Jan Burke - Goodnight, Irene

LOOKING BACK AT US from the photo was an attractive young woman with medium-length, curled blond hair and a tan complexion. She had high cheekbones and dark, arching brows over dark eyes. The computer artist had given her make-up and a hairstyle circa 1955, and, with an understanding of human frailties, a closed-mouth smile.

The professor had several other views, a couple with smiles showing the stained teeth; there were even some with slightly different noses.

“The nose suffered the most damage in the violence done to her face,” MacPherson explained. “Interestingly, the eyes weren’t touched. As I said, this case was, in my opinion, badly mishandled. Had the head been severed and removed from the scene with the hands and feet, then I could understand the lack of progress. But this type of battering is not impossible to reconstruct-indeed, someone did take the time to remove the flesh from the skull, to painstakingly glue her skull back together, but then, it seems, did not proceed from there. The photos from the autopsy wouldn’t be a pretty sight for the lay person, but to someone who works in a field which constantly exposes him to the very worst sorts of damage human beings can suffer, it would not be so bad.”

At this point, he pulled out one of the autopsy photos. I guess I’m still a lay person; to me it looked awful. Frank didn’t flinch, though, so I suppose the professor was right.

“I’ll let you take all of this,” MacPherson said, carefully replacing the skull in the box and gathering up the papers. “I will be happy to answer any questions which arise after you’ve had a chance to read the material. Would you please make sure that Hannah’s skull is safely returned to Dr. Hernandez?”

“Certainly,” Frank answered, taking the box. I was glad he had handed the box to Frank. I’m not especially squeamish, but the idea of riding back in the car with a skull in a box was enough to give me the willies.

“Dr. MacPherson,” I said, “I know this would have meant a great deal to Mr. O’Connor. You’ve undertaken a lot of work here on his behalf. We do appreciate it.”

“Not at all, not at all. Your friend had a way of piquing one’s curiosity. I am the luckiest of men. I find this type of work fascinating, and sometimes I’m even paid to do it. Please let me know what you learn.”

We all shook hands and Frank left his card, in case Dr. MacPherson had questions of his own later on. We started to leave, when Frank hesitated, then said, “One other thing, Dr. MacPherson. We have to advise anyone even remotely connected with Mr. O’Connor on this case to be very careful. Mr. O’Connor’s son has been critically injured. Shots have been taken at Miss Kelly’s home. We’re dealing with a very violent person here.”

“Detective Harriman, when you have testified against as many psychopaths as I have, you become cautious by habit. But how interesting! I would have thought the odds of the killer still being alive and in the area slim, but this is obviously not the case. When Miss Kelly told me Mr. O’Connor was killed, I considered it, but complications from such an old murder case seemed unlikely. It raises a number of questions.”

“We’re not sure it is in connection with this case, sir, but we are following up on any possibilities.”

“In that case, it is I who should advise you to be careful. Anyone desperate enough to kill a journalist won’t think twice about harming an officer of the law.”

We said good-bye again and walked out to the car. Frank tucked the box under one arm and fished in his pockets for his keys.

“For God’s sakes, Frank, don’t drop her.”

“That was quite an experience, wasn’t it?”

“Not at all what I expected.”

Frank started to put Hannah’s head in the trunk, then thought better of it. “She might roll around back there and get damaged. Let’s put her on the floor of the backseat.”

I was relieved not to have to hold her on my lap.

As we drove off, I looked at my watch. “We might get back in time for me to make deadline.”

“You think they’re going to want to print the pictures of her? It’s not as if this is really fresh news.”

“The murder itself is old news, but the pictures and the progress in identifying her are another story. Our readers have been seeing articles on this woman at least once a year for the past thirty-five years. I think they’ll be curious.”

“Something tells me your boss will want to save this up for one of those anniversary stories.”

“No, I’m going to write it up as a possible link to O’Connor’s murder. Maybe Wrigley will go for it. It won’t work as the kind of ‘help us find her’ story; too many years have gone by, and I doubt she was in Las Piernas for very long before she was killed. Otherwise, someone would have noticed she was missing.”

“Maybe you’re right.” For a moment he seemed distracted, glancing at the side and rearview mirrors.

“Somebody following us?” I asked, willing myself not to turn around.

He was quiet, concentrating on getting onto the Harbor Freeway, and subtly checking the mirrors again. “No, I guess not,” he said at last.

He looked over at me. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just jittery, I guess.”

“Sorry.”

We rode in silence while I tried to find my gumption. We reached the 405, and Frank did the routine with mirrors again, and there went any nerve I was building.

I was beginning to wonder if two years in PR work had ruined me for being a reporter. Where was all that spunk I had shown in other crime cases? Okay, so I had never been a target, but you had to have a certain amount of grit if you were going to succeed in the business.

“It’s okay to be scared, you know. It keeps you from being foolish,” he said, looking over at me. I was going to have to give up poker if I kept showing everything I was feeling.

“I was just wondering if I am going to be able to cut it as a reporter. Maybe I’m getting too old for this stuff.”

“Well, Granny, hold off on the retirement party. Benefits are lousy when you’ve only put in one day and quit before you’re forty. Stop being so tough on yourself all the time.”

“How many pep talks a day are you geared up for?”

“Whatever it takes.”

After a while I settled down and started thinking about Hannah again. I kept coming back to one of MacPherson’s comments.

“Frank?”

“Mmm?”

“If the person we’re after is Hannah’s killer, why do you think he stuck around?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. Assuming it is a ‘he’-and this would not be the kind of action you’d expect from a woman, true, but we should keep that option open-anyway, I guess there could be any number of reasons and they’d apply to either sex. First and foremost, he or she got away with it, and is still a long way from being discovered, let alone convicted of anything. That in itself might keep him in the area. Second, he may have some job or position that requires him to be in Las Piernas-or maybe he’s dependent on someone here. Third, leaving might have attracted more attention than staying.”

“Something else,” I said. “If Hannah came from another city or part of the country, and it has always looked like she did, then her killer went to a lot of trouble to make sure no one could trace her back to her home. Maybe he can be connected to the same place.”

“Maybe. Woolsey’s behavior in all of this is damned odd as well.”

“All those years of O’Connor pestering him, and he was still holding back.”

Frank took the off-ramp at Shoreline, the street that runs along the cliffs by the ocean in Las Piernas.