Innocent Murderer (25 page)

“You are very transparent aren't you?”

I squirmed in my chair hoping he'd answer the ques
–
tion anyway.

“It's no secret. She left me nothing.”

Dead end — or was it? “I would have thought a sis
–
ter would leave something to her brother, especially if she had no other family.”

He laughed. “You're looking for a motive aren't you? You think maybe I killed my own sister?” He laughed again.

I was feeling very uncomfortable, realizing I'd lost control of the interview. So I said, “Did you know that the jury for your sister's trial was tampered with?”

He looked up and smiled again. “You've got to be kidding.”

I told him about LuEllen.

“Rotten luck to be called to jury duty, do your duty, and then get pole axed — if, of course, that is what happened. You do seem to have a penchant for the melodramatic.”

I looked at him and wondered if he was thinking about my claims on the ship of being almost murdered.

“When did your sister first sleepwalk?” I asked.

He hesitated. “The first time I remember I was only five years old. So she would have been nine. We shared a bedroom. She had the top bunk and in the middle of the night she got out of bed and stepped on me as she climbed down. I asked her what she was doing, but she didn't answer me. I heard her go downstairs and I followed her, I can't remember why. Maybe I was afraid she'd steal the last piece of cake or colour in my colouring book, because she did things like that a lot. It doesn't matter.” He paused.

“I followed her into the kitchen and watched as she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the Cool

Whip and began spraying the kitchen with it. I asked her what she was doing, but her eyes were glazed over and she didn't seem to see me. I was really upset because I knew I'd be blamed for it. I grabbed her by the arm, but she lashed out and hit me. I held back and watched as she opened a kitchen drawer, took out a knife, and gripped it in her fist. By then I was hiding under the kitchen table. She was like an automaton and I was really scared. I don't know why I didn't yell out. My parents used that against me later.

“She took the knife and walked over to a poster that my parents really liked and began to stab it methodically. When she was through with that she continued through the kitchen, stabbing everything in sight. Then she just stopped. She dropped the knife and I watched as she walked back upstairs. I heard our bedroom door closing behind her. That's what woke my parents. They found me cowering under the kitchen table.

“They wouldn't believe me when I said it was Terry. Even when faced with irrefutable evidence they refused to believe their darling Terry could have done those things, even though they eventually witnessed them themselves — until the trial that is.”

“Why was the trial different?”

“Because there were experts explaining that she was a sleepwalker. Our parents could have helped way back when, but they didn't. Didn't even bother to take Terry to a doctor. They thought it was some dirty little secret and that she would grow out of it. When she was old enough she finally sought help.”

“It doesn't seem to have helped her,” I said.

“Oh, you're good at the monumental understate
–
ment aren't you?” He laughed a bitter laugh. “I'm not an insensitive brother, you know. We may have had our differences but she was my sister and I loved her. The only person I've ever loved.”

“But you just said you got blamed for all her night wanderings, and other stuff too, I'm sure.”

“Doesn't matter. She was my sister. I'd do anything for her.”

“Including finding her killer?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Ms O'Callaghan, if you can't remember that the police already know who killed my sister then this interview is over.”

And with that he stood up and showed me the door.

Chapter Nineteen

I
spent the rest of my lunch break looking at more newspaper clippings and court documents, and putting off calling Elizabeth because she sort of intimidated me. When I ran out of clippings from one box I grabbed the phone and called her. She wasn't too happy about meet
–
ing me, but at least she agreed to it. I was feeling guilty about leaving work, but I figured I could work at home and catch up on my reading.

She worked somewhere near Stittsville, southwest of Ottawa, so it was a bit of a hike for me to get there. She'd told me to meet her at a little airport where she worked. I got lost. I always do in the territory southwest of Ottawa. As I finally swung down the roadway to the airport I could see a row of little planes sitting jauntily just off the runway. I parked my car with all the other cars in the parking lot and went inside. She had told me to ask for her at the flight instruction school, which was at the south end of the terminal. I had wondered about that, but she hadn't given me time to ask.

I found the building and went inside, which was just a big open area. There was one corner office with win
–
dows looking in on the open space and windows looking out onto the runway. It was little more than a shed, but it had all the high tech gear needed to train new flyers, or it sure looked like it anyway, plus there was a little plane parked inside getting worked on. It reminded me of Owen's shop, just with different machines.

I told the girl at the desk just inside the doorway that Elizabeth Goodal was expecting me. She pressed a buzzer and told me to have a seat. I went over to the lone chair and looked down at the magazines on the table,
Aviation Weekly
,
Private Flyer
,
Plane Mechanics
, and decided to spend my time looking at all the pictures on the wall. They were all of planes with people smiling proudly in front of them. There was a framed certificate that announced that Elizabeth Goodal was an autho
–
rized flight instructor.

“Dr. O'Callaghan.”

I turned and there was Elizabeth, with a quick dry smile and one hand offered in greeting, the other holding a wrench.

I gripped her hand and smiled. “Please, call me Cordi.”

She nodded and said, “I'm afraid you'll have to for
–
give me. I have to take up the plane for a test drive before my next lesson at 4:00. We'll have to postpone our meet
–
ing — unless you want to come with me?”

Was that allowed? I wondered. Taking a test drive with a passenger? But it was only the briefest of thoughts, and even though I couldn't tell whether she really meant it or was just being polite, I said yes.

She turned abruptly and went out the door I had just come in, leading me down a row of planes to a little one that said Cessna on. It looked like an origami plane, light as paper and about as strong. I had never been in a small plane before and this one was tiny, just a two-seater. It sported a nice coral blue streak, running from its nose to the beginning of its tail, and its two side wheels looked as though they were covered in plastic booties while the front wheel was naked. Elizabeth indicated the side she wanted me to take and I ducked under the wing and got into the aircraft.

Both of us had a set of controls, but she seemed to have more buttons or something on hers, probably to override a kamikaze student. She went through a stan
–
dard check of all the controls. I was amazed at how eas
–
ily the plane responded to her hands and how lightly and quickly we taxied out to the runway.

There was a hell of a difference between the little Cessna and a much bigger, more ponderous plane. You got the feeling this little guy could stop and turn on a dime. I had a few misgivings as the engine revved up for the takeoff, mostly because it seemed so noisy, but then we were away, riding on the wind like a butterfly. I hadn't thought about that aspect before we were airborne. I could feel my stomach begin to lurch as if we were at sea. I took a couple of deep breaths and concentrated on what I wanted to find out from Elizabeth. I didn't have much to go on, just the overheard conversation on board the ship. I figured I could use that to my advantage.

We were up high enough now that I could see the Ottawa River, and as I craned my neck I could see the Eardley Escarpment.

She glanced at me and said, “My students always like to fly over where they live. You live nearby, right?

Do you want to fly over?”

I almost said no, just out of reflex, but what harm could it do? I said, “Yes,” and some time later there it was, the farmhouse and the barn, and the long lazy road.

As she straightened out the controls and flew over
–
head she said, “Why are you investigating Terry's death?”

“Because I don't think Sally killed her.”

“She was there, she had means and motive. What more can you want?”

“For it to be in character.”

“She was very distraught over Arthur ditching her for Terry. Or at least, it looked as though he and Terry had hooked up. She just broke. That's all. She just broke.

And then she killed herself.”

There was something in her voice that didn't ring true.

I turned to look at her but she was concentrating on flying the plane. I took a chance, not knowing where it would take me. “I overheard you and Peter talking on the ship.”

She quickly looked at me and then just as quickly looked away. “Are you in the habit of listening to other people's conversations?”

“I couldn't help it. You had me trapped in a lifeboat.”

She didn't respond and I watched the light dawn on what conversation I had overheard.

I continued, “You said ‘She can't just take my man away from me.'”

I saw Elizabeth tighten her grip on the controls.

“Did you mean Terry? Was Terry the woman who took your man?”

“Yes, you could say she stole my man.”

I was watching her closely and she kind of crumpled in her seat, but then she suddenly sniffed loudly and sat up saying, “Do you smell something burning?” in a tone of voice that put the fear of god in me.

I sniffed. “No.”

“Take your controls.”

I was confused and looked at her questioningly.

“Now!” she said, and I grabbed the controls.

“What's wrong?” I asked, trying to stifle my fear. But she wasn't in the mood to answer questions. She gave me a crash course in flying a Cessna. The word “crash” reverberated through my head like a death knell.

“Just fly her in circles until I'm okay.”

“What do you mean? What's wrong?” I asked again.

“Hopefully nothing,” she said and lapsed into silence.

I gripped the controls like a mad woman and then gripped them even harder when I saw that she had let go of hers. I kept looking over at her but she was just staring ahead. I wondered if she was having a heart attack and nearly had one myself. Maybe she just had the stomach flu. That calmed me down.

The plane was actually quite easy to fly. After a few minutes I was getting the hang of it when suddenly she yelled out and I saw her begin to convulse. It was a tiny plane and there was nowhere for her to go, but I had no way to keep her from hurting herself or hitting the con
–
trols. She was belted in, but her arms were jerking around.

I gripped the controls and tried to remember everything she said. Just fly in lazy circles until she's okay. Right. I could do this.

Suddenly there was a dizzying dip as the plane veered left and started descending on the Ottawa River.

I pulled up on the controls but nothing happened. I looked over and saw that she had slumped forward and her body was wedging the controls on a course with death. I reached over and with all my energy hauled her back in her seat. She slumped over toward the door.

I grabbed the controls. The plane was hurtling out of control, and I had no idea if I had passed the point of no return or was about to stall or what. I pulled up hard on the controls and time stood still. I could see the blue sky and the sun, and the earth below. I was overdosing on adrenaline as the earth slowly receded and I brought the plane back onto an even keel. I felt sick and looked over at Elizabeth, who lay flaccid. But her eyes were open. How long did it take to recover from a seizure? I looked at the control panel. There must be a gas gauge somewhere. I finally found it — there wasn't much left in the tank.

What was I going to do? I was afraid to touch any of the buttons on the dash in case one of them was the nosedive button. Keep flying in circles and drop out of the sky, or try to land and kill myself? I didn't seem to have much choice and the next twenty minutes passed by so slowly I was sure my hair had gone grey. With the gas almost on empty and my adrenalin overflowing I heard her moan. I wanted to shake her out of her stupour; we weren't going to make it if she didn't wake up.

Another agonizing five minutes passed. Suddenly she said, “How much gas?”

I told her. She tried to sit up and take the con
–
trols but she was still too out of it. “Where are we?”

I looked out the window and could see the Ottawa River right close by and the farmhouse. I'd done a pretty good job of circling, I thought, trying to calm myself down. I told her where we were.

“Too far to go back. We have to land now.”

I liked the sound of the “we,” but when I glanced over at her she was definitely not all there yet.

“Tell me where we can land this near your home. We're out of time.”

I felt my heart leap. I told her about our driveway, how long it was, how wide.

“We're landing there. Now,” she said, with some of her spunk returning.

She had me fly over once to check on the road and then she walked me through the approach. I froze and we lost the approach and had to try again. This time I didn't freeze but as we wobbled our way down to the road I couldn't keep the wingtips even. It looked like we were going to land left wing first, but she grabbed her controls and took it the rest of the way. It was an ugly, bumpy landing because she was still quite groggy. We bounced up and down a couple of times before land
–
ing, slewed along the road and came to a stop next to the field full of our cows, who had run away and then turned back to look at us. It didn't seem right that they didn't even moo. They just chewed their cuds and silently stared at us. We, who had almost died.