Secrets to the Grave (54 page)

Anne was trying to put the possibility that Haley had parents out in the world out of her mind. She had to make herself believe that Marissa Fordham—who by most accounts had been a caring, wonderful mother, and a caring, wonderful person—hadn’t stolen this precious child. There had to be another explanation.

Haley had given up on her little fit and was nibbling on a piece of blueberry muffin.

“We’re going to take a ride in a police car, Haley,” Anne said. “That’ll be fun.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Anne said, “if you finish your breakfast and brush your teeth and get dressed, the deputy will take us out to your auntie Milo’s ranch to see your kitties.”

Haley lit up at that.

That was the end of the bad attitude.

Vince went off to the hospital to see if Gina Kemmer would give them more revelations as she regained her strength.

Anne dressed in jeans and an oversize blue flannel shirt, accommodating both her stiffness and her bandages, and brushed her hair back into a ponytail. She put Haley in bib overalls, a little turtleneck, and pigtails, and off they went to the country.

The day was beautiful, as was the drive through the valley to the Bordains’ ranch. Anne and Haley sat together in the backseat of the radio car, behind the cage like a couple of common criminals.

Haley looked out the windows. “This is the way to my house,” she said. “Do you think if we went to my house my mommy would be there?”

“No, sweetheart. Your mommy is an angel in heaven, remember? Do you think your kitties will be excited to see you?”

She nodded and played with the stuffed cat Milo Bordain had given her, practicing her meowing.

When they pulled into the Bordain yard and parked, Haley couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. Milo stood waiting for them, dressed in riding breeches and a hacking jacket, every hair perfectly in place.

Haley ran toward her. “Where’s my kitties? Where’s my kitties?”

“How about a hello for your auntie Milo first,” Anne said.

“Helloauntiemilo, where’s my kitties?”

Milo Bordain smiled one of her very practiced committee-chairwoman smiles. “Anne, I’m so glad you decided to bring Haley. I’ve missed her so much!” She bent over, trying to get Haley’s attention. “I’ve missed you so much, Miss Haley!”

Haley scowled. “Where’s my kitties!!”

“Haley,” Anne warned. “No bad attitude or we go home.”

“The cats are in the barn,” Bordain said, defusing the moment by leading the way.

Tucked back against the hills, the ranch was like something from a magazine. Every inch of it was landscaped for effect with old climbing roses and white potato vines and purple morning glories dripping from fences and arbors. Pepper trees and huge spreading oaks studded the property. Flower beds full of pansies edged the paths and outbuildings. Beautiful gray horses with long flowing manes and tails grazed in green paddocks. Colorful chickens hunted and pecked, scattered around the setting like the perfect farmyard accessories.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” Anne said.

“Thank you. It’s been a lot of work, but I enjoy it,” Bordain said. “We were city people for so many years, but we love it here. Oak Knoll is a wonderful town. We both enjoy being involved with the college and the various civic groups. Bruce enjoys playing the gentleman rancher on the weekends.”

“Is Mr. Bordain here very often?” Anne asked, trying to fill in the blanks of Marissa Fordham’s life. If Milo was here on her own most of the time, it made sense that she had more or less adopted a second family in Marissa and Haley.

Milo Bordain forced a little laugh. “He’s a very busy man. He’s expanding his parking lot kingdom to Las Vegas now. He’s there today.”

She was a lonely woman, Anne thought. And now her son was coming under the scrutiny of detectives in the death of her surrogate daughter. The tension was showing in her manner and in the fine lines across her forehead and around her mouth. She was probably feeling threatened. Marissa had been taken away from her, now her son ... She would want more than ever to maintain her connection to Haley.

Haley ran ahead of them into the barn.

“She’s struggling a little bit with the memories that are coming back to her,” Anne said. “That’s manifesting in some difficult behavior.”

“She’s remembering more?”

“Yes. At first she was very vague. Now she’s starting to talk in more detail about what happened.”

“Really? But she hasn’t named the killer.”

“No.”

“Well, I wish she would so the detectives would stop trying to blame my son. It’s ridiculous to think Darren would want to harm Marissa. It’s absolutely ludicrous,” she insisted, anger rising. “I have to say I’m very disappointed in Cal Dixon.”

Haley came racing out of the barn. “Mommy Anne! Hurry up! Come and see my kitties!!”

Thankful for the interruption, Anne picked up her pace, reaching out her hand. Haley grabbed hold and tugged at her, dragging her toward the barn and the promise of kitties.

95

Gina was awake and alert when Vince got to the hospital. Though she still looked worse for wear, there was some color in her face, and her eyes were clearer.

“I hear they’re moving you to a regular room today,” Vince said. “That’s a big improvement. We thought we’d lost you, young lady.”

“I guess I’m tougher than I look,” she said, but she didn’t sound strong. She still sounded weak and fragile, and Vince knew what energy she had would be quickly spent.

“I think you’re probably tougher than you ever imagined,” he said. “That’s good to know, huh?”

“But I wish I hadn’t had to find out,” she confessed. “Did you arrest Mark?”

Vince nodded. “That had to be a terrible shock for you. I’m sorry.”

“It still doesn’t even seem real. I would never have done anything to hurt him or Darren. We were friends! I was just
so scared
. All I could think about was running away. I thought Mark would help me. When he told me no ... I was already in a panic. I said the first stupid thing that came into my head.”

“You threatened him,” Vince said.

Gina nodded, tears squeezing out of her closed eyes. “I never, never, never would have followed through. He should have known that. I can’t believe he reacted the way he did. He was always such a nice guy—I thought.”

“We can know people really well, Gina, and never know what they’re truly capable of when they’re cornered. Mark has held that secret inside him most of his life. He’s feared it, feared what it could do to everything he’s worked so hard to achieve.”

“Why can’t people just be who they are?” she asked. “It’s not like there aren’t gay men in the music world. He wasn’t going to be the only one.”

“He was going to be the only one named Mark Foster,” Vince said, “with his parents and his upbringing—whatever that might have been. He was going to be the only one involved with Darren Bordain, who’s supposed to have a big political future ahead of him.”

“I guess so,” she said quietly, her emotions already taking a toll on her strength. The color was fading from her cheeks. “It was the most horrible moment of my life—when he turned on me like that. It was like—I can’t even describe it. It was like he was someone I’d never seen before in my life. That was the worst moment—worse than when he shot me.”

Vince could see her energy flagging. She was still fighting an infection, to say nothing of her emotional and psychological exhaustion.

“Gina, I know you’re tired, and we’ve got a lot to talk about, but we won’t try to do it all now. I just need to ask you, do you know who killed Marissa?”

She was quiet for a moment as she looked inward, not liking what she saw. “I thought I did. Now ... I don’t know.”

“Who did you think it was?”

“Bruce. Bruce Bordain.”

96

“Hell of a deal,” Hicks said. “Can you imagine either one of those men—Foster or Bordain—doing what was done to Marissa Fordham?”

“No, but one of them did.”

“A person has to be out of their head to do something like that and then just walk around like nothing ever happened.”

“I don’t know,” Mendez said. They were creeping around the streets of Lompoc, trying to find the post office. “The other night Anne was talking about when Crane attacked her, how he didn’t look like the man she knew. It was like he was a monster inside and the mask came off when he went after her. Maybe there’s something to that.”

“When I first made detective I worked a rape case,” Hicks said. “A guy posing as a gas company employee got this gal to let him into her apartment. Normal-looking guy. Friendly enough. She wasn’t suspicious of him at all until he set his toolbox down and turned around.

“She said it was like he had turned into a different person. He turned around and just looked at her and she instantly became terrified. He beat her in the head with a claw hammer and raped her, and she said, during the rape every once in a while, he would pause and lick her like he was a dog or a wolf. And she said she could see in his eyes then that he wasn’t human.”

“Did you catch him?”

“Yeah. The guy managed a lamp store, had the wife and kids, the whole deal. Looked as normal as could be.”

“There it is,” Mendez said, pointing to the right.

They parked and went inside. Two people were working the desk: a surfer burnout with a bleached stand-up hairdo, and a large woman with bright blue eye shadow and long claw fingernails.

They waited their turn behind a woman buying stamps and a man picking up his mail after a long vacation. When they got to the male clerk Hicks introduced them and explained what they were there for. Mendez placed the photo array—such as it was: a mishmash of actual photographs and pictures cut from
Oak Knoll
magazine—on the counter.

“He would have been in probably a week ago today,” he said.

“Dude, I don’t know,” the surfer clerk said. “They all look familiar to me. Do you know how many faces come through here every day? I don’t remember.”

He seemed like remembering his own name might sometimes have been a struggle for him.

“It’s very important,” Hicks said.

“What was in the box, man?”

“Human body parts,” Mendez said.

Surfer clerk stared at them. “No way.”

“Way,” Mendez said.

“No way! You can’t send human body parts through the mail, dude. That’s against regulations.”

“Yeah, well, imagine what he did to get them,” Mendez said. “That’s seriously against the law.”

Surfer clerk grimaced. “Wooo ... Dude.”

He turned to his coworker. “Monique, come look. You remember people.”

Monique finished up with a registered letter, then moved over. “Is this about that woman down in Oak Knoll? She was stabbed ninety-seven times? I seen that on the news. That’s some bad shit y’all got going on down there. What’s with you people? You had that serial killer too. They putting something in the water down there? It’s like y’all got the vortex of evil going on.”

“We hope not,” Hicks said.

Monique studied the photos one at a time, very methodical, looking carefully at one, then setting it aside, looking at the next one. Surfer clerk waited on the next customer.

“These here are some good-looking men,” Monique said. “I don’t mind no men like this coming through here—you know what I’m saying? This one here, he look like a movie star,” she said, holding up the photo of Steve Morgan. “He’s bad, though. I can tell. He got that pout. I don’t never trust no good-looking man with a pouty mouth.”

She took a good long look at Mark Foster. On the next one she stopped.

“He looks familiar,” she said.

Darren Bordain.

“I think he might have been in here,” she said. She stared at the picture and chewed her bottom lip. Something wasn’t striking her quite right.

“He would have had a brown box about yea big,” Hicks said, guesstimating the dimensions of the box with his hands.

Monique thought about that.

“He’s very charming ...”

She frowned and shook her head. “No. I don’t remember that. That’s not what I’m remembering with that face.”

She turned the photo over—not really a photo, but a page cut out of
Oak Knoll
magazine. Mendez had folded the other people in the picture out of the way—the Bordains and another prominent area family at a charity event.

“Oh!” Monique cried out. She tapped a long, curved purple fingernail on the picture. Her eyes were as wide as if she had been frightened. “
That one
I remember!”

97

“Bruce Bordain?” Vince said. “Bruce thought he was Haley’s father?”

Gina nodded wearily. “It’s a long story.”

“You need to tell me the short version of it now, Gina,” Vince said.

Bruce Bordain had been in a hurry to catch a plane the day before. If he had left the country, they couldn’t lose any more time than they already had getting on his trail.

“I’m so tired,” she said.

“I know you’re tired,” Vince said, glancing out the glass wall to check for anyone watching. He’d gotten tossed out of her room once already for overtaxing her. “But this is so important, Gina. We want to bring Marissa’s killer to justice, right?”

“Yes,” she said. Her respiration had begun to quicken. “Of course.”

“Was Marissa involved with Bruce?”

“Yes. For about a year.”

“And at some point she told him she was pregnant.”

“She was,” Gina said.

“Gina, I saw photographs of you and Marissa just a couple of months before Haley was born. She wasn’t pregnant.”

Frustration and exhaustion furrowed her brow. Another few tears squeezed out between her lashes. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m really sorry,” Vince said, “but this is so important, Gina. Is Haley Marissa’s daughter? Is she Bruce Bordain’s daughter?”