The Silver Anniversary Murder Page 20

  “And you think the twin may have gone back to Portland with her accomplice.”

  “I think there’s a good chance of that.”

  To my surprise, Joe Fox pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and keyed a number he read from his notebook. “Yeah. This is Det. Joe Fox in Oakwood, New York. I’m working with Sergeant Miles on the Brinker case. Uh-huh. Yeah. We have a suspect living in Portland and I’d like her picked up ASAP.” He read off Eileen Foster’s name, address, and phone number.

  We all sat quietly while he continued speaking. He said he wanted her in New York State for questioning. In the meantime, hold her until the paperwork was done. He snapped the phone shut and turned to me.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brooks. Thank you, Miss Brinker.” He turned to Jack. “You know what?” he said. “I think you’re a saint.”

  We all laughed.

  On Monday, Ariana gave her statement with Arnold at her side. On Tuesday she went into New York to see the estate lawyer. She saw her parents’ wills for the first time, and they were quite straightforward, setting out what they owned, where it was located, and that everything they had in the world belonged to their beloved daughter. There was no hint that they were not her natural parents.

  Ariana decided to leave her assets untouched for a while and figure out later what to do with them. The lawyer said that would be fine.

  Arnold called in the evening to say that he had the dates that Ariana’s grandparents died. The grandfather had died first, when Ariana was about four years old, a couple of years after her parents had left Portland for San Diego. I was glad that the facts fit my theory.

  We got word that Eileen Foster had been picked up and extradition was in the works. Ariana was conflicted about talking to this woman, who was her nearest biological relative and her most dangerous enemy. The woman had apparently said nothing to the Portland police, and I suspected she would continue that way. There wasn’t much she could say that would help her except to make her sister out as a villain who deserved punishment.

  Eileen flew east with a police escort a few days later. Ariana had given a blood sample on Monday to check the DNA, which turned out to be unnecessary. The blood type alone indicated Ronald Brinker could not have been her natural father. Although she suspected it, the news unnerved her.

  She debated whether she wanted to meet Eileen, or even look at her. I couldn’t advise her; it was too personal a decision. Eventually, she decided to do it, just so that she wouldn’t torture herself. At her request, I drove up to the jail with her. She said nothing as we drove, her distress visible.

  Eileen Foster was sitting at a table in an interrogation room. We looked through a one-way glass and Ariana drew her breath.

  “That’s my mother,” she said. “The hair is different, but the face—it’s unbelievable.”

  I had to agree that the woman at the table was the image of the woman in the recent snapshot Ariana carried.

  “You want to talk to her?” Joe Fox asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Take your time.”

  “Yes, OK. Let me in there.” She was actually holding my hand and she threatened to crush it as she spoke. “I’ll go in alone.”

  “We’ll be right here. Just let us know when you want out. You don’t have to say anything to her if you don’t want to.”

  I watched as Joe led her to the door, opened it, and let her in. She walked toward the table, then stopped. Eileen looked up, her face angry. Then she seemed to realize whom she was looking at and her face softened. She looked as though she might cry.

  Ariana said nothing. She simply stood and inspected the woman sitting in the chair.

  Then Eileen said, “I wanted you so much.”

  Ariana nodded.

  “They wouldn’t let me have you. They wouldn’t let me see you. They acted as though I didn’t exist.”

  Ariana swallowed. I wondered what she would do, what she would say. “They were my parents,” she said finally. “Everything they did was in my best interests.” Then she turned and went to the door. Joe went around and unlocked it. When she came out, she hugged me and cried.

  Joe had told us that there was convincing forensic evidence that could be used against Eileen. A piece of her clothing, a scarf, had been found in the SUV. On it were Eileen’s hair, her perfume, and traces of the oil that comes off one’s neck. Also, Elaine Brinker’s driver’s license had been found in Eileen’s home. So were the keys to the vehicle and to the apartment in Oakwood.

  She had been asked several times to identify her companion, but she said nothing. An attorney had been appointed for her and she showed no sign of wanting to find one of her own.

  Having seen Eileen, Ariana told me she now felt a kind of peace. “I think it’s over for me,” she said. “I wanted to know how I would feel. She’s not my mother and she never was. She gave me away to better people, and they gave me their lives and their love.”

  “Joe said he’s releasing the bodies,” I said.

  “I’ve decided to bury them here in Oakwood. This was the last place they lived and it’s a nice place. I could live here myself.”

  I smiled. “Maybe you will one day.”

  “Maybe.”

  She came to dinner, prepared to fly back to Chicago the next day. While we were sitting around talking in the evening, she said, “That was some wedding my parents had.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Huge. There was a name orchestra and about four hundred people. It was just amazing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I found it in the paper. I did what you suggested. It was on microfilm in the library.”

  “But the papers didn’t cover it.”

  “The one I looked at did. I printed out the article, but it’s in the hotel. It had descriptions of the flowers and the orchestra, and it named a lot of the people who were there.”

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked.

  “Jessie checked the papers. She called and said there were no articles.”

  “Maybe she was too busy to be bothered,” Jack said.

  I held my breath a moment before saying, “Maybe her husband was Eileen’s companion.”

  There was absolute stillness in the room. Both of them were looking at me.

  “How is that possible?” Ariana said. “We saw Nick in Portland the Sunday we arrived from Madison.”

  “All that means is that he drove to Madison with Eileen on the Friday we flew there. They alternated driving and didn’t stop to sleep, so they arrived sometime Saturday. We went to the house Saturday morning and you called his number that afternoon.”

  “And Jessie said he was on a business trip but would be back the next day.” Ariana looked shocked. “Who goes on a business trip on Saturday?”

  “Good question,” I said. “He flew home on Sunday after they broke into the house, or maybe before. Maybe she did it herself. When she—or they—got back to where the car was parked, it was gone, and she got scared and flew out of town, maybe right back to Portland, where she lives. There’s enough time there for everything. That drop of blood in your parents’ apartment in Oakwood doesn’t match anyone in the case. Maybe it matches Nick.”

  Ariana looked confused. “How did Eileen find him?”

  “The way you did. She looked up Brinkers in the phone book. Remember, Nick never got any money from his grandparents. It went to Aunt Junie. Aunt Junie’s still alive and she’s living on it, and living very nicely. Her clothes were expensive. Her hair was done by a professional. There may not be much—or any—left for Nick when she dies. Eileen knew your father got an inheritance, or at least she assumed he did. Maybe she promised Nick money if he would help her.”

  “Good thinking,” Jack said.

  “They were so nice,” Ariana said. “There were so kind to us.”

  “Maybe he thought you’d lead him to money.”

  “But he took us to see his mother. What if
she had said something about Eileen?”

  “She almost did, remember? And when I called back and asked Jessie if she could ask her mother-in-law some questions, Nick called and said Junie had had a setback.”

  “Which may never have happened.”

  “Right. We don’t even know if Nick asked her any more questions. I’d guess he didn’t.”

  “Looks like we have to call Joe Fox again,” Jack said. “This is starting to be a habit.”

  26

  The Portland police brought Nick Brinker in for questioning. I felt terrible for Jessie, although she must have known what was going on if she lied to me about the article in the paper. Still, she was a young wife and mother, and her husband might be charged with a terrible crime.

  He admitted that he was Eileen’s partner but denied he had done any killing. That, he said, was all Eileen’s doing. She had used chloroform on the woman and a gun on the man. He identified the caliber of the gun as the same that forensics said had been used to kill Ronald Brinker. He said Eileen had buried that and the small bottle of chloroform in a cemetery near Oakwood. Eventually, they were dug up with his help. Then a series of test-fired bullets were compared to the bullets taken from Ronald Brinker’s body, and a match was made with the suspect gun, a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson Airweight with a one-inch barrel.

  After Ariana left town, Jack and I had a little talk about the money she dug up in Madison. I didn’t want to talk about it publicly and had told Ariana how I felt.

  “Did you see that money?” Jack asked.

  “I saw the suitcase and one packet of bills.”

  “So you only know what was in the suitcase from hearsay?”

  I thought about it. “I guess you could say so.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have a problem.”

  When Nick Brinker was extradited to New York State, I asked Joe Fox if I could see him. I went up on a warm day when Eddie was in day camp and Jack at work. Prisons make me nervous, and I was glad to have Joe accompany me to the room where Nick sat waiting for me. Joe had promised us a private talk and I trusted him.

  Nick hardly looked like himself. He had lost weight and his face was haggard. Had I seen him on the street, I would not have recognized him.

  We had a long talk, most of which was irrelevant to the homicides, but he told me some things that put the last few pieces of the puzzle in place.

  “How did you get to know Eileen Foster?” I asked.

  “She called me a long time ago—I don’t remember when. She knew I was Uncle Ron’s nephew and she was curious about the Brinker inheritance. I told her Dad had left Mom his share. I think she gave me a thousand dollars after he died. My sister got that, too.”

  “Did you know about Ariana?”

  “Uh-uh. At least, not at first. I knew Eileen had a grudge, but I figured it had something to do with money. She called me a few months ago and asked if I would help her out. She said there was money and she would split it with me fifty-fifty. I have to tell you, I could have used it. We’ve had a hard time and whatever it was, even ten thousand, it would have been good to have.

  “Eileen said she had located her sister and brother-in-law, and she wanted me along when she went to talk to them. I thought she might be afraid for her safety, although I didn’t know why.”

  “And you came to Oakwood with her?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his hands over his face at that point, and I thought, He must be wishing he’d never taken that trip.

  “Tell me what happened, Nick.”

  “We found them in their apartment. I didn’t know Eileen had a gun with her until that day. She’d put it in the suitcase she checked on the plane. She said she was sure they’d never find it and she was right. She threatened them with it and had me tie Uncle Ron up with some plastic things she had. That was when I knew I’d bitten off more than I could chew.

  “She asked them where Ariana was and they didn’t answer. She got mad, she screamed at them, but they just sat there. Then she asked them for money. She said she’d spare their lives if they gave her money. They just sat there like pieces of wood. I could see Eileen was getting madder and madder. Every second they didn’t say anything, she got closer to blowing up. You know, she’s not a real stable person. She said something to me—I think she was in a nuthouse for a while.”

  I cringed at the word. “A mental institution?”

  “Yeah, whatever. I can tell you she scared me a couple of times. Maybe they knew that, Uncle Ron and his wife. Maybe that’s why they were so scared of her.”

  That could be yet another reason why they kept running, I thought. “When Eileen demanded money from them, did she mention any special amount?” I asked.

  “Nah. She had told me they had a lot of money put away. That’s what she wanted. Then she asked me to hold Elaine for a minute, and she put something on Elaine’s face. She slid down to the floor and the next thing I knew she was dead. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t know what was going on.”

  “I understand,” I said, watching him become almost tearful.

  “Then she asked Uncle Ron again where the money was. He didn’t answer. He kept looking at Elaine lying there on the floor. He was—honest to God—he was in tears. I was too, if you want to know the truth.”

  “And then what?”

  “She shot him.” He trembled as though the memory was too much for him. “She pushed the gun right into his chest and shot him, just like that. And they were both dead. We took their jewelry off, we went through their wallets. And when it was about one or two in the morning, we carried them out to the car wrapped in blankets.”

  Later in the conversation I asked him about the trip to Madison.

  “I went home after the—after it happened. Eileen had made a crazy phone call after we emptied the apartment— she had had me shoot her gun into a pillow—and she said someone would find the bodies, and then their daughter would show up and she would get the money from her. With the apartment empty, people would think they had moved, evidence would be gone, and the police would be in a state of confusion.”

  “Nick,” I said, interrupting, “your blood was found in the bedroom in that apartment.”

  “Oh yeah, the blood. That was Eileen’s idea. She said to prick my finger and leave some on the rug to throw the police off. We never thought we’d be found, at least I felt pretty confident.”

  “Go on with your story. You said Eileen waited around in Oakwood.”

  “Right. I couldn’t wait around, but she did. A couple of weeks later, she called and told me to take the first plane out here. The daughter had arrived.

  “It was crazy. We watched this girl. She went to your house. She went to a motel. Then one morning, the two of you went to the airport.”

  “And you followed.”

  “Yeah. Eileen drove the SUV. I got out when you and Ariana went to the curbside check-in. I was so close to you, I thought you might have seen me. I heard her say Madison to the baggage guy, and I dashed back to where Eileen was sitting in the car.”

  “And you drove to Madison.”

  “Yeah. Eileen said she knew where you were going.”

  “What did you expect to find in the house?”

  “I don’t know. Eileen didn’t tell me much. We broke into the house, looked around with a flashlight, and got out. There was nothing there. I called Jessie later and she told me Ariana had called, so I flew home. That was it. I never saw Eileen again.”

  Like so many of the homicides I have looked into in the past several years, this was another sad one, one in which I could understand why the killer did what she did. I could see how she could come to regret the decision to give up her child, made before the child was born, before she had a chance to look at her, to hold her in her arms. And without any difficulty, I could see the Brinkers’ side just as clearly. They took possession of their daughter when she was only a few days old and they considered her theirs, as she truly was. The demand to give her up must have been so shockin
g, so frightening, that they could think of only one response.

  Having observed similar cases in the news, I would guess that had they attempted to mediate, they might well have had to share their child. They wanted her for their own. And they died for it.

  Ariana had a simple funeral and burial for her parents. Jack took the morning off and we went together. I was pleased to see Det. Joe Fox put in an appearance. When it was over, Ariana returned to the hotel and left for Chicago later in the day.

  She sent a postcard from Chicago about a month later saying she was fine. And later in the summer she sent another one from Guatemala. She sounded very happy.

  But the most unexpected thing happened in the fall. Eddie went back to school, this time in the first grade. He was very excited, as we all were, and he began to read soon after the beginning of the semester.

  As it was fall, I did the seasonal change of clothes, putting away the shorts and bathing trunks and short-sleeved shirts and replacing them with cool-weather clothes. I asked Eddie to pull out the shoes and stored items in the corner of his closet so I could get rid of the accumulated dust. He went inside and came out with an armful of things. We set them on the bedroom floor, and I started through them to decide which we would give away and which we would keep for another season.

  “What’s this?” I asked, coming on a small package wrapped in brown paper and kept together with several rubber bands.

  “I don’t know. It was on the floor. Look. Here’s my baseball I couldn’t find.”

  “Well, put it where you’ll have it in the spring.” I removed rubber band after rubber band, finally opening the brown bag. I pulled out a small packet, also rubber-banded. And my heart stopped.

  It was a stack of hundred-dollar bills with a note.

  “This is for Eddie’s college education.” Not another word.

  I recalled that Ariana had gone up to put Eddie to bed one night and she had taken the straw bag upstairs with her. No other explanation made sense.

  “What is it?” Eddie asked.

  “Nothing important. Let’s go through the shoes.” My heart pounding, I rewrapped the bills in the bag. I would show them to Jack tonight.