Chapter 24

August 3-4, 1996

Late Saturday Afternoon/Sunday morning

"Is this Virginia Marker?" I asked when she picked up the phone. I'd called as soon I walked into the house.

"It is. Who is calling, please?" she asked. She had a very faint accent, really only a hint of one. Once it might have been Italian or Greek. There wasn't enough left to be sure.

As I explained who I was and why I was calling, I tried to make myself comfortable on the couch. But as tired as I was, from almost two days sitting in my car I couldn't get comfortable.

"I have not thought of Vera in many years," I heard her say.

"Did you see her much around the time she was murdered?"

"No. No I did not."

"You were close friends, though?"

"For a time, perhaps."

"Did something happen to your friendship?"

"Oh no. People wander apart." She waited a moment and then asked, "Was that you? Have you been calling our telephone and hanging up?"

"Maybe once," I lied. "Do you know anyone from that period named Gigi?"

"That is a name short for Georgette, is it not?"

"I wouldn't know."

"I cannot think of anyone with that name."

John came in through the front door. I waved at him, and he waved back. He went through the living room and then upstairs.

"Can you tell me more about Vera?" I asked Virginia. "How did you meet her?"

"I am not even certain. Hmmm… Well… maybe she was dating a friend of my husband, Manny. That might have been it."

I had the feeling she was lying. In fact, I was pretty sure of it.

"You don't remember this friend's name?"

"Oh no, I do not."

"Was it at a party or in a bar? A double date?"

"It was fifty years ago. I do not remember."

"Did you belong to a group called The Sisters of Artemis?"

"No."

"Do you remember hearing about them?"

"Is this a group for women who hunt? I do not like hunting."

"What about a woman named Shirley Kessler? Did you know her?"

"No."

"You're certain."

"It was fifty years ago. I do not know. If I met her, I do not remember."

"Is your husband available? I'd like to speak to him as well."

"I am so sorry. Manny is not well. Because of the oxygen he does not talk well on the telephone."

"Can I set up a time to come and see you?"

"I am sorry. We will be traveling to San Diego. Our daughter is having a very bad divorce. We must help."

"Do you know when you'll be back in Eagle Rock?"

"I'm sorry. I do not."

"I could drive down to San Diego," I said. I really didn't want to do that, but I didn't want to let this go.

"My husband needs me. I must hang up."

And then she did.

I sat back on the sofa, finally relaxing a bit, and tried to absorb what I'd just heard. Clearly, Mrs. Marker didn't want me talking to her husband. She barely wanted me talking to her. Did that mean something? I had the strong feeling she and her husband knew something about Vera's death. But what? Did they know Gigi? Did she also know Shirley Kessler? Her answers weren't satisfying.

John came back down, and said, "I'm going to make a hamburger. Do you want one?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Ronnie was probably the best cook in the house, but he almost never had time. John could do basic things like spaghetti and hamburgers. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say. I followed him into the kitchen.

Taking a seat at the breakfast bar, I asked, "What do you know about abusive husbands?"

"I've dated some jerks, but I don't know that I'd call them abusive."

"I meant in your capacity as a nurse. Vera Korenko knew a woman named Gigi. I've been told her husband was abusing her. It's possible he killed Vera. He might also have killed another woman named Shirley Kessler. I guess my question is, why didn't Gigi just leave her husband after the first murder? Why didn't she turn him in?"

"Wow, um…" He chewed his lip as he thought. "You have to remember that none of this is happening now. How people thought about things in the forties was different. A lot of people at the time thought it was okay to hit your wife. And by people, I mean men and women. They wouldn't have known what you meant by abusing."

"Right. We're talking about murder though."

"True. But the murder might have actually made it harder for Gigi to leave. The thing about physical abuse is that it doesn't happen in a vacuum. Physical abusers are also emotionally abusive. They're controlling. They isolate their victims from friends and family, they tear down their victim's self-esteem. If you don't believe you have value, if there's no one to help you, if you think you deserve it, it's very hard to escape."

As he said that, he was making hamburger patties out of ground chuck. He dropped them into a frying pan.

"Do we have potato chips?" he asked.

"I'll check," I said, turning to the pantry behind me. I found a bag of corn chips and asked if they would work. He thought they might.

"If I want to figure out if a woman is being abused, what am I looking for?"

"When she—or for that matter he, it does happen to men. When someone comes into the ER with injuries that don't match their story, you want to separate them from their spouse or partner." He got out a couple of plates while he continued. "Let's say Ronnie hurt himself and you're in the ER, the doctor says he wants to talk with Ronnie alone. What do you say?"

"Actually, I think Ronnie would say I could stay before I said anything."

"And if he didn't."

"I'd ask Ronnie if he wanted me to stay, I guess."

"An abuser insists that he has to stay. And the abused person is too afraid to contradict them. Even if the doctor asks directly, they'll say they want him to stay."

"How do you get them away?"

"You don't. Pushing too hard can escalate things. If a doctor is absolutely certain there's been physical abuse they can report it. We have a form for that, but it's not required like it is for kids. Legally we have to report child abuse. And that's only goes back to the sixties. The time period you're talking about? There was nothing."

"Thanks. I guess I really just want to know what to look for. I think you answered that."

"I would say the longer it goes on, the harder it is to escape."

"Can abuse last a lifetime?"

"Oh yes. But it isn't always a long lifetime."

That made me wonder. Was Gigi out there somewhere still being abused? Had Vera and Shirley been attempts at escape? After her husband killed them, did she stop trying?

I had to find her.

We usually charged our cellular phones on the windowsill in our bedroom. There's a plug beneath the window so it's easy. One of them started to ring at nine Sunday morning. Usually, it's Ronnie getting early morning calls, so he got out of bed, took a couple of steps, and said, "No. It's yours."

"Shit," I said, just because.

Getting out of bed, I stretched a little to even out my back. It didn't really work. I picked up the phone and said, "Yeah?"

"This is Wesley Colcott. I represent Sammy Blanchard. She'd like to come in and talk to Ms. Gonzalez about her husband's involvement in Pete Michaels' murder."

"Okay, that's great. I'll have someone call you. Can you give me your number?"

Behind me Ronnie said, "It's on the screen."

Holding my phone away from me I saw that it was. "Never mind, I've got it. We'll get back to you to set something up, ASAP."

He hung up on me without saying goodbye. I poked around looking for a pad and pencil. There was one on the dresser, another on the nightstand next to Ronnie. I grabbed the one on the dresser and copied Colcott's phone number.

Then I called Lydia. As it rang, I said to Ronnie, "Sorry, I should have gone downstairs and used the real phone. This is costing money."

"Don't worry. I'm enjoying the view."

This was a reference to the fact that I was standing there in nothing but a pair of white Calvin Kleins he'd picked up for me at Marshalls. Lydia answered.

"Hi, sorry to bother you. Sammy's attorney called. She's ready to schedule a depo."

"He called now? On Sunday morning?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I guess they're eager. You must have done a good sales job."

"I think it was more like a sales threat."

"Well, it worked. I'll let you know what we decide on. You need to be there."

Then she hung up on me. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. "I'll make coffee."

"Come here."

I leaned over the bed and kissed him. "That what you wanted?"

"Yes. That and coffee."

"Coming up."

I went downstairs, grabbing the L.A. Times off the front stoop and then to the kitchen to make the coffee. We had some pancake mix in the cupboard which I'd put together before. Just add water. If it looked like I was ‘making' breakfast I might be able to get Ronnie to fry some bacon to go with them.

I was getting out a bowl and a measuring cup when the house phone rang. I grabbed it. Not surprising, it was Lydia.

"Tuesday 9 a.m."