Джонатан Келлерман: Night Moves

Both had used sanitized bios to obtain the public-sector positions, a pattern repeated as they traveled westward, Mearsheim’s résumé leaving out several dismissals by financial firms due to “irregularities,” Bowker’s criminal record omitted.

Helping that along was the adoption of a new joint identity: the pseudo-married duo of Paul and Donna Weyland. Bowker, with solid talents as an identity thief, had usurped the personae of a couple who’d perished in a 1958 New Jersey house fire. Claiming matrimony had been a cinch; no one ever bothered to check marriage licenses.

For years, the Weylands had combined gainful employment at various public and private schools with illicitly obtained government handouts and on-the-side schemes, mostly slip-and-fall insurance fraud.

From everything Milo could tell, their first homicide had been Jacqueline, Cory’s mother, a widow enticed into what she thought was legal marriage with Paul as he continued to spend fun time with Bowker.

No murders between Jackie and the brutalities of the current case surfaced, but he was still looking.

The search for biological evidence was complete within forty-eight hours, bloodstains and shreds of flesh in the teeth of the band-saw blade at the Marquette garage matched to Hargis Braun’s DNA. Shotgun cartridges found in a kitchen cabinet were consistent with fragments embedded in the ruins of Braun’s face. The garage floor had been washed with ammonia and insecticide but luminol glowed heavily in one corner of concrete and several feet of the tar-paper walls above. Techs had also discovered blood specks in the bed of the pickup truck and two errant hairs matching Braun’s in the hallway of the still-being-processed Evada house.

Also in the Marquette home were a pair of crotchless leopard-print women’s panties, several wigs including a brunette hairpiece whose strands matched those taken from the A-frame by Milo, and a silver-filigree necklace set with amethysts.

The necklace was confirmed as the one sold to Chet Corvin by Bijan Ahmani, owner of Snowbird Jewelers in Arrowhead Village. Ahmani also picked Donna/Trisha’s brunette-wigged photo from a six-pack lineup, as did Briana Muldrew, assistant manager of the San Bernardino Hampton Inn.

Presented with what Milo chose to share of all that, Trisha Bowker, the DNA-confirmed wearer of the bracelet and the wig, was “enthusiastic” about talking to him, per her public defender, a tired-looking fifty-year-old named Hollick Wilde. Initially surprised by my presence in the County Jail interview room, Wilde recovered and said,“Great! This is at the core a psychological situation. The more insight, the better.”

Bowker read a prepared statement. As she recited, Hollick Wilde smiled with self-satisfaction. That and stilted legalese made clear who’d put it together.

Simple theme: Paul Mearsheim, bad. Trisha, scared and intimidated, an often-unwilling confederate.

She described how Mearsheim had shotgunned and mutilated Braun in the Marquette garage, wrapped the body in thick plastic sheeting, bound it with duct tape, then transported it back to Evada Lane in the pickup. There, shielded by darkness and the quiet of the cul-de-sac, he’d “transferred the object” to the Corvin house.

Milo said, “Why there?”

Trisha Bowker seemed pleased by the question. “Exactly! Because he hated Chet. Chet was always making fun of him.”

“Where are the hands, Trish?”

“I don’t know. He took them somewhere.”

“Where?”

Glance at Wilde.

The PD said, “Honestly. She has absolutely no idea.”

“Okay, let’s move on. Trish, you and Paul go way back.”

Brief, whispered conversation between Wilde and Bowker.

She said, “A bit.”

Milo said, “How long’s a bit?”

“A while, I’m not sure.”

“Nine years is what we’ve learned.”

Hesitation. Trying to figure out where this was going. Another glance at Wilde. He nodded.

She said, “That sounds about right.”

Wilde said, “Milo, all that time points out the severity of Trish’s situation. She suffers from Stockholm syndrome.” To me: “You know better than I, it’s a chronic disease which when untreated, persists.”

Milo said, “Nine years ago. You and Paul were an item when Paul met Jackie.”

Silence from Bowker.

Wilde said, “We’d love to help, but is this relevant?”

Milo said, “Fair enough.” Back to Bowker: “In terms of your relationship, would you say Paul was in charge?”

“Always,” said Bowker. “Control was his total thing. His primary drive. His obsession.” To me: “He had an obsessive, narcissistic personality disorder. He was like a movie director. Domineering and dominative. Like those wigs he made me wear. Everything was a production.”

Milo said, “Wanting you to go brunette.”

“Wanting what he wanted when he wanted.”

“You went brunette when you hung out with Chet Corvin in Arrowhead.”

“It’s what he wanted.”

“Chet or Paul?”

“Um... both, I guess.”

“And here I was thinking blondes had more fun — so Chet liked the wigs, too.”

“Another control freak,” she said. “He put me in negligees. I had to do all sorts of things.”

“Role-playing.”

Pout. Eyelid flutter. “Everyone molds me like I’m clay.”

Milo checked his notes. “When Paul brought the body back to Evada Lane, how did he know he had enough time to position it before the Corvins returned?”

Bowker’s reply was too quick, a well-trained dog responding to a hand signal.

“He knew because he saw them leaving and talked to Chet. Chet was bragging. As usual.”

“Bragging about what?”

“About how they were driving all the way to Restaurant Row even though no one but him wanted to.”

“Another controlling guy.”

“I sometimes don’t make the best choices,” said Trisha Bowker.

Wilde cleared his throat.

Bowker said, “I’m no expert, that’s for sure.”

“On men,” said Milo.

“On life.” She pouted, strained for tears, produced a droplet and gave up. “I don’t know how it got so messed up. ”

Milo nodded, spent more time with his notes. “Okay... if the Corvins had stayed closer to home, what was the plan?”

Bowker’s eyes left-shifted. Her body echoed the same route as she turned to her lawyer.

Wilde said, “If you know, sure.”

Bowker said, “I don’t. The plan was Paul’s.”

“Did Paul have a contingency plan for what to do with the body?”

Wilde said, “She already answered that.”

Bowker said, “I really don’t know.”

“Got it,” said Milo, “but could you take a guess? Seeing as you knew Paul better than probably anyone.”

“Hmm,” said Trisha Bowker. “He could just wait.”

“For?”

“Another time.”

“To bring the body to the Corvins.”

“Yup.”

“Putting the body in Chet’s den was important to Paul.”

“Chet demeaned him all the time. Paul decided to get him. He watched him. All of them.”

Sudden passion in her voice. Shared anger.

She realized she’d overstepped and drew her head back. “Look, I can’t tell you anything factual, just that Paul was a monster. He hated Chet but basically he hated everyone, he’s a hateful, hateful person, always... planning.” To Wilde: “Can I tell them about the alarm?”

“Please do.”

“Here’s an example of how premeditative he was, sir. He learned their alarm code by watching her punch the keypad and memorizing. He’s got a great memory. A long memory, he gets vengeful.”

“Her, being...”

“Felice. He was always playing up to her. Being Mr. Softie. Different from Chet, that was the key. He even stole a key from their kitchen.”