Authors: Alan Cook
After dinner we went back to the living room. Kyle let me know Ault could no longer play games like backgammon. He used to love games of all kinds, especially football. His world had shrunk. With some encouragement from me, Ault talked about his first wife, which made him happy, even though she’d been dead for many years. When he began to look tired, Kyle fetched a middle-aged man I’d never seen before. He introduced him to me as Brad.
“Brad takes care of Mr. Ault’s personal needs.”
I gathered he helped to dress and undress Ault and put him to bed. I said good night to Ault and gave him a hug and a kiss before Brad wheeled him away.
When he was gone I felt like crying. “It’s very sad to see him like that.”
Kyle nodded. “Yes. I suppose your grandmother is having similar problems.”
“They’re not as pronounced yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. I’m glad I came, but I guess I’d better get going.”
“Don’t rush away. Tell me what you’re doing in L.A.”
I gave him a two-minute summary. He asked questions and it turned into five minutes. I skipped the part about the threatening letter and the attempt to murder me. He asked another question.
“What relation are you to this man who was murdered?”
“We’re third cousins. When I regained my identity, my grandmother was the only living relative I knew about. Then she told me about the older Jason, her first cousin. I talked to him on the phone. When I found out his grandson had been murdered, I felt as if I were losing part of my already too-small family. I had to come to his memorial service.”
Kyle nodded, sympathetically. “My parents are dead. We’re both orphans. Sounds like you have some ideas regarding the killer. I know you talked to the police, but I got the impression you want to do some more investigating on your own.”
Kyle was reading something into what I was saying, but when I thought about it I had to admit he was right. “I’ve done this before. I helped a private detective track down my brother when he was trying to kill me. I thought I might go and talk to Jason’s roommate and his girlfriend. I understand they weren’t very forthcoming with the police. Since I’m in their age range, perhaps I can get more out of them.”
“Be very careful. One problem. If the murderer is the same man who scammed your grandmother, he knows your name and your relationship to the deceased. If he’s part of the crowd the young Jason hung out with, he might get wind that you’re looking for him and decide to get rid of you. If he killed once, he could kill again.”
I decided to be candid with Kyle. “He’s already tried to kill me.” I gave a quick summary of the event at the motel, and added that he threatened to kill me in the letter and when he was talking to Grandma. “Actually, he’s probably aware of two of my names: Carol Golden and my birth name, Cynthia Sakai. However, I have a third name I’m sure he doesn’t know about—Aiko Murakawa.”
Kyle laughed. “No wonder I like you. Where did you come up with that one?”
“I used it for a swimsuit video I made when I was young.”
“Is it on the Internet? What’s the URL?”
“You men are all alike.”
“Mr. Ault would l-love to see it.”
I’d actually made Kyle, the unflappable, stammer. I quit teasing. “It’s on YouTube under ‘Aiko Murakawa.’” I spelled the name for him and watched him write it down.
“I used that name for most of the two years I lived in England. Of course, I don’t remember that period, but I have a British driving license, as they call it, spelled l-i-c-e-n-c-e. Fortunately, the woman I lived with in England saved it for me.”
I fished it out of my wallet and handed it to Kyle.
“Well I’ll be damned.” He looked at the picture on it and then at me. “It looks like you with longer hair.”
“It
is
me. It’s valid. I could use it there tomorrow. And if anyone asks about me being English, I can put on my ‘enry ‘iggins accent.” I sang a line from
My Fair Lady
: “Why can’t the English teach their children how to speak?”
Kyle laughed again. “You’re full of surprises. Would you like a gun to carry? I can fix you up with one and even square it with the police.” When I looked at him doubtfully, he continued. “Working with Mr. Ault gives me a few connections.”
“I don’t know how to use a gun. Anyway, it would be impossible to hide it in these tight jeans, and I don’t want to be forced to wear a jacket. But thanks, anyway.”
“You could always carry it in your purse. But maybe you’re right. You should get trained before you carry a gun. At the risk of repeating myself, be careful. If you get into trouble or need any strings pulled, call me. Let’s trade cell phone numbers. It’s usually faster to reach me that way than calling the house.”
Kyle gave me a business card with his number on it and entered mine in a phone he took from an inside jacket pocket. Then we hugged. Kyle let me go, reluctantly, still holding my arms, and looked into my eyes. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes.” I wanted to say more but decided against it. “I had a lovely time, to use an English expression. Thanks for all your help.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
His fingers trailed down my arm as I turned away, touched my fingers briefly, and then I broke the connection. I remembered he’d offered to help me when I was trying to regain my identity. Maybe I should have taken him up on that. Maybe I’d be able to use his help this time.
CHAPTER 11
I rose before the Ramirez family left for work, feeling guilty because a guest should do more than just sleep at the home of her hosts. I’d talked to Rigo last night when I got back to the house, regaling him with an edited version of my day and showing him my poison oak. I tried not to give any of them a reason to worry about me. I explained to all of them that I was going to the home of their friend, forensic genealogist Frances Moran. That sounded innocuous.
At least the scammer didn’t know where I was staying now—I hoped. After breakfast and a phone call home to North Carolina to find out how Grandma was doing, I drove the Porsche into Orange County and found the home of Frances Moran all by myself. Well, the GPS helped. Previously, when I’d come to see Frances during my search for my identity, Rigo drove me. Now he was working. That was fine with me. I liked the freedom to be able to do what I wanted without depending on others.
I parked the car on the street and walked up the driveway to the small house. Frances came to the door and I hugged the petite woman, thinking not for the first time that men, especially big men, must have to be careful when hugging people, or they could cause a lot of damage.
“Come in.” Frances held the door for me. “I’ve got tea on. We’ll go to the back room and trade information.”
The back room was a sort of family room, with soft couches and chairs. I took a seat on a couch and saw Frances’ laptop computer sitting on the table in front of her. She must be working on a case.
Frances entered from the kitchen with a tray filled with the items necessary to make tea from teabags. She asked me to tell her about the memorial service and which members of the Boyd family I’d met. I said I’d been introduced to several, but hadn’t really talked to them, except for Jason senior, and briefly, to Jason’s sister. I told her what I knew about Jason senior.
Colleen absorbed all this and then started talking. “This Jason’s over seventy. The two males who were murdered were both in their twenties. If there’s a link between the murders, age may be part of the equation.”
“Jason told me he’s never heard of the branch of the family still in Northern Ireland. Neither has my grandmother, or at least that’s what she claims. Since she has signs of dementia, I can’t be certain of that.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother, but I’m not surprised the separated branches of the family are estranged. In my experience, it’s common that when one or more siblings leave the old country there may be some sort of schism between them and the relatives left behind, and they may lose touch with each other.”
“But if the killings are related, someone knows about both lines. And since age may be a factor, does that make me a candidate?” I hadn’t told her about my recent experiences, partly because I knew the information would get back to Rigo, Tina, and Ernie.
“I hope not.” Frances took a sip of tea. “We don’t know enough. You don’t have the Boyd name, but it was easy enough to find you in the ancestry databases after you told me Mrs. Horton’s maiden name was Boyd. If I can do it, other people can. Don’t be too concerned but keep your eyes open.”
I had to laugh. “Don’t worry but watch my back. All right, I guess I can live with that. I’ve had experience being careful, from when Michael was stalking me. I have one other piece of information that might fit into this puzzle.” I told her how Grandma was scammed, and without mentioning the letter or my accident I said that Jason and I thought the scammer might also be the murderer.
Frances listened, intently, expressed sympathy for Grandma, and wrote some notes on her computer while asking occasional questions. When I was through, she thought about it.
“That’s very interesting. He—our scammer—apparently lives close to where Jason lived. He knows the Boyd genealogy, at least the American part. He scams the older members of the family and kills the young ones. If he is the killer, there’s no doubt he’s got a grudge against the extended family, which includes you. Since he threatened you by name, I’m upping the urgency of my previous statement about whether you’re a target from yellow to red.”
For some reason this increased my stress level, even though I already knew I was a target. “May I see the Boyd ancestry information you’ve put together?”
Frances brought up a tree structure on her computer. “Before you leave I’ll give you a printout of all these charts. We’ll call the first Jason Boyd, Jason I. He was born in 1864. His grandson is Jason Boyd II, Mrs. Horton’s first cousin, and
his
grandson, the one who was murdered, is Jason Boyd III. That way we can keep track of all the Jasons. Given names tend to repeat over and over again in family trees, making it very confusing.”
I studied the charts. “So Jason I had three sons, not just the two who came to the U.S.”
“Correct. Your grandmother is the daughter of one of the sons who came here and Jason II is the son of the other one. As you know, Mrs. Horton and Jason II are first cousins. You and Jason III are third cousins.”
“Right.” I already knew that, and I wanted to appear to have learned something from the lectures Frances gave me when I was searching for my identity.
“There are various other cousins in most of the generations, although the Boyd name may be in danger of dying out, especially with the demise of the two young Boyds. However, it appears that Timothy, the one who was killed in Northern Ireland, has a brother named Jason, believe it or not. We’ll have to call him Jason IV.”
“Do you think he’s next?”
“That’s a possibility. I’m trying to find an address for him. He’s listed in the obituary for Timothy, but it doesn’t say where he lives. If I can find this Jason, I might send him a warning. I can always try to contact his parents.”
I believed she’d do it. Frances was known for calling people all over the world and saying things like, “You don’t know me, but I’m looking for information on someone who might be a relative of yours.”
“Do you know how Timothy was killed?”
“The online news reports I found say he was apparently stabbed with a knife in a park somewhere south of Belfast, although no weapon was found.”
“Are you going to contact the police there?”
Frances shrugged. “No evidence. Besides, I don’t know which police to contact. He may not even have lived in Northern Ireland. Same thing with the police here. I want to maintain my credibility with them, which means I need some evidence that there’s a connection between the two killings before I shoot my mouth off. My theory is based on my belief that these killings are too much of a coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidences.”
I thought back to what Frances told me about DNA. “The two men who were killed had the same Y chromosome. Only males have Y chromosomes. As long as there are male Boyds, descended from Jason I, they will have the same Y chromosome. If the Boyd name dies out, so will that Y chromosome, at least in the descendants of Jason I.”
“Good job.” Frances smiled. “We’ll make a DNA expert out of you yet. Maybe the killer has something against that Y chromosome.”
“The scammer apparently talked about the male Boyd line to my grandmother as if there were something special about it, or at least the name Boyd. However, he also made a threat against me, although that was to get Grandma to cough up the money.” I was tempted to say more, but suppressed the urge.
“Let’s not assume anything. Be very careful Even though you don’t have a Y chromosome, you could still be a target.”
“I have a question. If somebody who is a novice at genealogy and doesn’t have you as a friend wants to find out the same information we’ve just been looking at, how does he go about it?”
“In other words, if the theory about the killings being related holds water, how was the killer able to find out more information about your family than either your grandmother or Jason II know? In California, there’s the California Genealogical Society, which has its headquarters in Burbank. They often have meetings where people who are researching their family trees can come in and ask questions of the more knowledgeable members.”