Mistaken Identity (8 page)

Fourteen

Lucinda stepped on the elevator in the justice center thinking about Victoria Whitehead. She had a lot of questions for her but even more about her. Ted might have found some of those answers by now. She didn’t want to speak to him at all – she was too angry about his neglect of his estranged and hospitalized wife, Ellen – but she promised herself she’d be civil and professional.

Walking into his workspace, she said, “What have you and your research moles dug up for me today?”

“I don’t know where to start, Lucinda. I have volumes.”

“How about starting with Victoria Whitehead?”

Ted tapped on his keyboard and said, “Born Victoria Dulaney in
Baltimore
on June twenty-eighth 1943. Married to Francis Pippin in 1964. First child born May third 1965. Widowed 1966 …”

“Wait. Did you say first child? Does that mean there is more than one?”

“Yes. She had three children, two girls and a boy.”

“Who else besides Jeanine?”

“The first child is Susan Victoria Pippin.”

“How did her first husband die?” Lucinda asked.

“You have a suspicious mind, Lucinda,” Ted said with a grin. “Her first husband was a casualty of the Vietnam War – can’t blame
Victoria
for that one.”

“You can’t blame me for trying. Okay, then what?”

“Married again before the year was out to Brian Jacoby – he was with Francis in the war. They were divorced in 1967, less than a year after the marriage – no children from that relationship.”

“And then?”

“Then, she married a Navy guy – an officer – Lieutenant Commander Frederick Winters in 1969. Six months after the nuptials, her second child was born – Jeanine Victoria Winters on December sixteenth 1969. Her third child, Frederick Victor Winters, was born on August thirty-first 1973. He died when he was six years old in the same automobile accident that killed his father – head-on collision caused by a drunk driver who crossed over into their lane on July fourth 1979.”

“That had to be tough – maybe that’s why she’s so whacky.”

“Not too whacky – she found another guy to marry her in 1982. A civilian this time – Gary Finnerman – they made it to 1987 before they divorced. Then
Victoria
was single for nearly a decade. She married Charles Whitehead in 1996. She became a widow for the third time in 1999. Natural causes listed for that death and considering Whitehead was eighty-two at the time, probably legitimate. Looked like she was going to inherit a sizeable estate from husband number five until his children – four of them, who were all older than
Victoria
– challenged the new will. There must have been something questionable about it because
Victoria
backed down and agreed to a settlement which barely covered the bills she accumulated in her spending frenzy after Whitehead’s death. That’s when she moved here and into a home that her daughter and son-in-law bought for her.”

“Do you have that in a document you could print out for me?” Lucinda asked.

“I will in just a few minutes. I was about to format it into a chronological chart when you came in.”

“Have you located any of her living ex-husbands or her oldest daughter?”

“Haven’t started looking yet.”

“When you find them, call the exes and see if you can fill in a bit more background information. But don’t call the daughter – I’ll do that.”

“So what are you seeing here, Lucinda? Do you think Victoria might be involved in her daughter’s death?”

“I don’t know. I do know they were having problems at least three days before the murders. It could have been because of her crazy story about Parker Sterling but I don’t know. I just know there’s friction and that bears examination.”

“Anyone else looking squirrely?”

“I’m bothered by Jason King and Pamela Godfrey – anything on them?”

“Haven’t located anything on King yet and nothing I’ve found on Godfrey deviates from what I’ve given you already. Her list of rumored affairs gets longer and longer – but I’m not sure which of them actually happened. I did find an interesting suspected paramour, though. His name is Rodney Conners. He was the CEO of “It Is”, a rival software company that went bankrupt. He blamed Dodgebird in general and Parker Sterling in particular for his company’s demise. He vowed more than once to get his revenge.”

“You know anything else about him?”

“Not yet, just picked up that morsel this morning.”

The intercom on Ted’s desk interrupted their conversation. “Sergeant Branson?”

“Yup,” Ted said.

“Is Lieutenant Pierce in there with you?”

“Sure is.”

“Tell her line four – it’s Maggie Sutton.”

Lucinda didn’t want to take that call. She knew she probably should take that call. The indecision left her mute.

“C’mon, Lucinda,” Ted said. “It’s your sister. You have to take that call.”

“Oh, that’s just terrific coming from you. Why won’t you answer the phone calls from your wife’s lawyer?”

“Holy shit, Lucinda. My wife tried to kill you. I thought after that you would understand.”

“I understand one thing – you are an asshole.”

The female voice on the intercom jumped into the fray. “Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take it in my office. And don’t let Branson run like a girl the next time Ellen’s attorney calls.”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” the voice stammered.

Lucinda stomped out the door and down the hall.

Ted turned to the intercom. “You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Ignore that woman.”

“As if …” she said and shut down the connection.

In her office, Lucinda picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Oh, that’s nice, Lucinda. You haven’t spoken to me for more than a year and you can’t say ‘Hello,’ ‘How are you?’ or anything civilized. Just a ‘Yes?’, like this is the fortieth call I’ve made to you today?”

“Cut the crap, Maggie. What do you want?”

“You are such a pleasant person. No wonder your husband walked out on you and no one else wanted you.”

“Okay, Maggie, either you tell me why you called right now or I’m hanging up.”

“You are so infuriating. Uncle Hank died.”

“And?”

“I thought you’d want to come for the funeral.”

“Why?”

“Aunt Connie is asking for you.”

“Oh, that’s rich. As if I would come on her account. Good grief, the woman threw me out of the house the day before my seventeenth birthday. You remember that, don’t you?”

“She had her reasons, Lucinda, you know that.”

“Stupid reasons. Stupid woman. I’m sorry Uncle Hank is dead but since he’s gone and I can’t visit with him, I’m sure not driving up there to offer phony comfort to a woman who hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Lucinda. She’s family.”

“Oh, so now, you’re going to tell me that
you
don’t hate me either?”

“You are my sister, Lucinda.”

“And that means what? That you hate me but you are not allowed to acknowledge it? Give me a break, Maggie.”

“She needs you, Lucinda. You are obligated to attend this funeral. It’s family.”

“Oh, don’t make me laugh – even without my experience with our family unit, my job has taught me there is no limit to the horror one family member can visit upon another.”

“Lucinda, this is a one-time event – it’s a funeral. It is tomorrow at Whitten’s. I will expect you to be here.”

A cynical laugh passed Lucinda’s lips before she said, “I never have lived up to your expectations, Maggie. Can’t see any reason why I should start now.” A wave of anger and sorrow washed over Lucinda leaving ugly memories in its wake. She sought the only escape from them she knew – she plunged back into her work.

Fifteen

Lucinda rang Victoria Whitehead’s doorbell and was surprised when Freddy answered the door. She’d been hoping to find Victoria there alone. “I thought you’d be at class today, Freddy.”

“I didn’t go. It’s not seemly.”

“What?” Lucinda asked, certain she hadn’t heard him use that phrase.

“That’s what my grandmother said. She said it wouldn’t be seemly until after my mom’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry, Freddy. That should happen very soon. I’m not sure about your Dad’s, though, that’s going to take a little longer.”

“How many times do I have to tell you: my dad is not dead. You need to arrest him. Do your job.”

Lucinda studied the boy. He seemed to believe what he was saying. She saw no signs of deception – just exasperation. “Sorry, Freddy. Is your grandmother here?”

“Yes,” he said but didn’t move.

“I would like to talk with her.”

Freddy didn’t speak, move or give any indication he even heard her. He stood and studied her as if she were an anomalous lab specimen.

“May I come in, Freddy?”

Freddy turned away and walked off without uttering a word. Lucinda took one step inside the door. Although muffled by distance, she could still understand the conversation.

“Grandmother, that police lieutenant is here again.”

“Lieutenant Pierce?”

“Whatever.”

“Did you invite her in?”

“It’s not my house.”

“Where are your manners, Frederick? Please go to your room.”

Freddy came through the archway, glared at Lucinda and went up the stairs. Victoria walked into the foyer, casting a glance up at Freddy’s retreating back as she tsked and shook her head. “Teenagers. Freddy is so intelligent. I expect more from him. Please come in. I’m terribly sorry for Freddy’s lack of hospitality. Could you close the door behind you?”

Lucinda did as instructed and followed her into the living room. At Victoria’s invitation, Lucinda took a seat while the older woman positioned herself in her skirt-flung pose on the sofa.

“What can I do for you today, Lieutenant?” Victoria asked.

“I can’t seem to reach Mr. King or his mother. I’m hoping you could tell me when would be the best time to call them.”

“I can’t say that I would know. I never bother Jason when he’s visiting his mother – she requires all of his attention. Her illness, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am. But if you do hear from him, will you let him know I am trying to reach him?”

“Certainly, Lieutenant, but I doubt that he will call.”

Lucinda nodded. “Ms. Whitehead, we’ve talked about your daughter Jeanine, but you’ve never mentioned your other children.”

Victoria sniffed and straightened her posture. “It is a painful subject, Lieutenant – one that I prefer not to discuss – and it has no relevance to the current situation.”

“I can truly understand your pain over your young son’s death, ma’am, but what about your other daughter, Susan?”

“Trust me, Lieutenant, that is painful, too – and irrelevant as well. Can we return our discussion to matters directly affecting the death of my darling daughter Jeanine?”

Lucinda leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I need to know all I can about Jeanine, Ms. Whitehead, to pull together a meaningful victimology. Her siblings are an important piece of this puzzle. Is your daughter Susan still alive?”

“I suppose so.”

“You suppose so, Ms. Whitehead? You don’t know?”

Victoria flung the back of one hand to her forehead in a theatrical gesture of suffering. “Oh, just pound the bamboo slivers up my fingernails, Lieutenant.”

“Ms. Whitehead, please. I am not trying to cause you unnecessary pain. I simply need information. When was the last time you spoke to Susan?”

“Alas, it has to have been at least twenty years, more than two decades, a fortnight of years …”

Alas? Give me strength!
“Ms. Whitehead, please give me some straight answers about Susan. When did you last see her?”

Pursing her lips in obvious displeasure at Lucinda’s lack of appreciation for her performance,
Victoria
primped her dress, patted her hair and cleared her throat. “The summer before her senior year in college.”

“Where was she? What happened?”

“She was in her bedroom. Nothing happened. She was there and then she was gone.”

“Why did she leave?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did you file a missing person’s report?”

“An officer came to the house. I was giving him the information when Jeanine came home. And that was that.”

“What do you mean?” Lucinda asked.

“She told the officer that she knew where her sister was. Susan was just avoiding me, she said.”

“Did Jeanine tell you where she went?”

“Back to college. After that, I have no idea. I don’t even know if she graduated as she was supposed to do the next spring. Jeanine told me she did but I never got a graduation announcement and my card was returned unopened. Not much gratitude there from a child I fed, clothed and cared for.”

“Ms. Whitehead, for your daughter to leave abruptly and never contact you again, there must have been a precipitating incident.”

“If there was, she never spoke to me about it and if she told her sister, Jeanine never shared it with me. Her sudden departure and lack of communication was bewildering.

“Did your daughter Susan ever marry or change her surname for any other reason?”

“I don’t know. I know nothing about her life. Nothing – from the moment she walked out more than two decades ago until this day. Nothing …”

Sensing
Victoria
was gearing up for another scene in the melodrama of her life, Lucinda rose to her feet. “Thank you so much, Ms. Whitehead. I’m sure I’ll be back to talk to you again soon.”

“It will be my pleasure, Lieutenant,” she said with a gracious smile.

Lucinda let herself out and walked down the sidewalk to her car, grateful for her escape but disappointed in the amount of information she obtained. She”d just reached the side of her car when her cellphone signaled an incoming call. She looked at the caller’s identity before connecting to the call. “Not you, too, Ricky.”

“Yes, Lucinda, me, too. But I am not calling because of her; I am calling in spite of her.”

“Ricky, I see no reason to subject myself to the environment at Uncle Hank’s funeral.”

“Well, I do. If you don’t come, Maggie will bad-mouth you all day long. And because you didn’t have the guts to show up, they will believe everything she says about you.”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“I know you don’t, but I live here and I care. I get sick of hearing the ugly talk. I stand up for you every time, Lucinda. But if you don’t show up for something as important as a funeral, no one will ever listen to me again.”

“Geez, Ricky …”

“Listen, Lucinda, I promise I will stick by your side like glue the whole time you’re here. No one will dare be hateful to you with your little brother by your side.”

“No one but Maggie.”

“I won’t lie to you, Lucinda, I can’t control Maggie. But you need to be here. She only called you so that she could tell everyone she tried but you just didn’t care to come. That’s what she wants, Lucinda. Don’t let her win.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do, Lucinda. I know you cared about Uncle Hank. And I know you were crushed when he kowtowed to Aunt Connie instead of sticking up for you. But you’ve forgiven him for that, haven’t you? Please promise me you’ll come – for Uncle Hank’s sake. Come and protect his memory from those vicious, sordid stories.”

“Okay, Ricky, okay. I’ll be there unless something comes up in my current investigation.”

“Don’t let that happen, Lucinda.”

“I can’t control that, Ricky.”

“Oh, yes, you can. That’s one thing I’ve always admired about you, big sister – you’ve always been in control.”

Lucinda snorted. “Yeah, I play that part well.”

“Promise me you’ll be here – no matter what.”

“Ricky, I’ll do my best. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get a lot done if I’m going to drive up there tomorrow.”

Dread dripped down on Lucinda’s thoughts like acid rain. She had not been back to the farm since before the shotgun blast shredded half of her face. She didn’t want to deal with the reactions. She was certain everyone knew – the local paper up there had covered the story, but actually seeing her in person would still be a shock.
Damn my sister. Damn that shotgun. Why can’t people just leave me the hell alone?