Джонатан Келлерман: Serpentine

“Oh…can Deirdre be included?”

“Not a good idea.”

“I’m kind of used to her and she’s got nowhere to go.”

“We could talk at the station,” said Milo. “Whatever suits you.”

“This really is it, Lieutenant?”

“It is.”

“Am I going to be happy?”

“You’ll know the facts.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What would you call it?”

“Ellie, it’s best we sit down and talk.”

“Is it?” A beat. “Fine, let’s do it at the house. I’ll tell Mel to take Deirdre to lunch and I’ll Uber back. If that’s safe.”

“It is.”

“So this really is it. ”

—

We were parked in front of the house on Curley Court when a dented white Celica in need of a muffler dropped Ellie off. VIP tickets for Deirdre, but no Uber Black for the woman with the credit card.

That fit with her understated approach to clothes and demeanor. Nothing wrong with that but I wondered if she held back due to feelings of unworthiness. I’ve seen that in patients with complicated childhoods. What I think of as Eternal Lent.

Sometimes they let you ease them out of it, sometimes not.

She said nothing to us and hurried to her front door. We caught up.

“Hi, Ellie.”

She mumbled something well short of a greeting. Her hands shook hard enough to rattle her keys and she missed the keyhole a couple of times before unlocking the door. Deactivating the alarm, she stood in the entry hall with a frozen look on her face.

Milo guided her by the elbow to the same living room chair she’d occupied the first time we met. Her hands continued to vibrate. She rounded her back, laced her fingers, and pressed her knees together as if warding off assault.

Milo said, “It really isn’t ominous, Ellie.”

“Let’s just get on with it, I’m ready to jump out of my skin.”

Milo placed his attaché case on the sofa between us.

Ellie said, “What’s in there, terrible police stuff?”

Milo ignored the question. “Okay, let’s get into it. The woman you’ve believed was your mother, wasn’t. DNA proves it. Her given name wasn’t Dorothy Swoboda, it was Martha Maude Hopple. Swoboda was a stolen identity, one of several used by Martha Hopple. She was a career criminal.”

Ellie’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, God. So you have no idea who my mother was.”

“We do. Her name was Benicia Cairn and she grew up near Tyler, Texas, where she met Martha Hopple. She was barely twenty, Hopple was twenty-four. The two of them left town and traveled for a couple of years before they settled in L.A. You were born during that time and we figure Hopple convinced your mom she wasn’t equipped to take care of a baby.”

“You figure,” she said.

“We can’t know for sure, Ellie, but everything we know about Benicia tells us she was a caring person.”

“Oh, really. A caring person just gives up her baby.”

Not an unexpected question. Milo didn’t need to cue me.

I said, “Martha Hopple was a manipulative psychopath and Benicia Cairn was young, impressionable, and, from what we’ve learned, extremely submissive.”

“Submissive? So what? She just allows a criminal to take me and dump me on Dad? Are you going to tell me he was a criminal, too?”

“No, he was a victim. One of the many men Martha Hopple seduced and took money from.”

And pushed off a cliff years later when she showed up unexpectedly and he wouldn’t pony up more cash.

Ellie shuddered. “She sounds like a monster.”

I said, “She was but your mother wasn’t. From everything we’ve learned, she was kind.”

“Not so kind she didn’t abandon her baby.”

“We believe she had regrets.”

“You believe. ”

Milo said, “Her regrets may be the reason—and this is going to be another tough thing to hear, Ellie—Martha murdered her.”

“Murdered…the body in the car?”

We nodded.

She clutched her belly. “God, I think I’m going to be sick…why would she do that? Kill a friend. What was the point ?”

“Martha had just robbed the man she was living with and wanted to disappear and assume a new identity. She used Benicia to fake her own death.”

“How can you know that?” she said. “And, wait a minute, how can you even presume to know this Benicia was my mother? You told me the body was burned up. And there was no DNA back then, anyway. You’re just guessing, aren’t you?”

“We’re not,” said Milo. “I matched your DNA to one of Benicia’s relatives. She’s your second cousin, her mom and Benicia were sisters. She still lives in Texas. You’ve got an extended family there.”

“ My DNA? I never gave you a sample!”

“Remember the time I came to see you a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes, when you told me nothing.” She set her lips grimly.

“True,” said Milo. “I was putting you off until we had proof, not just theory. While you were in the bathroom, I went into the kitchen and swiped a juice glass you’d just used. We had your sample tested at the same time we express-shipped a DNA kit to your relative—her name is Nancy. She expressed it right back to us and we zipped everything to a private lab. The results came in yesterday and they’re clear. Benicia Cairn was your mother.”

She slumped. “This is insane…what about my father ?”

“That’s still unknown, Ellie. To us and to your Texas family. They were never aware Benni—that was her nickname—was pregnant. It may be the reason she left with Martha Hopple, or she could’ve met a man shortly after, we just don’t know. In terms of paternity, there are ancestral geneticists who work with the big public DNA sites and sometimes they can get results. We figured this was enough information for you to take in.”

“My Texas family…my real mom…” Bitter laugh. “Guess I’m no worse off, same story, murdered. Hello, world, I’m still an orphan.”

She flashed a sick smile that crumpled. Let out a sob, beat her knees with her fists and wailed.

Out came Milo’s fresh hankie.

Ellie Barker shook her head violently, then she snatched it and pressed it to her eyes. It took a while for her to catch her breath. “This is…I don’t even know how to define it, my world is fucking spinning !”

“It’s a lot to deal with,” said Milo. “Wish there could’ve been a storybook ending. But your goal was to solve the mystery and that’s been accomplished.”

She lowered the handkerchief. Glared. “Congratulations on your big old detective success. For me it’s not exactly a celebra…oh, crap, I’m taking my messed-up life out on you and all you’ve done is exactly what I asked. And frankly, what I thought was impossible. So you did an amazing job. Even though…I’m sorry, I should be grateful. But I’m feeling totally out of control. It’s not like I had expectations of sugar plum fairies. You took on the challenge, came through, and I have no right to be anything but grateful. And I’ll get there, I promise. It’s just…”

“It’s okay,” I said. “How could you not be disoriented?”

She stared at me. Tottered to her feet, walked around the coffee table to Milo, bowed and kissed his cheek. Looking over at me, she laughed. “All this time, you haven’t gotten half a gold star from me. Sorry for that, too. It’s not your fault I had some crap shrinks.”

Dry lips brushed my cheek lightly. She returned to her chair and sat with both feet on the floor. “Should I contact her—Nancy? Does she want me to contact her?”

I said, “She sure does. A lot of what we learned came from her responding to a post on a missing persons site. She and the rest of your family’s wondered for decades what happened to Benni.”