“Sure, let’s go back,” Ro said.
Conversation ceased. It was hard for Ro to go five minutes without talking, let alone a half hour. She took out her phone and tried to busy herself in texts and calls. Ben drove like an automaton, staring out the windshield, barely moving a muscle beyond the mechanics of driving.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“Should I shut up?”
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
The tension was horrible, but Ro didn’t speak. She had just lost her virginity to a boy whom she barely knew, at least in terms of what made him tick. She knew that Ben loved her. She was sure of that. But as for emotional nurturance, their encounter last night could have been a hookup.
Chapter 4
The woman greeted them with a wan smile. She was patrician: lean features with dark hair and a fair complexion. She was around fifty, but her eyes said she had lived in pain for a thousand years. Ro had seen those eyes in her own mother’s face . . . in Laura Vicksburg’s as well. They made her sad and weary.
“Nora Rehnquist.” She offered a soft hand to Vicks and then to Ro. “Please come in.”
Vicks said, “Thank you so much for seeing us.”
“Not a problem.” Her voice was formal.
The living room was built at the turn of the century: old dark wooden floors creaked even as they stepped on the Oriental area rug that covered the planks. There was a big fireplace with painted tiles and dark wooden beams on the ceilings. The walls were painted cream, and the furniture was all clean lines, bright colors, and beautifully appointed. Light poured in from several view windows that showed off greenery from the hills below and the distant bay. Ro took in the view, looking at the boats in the harbor, and beyond to a mist-topped Golden Gate Bridge.
Nora was dressed in dark slacks and a soft blue sweater with silver jewelry. She was around five nine, about three inches taller than Ro, who was the first to speak up. “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Rehnquist. This can’t be easy for you.”
“I’m hoping it’s mutually beneficial,” she said. “Please sit. Can I offer you something to drink? Water, soda, coffee?”
Vicks started to say no, but Ro interrupted. “Is the coffee made?”
She smiled. “I can put on a fresh pot. I’d like a cup myself. Is it Dorothy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh please, call me Nora.”
“Then please call me Ro.” She gave her a half smile. “Lovely home. The view is spectacular.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes looked out the window and beyond. “We just finished construction. It became a much longer project because of the interruption.”
The interruption—good euphemism. Ro nodded.
Nora said, “My husband wanted to move immediately. I hesitated—too much disruption for the other children and I found it hard to let go of whatever I had left of Julia: mainly her room and her belongings. I don’t know if I made the right decision, but here we are.”
Ro said, “It took my mother some time to move after my sister died. For what it’s worth, I think you made a good decision.”
She looked confused. “It was your sister who died?”
“My sister died of cancer. Ben’s sister, Ellen, was murdered.”
“Oh . . .” A pause. “Do you want regular or decaf?”
“Regular.”
She turned to Ben. “You want a cup too, right?”
“If you’re making it anyway.”
“I am.” She left them in the living room with the expansive view while she made coffee in the kitchen. Ben smiled at Ro and mouthed Thanks. When Nora returned with a tray several minutes later, she placed it on the living room table, but balanced her own cup and saucer on her lap.
She said, “If I may be blunt, Ben, how long have you been looking into your sister’s death?” She took a sip. “I assume you’ve been doing this long before you contacted me.”
Talking about the familiar, Ben visibly relaxed. “I started the day she went missing with the usual things: the searches and the plastering of paper on telephone polls, the interviews, the appearance on TV, the candlelight vigils.”
“I’m well aware of the drill.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty much . . . routine.” He paused. “I never stopped hoping until we found her, but after a certain time passed, we all knew it was unlikely that she’d be returned to us alive. When we found the body, and it was confirmed—that’s when I really got serious. Since then, I don’t think a day goes by when I don’t think about who did it. I want justice for Ellen, of course. But even more, I just want this not to happen again.” He shook his head. “That’s the only thing I think about. It can’t happen again.”
“But you think it did happen again with my daughter.”
“Yes.” Vicks looked away. “That’s what eats me alive.”
Nora nodded. “I was taken by your theory of the dates . . . the solstices and the equinoxes. I spent the last few months online looking at anything that might fit the pattern. Lots of weird things go on at those times.”
“It’s a big Wiccan day,” Ro said. “Other pagan celebrations too.”
“You think the girls were the victims of satanic rituals?” Nora asked.
Ben said, “I’ve given the theory some thought. From what I’ve read, satanic rituals usually involve props—candles, incense, knives, symbols carved into trees, or stone or flesh. Those murders are bloodbaths. My sister was strangled.”
“Julia as well.”
Ro was taken aback: Nora was so collected, as if she needed a clear head and a cool demeanor to get the job done.
The woman asked, “What about Katie Doogan?”
“I don’t know,” Ben answered.
“But you suspect . . .”
“Yes, I suspect it was up close and personal because other things were similar.” Vicks bit his lip. “I’m sure the lead detective has some suspicions, but he’s not sharing right now. Which, of course, is prudent.”
“But you still contacted me. Was that prudent?”
“We’ll see.”
“Who is the lead detective for Katie Doogan?”
“Milton Ortiz. I know he’s working with the lead detective on my sister’s case, Sam Shanks.”
Nora nodded. “When will they have information about Katie Doogan?”
“The lab is analyzing the biological evidence taken from Katie. Once they generate a profile from Katie, they want to see if it matches my sister’s killer.”
“If you’ve taken a profile from evidence off your sister, why hasn’t the lead called up Berkeley?”
“Detective Shanks made a judgment call. He just found out about Julia because I just told him.” A pause. “I’m careful to a fault. Anyway, since I waited this long, Sam wanted a match with Katie before involving Berkeley. But even if there isn’t a match, I know he’ll be calling up the BPD regardless.”
Silence.
“I think he’s trying to be sensitive,” Ben told her. “And probably like me, he doesn’t want to look like a doofus.”
“It’s one thing if you hold off. You’re not a professional. But once you told him . . .” Her face was angry.