Jan Burke - Dear Irene

One night at Banyon’s he had been holding forth on the role of the press, and he asked me if I had ever heard of the Greek historian Herodotus. O’Connor was just short of being knee-walking drunk, so I wasn’t even sure I had heard the name right, and said no, I didn’t know about Herodotus.

“Well, my darling,” he said, trying to look me straight in the eye, “Herodotus said a thing or two worth remembering, but my favorite is this: ‘Of all men’s miseries the bitterest is this, to know so much and to have control over nothing.”

How he could pull these things out of his memory when he was soused I’ll never know, but he did it again and again. And he’d remember he had said them the next day and give me a follow-up lesson, if my own hangover would allow for it.

That’s how I happened to be thinking of Herodotus when Frank called.

“I think I know who Thalia is,” he said. “A good candidate, anyway.”

“Who?”

“A woman by the name of Thayer. Rosie Thayer. Owner of Rosie’s Bar and Grill down on Broadway – about six blocks from the paper.”

“I know the place. I’ve never been in there, but I’ve walked past it. How did you come up with her?”

“I asked Missing Persons for a list of everyone reported to them since the day Edna Blaylock was killed. Thayer seems to be a good candidate.”

“Good Cheer – a bar owner?”

“Yes, and a couple of other things. Thayer sounds a little bit like Thalia, and she’s the same age as the Blaylock woman.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she’s fifty-four. I don’t know what to make of that; in fact, I don’t have the complete file on her yet. But I wanted you to know. If it checks out, do you think John would let you run something on her, help us try to find out if anybody has seen her?”

“I’ll ask him.”

“If he says yes, give me a call back. I should have the rest of the file by then. Oh – have you asked Lydia about Christmas?”

“Not yet. I’ll try to ask her on my way out of John’s office.”

But John was busy and I had to wait until a copy editor had finished talking to him. In the meantime, I told Lydia that we were staying in town and ready to invite ourselves to Christmas dinner. She was more than pleased with the news.

“Fantastic! We’ll all be together!”

“You’ll be able to feed two more people?”

“Both nights, without any trouble. Never worry about having enough to eat when a bunch of Italians are doing the cooking.”

Stuart Angert walked over and we started exchanging stories about oddball letters. “I’ve got a fish advocate now,” he said.

“Someone who promotes eating seafood?”

“No, just the opposite. Every time a photo of someone standing next to a big catch appears in the sports section, this woman writes in to say that fishing is cruel and immoral and that printing a photo of a fish carcass is demeaning to the fish.”

A couple of general assignment reporters gathered around us, and one of them urged Stuart to tell me about someone they referred to as Zucchini Man.

But before Stuart could reply, John yelled out, “Kelly? You want to see me?”

I went into his office and told him about Rosie Thayer and my conversation with Kincaid. He thought things over for a few minutes then decided he didn’t have a problem with my writing a story on Thayer. He also said I could go ahead and tell Frank what I learned from Kincaid.

I had just walked back out into the newsroom and was looking for Stuart when Mark Baker called out to me, telling me I had a phone call. I forgot all about Zucchini Man and hurried over to my desk and took the receiver from Mark.

“Miss Kelly? Steven Kincaid.”

“Hold on a minute.” I gave Mark a “get lost” look but he ignored it. I covered the phone and said, “Thank you very much, Mark, you can go back to whatever it is you do around here.”

“You’re starting to sound like John Walters,” he said, but moved away.

“Hello,” I said into the phone, “I’m back with you again. What can I do for you?”

“You mentioned wanting to talk about E.J.’s research. I stayed up last night and made a list of the things she had written and worked on. I thought you might want to have it as soon as possible and, well, I couldn’t sleep anyway. Would you like for me to bring it by?”

“Sure. Listen, did Dr. Blaylock know someone named Rosie Thayer?”

He thought it over before answering. “I can’t remember her ever mentioning anyone by that name.”

“Did she ever go to a place called Rosie’s Bar and Grill down on Broadway?”

“No, at least not with me. Why?”

“Nothing important – I was just thinking of trying it out for lunch, wondered if you’d heard of it. In fact, why don’t you let me buy you lunch, Mr. Kincaid? You’re doing me a real favor by gathering information on Dr. Blaylock’s research.”

“Sure, I’d like to have lunch with you. And please call me Steven.”

“Then I’m Irene, not Miss Kelly, okay?”

“Okay.”

I called Frank back.

“Hi. Christmas is all set. Tell me about Rosie Thayer.”

“First of all, turns out Rosie was a nickname. Her real name was Thelma. Thelma Thayer. Thalia from either one, I guess.”

“Any connection to Edna Blaylock?”

“None we’ve been able to uncover. In fact, they only share one or two similar traits. I mentioned the age business. Both longtime residents of Las Piernas. Both unmarried.”

“Blaylock was married and divorced.”

“What?”

“Didn’t the police find out about that? According to my source, she was married for about a year when she was at UCLA, during or immediately after grad school.”

“Your source?”

“That will have to do for now, I’m afraid.” It wasn’t the first time one of us had been forced to say something like that; I didn’t think he’d mind. We had agreed early on in our relationship to respect certain job-related boundaries.

“Who did she marry?”

“Don’t know. Think your guys could find something out? All I have is a first name – James. Apparently it was long ago and no ill-will remaining, at least not on Blaylock’s part.”

“I’ll check it out.”

“I’m thinking of going down to Rosie’s Bar and Grill for lunch,” I said.

“I’ve got to get down there myself. Want to have lunch together?”

“Uh – no, not really. In fact, could you be out of there by eleven?”

Dead silence.

“Let me rephrase that, Frank. I’m going to be having lunch with someone who won’t be comfortable talking to me in front of a cop. I’d love to have lunch with you, but I think this guy will speak more openly to me if there isn’t a third party involved.”

“Who is ‘this guy’?”

“Can’t tell you. Not yet.”

“A suspect in this case?”

“Frank, I said I can’t tell you .” I emphasized each word, wondering if my growing irritation would make any impression.

“Look, Irene, I know we’ve agreed to some limits, but just about anyone who has information about this case is potentially a murder suspect. And I don’t trust anyone who tells you they don’t want the police around. It’s a homicide investigation, for Christsakes. What if you’re meeting Thanatos for lunch?”

That really steamed me. The man clearly thought I was an idiot.

“Never mind who I’m going to lunch with,” I hissed from between clenched teeth.

“Who the hell is it, Irene?”

“Goddamn it, Frank, it’s none of your business. I’m not required to report every contact I have with another male in Las Piernas to the local police department. Or to you personally, for that matter.”

“Just tell me.”