Consider the Crows Read online

  Rose, I know how much you want a baby, but there’s an awful lot of risk in adopting. I wish you’d think about it more. You never know what you’ll get. What kind of people does this baby come from?

  “Aren’t people wonderful,” Parkhurst said sourly.

  They were sitting so close their knees were almost touching and she was acutely aware of the smell of him, a clean smell of soap. She stretched her legs out straight and thought he knew exactly what she was doing. She reached over and flipped the page.

  The altered birth certificate had the name of the hospital where Lynnelle was born and the name of the attending physician. Mother—Rose Vivien Hames. Father—Richard Alan Hames. The date, time of birth, sex of baby and weight. Below was a copy of the original birth certificate. Mother—Karen Hart. Father—unknown.

  “Ah.” She squinted, leaning even closer. “Karen Hart. That sound like anyone we know?” She turned her head to glance up at him.

  He was looking down at her. Firelight threw shadows across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, leaving his eyes in darkness. A pulse fluttered in his throat. The fire snapped with a shower of sparks. She jumped, smiled—it felt like stretching a mask—took the notebook and plopped it on her thighs. Parkhurst sipped scotch.

  She read aloud.

  Had a big fight with Herbert. He tried to tell me Rose loved me. She only did what she thought was best. He’s so sorry I had to find out this way. He’s so sorry I’m so upset.

  June 14

  It’s almost midnight and I’m writing this in bed. I’ve been thinking all day. I have to find my mother. Karen Hart. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll tell Shelley so she won’t worry, but no one else and make her promise never to tell Herbert where I am. Not even her mother.

  June 17

  I did it! I did it! Here I am in Oklahoma City. City of my birth! I waited until Herbert went to work and then I left. I’m staying in a motel. Not a very nice one, but it’s okay. I can’t wait for morning. First thing I’m going to buy a car with the money Rose left me. Then talk to Dr. Gorman who delivered me. Maybe he even knew my mother personally. Like a friend of the family or something. Maybe he knows where she is!

  June 18

  Got a car! My very first car! It’s yellow. Only good thing today.

  Dr. Gorman isn’t even here any more. He died two years ago. Nobody at the hospital knows anything or they won’t tell me anything.

  June 19

  I went to see Mr. Lavery, the attorney. I made an appointment so he’d have to see me. But he couldn’t tell me anything. I guess I believe him. He seems okay and acted like he’d like to help me and everything but he said he didn’t know anything at all about my mother. Only her name. I already know that. I won’t give up.

  June 22

  I didn’t know I could be so lonely. I’ve been thinking a lot about Rose. I thought I hated her, but I don’t anymore. I wish she were here so I could talk to her.

  July 4

  Fire crackers. Seems like I don’t have much to celebrate.

  July 12

  I have a job! Receptionist at Belker’s Electronics. And I found a place to live. Only one room but it’s all mine. I even bought furniture—a sleeping bag and a lamp. That’s all I need anyway, plus some dishes and stuff. And best of all I have a telephone. I called Shelley. Was she ever surprised. She promised to write to me.

  July 24

  Drove to Clayton today. Hardly anybody still there that I used to know. The Johnsons and the Meyersons. They were real surprised to see me and said how sorry they were about Rose.

  I’ve written to everybody I could think of. All Rose’s friends and her cousins and everybody. Nobody seems like they want to talk about my adoption. They didn’t know anything about the girl. That’s what everybody calls my mother. The girl. Maybe that means she was very young. Everybody asks why I want to know all this. Forget about it. It doesn’t matter. Rose was your mother. Get on with your life.

  Aug. 5

  Herbert found me! Shelley told. Everybody always believes him when he looks so sincere and says how much he loves me. He loved me all right! I hate him! I hate him! I told him to leave me alone. I never want to see him again.

  It’s two in the morning. I keep thinking about all those times when he loved me. And told me never to tell. Our special secret. He did those things because he loved me so much. Why didn’t she protect me? She should have protected me. I hate him!

  “Not real fond of stepdaddy.” Parkhurst tipped an ice cube in his mouth and crunched down hard. “Bastard.” He set down the glass and took the notebook. Bending over it, he read:

  Sept 1

  My birthday. I’m 21 years old. I wonder if my mother is thinking about me. Shelley called. All I did was cry. She said I should get myself a birthday present. Something very special.

  Special! Special! Special! I got a dog. Alexa is the most beautiful, sweetest dog in the whole world. Went to the animal shelter. Terrible sad place. I wanted to take them all. Alexa knew I came for her. As soon as she saw me she made this big commotion. Both of us just thrown away. Now we have each other!

  Silently, he glanced through several pages, muttering, “Nothing but passages of discouragement and despair. Ah, things are looking up.”

  Oct 14

  I got an idea. I saw a movie this evening and I got so excited I wasn’t even paying attention. It was about putting ads in the personal columns of newspapers.

  Oct 15

  I did it! I did it! Would anybody with information about Karen Hart, who had a baby on September 1, twenty-one years ago please contact me. Can’t wait to get a paper with my ad.

  “Got five responses.” he said, running a finger down the page. “None of them what she was looking for. Here.”

  Nov. 22

  Gladys Shumacher rented an apartment to my mother! She’s pretty old and kind of nosey. She has a canary she calls Billy and she was putting newspapers in the cage. She said something just drew her eye to my ad. So she saved it and then thought about it for a long time and finally something just told her to answer. Lucky for me!

  Two girls, she said rented the apartment. Real polite and quiet. One of them was pregnant and Mrs. Shumacher thought she was about fifteen. She called herself Karen Hart. Mrs. Shumacher gave me this sideways look, like she knew what that meant. But she couldn’t really tell me much except no mail ever came addressed to Karen Hart. Hardly any mail ever did come, but if any did it was addressed to

  “Well, well, well,” Parkhurst said.

  “What?”

  “Addressed to Carena Gebhardt.”

  “Let me see that.” Susan grabbed back the notebook, thinking this Three Stooges routine was ridiculous. She continued from where he left off.

  The letters came from some place in Kansas. Mrs. Shumacher couldn’t remember where. And she thought there was something from the University of Oklahoma.

  Carena Gebhardt is my mother!

  The sentence, written over and over, covered an entire page.

  Susan quickly skimmed through the following pages. Lynnelle obtained a copy of Carena’s birth certificate giving her the names of Carena’s parents and an address. Attempts to reach the parents by phone and letter were unsuccessful. They had moved away and she didn’t know where. For a time she seemed stymied again and then she made repeated visits to the University of Oklahoma. Carena Gebhardt had attended. From old yearbooks in the school library, she discovered that when Carena graduated her last name had changed to Egersund. Lynnelle fired off letters seeking a copy of a marriage license and finally got one. Carena Gebhardt had married Gerald Egersund.

  Now she had another name to search and again a long period of no progress. Finally, simply for the sake of activity, she began looking up Egersund in phone books at the public library. Since it was an uncommon name, fortunately for her and her phone bill, she didn’t find many. One listed in Tulsa turned out to be Gerald Egersund’s mother. She told Lynnelle Jerry was teaching at the University of
Colorado.

  Parkhurst moved closer. Susan positioned the notebook so he could see better. She kept skimming. His breath brushed her ear. On September 9, Lynnelle packed up her clothes and her sleeping bag and her dog and moved to Boulder where she poked into the life of Gerald Egersund.

  Parkhurst tapped the page. “Here we come to Egersund’s kid.”

  September 13

  I have a brother! Neat! Neat! Neat! His name is Michael.

  Susan nodded, and ran her gaze down the page. Lynnelle found another secretarial job and started hanging around campus, frequenting the student union and the library, chatting with students, deliberately placing herself in Michael’s path.

  September 24

  Today I met my brother. I like him! I like him! I didn’t tell him. It’s fun knowing things nobody else knows.

  “Indeed she liked him,” Susan said. “Wrote down every word he said, where they were at the time, and what he was wearing.”

  At the end of November, Lynnelle loaded up her VW again and came to Hampstead. Having finally found her mother, she was suddenly hesitant and afraid, and couldn’t bring herself to confront Carena Egersund. She looked for a place to live and ran across the Creighton place.

  Found a house to live in. All by itself out here. Been abandoned. Looks lonely. Just like me. I figure I fit right in. Ha ha. Plenty of room for Alexa. There’s a creek and the woods are great.

  She settled in, explored the woods with the dog and spent long periods of time by the creek. On the tenth of December she got the job at Emerson.

  Clerk-typist. Not very grand. But I can be near My Mother.

  She began to watch Carena Egersund, follow her, drive by her house periodically.

  Parkhurst raised an eyebrow. “Maybe the good teacher was up to something she didn’t want known.”

  “Like what?” Susan asked skeptically and read aloud of Lynnelle’s friendship with Edie Vogel.

  She’s nice. I like her. We talk. She told me about her little girl. Kidnapped by her ex-husband! How could anybody do that! She’s really worried all the time. I wish there was some way I could help her. She says I help just by being her friend. She’s hired this private detective. It costs a lot of money, but she says it doesn’t matter how much it costs. All she wants is her little girl back. I kind of told her about Herbert.

  “Kind of,” Parkhurst muttered.

  And she told me about the house, the man who killed himself. I can sort of understand. I’ve felt that way. You just think you can’t go on.

  Scanning again, Susan quickly ran past general thoughts about people Lynnelle knew, pep talks with underlined sentences berating herself for not having the courage to approach My Mother. She mused about her friendship with Julie and letting Julie use the house to be with Nick.

  What would Julie’s mother do if she knew!

  “Motive of sorts for young Julie,” Parkhurst said.

  “Maybe.” Susan shook her head dubiously. “Nice polite child. Well brought up. Life very much regulated by her mother. Doesn’t feel right.”

  Parkhurst snorted. “Feelings yet.”

  Jan. 14

  Today Lexi chased a fox. Good thing she didn’t catch it. It probably would have beaten her up. I saw Julie’s father down by the creek. With a woman. He seemed like such a nice man. I was wishing I had a father like him. I don’t think I’ll tell Julie.

  Susan tapped the page with a fingernail. “This a pattern with Keith?”

  “Surprises the hell out of me. I’d think he’d need to ask permission.”

  Herbert found me. He won’t leave me alone. Shelley promised.

  “Good old Herbert,” Parkhurst said. “Doesn’t give up easily, does he?”

  I’m afraid Nick is keeping drugs here somewhere. I won’t allow it!

  “What about Nick?” Susan asked.

  Parkhurst took in a long breath. “Hard to say. I can see him mad at the girl and offing her, but how did Audrey get mixed up in it?”

  “Good question. She must have known something about Lynnelle’s murder. What it could be or how she could know it is another good question.”

  “Easily answered if Keith did the killings. Get rid of Lynnelle and his wife and live happily ever after with girlfriend Terry Bryant. Works the same way for Terry. Fits even better.”

  Susan nodded reluctantly. She hoped it wasn’t that way. Not Terry, not Jen’s mom, but wanting didn’t make it so. Turning the page, she read,

  I found a secret hiding place! It had this note in it.

  The note was a sheet of typing paper, yellowed with age that had one sentence printed neatly in the center.

  I wish it could have been different.

  Susan’s throat tightened as she read the calm desolation in the single sentence.

  “By damn, a suicide note,” Parkhurst said.

  “Did you know him? Lowell Creighton.”

  “Before my time. Poor bastard.”

  I feel so sorry for him. I know about when things are so awful and you can’t stand it and there’s no way out.

  The last entry was dated February 13.

  Herbert was here again, all sloppy and crying and promising and pretending to love me. I hate him! I hate him! If he doesn’t leave me alone I’m going to ask Mr. McKinnon to get him arrested.

  “Let’s make it Herbert,” Parkhurst said. “I’d like that slime-bag locked up.”

  “There’s the little matter of Audrey.”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  Closing the notebook, she brought her knees up and rested her shoulders against the hearth. Parkhurst did the same. The silence grew heavy. She was aware of his quiet breathing and noticed she had adjusted her own breathing to match his. The clock on the mantel ponderously struck twice.

  He looked at it, jumped up and shrugged on his jacket. “I think I better split.” He left abruptly. A second or two later there was a soft tap on the door. She opened it.

  “Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said with a dry smile, “but I don’t seem to have a car.”

  19

  THE FIRST TIME the mayor called on Friday morning, Susan was in the shower and she dripped on the carpet while she listened.

  “What the hell is going on? Audrey Kalazar is an important person in this community. How could this happen? Is this the kind of image we want to send out to the world? The vice-chancellor of Emerson College! Murdered and stuffed in a well. It’ll be on the news. In the papers. What are you doing about it? I want it taken care of immediately. You understand? Immediately.” He faded away muttering threats and regrets and the possibility of her quick dismissal.

  Not if I can help it, she thought grimly. I might not want to spend forever here, but you won’t give me the axe. I’ll leave when I’m damn good and ready.

  The second time he called, she was munching toast and she listened to it all over again while she watched the kitten dip a paw in her coffee. The awful part was, she halfway agreed with him, felt a sense of responsibility.

  “Don’t forget the fair opens this afternoon,” he said with an abrupt change in subject. “At least make sure that comes off without a hitch.”

  “I’m sure there won’t be any problems.” George was taking care of all that; he had everything under control.

  When the mayor hung up, she dumped the coffee in the sink and headed for the hospital.

  The snow had stopped, but the streets were full of ice and slush and that meant on top of everything else, the day would be full of fender benders the officers would have to sort out.

  * * *

  Owen Fisher, in surgical greens, was just completing the external exam of Audrey Kalazar’s body, and dictating his findings into a cassette recorder, when Susan entered the autopsy room. He switched it off and looked at her.

  “The settling of the blood along the right side of the body indicates she’d been dead for some hours before she was dropped in the well,” he said. “Primary cause of death appears to be blunt trauma, the mec
hanism most likely subcranial hemorrhage.”

  Susan tried to take shallow breaths through her mouth to avoid the full impact of the odors, but it didn’t help a whole lot.

  “Notice the dilation of the right pupil,” he said. “She was alive when she was hit.”

  “Was death immediate?”

  He nodded. “Nearly instantaneous. Not much clotting. No vomiting or bite marks in her mouth. Nothing that suggests seizures.”

  He made an incision from ear to ear across the scalp and peeled it away, front and back, to expose the skull. The high-pitched shriek of the saw tearing through bone made Susan’s teeth ache. When he turned the saw off, the sound still buzzed through her head. Neatly, he removed the top of the skull and thoughtfully studied the surface of the brain before he switched on the recorder. “Skull fracture with associated subdural hematoma.”

  With both hands he lifted out the brain and weighed it, then made thin slices, examined them under a strong light and put samples in bottles. He made a Y-shaped incision and opened the chest and abdominal areas, then removed each organ, described it and weighed it, sliced each one and put samples in bottles. Except for the very beginnings of arterial sclerosis, Audrey had been in good health. He scooped out the stomach contents and bagged them for the lab.

  Susan was very interested in what the lab might find in its analysis of stomach contents. She knew from talking with Keith—assuming he wasn’t lying—when Audrey had last eaten. The lab results would tell approximately how many hours had passed before she was killed; that might be the closest Susan would get to time of death.

  When Dr. Fisher had switched off the recorder, Susan asked about the weapon.

  “Right-angle corner, heavy enough to cause the skull damage with one hit. Smooth. Hard enough that there was no fragmentation. She was struck one blow, from the front, probably by someone right-handed.”

  When Susan left the hospital, she drew in great breaths of fresh cold air. Not a whole lot of help; that particular smell stuck with you. She lit a cigarette to try to cover it, but it was still there, way back in her throat.