Chapter 36

Bellingham, Washington

Sunday, March 8, 2020

After sharing Marisa’s bombshell news with Mel, my next responsibility was passing it along to my client, who, in this case,

paying customer or not, happened to be my grandson. When Kyle came in from another online jam session with the Rockets, Mel

and I delivered the news together.

When we finished, Kyle’s first question was, “Should I give Dad a call?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Mel advised. “For one thing, we don’t have any way of knowing if Caroline (Mel and I were still calling Serena Caroline at this point) kept her part of the bargain and told him what’s really going on. If she didn’t, you’d be stepping in it big-time. And if she did, by now your father knows that it was all an act on her part, and he’s been played for a sucker. That would mean he’d be in a world of hurt. But don’t forget, there’s also a third possibility.”

“What’s that?” Kyle asked.

“Once everything’s out in the open, they may end up deciding to stay together after all.”

“Oh,” Kyle said, “I never thought about that.”

“No matter how this goes,” Mel continued, “remember how you felt when all this came to light? You showed up here in Bellingham

telling us that you needed some space. If I were in your dad’s shoes right now, that’s what I’d need, too—space and lots of

it.”

“Are you going to tell my mom and Kayla?” Kyle asked.

“No,” I answered. “I’m telling you because you’re my client. They’re not. If they’re going to hear about any of this, they

need to hear it from your father rather than from me or from you.”

“Do you think they’ll ever get back together?”

I suppose that’s the ultimate wish of every child of divorced parents, that somehow their mom and dad will magically put the

past behind them and get back together.

“That’ll be totally up to them,” Mel advised Kyle. “Even with Caroline out of the picture—which may or may not be the case—there’s

no telling what your parents will do in the long run.”

“And I have to live with whatever they decide?”

“Them’s the breaks,” Mel said. “That’s how the world works. When it comes to parents getting divorced, their kids are always

along for the ride.”

When Mel spoke those words, once again I knew it was the voice of experience speaking, because she had survived her own parents’ messy divorce. Kyle had no idea about any of that, but seemingly satisfied with what she’d told him, Kyle’s next ques tion was out of left field and totally in keeping with his being a teenager.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“Well,” Mel replied, “when Gramps and I were working for Special Homicide, whenever we closed a case, we always went out to

dinner that night to celebrate, and closing this case is definitely worth celebrating no matter what the fallout is. With

the Covid shutdown coming, there’s no telling when we’ll be able to eat out again, so I vote we head over to Dos Padres in

the Village.”

Which is what we did. A couple of hours later we were at Fairhaven’s favorite Mexican food joint. By then I had pretty well

given up hope that Constance Herzog would contact me, but once we were back home and watching that evening’s edition of America’s Funniest Videos , she finally sent a reply.

Sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you. Yes, the quilt in question is still available, and I’m sure your wife will love

it. If you’re still interested in purchasing it, please let me know.

I’m back at work starting tomorrow, and I’m on night shift this week. You could pick it up tomorrow afternoon around 2 p.m. if you like. FYI, I’d prefer your using a credit card rather than paying with cash or by check.

If that’s a convenient time, please let me know and I’ll send along my address information.

Yours sincerely,

Constance Herzog

“Got her,” I said to Mel.

“Got who?” Kyle wanted to know.

He was definitely not the client on the Darius Jackson overdose case, so talking to Kyle about that one was off-limits.

“Constance Herzog, the lady in Seattle Ellen Mitchell was telling us about,” I explained.

“The one who makes quilts?” Kyle asked.

I nodded. “Mel spotted one she likes on Constance’s website. I’m going down to Seattle tomorrow afternoon to pick it up.”

After another brief exchange of emails, the two o’clock appointment was confirmed, and I had the address of Constance’s place

on Evanston Avenue a few blocks north of Northgate Way. That’s when a call came in from Todd Hatcher. Leaving Mel and Kyle

to finish watching America’s Funniest Videos in peace, I went into the other room to take the call.

“Boy, do you know how to pick ’em!” Todd said when I answered.

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me to look into someone named Constance Herzog, and she’s a doozy!”

“How so?”

“For starters,” he said, “when she was sixteen, she stabbed her father to death while he was in the process of assaulting

her mother, Irene.”

I was shocked, remembering that Constance Herzog had told Ellen Mitchell that her father hadn’t gone to prison because he

had gotten off, but that wasn’t true. He hadn’t been found innocent in a court of law. Instead, he’d been murdered!

“She stabbed him to death?” I asked. “Really?”

“Really,” Todd replied. “I’m looking at a digitized copy of an article from the Butte Mountain Gazette , which went out of business in 2003. These days a teenager murdering her father in cold blood would be big news all over the country, but this happened back in 1982 before we ended up living in a 24/7 news cycle. I doubt the story had legs anywhere outside the state of Montana. But I have to hand it to her. She must have been operating on pure adrenaline at the time. She stabbed him once in the back with a butcher knife, but she did so with enough force that she severed his aorta. He died at the scene.”

That’s one way to become a successful serial killer , I thought to myself. Start early.

“So here’s her basic bio,” Todd continued. “She was born Constance Marie Landon in Butte, Montana, on November 18, 1966. Her

parents were Frank and Irene Landon.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Wait,” I said. “I know that name. Hold on a second. Let me check something.”

It took a few moments for me to scroll back through my notes and locate my interview with Harriet Bonham. In it she had told

me plain as day that William Landon’s older brother, Frank, had died of natural causes at the age of five in 1927. Now here

he was dying again, due to a stab wound this time, in 1982. So that was how William Landon, the Brinks holdup man, had vanished

from view. He had gone into hiding in Butte, Montana, by assuming his dead brother’s name, but obviously he hadn’t lived happily

ever after.

“This explains a lot,” I told Todd and gave him some of the background I’d been given by Harriet Bonham.

At that point, Todd continued. “Landon’s sixteen-year-old daughter, unnamed in the article on account of her being a juvenile, was found at the scene still holding the bloodied knife. Neighbors had heard the commotion and summoned the authorities. The daughter confessed at the scene and was taken into custody. While Irene, the wife, was transported to a hospital for treatment of serious injuries, which included a concussion and deep bruising around her throat, the daughter was held in a juvenile facility for several days while the local authorities along with the coroner conducted their investigations. Once Landon’s death was declared to be justifiable homicide, the daughter was released into her mother’s custody.”

“Is that when they moved to Seattle?” I asked.

“Property records indicate Irene Landon purchased a home on Evanston Avenue in the Northgate area in 1983. There’s no mention

of a mortgage, so she must have paid cash.”

No doubt with some of her husband’s stolen money , I thought. William had probably gone to work in the copper mines because he was worried that if he flashed too much money

around, people might connect him to the Brinks robbery. Once he was dead, Irene must finally have felt free to spend some

of it.

“How much did she pay?”

“At the time the assessed value was $55,000. It’s worth a lot more than that now,” Todd added. “The current assessed value

is $750,000. Irene Landon died in 1997. Her daughter still lives in the residence.”

“What else did you turn up?”

“Constance attended the University of Washington and graduated with a degree in Criminal Justice in 1988. She briefly enrolled

in law school but dropped out in 1990 when she married Thomas Herzog. They divorced five years later with no indication of

their having had any children.”

I couldn’t help myself. “What about him?” I asked. “Did the poor guy manage to make it out alive?”

Todd laughed. “According to what I’m finding, he’s alive and well and living somewhere in the Phoenix area, a place called

Sun City West.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said.

“Anyway,” Todd continued, “Constance was out of the workforce for a number of years while she cared for her ailing mother. After her mother’s passing, Constance hired on with Seattle’s 911 call center as a dispatcher. Apparently she still works there, now in a supervisory capacity.”

And using that position as a hunting ground for her victims , I thought.

“One more thing, Todd, were there any indications of other domestic violence incidents prior to Landon’s stabbing?”

“Several,” Todd replied. “I’ve only been hitting the high points here. I’ve created a folder with all applicable links, which

I’m sending now. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Not at the moment,” I said, “but you’re in the process of helping me bring down a serial killer right now, so I owe you big.

Are you ever going to send me a bill?”

“Let me ask you something,” Todd said. “Are you billing anyone for your services on this case?”

“Well, no,” I admitted. “I guess not.”

“Then I’m not billing you, either,” he said. “Let’s just say we’re both earning stars in our crowns.”