Jan Burke - Dear Irene

“Did you have an okay time?” I asked Steven as we dropped him off.

“I had a great time. You have terrific friends.”

I acknowledged it was true. As much as I look forward to those rare times when Frank and I can spend a day alone, this time, I was glad we hadn’t run off to cocoon with one another in the mountains. Our close friends, in many ways, comprised a family.

The dogs had completely torn up the backyard by the time we got back home. Cody had shredded part of the couch. None of it mattered. Our problems were small ones and we knew it. We climbed into bed and held each other. I was grateful just to be able to hear his heart beat. It was Christmas.

AS IT TURNED OUT, Frank and I both had to work on Christmas Day. John called and said that since my story on the Havens was causing the phones to ring off the hooks, I should get my ass down there, and Merry Christmas. The Express was inundated with calls from children of Mercury Aircraft wartime workers; from people who were sure they knew who Thanatos was; from readers who had been angry to find murder on the front page on Christmas Day; from readers who thought we were aiding and abetting a murderer by running the letters at all.

I left the Thanatos identifications and the editorial complaints to the handful of other people who were working that day; I concentrated on the children of war workers.

I took names and numbers and whatever useful information I could, including the caller’s age, marital status, and parents’ names. I asked if the caller’s parents were still living – and if not, when they died. I asked about any current connection the caller might have to Mercury Aircraft or to the three victims. Finally, I sought opinions about Thanatos’ identity. I had to assure each and every one of them that there weren’t any new letters from Thanatos. I made a list of the callers; there were over sixty by late that afternoon.

Fewer calls were coming in by then, so I found time to make a second list, eliminating those who weren’t fifty-four years old, praying to God that wasn’t just a coincidence. For the third list, the smallest, I excluded the ones whose fathers had survived the war. The third list had twelve names on it.

I remembered Hobson Devoe’s guess that about one hundred women had stayed on after the war; I worried that I had somehow eliminated too many of the callers.

John and I had one of our conferences to review what I had learned and decide what could be discussed with the police. He gave me his consent to tell Frank about my discussion with Hobson Devoe. I noticed that John was backing off from his previous hard-line attitude about my working on the story. I suppose he had come to trust Frank a little more as well. “For a cop, he’s done all right by us,” he confided. Merry Christmas again.

I called Frank. For the past two days, he had been trying to talk to people who saw Alex Havens set sail. The police had located only two or three people who had noticed Havens, and they didn’t see anything unusual. The Lovely Rita had been found smashed to pieces on a rocky jetty several miles south of Las Piernas. The police were working with the Coast Guard to figure out if it could have drifted there by itself, or if it was deliberately wrecked there, just as Havens’ body must have been deliberately left where it would most likely come ashore at high tide.

Friends and coworkers of Alex Havens spoke repeatedly of the couple’s devotion to one another. As it turned out, over a dozen people knew of his plans to go sailing, and he had mentioned the trip to Catalina in places where he could have been easily overheard.

The police had also received numerous calls from children of Mercury Aircraft workers, with about the same percentage of promising names. Frank had already used much of the same criteria to narrow his list of callers. I told him about Hobson Devoe’s call.

“Hmm. That does add another factor. I guess I’ll have someone call the people on my last list and ask them if their mothers were war widows,” he said. “Then we can combine our final lists before we talk to Devoe.”

“We?”

“Do you mind if I tag along?”

I thought about it. “If Hobson Devoe doesn’t mind, it’s fine with me. But if he has any qualms-”

“Just run it by him and see what he says.”

We talked about our schedules for the evening. It looked like we’d each get off work in time for round two of the Christmas festivities. Frank would be home first, so he agreed to take care of the animals. “One other thing, Frank. It doesn’t look like I’ll be able to take tomorrow off. Will you still be going out to see your mom in Bakersfield?”

“I’ve already called her,” he said. “I’m not going to be able to leave, either. Don’t worry about it. She was married to a cop for a lot of years – she knows all about cancelled plans.”

“She’s probably disappointed all the same.”

“Probably. But I told her we’d get out there to see her as soon as we can.”

MOST OF THE DAYSIDERS were gone from the newsroom when I signed off the computer. I was clearing off my desk when the phone rang.

“Kelly.”

Nothing.

I hung up. I was putting on my coat when the phone rang again. I hesitated, then picked it up again.

“Kelly.”

“Questioning the scared little rabbits about their fathers, Cassandra? My, you’ve been a very clever girl. Too clever, perhaps. But oddly, it pleases me.”

“Whoopity-damn-do.”

“Don’t make the mistake of ridiculing me!” Even synthesized, the growling voice betrayed his anger. But his next words were spoken calmly, quietly, and distinctly. “Keep in mind that I always know where you are, what you’re doing, and with whom you’re doing it. Remember that, Cassandra. As I’ve remembered you with a little gift. Merry Christmas.”

He hung up.

When I told John and Frank about the call, I had to listen to warning after warning from both of them about not tempting Thanatos to turn his anger toward me.

I WAS CAUTIOUS when I walked out to my car that evening; I asked Danny Coburn to escort me. I dreaded any thought of what Thanatos might consider a “gift.”

But when we got to the car, everything seemed to be just as I had left it. No parking lights on or strange men watching me from nearby shadows. Danny, who was just ending a long shift in the press room, waited patiently in the chilly night air while I walked around the outside of the car, looked underneath the hood and below the car. Nothing. I opened the door and glanced around the interior. No jar of ants on the front seat. I climbed in and started the motor. No windshield wipers flapping or horns blaring or any of the other problems I half expected. I wished Danny a Merry Christmas and drove off.

I looked in the rearview mirror. No one following me. Maybe he had given up on the car, having grown bold enough to enter our house, to leave letters on our doorstep. What might be awaiting me at home? I shivered. I turned on the heater to take the chill out of the car. It warmed up quickly, but I was still shivering.

A present for Cassandra. Having done some reading on the subject, I decided I didn’t enjoy being called Cassandra. Her family thought she was nuts, men mistreated her, and she met a bad end.

I had just stopped at a red light when something cold and sinewy moved across my right ankle.

I DON’T REMEMBER opening the car door or jumping out of the car. I might have yelled or screamed – I think I must have. But I only remember finding myself standing next to the car, shaking. Another driver got out of his car. For a moment, I wanted to run from him.

“Lady, are you all right?”

He took a step closer, and I stumbled toward the front of the Karmann Ghia. I must have looked about as calm as a horse being led from a burning barn. But as my initial panic subsided, I realized that he was a teenager. I pictured Thanatos being much older. The boy had long, straight brown hair and big brown eyes.