Eyeshot (22 page)

“She did teach at UC,” Dorrie said. “On a research grant. Micah was—”

“She was smart as a whip,” Grey said. “One of those Asian whiz kids. I found Micah in an orphanage when I was in Korea. She was part Japanese, part Korean, and part American. The kind of ancestry that pisses everybody off. Three years old and about this high.” His voice cracked. He held his hand low to the ground.

“I can't have children of my own. I think that's why Collie and I bonded so well right off.”

Grey squeezed Dorrie's knee. “Except now Collie's expecting this miracle baby.”

Dorrie nodded, smiling gently, and Sonora wondered why women like Collie and Dorrie had trouble carrying children when they were both clearly top-of-the-line mom material.

“I'm sorry. You're here to talk about this other little girl, not Micah.” Dorrie handed the picture back and Sonora leaned forward to get it.

“I think there's a connection, Mrs. Ainsley. Talking about one is going to lead to the other. What did she say when she called?”

Dorrie thought for a minute. “She asked if she could stop by and see me. She said she and Micah were best friends in school. I didn't … I didn't want to be unfriendly. But when Micah died, there was a lot of notoriety and we got bad phone calls.”

“Whole world's going bad,” Grey said.

Sonora thought of the bluebirds on the fence.

“I told her she could come, but then when she got here, I just felt funny. It didn't seem to me like she knew my daughter. And I got worried, and I guess I panicked. What I did, I called Mia's father, I called Gage and asked if he knew her, or if Micah had ever mentioned her. She said her name was Jenny Williams.”

Sonora looked at Sam. Jenny Williams sounded plenty made up.

“Did he know her?” Sam asked.

Dorrie nodded. “Well, he did—I mean, not right at first. But we talked about it and he remembered her after a minute or two. I gave him her number at the hotel in case he wanted to check her out. He said it was safe to have her in. That Micah had mentioned her, now that he'd come to think about it. Grey was here and he took her out to see the bluebirds, you know, on the fence. That's when I called Gage. And when I described her and … you know, she was really very striking. The kind of girl you remember. And she had that tattoo. The little dragon over her ankle. It was so odd because she seemed like the last kind of girl to get a tattoo. But as soon as I reminded Gage about the tattoo, he remembered her.”

Sonora exchanged looks with Sam.

“So he was definite about that? That he knew her?”

“Oh yes. He said that she and Micah were real close, and for me to roll out the red carpet. And I did. She ended up staying to lunch.”

Sam leaned back on the couch, stretched his arm out across the back. “What do you think, Mrs. Ainsley? She really know your daughter?”

“Nothing she said about Micah rang true. She talked about how hard Micah worked and how she loved to study, and to tell the truth, Micah never did follow that Asian stereotype. She had American habits, didn't she, Grey? Liked to be out having fun, doing stuff with her friends. She was just so smart, she hardly had to crack a book.”

Even at Duke, Sonora thought. Very smart.

“And she said she and Micah used to go out for pizza all the time. Only, Detective, my daughter was allergic to tomatoes and she stayed away from pizza, because the sauce made her break out all around her mouth.”

Grey put a hand on the back of the chaise lounge. “We didn't know who she was, but she didn't really know our girl.”

“She did ask a lot of questions, though,” Dorrie said. Grey's mouth went hard and he set his jaw.

“What kind of questions?” Sonora asked.

Grey leaned forward. “See, she said she hadn't known about it when Micah died. So she was wanting to know what happened, and if they ever caught the guy who did it.”

“How well do you get along with your son-in-law?” Sonora asked.

Dorrie looked at Grey. Then they looked away from each other.

“We get along fine,” Grey said. Woodenly.

Sonora looked at both of them—neither would meet her eyes. “He controls the grandchild, that it?”

Sam rolled his eyes and Dorrie made a noise of protest. But Grey nodded.

“You got the size of it. And believe you me, he works it, every chance he gets.”

“Oh, Grey, don't.” Dorrie put a hand in the crook of his elbow.

He patted the hand absently, but did not take his eyes off Sonora. She recognized a man sorely in need of venting.

So did Sam. “Mr. Ainsley, would you take me around back to get a look at those bluebirds?” He grinned, friendly, at Dorrie, who tried to smile back. “I didn't get much of a look when we came in. If you don't mind, I'd like a chance to see them up close.”

“Glad to. Let me show you around.” Grey stood up, headed toward what was logically the kitchen. Sonora heard the hum of a refrigerator shifting gears.

She studied Dorrie Ainsley. The back door banged shut, official exit of the men, and Dorrie took a deep breath.

Sonora tried to think of an easy way into son-in-law territory. “Mrs. Ainsley, what kind of impression does Gage make on your friends?” She waved a hand. “Family?”

Dorrie's eyes lowered, then her head came up. She lifted her chin. “People always like Gage. He's full of … full of fun, when he's in the mood to charm.”

Sonora was nodding, friendly, sympathetic. You could not just open a valve to people's minds and let the information trickle out. Sam was right when he preached patience, patience, patience. She would never tell him that, though.

“What about when he wasn't in the mood to be charming?” Sonora asked.

She looked up, caught Dorrie Ainsley's eye. Whatever she had said had been the right or the wrong thing. The woman was swallowing hard again and her eyes were filling with tears. Sonora dug her fingernails into the tender palms of her hands.

It was painful, watching the woman try not to cry.

Sonora let her voice take on the strong but soothing cadence that worked so well. A combination cop/mom voice. She wished, sometimes, that someone would talk to her like that.

Dorrie Ainsley looked down at the recorder. “He's not … he's never been anything but nice to all of us. He was a wonderful—” Her voice cracked and she took a breath. A shudder went like a wave through her small stooped shoulders.

Sonora waited, but Dorrie Ainsley could not finish the sentence.

Sonora hoped she could count on Sam to give her plenty of time. She turned off the recorder. There were things she needed to know.

“It's the grandchild thing, isn't it? Mia? Your daughter's dead and he's in control now. It's up to him when and if you get to see her. And he holds that over you.”

Dorrie Ainsley looked at her steadily. “I have to keep her safe.”

“His own daughter? You have to keep her safe?” Sonora did not know why she was surprised, not if Caplan was the man she thought he was. It was meeting him, she guessed. He was funny. He made her laugh.

People did not lose their sense of humor when they killed.

Dorrie Ainsley had a hard look in her eyes and the tears were gone.

The woman could barely walk and she had a soft side that led her to paint human faces on bluebirds. Sonora had no doubt that she had crocheted the afghan that was draped over the back of the couch. But she had Caplan's number, and she was dealing with him.

“He's not the man you think he is,” Dorrie Ainsley said.

Sonora thought perhaps he was.

43

“He killed my little girl.”

Sonora glanced at the recorder, decided it was too risky. “Tell me about it.”

“You've read Micah's file, or whatever it is you people keep?”

Sonora did not like being called you people, but she let it pass, like she always did.

“His skin was under her fingernails. He had scratches—whatever he said they came from, liar. He lies—he's pathological, he lies like he breathes the air, I've seen him do it a hundred times. And Micah was
not
having an affair.”

Dorrie Ainsley shook her head like a woman who has heard all the arguments before and does not want to hear them again. “Being born and raised in a small town doesn't make you stupid. People are people everywhere you go. I thought Micah
should
have had an affair, in her shoes I would. I would have gotten a divorce. But she was afraid of him. You think what happened there by that creek was the first time he tried it? No, ma'am. That was just when he finally got her.”

“I need details,” Sonora said. She flipped on the recorder.

Dorrie Ainsley either didn't notice or didn't care. “He bought her a horse. A horse they could
not
afford, believe me. I don't know where he got the money.”

Sonora waited.

“You have to understand the timing on this. Micah was eight weeks pregnant with Mia, and she'd already had two miscarriages. Now you and me know that losing two is hard, but it doesn't mean you can't have any. But Micah was convinced she couldn't carry one to term. She even told him to divorce her if he wanted kids.

“Then he goes and gets her a horse when she's two months along? It's not like
he
knew a thing about horses, and Micah was
afraid
of them.” Dorrie picked at a seam on the chaise. “She was afraid of a lot of things; Micah was timid. I don't know if Grey and I overprotected her—but I just think that was the way the Lord made her. And Gage was always making her do things that scared her, and she was always trying to please him.

“He was so different when they first met. He was always athletic and energetic and liked to do things, but he treated Micah like she was a little china doll. And Grey and I—we welcomed him. We liked it that he took such care with her. At first we did. And then it was too late. She was in love with him, and dependent on him, and they got married and there was nothing I could do.”

“What happened with the horse?”

“Nothing. The lady at the stable watched Micah ride and gave her some lessons, then told them to get a quieter horse. Gage lost interest, and they were in a money crunch, as usual, so they sold him. And you can't tell me he didn't fool around on her the whole time they were married, but it took her forever to figure it out.”

“You told her?”

Dorrie Ainsley shook her head. “Not my place. She never asked me, so I never said so.”

“How'd you know?”

“At my age, Detective, you know.”

This, Sonora decided, she would accept for the time being. She tapped a finger on the armrest of the couch. “Did he do anything besides buy her a horse?”

“It sounds silly, doesn't it?” Dorrie's voice had gone flat. “It's hard to make people understand about him.”

“I understand,” Sonora said. “But I need it all. The more you give me … the more I'll be able to do my job.”

“And what do you consider your job?”

“To find Julia Winchell's killer. And if I solve an older homicide that's still on the books, that's my job too. And it may take the one to convict on the other, so talk to me, and don't worry about how it sounds.”

She could play devil's advocate later, with Sam. And Crick would be quick to deflate anything flimsy. “Give me something I can use in court.”

“I would if I could. All I know is, Gage always was making her do things that scared her. Little stuff, mean things. Petty. It sounds stupid, but there's this section of road between here and Cincinnati. It's steep and curvy, and not too bad, it's I-75—you probably came down it. But Micah always hated that part. And I guarantee you, every time they came home he'd get sleepy around Berea and they'd stop and change over so she would have to drive that part. And she told me, she'd ask him, you know, to let her drive the first hour or two out of Cincinnati. She didn't mind the way they drive up there, which is what scares, me, it was the mountains that made her afraid. You want to know what I think?”

Sonora did, and she nodded, but there was no need. Dorrie Ainsley did not get to talk frankly about her son-in-law to someone who understood, and she was on a roll.

“I think that drive was a punishment for coming home.” Her voice broke and the tears came. “He was punishing her for coming home, to see her mama. And
sometimes
he didn't ask her to drive, but that was when it was his idea to come.”

Sonora felt her face getting warm and her stomach knotted and she waited for the pain, but it didn't come. The ulcer really was gone.

But she knew what kind of man Gage Caplan was. She'd been married to one once.

Dorrie knuckled the tears with an impatient gesture that was almost harsh. “Much as you might think he dotes on that little girl, he was in a rage when Micah told him she was pregnant.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“I
do
know it for a fact. If you could have heard her voice on the phone … she was so … crushed. She cooked him this romantic dinner, with candles in the pewter sticks her Aunt Gracie gave her when they got married, and she was so excited. But he … but he …” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She never told me all the things he said. She was too embarrassed. All I knew was what I heard in her voice. And it was bad.

“And then him coming down here and saying ‘I'm going to be a
daddy
!' And picking Micah up and twirling her around. Like he couldn't be happier. He
cried.
He took me aside and told me in private he was scared that something would happen to Micah or the baby, and I guess he had no idea Micah had called me when he acted so bad. And to look at him now you'd think he was just crazy about that child. But here's what I know. He's a good daddy and a loving husband when people are
looking.
Not that I'm saying he knocks them around, or any of that normal abuse.”