Severed Relations Page 10

  "It's my good luck charm," Finn said. "I've got a different one for when this city is so blazing the devil himself won't walk the streets."

  "My wife says I'm too old for a leather jacket. I don't think I am. Then again, I don't think I'm too old for a motorcycle and she won't let me have one of those either. Women." Paul laughed a little, the trill of it fading away while he searched for more small talk to keep from discussing the business at hand. Sadly, business was what they were there for so Finn took over.

  "So, Paul. We appreciate the fast track on this," Finn said. "Can you tell me something that will put me to work properly?"

  "Most of what I know you know, so I'll tell you what you don't. I have reviewed Doctor Ford's report. He did the nanny. Those bruises on her wrists happened before she died. It looks like someone could have knelt on her or maybe held her down with something round and hard. There was a lot of pressure. She was on her back when the trigger was pulled and they knew exactly what they were doing.

  "She died instantly. It would take everything a man had, even if he had bulk behind him, to keep her immobile and still shoot her in that manner. We know she fought because there were bruises and scratches on her legs, too, but the ones on her wrists were deep and deliberate. There were no signs of sexual assault."

  "So you're thinking there were two of them?"

  "Or more, but two at least. I also don't think the same person would have killed in two different ways. The gunshot and restraint were calculated; the knife was used on the little girls with abandon, almost in a frenzy of sorts. Don't get me wrong. Those attacks were very professional. I mean frenzied like quick, as if he was having fun. There was no hesitation, no regret, and, I hate to say it, all of it was artfully done."

  "God help us," Finn muttered.

  "We've got one restrained victim, one sleeping girl, and one girl awake and moving. The wounds in the little girl had irregularities probably from her twisting. The weapon/body interaction created a great deal of distortion, but the older girl gave me quite a bit to work with. I was clearly able to measure the long axis, the width and the depth." Paul used his fingers as if pulling along a blade. "The knife had a long, slightly curved blade. Clean edged and sharp. No serration. It made a very distinctive cut, and it was so well honed that it cut like a scalpel. You can get them in any sporting goods store or knife shop. This one was either new or extremely well cared for but it did have a flaw. This person pulled the blade up, straight and fast. Same with the slash wounds: straight and fast." Paul leaned forward with his eyes alight. "Here's the exciting part. There is a chip on the blade at or near the tip. There was tearing at the end of every cut on the older girl. I couldn't ascribe the irregularity to the little one's wounds in a court of law, but on the older girl I could see it clearly. Find the knife and I'll prove it's the right one."

  "Sure, isn't that a bit of good news," Finn said. "As soon as you give me the dimensions on the blade, I'll bulletin all the hospitals and clinics and have them look out for knife wounds. You keep an eye out for anything like it that passes through here."

  Paul nodded. "It will be top of the list for all of us."

  Finn stood up. He rotated his head; his neck was stiff. "Did you get a fix on whether the killer was left handed or right handed?"

  "Right handed for both. No doubt about it."

  "Good job."

  Paul gave Finn's shoulder a friendly slap. "Come on. I'll see you out."

  They walked through the green painted halls, greeting those who came toward them, stepping aside for those who hurried past, ignoring the windows of autopsy rooms when they came upon them. The Los Angeles coroner's office was a busy place, much to Finn's dismay. They chatted about the doctor's upcoming trip to Ireland. Finn admonished him not to stick to the cities. The real Ireland, he said, was in the countryside. Paul promised to bring pictures back to prove he had taken the advice as he held the lobby door for the detective. Finn was turning toward him when he took notice of the woman sitting on the small, worn sofa in the lobby. Her black-stockinged legs were together, knee to knee. Her hands were clasped over a small black purse in her lap. Her dress was black. She looked surprised to see him. He had the feeling he knew her, but it wasn't until they locked eyes – his blue like ice and hers blue like a warm lagoon – that Finn knew who she was.

  "Mrs. Barnett." Finn walked toward her.

  "Detective O'Brien," she replied as she stood up.

  When Finn reached to shake her hand, he realized why he hadn't recognized Elizabeth Barnett immediately.

  Her long ebony hair was now the color of gunmetal.

  CHAPTER 17

  When he took her hand, Finn felt the tremor that ran deep down where muscle met nerve. Her skin was rice paper dry and almost as translucent. They stood looking at one another, hands clasped until Finn let go. He broke the eye contact, and turned toward the medical examiner.

  "Paul Craig. Doctor Craig. This is Mrs. Barnett, Paul."

  "Elizabeth, please." She held out that cool hand again. Paul took it reluctantly, well aware that his hands had recently probed the bodies of her children.

  "Nice to meet you. I'd like to offer my condolences."

  "Thank you," she said and when the men had no response, she asked: "Are you finished with my girls, doctor?"

  "Yes. Just now. Ms. Gerber, too." He cleared his throat. "Detective O'Brien has all the details. He'll do a fine job."

  Elizabeth put her fingertips on the sleeve of Finn's jacket and said: "I know."

  "Yes. Well, then." Paul inched toward the door, not quite as comfortable with the living as the dead. "It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Barnett."

  Paul executed a graceful one-eighty, but Elizabeth Barnett caught the open door before he could go through.

  "Doctor Craig?" she said. "My girls. They didn't see anything, did they?"

  "No, Mrs. Barnett. They died with their dreams and their dreams were of good things. Of you."

  Paul Craig, Finn decided, underestimated his bedside manner. His lie was pitch perfect. At least one of the girls had seen something and it terrified her little being to its core. Elizabeth, though, was satisfied. For a second after the door closed, she watched Paul through the window in the door. When she faced Finn she asked:

  "Do you have a moment?"

  "We can talk outside."

  Elizabeth went ahead of him, wraith thin in her black dress. They wandered down the street together, in no hurry, going nowhere. Her hand went to her hair.

  "I always thought it was a myth." Elizabeth said.

  "What is that?" Finn asked, putting his sunglasses on against the glare of the day.

  "Hair turning gray overnight." She laughed a little; she laughed sadly. "I always thought this was something that happened in novels."

  Finn watched their feet move. He did not have Paul's constitution and would have welcomed some time alone to put aside what he had seen during the autopsy, but Elizabeth Barnett was oblivious to his unease.

  "It's not really important," she was saying. "My hair, I mean. I don't think I'll color it. It will remind me of how I failed."

  "There isn't one thing you could have done if you'd been in the house, Mrs. Barnett," Finn assured her, even knowing there were no words on this earth that would make her believe that.

  "I could have died with them if it came to that." She answered with a surety that saddened Finn. Elizabeth Barnett would probably fool and torture herself for years, believing that she would have been super human and saved her girls.

  "I suppose you could have done that. But then there wouldn't be anyone to carry on in their name." Finn stopped and waited for her to face him. She didn't. Instead, she crossed her arms. The little black purse dangled from her fingertips.

  "That sounds like such a wise thing. It isn't, of course, but I know what you're doing. You're trying to make me feel as if there is some good to come of all this."

  "Look, missus, I don't wish to be rude. Much as I'd like to help you come to some
peace, I'm not your man. All I know is that there's no goodness here, there is only putting one foot in front of the other."

  Elizabeth nodded, twining her fingers together and letting them rest at her waist. Finn thought she looked as if she were waiting for a ride to lunch, until he saw that her knuckles were white with the effort of keeping her fingers together and her neck was not elegant, but lengthened because her muscles were corded with tension. Still, she was polite, the kind of woman his mother would have admired. A real lady, his mother would have said.

  "Sam and I put you in a difficult position the other night, and now I've done it again. I apologize for being such a problem. I hope you'll forgive me."

  "If you're being honest, then there's nothing to forgive."

  "Why wouldn't I be honest?" She began to walk again.

  "You didn't tell us about Stephen Grady."

  "Because he is irrelevant. I made that clear to Sam. Stephen is a sad, brilliant man who the world has discarded," she said. "There's nothing more to it than that."

  "But you had a special relationship with him," Finn said.

  "Who told you that?" Elizabeth asked only to instantly wave away the question. "Never mind. I know it was Sam. He hated me working at the clinic. He thought it was dangerous for me to be around people with mental problems. My husband doesn't really trust my instincts, but I know a threat when I see one. Stephen was not a threat."

  "It sounds as if Mr. Barnett was concerned with your welfare."

  She put on her sunglasses and Finn was sorry for it. He preferred to see people's eyes when he was asking about important things and Stephen Grady was important.

  "Yes, he always has been. If I were you, though, I would discount anything he has to say about the clinic. He's never been there. He just writes a check when I ask him to."

  "It wasn't him that gave me the information. It was Mrs. Billings and Etta. They said that Stephen wouldn't take his medication from anyone but you; they said he once told them he loved you."

  "Love means many different things to men," Elizabeth answered. "A sick man directs his love at the person who speaks kindly to him."

  "When was the last time you saw Mr. Grady outside the clinic?" Finn asked.

  Though her glasses were large and round, Finn could see her eyebrows rise. She settled herself on a concrete retaining wall and angled her legs gracefully so that her skirt fell over her knees. Her dress skimmed her body instead of hugging it and still Finn couldn't help but wonder if she wore the blue teddy beneath it.

  "I'm sure Etta told you that there are strict rules about such things," Elizabeth said, ending the conversation about the clinic in the next minute. "I didn't come here to talk about Stephen Grady. I actually came here to find out when I could claim my girls' bodies. I know I could have called, but I thought if I came here, where they are, that they would come to me one last time." She took a deep breath. "They didn't. I think that's my punishment."

  With that, Elizabeth Barnett began to weep. Tears fell from her eyes in sheets. She took off her sunglasses, her body bowed, and her hair waved around her shoulders. If this woman was the cause of her children's deaths either she didn't have a clue why or she was the best actress in the world. Finn touched her shoulder.

  "Mrs. Barnett, is your husband here? Is he waiting to drive you home?"

  Her head shook back and forth and her words were muffled behind her hands.

  "No. He went to work." Elizabeth shuddered and wiped her tears with the fingertips of both hands. She shook back her hair, put her shoulders straight again, and her glasses back on. "It seems odd, doesn't it? For him to go to work."

  "I cannot say," Finn answered even though he could have found a few choice words to share if it had been seemly to do so. He wouldn't have left his wife's side for a second if those were his children in the morgue. He wouldn't have left a woman like Elizabeth Barnett no matter what.

  "Let's call him then. If he can't come, I'll drive you home and you can collect your car later," Finn offered.

  "No, thank you. I got here; I'll get home." Elizabeth's voice dropped a note. "Please don't be too hard on Sam. The truth is, you just never know what you're capable of when things go wrong."

  Elizabeth twisted her wedding ring as she spoke. Her voice seemed to drift far away as she thought about choices and consequences. The diamond was a stunning thing. It glinted in the sun and was so big and heavy that it fell to the side of her narrow finger. It seemed to bother her. Then again, the feel of her clothes, the warmth of the sun, the people driving down the street probably bothered her, too.

  "It's a shame that you don't have a wife and children, Detective O'Brien. They would be lucky to have you to lean on." She stood up and smoothed her skirt, talking all the while. "And don't be fooled by what Sam may tell you. I'm strong in ways no one knows, not even my husband. I want to be the first to hear everything you find out. If you tell Sam, he will pick and choose what to tell me. I don't want to always wonder what I don't know. You'll do that for me, won't you?"

  Elizabeth had come so close that Finn could see strands of soft, inky black hair beneath the gray. She swayed slightly and touched her forehead as if the sun was too hot. He steadied her and for a second she put her hand over his. Finn pulled back. She smiled as if she knew the affect she had on him.

  "I need to get on, or I will never have anything to tell you," Finn said.

  "Don't go just yet. There is something I need you to see." She stepped away from him. "Something is missing from our home."

  CHAPTER 18

  Elizabeth opened her purse and took out a photograph, looked at it briefly, and handed it to Finn.

  "I bought those lockets for my children before they were born. I was psychic about their birth, but didn't have a clue about their death. The jeweler who made these was old, and I didn't want him to die and not make something for my children. The jeweler is still alive," she added, and the irony of that was not lost on Finn.

  "Are these gold?" he asked.

  "Yes." She shook back her hair and moved closer still, standing so that she could look at the picture with him. "There were better pieces in my jewelry box and the safe, but these are each worth about eight hundred dollars. That little glow where the flash went off? That's a diamond. Just over the 'i' in Alexis and just above the tail of the 'a' in Alana."

  "The shape is unusual, too. Octagonal. The script isn't standard." Finn mused.

  "I took pictures for the insurance company in case the girls lost them."

  "Where did you keep them?" he asked.

  "In the ballerina box on the bedside table between the girls' beds. They would have been easy to see and easy to take. I remember touching the table and the box. I remember thinking something was out of place and then last night it dawned on me that the box was empty."

  "I'll need the name and address of the jeweler so I can get the chain length, size of the lockets, that kind of information."

  Finn started to pocket the photo, but Elizabeth took it and turned it over. The information he needed was neatly printed on the back along with the address of the insurance company. He smiled and tucked the photo away.

  "I'll get these lockets back to you one of these days," he promised.

  "I'm not sure I could touch them now. I'm just glad that they will be of some use." Small lines etched quotation marks at the side of her mouth, her eyes crinkled as if she were about to smile. She never did.

  Finn pushed on, knowing he would lose her in the next minute or two. "Was there anything missing from Rachel's room? Has anyone come asking after her?"

  "I wouldn't really know if anything of hers was missing," she said. "I never thought it wise to get close to someone who would eventually leave. Perhaps Sam might know. Ask him."

  "I know Rachel did not confide in you about her friend, but are you sure it was a man and that he was alone when he came to get her?" Finn asked.

  "I suppose there could have been someone else in the car with him. I didn't watch
to make sure she got off safely. Rachel was a big girl," Elizabeth Barnett said. A second later she added: "She knew exactly what she was doing."

  Finn noted the coolness in the woman's voice, the verbal parsing. "But you did see her picked up at least once. Anything you remember will be helpful."

  "The car had four doors. The back door on the passenger side was dented. It was blue, I think. Sam might remember more."

  "He doesn't seem to."

  "I'm surprised. He seemed to have a soft spot for the help," Elizabeth Barnett said.

  Suddenly, Finn did not quite cotton to Mrs. Barnett. She was indeed a lady, but a lady of times gone by who stood above the likes of Rachel Gerber. Finn had never cared for such an attitude but then she smiled and her eyes shined and redeemed herself.

  "I'm not being difficult. I simply don't have any information for you about Rachel. She was a very private person, also." Elizabeth opened her bag again. She took out her car keys. "I'll get you the name of the agency that placed her."

  "I would appreciate it, missus," Finn said and then she left him.

  He watched her go to her car and found himself wondering why she drove such a fancy carriage. An SUV, a station wagon, even a minivan would have been more appropriate for a woman so devoted to her children and their pursuits. He wondered if Sam Barnett gave her a say even in her choice of cars.

  That thought was fleeting because just as he turned away Finn O'Brien heard the screech of tires, the slam of brakes and smelled the burn of rubber. He turned in time to see a sedan peel out of the parking garage across the street, narrowly missing the Jaguar as it bolted into traffic and sped off. Elizabeth Barnett slammed on her brakes and stiff-armed the wheel as she was thrown forward. Finn was running before the Jag stopped rocking. He yanked the door open. Elizabeth Barnett's forehead was on the wheel and her hands were still wrapped around it when he pulled her back.

  "Are you all right? Are you?"