Dead Giveaway

7

About four Monday afternoon, after Will and I stopped at the lab to get his blood drawn for the DNA comparison, we arrived at the Bottlebrush police station. Green-gray mold crept along the walls under the gutter of the beige brick flat-roofed building. From the style, the station must have dated back to the sixties, and obviously the sun did not shine on the front door of Bottlebrush PD.

A white patrol car sat parked in front alongside Burl's Land Rover. The Rover's navy blue paint glittered in the late-afternoon sun like it had been washed and waxed this morning.

"Nice ride," Will said, nodding in appreciation as we walked by.

"Burl Rollins is obviously a man who's proud of his horse," I answered.

Will held the door for me, and we entered the station. Burl was sitting behind a waist-high counter and stood to greet us.

"This can't be that ten-pound baby that spent the night with me." Burl, who wore a short-sleeved blue shirt and purple necktie circa 1970, grinned like he'd eaten a banana sideways. He came around the counter and shook Will's hand, gripping the kid's shoulder with his other.

I wasn't even acknowledged until their happy reunion ended about thirty seconds later.

Finally Burl looked at me. "Thanks for coming, Abby. I'll get Mary to cover the phone so we can talk. She's on break." He disappeared down a short hall behind the counter and returned a few seconds later with a young black woman in a brown uniform. She held half a sandwich in her hand and nodded at us before taking the seat Burl had been occupying when we arrived. Only two cops. Big change from my visit to HPD on Saturday, where officers were as thick as bats under a San Antonio bridge.

The gun belt strapped around Burl's waist seemed to dance with his steps as he led us to his office, a room about twice the size of my closet, though far neater. One entire wall was lined with filing cabinets, and labeled boxes were stacked to the ceiling. He had made room for pictures of his family on the table behind him, right next to the computer. The woman that I assume I'd spoken to on the phone the other night was flanked by three teenage boys. The youngest had a smile crammed with braces.

We all sat, Burl behind his desk and Will and I in folding chairs across from him.

"Three boys?" I said. "Bet that's a challenge."

"Smells pretty bad at our house some days. Sorta like a locker room, huh, Will?"

They both laughed while I inwardly winced in sympathy for Mrs. Rollins.

"Let's get down to business," Burl said, looking at me. "Did you mention our, uh, theory about Verna Mae to Will?"

"He's aware she might have been his mother," I said.

Will folded his huge hands in his lap and stared at them.

"How do you feel about that, son?" Burl asked.

"It is what it is," he answered softly.

"I'm sure Abby's told you it may not be true. For proof, we'll need your DNA. I can grab something of Verna Mae's for hers."

"Actually," I said, "HPD is already on that."

"Oh," Burl said.

I sensed his disappointment, affirmation of my earlier guess that he wanted a part in this investigation. I could see why. This was his town, his unsolved case.

"Sergeant Kline isn't even sure Will's abandonment has anything to do with Verna Mae's murder," I said, "but in case it does, he wants to know if she was Will's biological mother."

"I understand." Burl looked at Will. "The probate lawyer been in touch yet?"

"Um, no." Will seemed a little confused by the question.

"He said I can turn the keys over to you." Burl pulled open the middle desk drawer and took out an envelope, which he slid toward Will.

"She had a spare set of keys?" I said.

"Yup. Hanging right there on a hook in the kitchen. So unless some relatives appear out of nowhere to contest the will, the place is yours, son. She owned about two acres. Lots of renovations done, I noticed. 'Course, my last visit before this week was a long time ago. The place probably needed them. I'm guessing that house and land are worth a pretty penny."

Will turned and stared at me. "What do I with a house, Abby? The only thing I know about houses is that the trim needs painting every five years, and when you're as tall as I am, it's your job. The only other thing I know how to do is cut the lawn."

"You can hire someone for those chores," Burl said with a laugh. "See, that's another reason I asked you to come. She had money, too."

"Money? No one said anything about money." Will looked at me. "This is so frickin' weird. I didn't even know that lady."

"She thought she knew you well enough to give you about two hundred grand," Burl said.

Will looked stunned, and maybe I did, too, since I became aware of a beautiful mahogany clock on top of the bookcase. I only noticed because the room grew so quiet you could hear it tick-tick-ticking above us.

Will finally broke the silence. "This isn't like winning the lottery. You know what I'm saying? The lottery makes you think about cars and vacations and stuff like that. This? This I don't like."

I patted Will's shoulder. "Don't stress until we know more. We'll figure it out, okay?"

Will blinked several times, lips tight, then said, "Okay. Sure." He didn't look all that sure, though.

I faced Burl. "Does Sergeant Kline know about this money?"

"Yes, ma'am. I just finished talking to him before you two got here. I mean, that's enough cash to kill for. And I'm not talkin' about you, son," Burl said to Will. "Someone might have thought they were due an inheritance and hurried Verna Mae to her grave to get their hands on it."

"Friends or relatives or what?" I asked.

"Far as I can tell she had nobody, but maybe Jasper had relatives and those folks thought they'd be Verna Mae's logical choice to inherit."

"Jasper? Why does that name sound familiar?" Will asked.

"Verna Mae's late husband," I answered.

"Oh. Right. She talked about him the other day." Will was trying to maintain his calm, but his flushed cheeks and clenched fists told me different.

"Jasper was a mean one," Burl said, shaking his head. "My wife would have my hide if she heard me speaking ill of the dead, but he's gone and his ornery spirit is gone with him. What matters is the man was a plumber. Self-employed and by no means rich. Where the heck did Verna Mae get all that money? Far as I know, she never worked outside the home."

"Maybe all her relatives died and left everything to her," I said.

"Possible," Burl said. "Anyway, your guy Kline is on it. Said he'd be checking her bank records."

"My guy?" I said, failing to filter my thoughts before they spilled from my mouth.

This brought a smile from Will for the first time since he'd shaken hands with Burl. "How'd you figure out they're into each other, Chief?"

"You think I came in on a load of turnips, son?" He laughed, and so did Will.

"Could we move on?" I was definitely feeling uncomfortable.

"Sure. What else do you need?" Burl asked.

"That break-in at the CPS office?" I'd filled Will in on Molly Roth on the drive here, so he was aware of the lost paperwork.

"Oh, yeah," Burl said. "County's sheriff's office people are digging through their old cases. They were the investigating agency on that one. Lucky I got friends over there, 'cause even with connections, it might take awhile for them to come up with anything."

"Thanks. Did you want to ask Burl any questions, Will?" I know I would have if I was him, considering Will once spent the night in the man's house.

Will hesitated, pursed his lips a few times before speaking. "What happened that night, Chief? I mean, when you came and got me?"

Burl leaned back, his hands clasping his silver belt buckle. "It was Jasper who called. Pissed as hell. But then, he stayed that way. When I got to the house, you were sound asleep in that little plastic infant seat. Too big for it, but I had to make do when I carried you over to my place in my truck. Strapped the seat belt around you. My wife was thrilled I brought you home, even if for just one night."

Will smiled briefly, then said, "But what about them? The Olsens? You said Mr. Olsen was mad."

"Like I said. He stayed that way."

"What was she like?" Will asked.

"You want to know everything, huh?"

"I need to know. Especially if she was my birth mother."

"Okay. I won't lie. Verna Mae wasn't quite right in the head, and that particular night she was crying so bad, Jasper sent her to the bedroom. Practically pushed her down the hallway. He told me she'd been saying how they could keep you, pretend you were theirs. Jasper had a good laugh about that." Burl cast his gaze downward, obviously embarrassed.

"He laughed?" I said.

Burl looked at Will. "We should just skip the rest, son. You don't need to hear what some ignorant redneck had to say. Everything worked out great for you. The way you carry yourself, the way you play ball, everything about you says you've been raised right."

"Tell me why he laughed." Will's tone had gone hard, out of character for him. "Tell me now."

Burl shifted in his chair, avoiding eye contact with both of us. "Okay, he said Verna Mae was stupid to think she could pass you off as theirs. Said he wasn't having any black baby in his house for one more second."

Will stared at his hands, his long fingers intertwined and white-knuckled with tension. "That's what I figured. Thanks for being honest."

A tense silence followed before I said, "Guess we're done here." I started to get up, then remembered the blanket. "You really don't need that blanket now, right?"

"I collected the blanket as evidence during an executed search warrant, so yes I do," Burl said evenly.

"But it probably has nothing to do with Verna Mae's death."

"Probably is your key word, Abby. If I give it up and the blanket turns out to be even remotely connected to the murder, the thing's worthless as evidence."

"How could an old blanket be connected to her murder?" Damn, I hate to hear no. Made me want the stupid thing even more.

"Don't know, but the blanket stays with me, and when I have proof it's not important, then it's yours with Will's permission. I learned long ago, you collect evidence, you keep evidence until you're sure it's worthless. I'm a careful man, Abby Rose, a trait that's served me well in the police business." The country charm had been turned off. He meant business.

"A few pictures wouldn't break your chain of evidence, would it?" I had to leave with something, because that DNA test might turn out far different than what we expected. Besides, that blanket was linked to Will's past, if not to his birth parents. I was learning to be careful myself.

Burl sighed. "Guess pictures wouldn't hurt."

While Burl unfolded a step stool and climbed up to reach one of the stacked file boxes, Will looked at me.

"I'm glad she didn't keep me," he said. "I'm telling my mom and dad how much I love them the minute I get home."

I patted his knee. "Good idea." I took my camera phone from my purse.

After cleaning off his desk, Burl laid out several sheets of blank white paper and placed the creamcolored blanket on these.

I snapped off a few shots.

Will leaned forward for a better look. "You think this was mine? It doesn't look all that old."

"The blanket itself is well-preserved, but check out the label." Burl turned over one corner so I could photograph the label.

The small rectangular piece of satin had yellowed with age, and the stitching on the edges was frayed. Underneath the embroidered words HANDMADE FOR POSH PRAMS I now saw something else—100% HANDSPUN NEW WOOL. I'd had little chance to notice this the first time, seeing as how Burl had commandeered the thing almost immediately. If the word "posh" didn't make it sound expensive, "hand-spun wool" certainly did.

"You sure I can't have this?" I said.

Burl smiled. "Your cop friend wants it, all he has to do is ask and I'll turn it over properly to preserve the chain of evidence."

"Okay." I held up my phone. "The pictures will do for now, and we do appreciate your help."

"My pleasure. Great to meet Will all grown up." He carefully folded the blanket and returned it to the box. On paper taped to the box lid he wrote down the date and time he'd accessed the contents.

"You want to take your keys, Will?" I nodded at the envelope still lying on the desk.

Will shook his head. From the look on his face, you'd have thought he was eight years old and I'd asked him to open up the closet where the boogeyman lived. "No. Could you, like... deal with them for now?"

I picked up the envelope. "Sure. But your parents might want to get a lawyer on this."

Will released an audible sigh of relief. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

We said good-bye to Burl and left.

I'd had a notion to stop at Verna Mae's house, but I decided Will had been given plenty to chew on today. The house could wait.