Twenty Seven

2019

Before we left McDonalds, Becca and I agreed to meet in a week at the Newton Public Library.  You can book private rooms at the library to work in groups. The rooms all have a rectangular table, chairs, and electric outlets for laptops and whatever else.  The outside walls are glass so passers-by can see who is in there.  On the door is a list of those who have reserved the room and how much time they have in the space.  

Becca had asked me to scan a copy of the log I’d kept on the trip and send it to her as an attachment.  She said she would look at the log before our following week’s rendezvous.  I asked if she wanted a copy of the map though--even when I asked--I knew that scanning the map would be difficult.  “No” she replied. “I’ll construct one from the log. But bring your copy”.  

I again arrived first for our meet.  There’s a bit of a walkway when you enter the library and then, after about ten yards, you can hang a left into an alcove where there are sitting rooms near vending machines.  I was fetching some coffee and scanning the candy bars when I heard Becca say hello. I turned around and, with some awkwardness, we reprised our McDonalds triangle hug.  It was even less of an embrace this time as Becca was holding a cloth bag in one hand and didn’t get both arms around me.

“You want some coffee?” I said.

“I’m good.  I brought water.”

“Candy bar?”

“Snickers for you?” said Becca “Your favorite as I recall.”

“Crunch is now my default. I’ve matured. Do you want one?”

“No. I brought something. Let’s get going”

I passed on the candy and bought a packet of crackers.  We walked up the stairs not saying much of anything beyond how are you doing, and some nothings about the weather and Boston traffic. When we settled into our private room, Becca pulled a water jug and a snack of something out of her cloth bag placing them both on the table. Then she parked herself in a chair, reached back into the bag to remove her encased laptop and a folded AAA map of the United States.  She unzipped the laptop cover, placed the computer on the table, stashed the cover in the bag, and carefully opened up the map and spread it out on the table.  Very Becca. Orderly and efficient. I took a seat on the other side of the table.

“Okay, Z” she started. “You want me to help. So we are doing this, or starting to do this, my way.”  I made no comment waiting to hear what she meant by her way.

“I made a list from your log and have it on my laptop.  It’s a list of the people you encountered or heard about who could have been the perps.”

“Becca, I know who the perp is.”

“I am not so sure.  We know there is a perp and we know there is a dead kid.  And, yes, who you think the perp is, is more likely than the others, but if you want me to help we’re going to be thorough.  I think going through this methodically will help understand how it went down. And this is the way it is going to be.”

“Does Richard always listen to your orders?”

“Let’s leave Richard out of this.  But to answer your question, he has gotten used to me”

“I bet he has.”

Becca snorted. “You, on the other hand, could never get used to me.”

“And you could never get used to me.”

“You’re right.  I could never get used to a guy who needed a search party every time he was looking for his wallet or watch or keys. Every morning, a scavenger hunt. ‘Hey Becca’” she mimicked “ ‘you see my wallet floating around anywhere.’  I’m trying to dry my hair and I’ve got to go through your junk looking to find something that could—just imagine this—be put in the same place every night.”

“Never mind.”

“Just curious. Do you still need to build in twenty minutes in the morning to hunt for your keys?     Is Linda like that too? Are the two of you careening off the walls-- like tag team wrestlers bouncing against the ropes--in a frenzy looking for your cell phones.”

“You watching much wrestling these days?”  I said. She wasn’t looking at me and didn’t answer. I continued.  “And just curious, are you still bounding out of bed at midnight as if someone under the bed kicked you in the ass because, good God, you had forgotten to floss.”

“Maybe I did that once or twice.”

“That’s because you probably only forgot to floss once or twice.”

There were a few beats of silence.

“I think you should sit on my side of the table so we can go through this together.”

I moved around to the other side.  She opened her laptop and found a document.  She pushed the map toward me so we both had a good view of it. The map had circles at various points and dates written within the circles.  It was similar to the map I had kept at the time and recently unearthed, but Becca’s was neater and newer.

I looked at the neatly marked map and shook my head.  “Some things don’t change.”

“Do you want my help or don’t you?”

“I want your help. But I have to say again that I am nearly certain who did the killing.”

“If you want my help, you’ll have to put up with my stuff.”

“How did we ever get along?” I asked.

“Sex.” Said Becca without looking up from the map.

“It was more than sex,” I said.

“It was more than sex, because there was sex. If there had not been any sex, we would not have gotten along.”

“And the point is?”

“Take away the physical attraction and we would not have been together.  That was the question you asked. ‘How did we get along?’  We got along because then the sex overwhelmed our incompatibility.”

“Anything you haven’t figured out?”

"Can we get started?  I have to be back in a couple of hours”

“Richard gave you two hours?”

“Richard doesn’t know I am here and I would not care if he did.” She paused.  “Let's not fight. I want to do this. I want to work with you on this.”

“Thank you… sincerely.”

“You’re welcome, sincerely." Another pause.  "Now remember we are brainstorming here. Throwing out all possibilities. Some are unlikely. Most are unlikely, but it will help us think it through.”

“Okay.” 

Becca opened a word document and began to scroll through a list of names.

“First there’s Nelson, the truck driver who took you to Denver.”  Becca points to two spots on her map. One in Iowa with May 30 written in a circle; the other circle reads May 31st marked in downtown Denver.

“Why Nelson?”

“He travels cross country regularly and picks up hitch-hikers.  Remember what he told you about his ex-wife, and his girlfriend’s kids.”

“Highly unlikely.”

“We’re brainstorming, Z.”

“Then there’s Nelson’s girlfriend.” 

“That’s even more unlikely.”

“Do you know what brainstorming means? The girlfriend had a motive if she was jealous”

“Unlikely.”  

Becca scrolls down the document and I see the next name on her list.

“The record collector?”

Becca points to the map.  “He dropped you off in Grand Junction. There." She presses her finger on where Grand Junction is written on the map.  "And then he picked you up again in Grand Junction.”

“Yeah so?”

“What did the newspaper article say?  The record collector told you he travels around the country collecting records.  Make a lot of sense to you?”

“Not my cup of tea, but people have strange hobbies.”

“He’s on the list of possibilities.  I agree. Not likely. Maybe he is not looking only for records. Who travels around the country looking for 45s?”

“Not you.”

This gets a bit of a laugh out of Becca.  “Got that right.”

“Who’s next?”

She has moved her finger to Salt Lake City where June 1 is marked in red. “Phil.”

“Phil, on the motorcycle?”

“He picked you up on a motorcycle in the middle of the night. Not likely, but he loved motorcycles.”

“Very unlikely.”

“Not impossible.” Said Becca. She continues scrolling through the document. “Then there is Maurianne, Shel, and Barbara.”

“No. No way.”

“They each had a motive.”

“No way.”

“Are you telling me, Barbara did not have a motive?  And Shel? What did Maurianne tell you about Shel?”

“Okay Shel, Barbara maybe. But Maurianne?”

“It’s possible. We are brainstorming. Damn you are so exasperating. You were always so exasperating.”

“Not you.”

“This is how I do things, Mr. Professor who needs an army to find his damn shoes in the morning. One goddamn pair of shoes, a tiny apartment, and hopping around with one shoe on, squawking about the other one.”  Sitting, Becca makes an attempt to imitate someone bouncing up and down on one shoe. Then she makes a big point of resting her finger on Pacifica where June 2nd is written in a circle. 

“Meanwhile.” She continues.  “Break here. Tangent. Did you sleep with her?”

“Maurianne?”

“No, Shel and Phil. Yes Maurianne. Did you sleep with her?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” I say this matter of factly. 

“Why not?”

“What do you mean why not?” I said.

 “I mean ‘why not’. You had just travelled all day together. She invites you to stay at her home. She has just separated from her husband.  How come you didn’t sleep with her.”

“I was loyal to my Buffalo girlfriend.”

“Yeah right." A beat.  "Take a look. Are my eyeballs rolling at orbit velocity? Really." Another beat.  "All day long in a car, sharing histories and ‘ho hum why don’t you, stranger, stay in my place tonight.’ Probably had flowers in her hair, asked you about your sign and told you she was an Aquarius. And you did not sleep with her?”

“She did not invite me Becca.”

“Did you put the moves on her at all?”

“No, I did not.”

“Not like you.”

“I only knew her for a day. I am not going to slap the moves on her if she has not made an overture.”

“No overture?”

There had been.  On two occasions after I had come out of the shower that night Maurianne had told me that I did not have to sleep on the couch.  I thought that might have been an invitation, but I disregarded it.

“Look, nothing happened. Maybe something could have, but nothing did.”

“Hmm. Well she is on the list.”

“Fine. Quite a list you’ve got here. My next stop was to my cousins. You think my cousins could have done it?”

“No, I am giving them a pass.”

“You sure?”

“Knowing they are related to you, maybe I should reconsider, but I think they are out.”

“How about my aunt or uncle?”

“Nah they are off the hook.”

“What about my other cousin’s baby? Do you think the infant should be on the list?”

“Look if you want me to help, we are doing this my way. Every possible individual gets on the list.”

“Okay, who is next?”

She scrolls down, “Maurianne’s brother.”

“Maurianne’s brother?”

“You told me what she said about him just before she dropped you off.”

I nodded. She had spoken about her brother at the very end.

Becca continues. “Then I have the three nuts you met the day you left Santa Rosa. The guy who hated Coors. The 32-year-old lover boy with his tools, and the guy in San Luis Obispo who tried to sell God.”

“How do you think these three are possibilities. You think San Luis Obispo went berserk after I stole his peach?”

“Not that. He picked up people just like he picked you up. Fanatics are fanatics in various directions. And the mechanic lothario with the tools that, he told you, could be used for weapons. Maybe he could have finally been rejected by one of the ‘girls’ after a string of others who had previously been ‘good’ to him”

“Okay. What about Coors?”

“Guys who hate, hate. He picks you up and starts railing to a stranger about Coors. Who knows who he is going to be angry with next?”

I sighed. “Look, thanks for doing all this Becca. I do appreciate it. But all these are far-fetched.”

“Under the right conditions anyone can be a murderer”

I pointed at her. “How about you?”

“There are exceptions.”

I pointed to myself.

“Hmm Another possibility.  Maybe I’ll add you to the document.  Look, with the exception of Shel and Barbara all the others are unlikely doers, but not impossible given all we know and the newspaper article. I agree, though, after June 9th, it gets more interesting.”

I paused for a bit. What she had said about anyone being a doer, was something I had been thinking a lot about recently.  

“You’re right.” I said. “We agree on somethings, Anyone can be a murderer, and after June 9th it gets more interesting.”