

“She said New York. That’s all she told me.”

“What did you do the Sunday after you took the girl to New York?”

“Sunday?” He seemed confused. “I don’t know what I did Sunday. I went to church. Maybe I watched some baseball in the afternoon.”

“You didn’t meet anybody that day?”

“I told you: I never saw that girl again. I never heard anything about her till you came and showed us that picture.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grassly.”

I don’t know what I expected but certainly not that the first man I questioned would turn out to be the one I was looking for. I was so used to finding my source at the end of the trail rather than at the beginning that I must have looked confused myself as I left the room. Grassly went back to work, somewhat deflated. Joseph was talking to two students, apparently having a pleasant conversation. They were all beaming. When she saw me, she gave each girl a pat on the shoulder and crossed the hall to where I was standing.

“He drove her,” I said.

“To your house?”

“To upper Manhattan. He wouldn’t go any farther. He hates Manhattan traffic.”

“Where does that leave you?” she asked.

“With a whole new idea,” I said.

26

Maybe I should have felt discouraged. My brilliant thought had not panned out as I had hoped, but it had taken me halfway to an answer. It was the second half, the dark part, that had to be illuminated. I just needed the source of the light.

I hadn’t even stayed to have lunch. Eddie had been given his and as soon as I started the car, he fell asleep. Aside from the need to stay alert on the road, I was free to think.

It was possible that Grassly had lied. But all he knew about me was my name. He had no idea where I lived unless Randy had told him, which I doubted. She knew how to keep things to herself and he was a stranger who needed to know nothing. If he had driven her to Oakwood, I thought it was very likely he would have told me.

When he said he didn’t like to drive in the city, it had rung true. If you’re used to suburban or country driving, navigating the streets of New York can be more than a challenge; it can be a downright threat. I’ve had my share of narrow misses on the streets and avenues of the big city.

So what did the situation look like now? Randy took a lift from Mr. Grassly, who let her off near a subway
station. She could have stayed overnight with a friend from school or, for all I knew, she could have sat on a park bench till Thursday morning. But why had she gone to New York? As it happened, taking a train from New York to Oakwood was a lot easier and more direct than doing the same from St. Stephen’s.
But no one had seen her at the Oakwood station
. So maybe someone in New York had driven her to Oakwood.

But that would exclude all the nuns (thank the good Lord) and all the other people based at St. Stephen’s. And it wasn’t very logical to think that a college friend would turn around and kill her. It had to be someone else. Somehow it had to be connected with those files that Joseph, properly, refused to let me see.

When it came to me, my head almost exploded.

Eddie woke up as the car came to a stop at our house and I carried him in while he went through the slow process of becoming fully awake. We sat at the kitchen table and he drank some milk as I ate some cheese and carrot sticks to ease my hunger pangs.

“I want to make a phone call, Eddie, and then we’ll go outside and play.”

He hopped off the chair with my help and got his own brightly colored telephone and started to make his own calls. I just hoped that whoever he was talking to would keep him occupied for a few more minutes.

Jack answered and asked how it had gone. He seemed surprised that my guess about Randy getting a ride anywhere had been right.

“But it wasn’t to Oakwood and I think someone in New York may have driven her up on Thursday.”

“Name your suspects.”

“I only have one, the former nun I visited while Randy was still here, Jane Cirillo.”