(2012) Colder Than Death (25 page)

That didn't make any sense to me, but I knew enough about life not to assume anything. “That seems unlikely, Mrs. Worthington. There are so few people who know of Quilla's passion for solving the murder... me, Perry Cobb, Gretchen Yearwood, the two other men on the Dankworth Police force.”

“Quilla told
me
about it. Who else did she tell? And who else did the others tell? Who else did
you
tell?” I tried to remember. Besides Gretchen, there was Vaughn and Nolan. I trusted each of them implicitly.

“Mrs. Worthington, if you feel in your heart, if your mother's intuition is sending you a message, I think you need to call the police and tell them Quilla's been gone for the last two days. I'll be happy to put a call into Perry Cobb and, if you like, I'll call Gretchen Yearwood... unless you've already contacted her.”

“I've been reluctant to call anyone. Quilla has run away before.”

“Call the police now. I'll see what I can do. And if she shows up, call me.”

“Definitely.”

We both hung up. I wasn't sure if I should be concerned or if Quilla was acting out because of a fight with her mother that Suzanne hadn't told me about. Or was it the fight with me? I decided to call Gretchen before I called Perry. She picked up after the first ring.

“Gretchen, it's Del.”

“I don't believe it,” she said her tone friendly. “I was just about to call you.”

“Why?”

“To apologize for my hostility the other day. I know you meant well with the information you had and I know that you're in as much of a quandary about the whereabouts of your girlfriend as I am about my mother, but what you said was all so unexpected and, well, I felt badly after you left and I'm calling to tell you I'm sorry.”

“That's not necessary. There's no easy way to give or receive horrible information. I'm hoping that I'm wrong about your mother and Alyssa.

“Ever since I heard your and Quilla's theory I've been forcing myself to give it some consideration despite my misgivings. Quilla told me a few more of hers, a couple of which I find interesting. I was thinking that the three of us should put our heads together.”

“That's a great idea, but we may have a problem. When's the last time you saw Quilla?”

“When you two were here. But I talked to her yesterday.”

“She hasn't been home for two nights. I just spoke to her mother. She's petrified that somebody has Quilla.”

“Somebody
who
?”

“The killer.”

“My God. I still can't acclimate myself to thinking in these concepts. Why would the 'killer' want Quilla?”

“Her mother thinks it might be to stop her. Maybe she stumbled onto something and mentioned it to the wrong person. Do you know how to reach any of her friends?”

“I know some of their names. I could call them.”

“Let me help. If it's not a bad time, I could come over. We could call her friends together.”

“Fine.”

“I'll be there in a few minutes.”

As I threw on some fresh clothes, I shook my head, frustrated at the mixed emotions I was feeling. I was concerned that something had happened to Quilla, yet I was glad that I would be spending some time with Gretchen.

******

As I pulled into Gretchen's driveway the headlights on my car bounced off the front of her house revealing for a second a figure sitting on the front steps. I thought it was Kyle Thistle, but it was Gretchen.

“Hi, Del!” she said as she stood up. I felt as if I was picking her up for a date. “Let's go inside.”

I followed her into the foyer and down a hallway whose walls were covered with a dozen or so framed photographs. She wore black jeans, a light blue denim workshirt and was barefoot. She had very small, delicate feet. Her toenails weren't polished.

“Since we hung up I made a list of the names of her friends that I remember. She's got quite a few.”

“A bunch showed up at the Funeral Home,” I said.

“The night we met?” said Gretchen sweetly.

“Yes. I've talked to one of them. Viper.”

“I already phoned him. No answer. These kids probably all have their own phones. Some are under their parent's names. Some are unlisted. With a little luck we might make contact with a few and through, them, the others.”

We reached the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon and baked apples was in the air. She gestured to the table. “Make yourself comfortable.” A freshly baked pie was in the center of the table. As I sat down I noticed that she had the telephone directory spread out on the table. Next to it was a yellow legal pad with several names scribbled in pencil.

“Do you want to call or look up numbers?” she asked.

“Do these kids know you?” She nodded yes. “Then you call. It might not be too productive when they learn the town Funeral Director is on the line.”

Gretchen smiled. “Alright,” she said. “Let's go.”

It took us about twenty-five minutes to find and dial the numbers that were available. Of the eleven names that Gretchen could remember, we managed to reach six and through them we got five more names, as well as the numbers we couldn't find. But not one of the kids we reached even knew that Quilla was missing. Two girls had seen her yesterday and both claimed to have talked to her briefly, each saying that Quilla told them she was investigating her Aunt's murder. After reaching the last of the names, we continued to dial Viper's number, still getting his Voicemail.

“When you talked to Quilla yesterday did she have anything specific to say?” I said.

“She had another hypothesis about the killer. It was difficult for her to tell me because she knows how strongly I feel that my mother is still alive. But in the interest of helping I was willing to suspend my disbelief. She brought up the notion that -- assuming someone murdered my mother -- is there any guarantee that she was his
first
victim?”

“I never thought of that.”

“Quilla's point is that who's to say my mother wasn't his third victim? Or tenth? And that your girlfriend and Brandy came later.”

That would mean he's an old man now.”

“Not necessarily,” she said. “If he started his killing at, for discussion sake, age twenty-one. If he killed my mother he would only be forty-six. If he started even younger, say when he was in high school, he'd be in his early forties. On the other hand, if he started at thirty, with my mother, he'd be fifty-four. And as for him being an old man, let's say an older man, if he started killing when he was thirty and the first victim was ten years before my mother, he'd only be in his mid-sixties. Everything hinges on when the killer began. If he was twenty-one and started fifty years ago, then we're talking an elderly man. But if my mother was the first and he was anywhere from twenty-one to, let's be generous and say forty, then it could be someone from his mid-forties to mid-sixties. The upshot of all this, Del, is that Perry Cobb needs to do some checking beyond my mother's disappearance and
since
Brandy's murder nine years ago. Despite the fact that I still believe my mother is alive, I'm willing to confront him and demand that he re-open her case solely for the purpose of bringing some peace of mind to Quilla and you.”

“If she gets it I'll be happy.”

“After all this time, you should too. It's only fair.”

I shrugged. She looked at me with an odd expression, almost one of disapproval. “Your ambivalence surprises me. I've been getting the impression that finding out what happened to Alyssa has been uppermost on your mind for years, like me with my mother. Now you shrug your shoulders?”

“You know how there are people who bury their emotions and hide their true feelings?” Gretchen nodded yes. “Well, I'm one of them. I don't like to get too hopeful or excited about things. Like the old saying: 'never complain, never explain.' I keep a comfortable balance.”

“I've found that impossible to do since I grew up,” she said sternly. “Life keeps hitting me in the face. It took me a long time to learn that hiding doesn't work. It only fends off the inevitable. Every time I decide to lock myself away from the world...the world comes and drags me back. Like now. The person I'm probably closest to in the world is missing and might be in trouble and, as much as I'd like to be tucked in bed reading a book, I have to do something to find her.” She ran her fingers through her hair and simultaneously took a deep breath. “Should we notify Perry Cobb about Quilla's idea?”

I shook my head no. “He's up to his ass in theories. He needs something tangible.”

“That's how it was with the detectives I hired to find my mother. 'Give me something to go on' they'd all say. Anything. I'd get so frustrated. They were the detectives, but they wanted me to do all the preliminary work.”

“What did you do?”

“Read every word I could find on her disappearance. Tried to talk to people who knew her, but it was next to impossible. I was so young when she disappeared and I didn't start to seriously take action until I was in my late teens. The police seemed disinterested. No one remembered. Not even my father.”

“You asked him about her disappearance?”

“Of course I did. Constantly. But when he was institutionalized they beat him. Whatever memories he had got knocked out of his brain. I hardly knew him as a little girl. I was fifteen when he got out. It was like talking to a stranger. He barely remembered me. He didn't even live with me until I finished college and I had a little money. When his time was up they put him in a halfway house in Youngstown for six months. Then he lived in a rooming house and got a job as a night clerk at a third-rate hotel. If I wouldn't have bought this house and brought him here to live with me he would either be dead or wandering the streets of Youngstown. As far as information about my mother or what happened to her he's pretty useless. I used to show him pictures of her to try and trigger his memory... but nothing worked. Sometimes I find him gazing at her picture. I wonder if he's doing it because a glint of memory has kicked in or if he's trying to force himself to remember. What he does say sometimes is how pretty she is. He'll be staring at her picture and just say, 'Very pretty' or 'So pretty' or variations on that. I keep pictures of her all over the house with the hope that it might spark his memory, but... it hasn't. Would you like to see her picture?”

“Yes. I'd enjoy that.”

Gretchen stepped into the hallway we had passed through earlier and returned a few seconds later carrying a framed photograph which she handed to me. It was an 8 x 10 color print of a gorgeous brunette who bore an amazing resemblance to a young Kathleen Turner.

“This is she,” said Gretchen. “This is my mother.”

“She's gorgeous. No. Beautiful.”

“It was taken on her thirtieth birthday.”

“Thirtieth?” I thought to myself. “She looks more like twenty.” To Gretchen, I said, “She looks much younger.”

“I know.” She smiled. “The handful of people I talked to who knew her all remarked about how young she looked. Everyone thought she was in high school. She was still getting carded at bars into her thirties.”

“This could be important,” I said. My heart began to pound. Gretchen looked at me, a confused look on her face. “This could be what Perry needs to dig deeper.”

“Why?”

“He and I were looking for similarities with Brandy, Alyssa and your mom. But the one thing that didn't fit was your mother's age. Brandy and Alyssa were both nineteen. Perry had your mother's age listed at thirty-two when she disappeared. We assumed that because Brandy and Alyssa were young, the killer wouldn't have gone after someone older.”

“Therefore no pattern.”

“Right. But since she appeared so youthful the killer must've assumed she was ten years younger.”

“Are you thinking he went after women who resembled each other? Because my mother and Brandy looked nothing alike.”

“Alyssa didn't look like them either. It just seems that they all were young-looking and attractive. Red or brown hair. Shapely. Did your mom have a nice figure?”

“Yes.”

“So did Alyssa.”

“This area is filled with hundreds of young, attractive women with dark hair and nice bodies. Why would he single out these three? And there could be more victims. Before, during and after.”

“Let's not concern ourselves with that. I want to tell Perry about your mother's youthful appearance.”

As I reached for the phone Gretchen put her arms on the table and rested her head on them. She began to sob.

“Oh God,” she moaned. “If there's anything to this theory... I don't know if I can handle it.”

Chapter 21

I dialed the Dankworth Police Station. Lucy picked up immediately. “Dankworth Police. I need to talk to Perry. You know where he is?”

“Probably at home. I'll patch you in.”

Within seconds Perry was answering his phone.

“It's Del,” I said. “I just found out some key information about the case.”

“Glad somebody has.” He sounded depressed and tired.

“I'm at Gretchen Yearwoood's. We've pinpointed the pattern you've been looking for.”

“And what pattern is that?”

“The age of the victims. Brandy Parker and Alyssa were both nineteen. But Virginia Thistle was thirty-two.”

“Right. So?”

“But she looked nineteen.” There was a long pause on Perry's end. He was thinking and that was good. “If it was the same person killing these women he went after a certain age. And I want to add another wrinkle to the pattern.” I looked at Gretchen. “Imagine for a minute that Virginia Thistle wasn't the first victim.” I waited a few seconds to let this sink in. “And imagine that the same guy has killed after Brandy and before Alyssa.”

“Alright. I'm imagining all this crap, but what am I supposed to do about a cold, hard fact or two?”

“Perry, maybe you can find one or two facts by going over all the missing person reports of girls in their late teens or early twenties for the last thirty years.”

“If I do that and I find nothing...then what?”

“Then...Jesus, Perry, do you always have to be so negative? I don't know.”

“You're Goddamn right you don't know. But you think you know and it's real easy to keep dropping these little tidbits on me. I want to see the picture of Virginia Thistle. Get your buns to the station. I'm going there now.” He slammed down the phone.