Dance of the Bones

With that in mind, it was no surprise that Sue Danielson had done the lion’s share of the work. She was the one who had tracked down Calliope Horn and done the interview. I knew I could go down to Seattle PD and request a look at the interview tape. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to, because I dreaded seeing Sue’s face again. But it turned out I didn’t have to, because Amanda Wasser had worked her Freedom of Information Act magic. The next file I opened included a PDF transcript of the Danielson/Horn interview.

Transcripts are to interviews as raisins are to grapes. They’re lifeless and flat. They don’t contain the facial expressions and hand gestures that let homicide cops know when someone is lying, but they can still deliver a lot of information, even when done—-as this one evidently had been—-with some low--cost character recognition program that couldn’t make heads or tails of either Calliope or Puyallup. Fortunately I was able to fill in those information gaps, telling myself all the while that if I needed to see the tape itself, I could always do so. But even with the character-recognition difficulties, I could see that Sue hadn’t exactly handled Calliope Horn with kid gloves.

S.D.: For identification purposes, your name is Calliope Maxwell Horn and you were born in Puyallup, Washington?

C.H.: That’s right, that’s who I am, but why did you bring me here? Am I under arrest? What’s going on?

S.D.: You’re not under arrest, but tell me. Were you once in a relationship with someone named Ken Myers?

C.H.: Yes, I was. It was a long time ago. Kenny and I were sort of engaged. I mean, I didn’t have a ring or anything, but he’d asked me to marry him, and I’d said yes, but then he took off for Arizona. He told me that when he came back he’d have enough money that we’d be set. We’d be able to get our own apartment and start over. That’s what he told me, but it’s also the last thing he ever said to me. He left, and I never saw him again. But you still haven’t explained why I’m here.

S.D.: Are you aware that human remains were discovered last week at the I--90/I--5 interchange?

C.H.: I guess I saw something about that in the paper. But what does that have to do with me?

S.D.: The victim, a male in his late twenties or early thirties, died of homicidal violence, shot in the back of the head with a .22. I’m sorry to tell you that he was wearing a pendant shaped like a heart, with two names engraved on it—-Calliope Horn and Ken Myers. If I’m not mistaken, you’re wearing a similar item. Is this one engraved the same way?

C.H.: (nodding) I still wear it. (holding up a necklace) He didn’t have enough money for a ring, so he got us matching pendants instead. But are you saying Kenny is dead? That he never went to Arizona? That he died right here in Seattle? That’s not possible. He can’t be dead. He can’t. (sobbing) S.D.: That’s how we found you, Ms. Horn, because of the pendant. Calliope Horn is a distinctive name. We were able to locate you through your driver’s license records. Unfortunately, we’ve found no trace of Mr. Myers. No birth records; no driver’s license. Are you sure Kenneth Myers is his real name?

C.H.: That’s the name he gave me. I didn’t exactly ask him to show me his ID. As for his license, he told me he lost it. Because of a DUI, I think.

S.D.: Do you know where he came from? Or do you have any idea who his next of kin might be so we can notify his family?

C.H.: (shaking her head) He came from somewhere in -Arizona. Phoenix, I think. Or maybe Tucson. I told him Phoenix was a place I’d always wanted to visit. It sounded warm.

I remembered seeing notes in the murder book that Sue had checked with authorities in both Phoenix and Tucson, looking for someone named Kenneth Myers. She’d come up empty, of course, because cops in Arizona knew Myers by the name of Kenneth Mangum.

S.D.: Do you remember when Mr. Myers left town?

C.H.: May 1, 1983.

S.D.: You remember that date exactly after all these years?

C.H.: Yes, I remember it. When you’re in love, you remember things like that. At least I do.