The Enemy at Home

Sitting on the edge of the bed with Joe’s file in front of her, Nora wondered why he was so interested in the “Rosie” killings. The photos of the six-week-old San Diego Union-Tribune article had been sent by his friend on April thirtieth. So, obviously Joe had asked his buddy to track down the article days before he’d moved in above her garage. Had he already known that she’d been friends with one of the Seattle “Rosie” victims?

He had a clipping from Monday’s Seattle Times about Gloria Dunbar’s murder—as well as photographed copies of the Times and Star articles about the murders of Loretta Bryant and Connie. Nora figured he must have taken his camera to the library and photographed the articles there. But she still couldn’t begin to guess why Joe was so interested in these killings. And what did the murders have to do with her—besides her association with Connie?

Joe couldn’t possibly think Chris was responsible for the “Rosie” killings, not when the first one had been in San Diego. Nor could he suspect Ray, because her brother had been in the hospital when the San Diego double-murder had occurred. And Ray had been dead for over a week at the time of Gloria Dunbar’s slaying.

Nora thought she heard a car. Springing up from the bed, she hurried into the living room and looked out the window at the driveway. No one. False alarm. But she noticed it was getting dark out. She checked her wristwatch. Whether he’d made Joe take him to the bookstore or to the hospital, Chris couldn’t keep him occupied for very much longer. Nora knew she had to be out of the apartment soon.

Hurrying back into the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed and dug deeper into the folder. She knew she was pushing her luck time-wise. She didn’t linger over the formal notices from the Department of the Navy regarding Joe’s brother:

THIS IS TO INFORM YOU THAT AS OF 27 APRIL 1943 YOUR BROTHER, SEAMAN JACKSON DOUGLAS SLATTERY, HAS BEEN DETERMINED ABSENT WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION FOR A PERIOD OF FIVE DAYS FROM HIS CURRENT POST AT THE US NAVAL TRAINING CENTER, SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION AS TO HIS CURRENT WHEREABOUTS, YOU ARE INSTRUCTED TO CONTACT THE DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY ...

Nora didn’t read any further. A second message from the Department of the Navy was a letter with the subject matter emblazoned along the top of the page: NOTICE: SUSPENSION OF WAGES DUE TO UNAUTHORIZED ABSENCE.

She found a news clipping from the April 23rd edition of the San Diego Union-Tribune. The headline read:

EXPLOSION AT NAVAL TRAINING CENTER

1 Dead, 2 Wounded in Fiery Blast

Sabotage “Not Ruled Out” as Investigation Pending

Nora quickly scanned the article, which mentioned Ray by name as the sole victim of the explosion. But it didn’t give any other details about him. There was nothing about Joe’s brother, Jackson.

Next, Nora found a piece of notebook paper with a handwritten list of names and phone numbers of naval personnel at the training center. Nora recognized a couple of the names from when she’d made inquiries about Ray. Joe had obviously gone through the same process as she had. There were also names of doctors and nurses at the nearby naval hospital.

Beneath the list, Nora uncovered a few five-by-seven photographs that Joe must have taken on the sly: pictures of the house and the garage apartment, and a photo of her he’d snapped near her bus stop. Her hair was limp and matted down from wearing her bandana all day at work, and she wore a dark green sweater with an embroidered flower above the right breast. It was unsettling to realize Joe had photographed her without her knowing. That sweater had been in the laundry basket since the weekend. So, Joe had been following her around since sometime last week. The photos confirmed her suspicions that he’d been watching the house—and her—for at least a few days before he’d knocked on her door and inquired about the apartment.

Nora knew she couldn’t risk staying in the apartment much longer. But there were only a few documents left in the file— including letters to Joe from his brother. The letters were still inside their envelopes—and sent to the Cole Street address in San Francisco. Jackson wrote on notebook paper in painstakingly neat script. None of the letters were dated, but Jackson wrote the day of the week along the top. In one letter, written on a Tuesday, Nora noticed a passage that was underlined in red—probably by Joe:

Our outfit has a new guy Ray who seems very nice. He just got out of the hospital. All the guys say he looks like me & he kind of does! He’s a handsome devil, he is! Our CPO keeps getting the 2 of us mixed up.

Another letter, dated Sunday, had another passage underlined in red:

I know you keep telling me I shouldn’t lend money to anybody but I let Ray borrow five dollars. I think he’s good for paying me back. He’s a swell person. He’s one of the only guys here who doesn’t treat me like I’m stupid. I hope you can meet him on your next visit to the base.

Nora was putting the letter back into its envelope when she heard a car. Getting to her feet, she knocked over the file folder. The papers and photos scattered across the floor.

“Shit!” she hissed, bolting into the living room. She anxiously glanced out the window.

Another false alarm.

Returning to the bedroom, she decided to pick up the mess, put everything back in the folder and get out of there. She wasn’t absolutely sure what order the papers and photographs had been in. But she remembered Jane and Ray’s photo was on top, and beneath that, the manila envelope with the photo of the San Diego newspaper article.

Retrieving the strewn papers and photos, Nora still couldn’t figure out why documents about Joe’s brother were in the same file with a photo of her and newspaper articles about the “Rosie” murders. How were they all connected?

Near the nightstand, she picked up the last stray piece of paper—Joe’s list of navy contacts. As Nora straightened up, she glanced out the window. From this spot, she could look down into the ravine. She still had the file folder and the unsorted documents in her hand, but Nora stopped and stared out the window.

In the waning light of dusk, about halfway down the ravine, she spotted a patch of pink amid the trees and dense foliage.

Nora remembered Joe saying that the intruder last night had escaped into the ravine, and it had looked as if he’d been carrying something.

As quickly as she could, Nora tried to put the papers and photographs in order and then placed the file folder under the sweaters in the bottom drawer of the dresser. She made a perfunctory check of the living room to verify that she hadn’t disturbed anything, and then she hurried down the narrow steps. Once outside, she shut the door behind her and gave the knob a twist to make sure it was locked.

Nora ran into the house through the back door. After grabbing a flashlight out of the kitchen drawer, she headed outside again.

At the ravine’s edge, Nora hesitated. She wondered whether the brown Oxford flats she wore were okay for traipsing down into the wooded ravine. From where she stood, she couldn’t spot the pink patch amid the trees and shrubs, but she knew the general direction to take to find it.

Starting down into the ravine, she felt a chill and realized she should have grabbed a sweater when she’d gone in for the flashlight. Pressing on, Nora navigated around the trees, shrubs and small gullies. The deeper she descended into the ravine, the darker and colder it became. She switched on the flashlight. The ground beneath her was muddy in spots, and she almost slipped a couple of times. She could smell the wet earth. Looking up for a moment, she felt as if she’d been swallowed up inside this huge crack in the ground.

In the distance, Nora thought she heard a car—and then maybe a door slamming. Was it another false alarm? She wasn’t about to climb back up and check.

Halfway down the steep slope, she guessed the pink patch she’d noticed was someplace in the vicinity. Pausing for a few moments, she directed the flashlight so that its beam swept across the bushes and low-hanging branches around her. She spotted the pink patch on her right—only about thirty feet away.

Threading around shrubs and fallen brushwood, Nora headed toward what she now could tell was a piece of clothing. She had a pair of pajamas the same color, and Jane had a small coverlet that was pink. But what would anyone want with either of those?

She finally zeroed in on the object, which had gotten snagged on a thornbush. Nora shined the flashlight beam on the pink patch of fabric. It was her pink gingham apron.

When they’d searched the house for missing items last night, she should have checked her apron drawer in the kitchen.

Jane had been right about the strangler visiting their house.

He choked his victims with Nora’s stockings and painted smiles on their faces with her lipstick. But that wasn’t enough. Now he wanted to dress them in her aprons.

She heard a twig snap. Nora swiveled around to see a shadowy figure coming down toward her through the woods. Startled, she dropped the flashlight.

Squatting, she frantically retrieved it. She was about to scream when she heard his voice: “Nora?” he called. “Are you okay? What are you doing down here?”

Nora shined the light on Joe as he continued to move down the slope toward her. Dazed, she stared up at him. “Where’s Chris?” she asked warily.

“He’s okay. He’s in the house,” Joe explained. “He thought he was having an appendicitis attack earlier, and I drove him to the hospital. He said he’d left you a note. Didn’t you see it?”

Nora shook her head.

“Well, whatever was giving him a stomachache turned out to be nothing. He’s fine. We just got back a few minutes ago.”

Nora realized she should thank him for taking Chris to the hospital, but she didn’t say anything.

“What’s going on?” Joe asked. “I looked out my bedroom window and saw someone down here with a flashlight. I thought last night’s uninvited guest was making a return visit.”

Nora stepped over toward the thornbush and carefully removed the pink apron.

“What’s that?” she heard Joe ask.

“The ‘uninvited guest’ last night must have dropped this.” Nora showed him the garment. “I have several aprons. I’ll have to check if this is the only one he stole or if he took some others.” Brushing past him, Nora started up the slope but stumbled over a tree root.

Joe went to grab her arm. She jerked it away.

“Nora, what’s wrong?”

She glared at him and then turned and continued up through the trees and shrubs.

“Why would someone want to steal your aprons?” he asked, trailing after her. “I don’t understand. Are you angry at me about something? What did I do?”

She stopped, turned and narrowed her eyes at him. “What did you do?” she snapped. “I don’t know where to start, Mr. Slattery!”

“You’ve been through the apartment, haven’t you? I was wondering why my door wasn’t double-locked. I’d made sure to double-lock it before I left with Chris.”

“I ran into your ‘wife’ on the bus yesterday,” Nora said. “She told me that you paid her to put on that charade Saturday afternoon. She also said you were a louse. I’m inclined to agree with her.”

“All right, I’m sorry about that,” he sighed. “But I couldn’t be honest with you at the time. I still didn’t know you, Nora—”

“And I obviously don’t know you, Joe,” she interrupted. “But I’m catching on. I saw the file you have hidden in the dresser drawer.”

Joe frowned at her. “What do you think you know?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Nora replied. “Your brother, Jackson—not Andy, but Jackson—didn’t die at Guadalcanal, like you told me. He went on an unauthorized absence from his base in San Diego. And you seem to think Ray is somehow to blame. What I don’t understand is why you thought it necessary to con your way into my home and bamboozle me and my children. I saw that photo you took of me at my bus stop last week. How long have you been following me around and watching our house?”

“I arrived in Seattle last Tuesday night,” Joe admitted, his frown dissipating. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t be more up front with you at the start. I’m especially sorry because—well, it’s only been a few days, but I’ve come to like you and your kids a hell of a lot, Nora. You’re good people—decent and kind. Yet I . . . I can’t say the same about your brother . . .”

Nora’s feet seemed to shift on the muddy ground. She put her hand against a tree to steady herself. “What do you mean?”

“You’re right. I think Ray’s to blame for what happened to Jackson.”

Nora started shaking her head at him.

“Remember how I told you that Andy—I mean, Jackson, Andy was my nickname for my brother—remember how I said he seemed to attract unscrupulous types who took advantage of him? Well, I think Ray was one of those unscrupulous types. When you went into my file, did you read my brother’s letters?”

“I glanced at a couple,” Nora admitted.

“You should have checked all five of them, because he mentions Ray in each one. Jackson thought he’d found himself a new friend. But I could tell, it was more like Ray Shannon thought he’d found himself a sucker with the ‘slow guy’ who looked like him. I’ve spent most of my life trying to protect Jackson from people like your brother.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nora said.

“But I do. I checked Ray out—even before the explosion. I pulled a few strings and got into the naval hospital. I talked to a couple of nurses who took care of Ray after the accident that laid him up for a couple of weeks—”

“Shows what you know,” Nora interrupted. “It was more like a month.”

“No, he was laid up in the hospital for exactly two weeks, five days in Hawaii, two on a hospital ship and a week in San Diego,” Joe said unequivocally. “It was just long enough for him to miss getting shipped out for active duty with his unit. The San Diego nurses told me the little spill Ray took was way too conveniently timed. They seemed to see right through him. But my poor brother couldn’t. He was such a trusting guy. Ray took full advantage. He set Jackson up . . .”

Nora couldn’t refute what Joe was saying about the accident, because she’d suspected it herself. Obviously, Ray had exaggerated the severity of his injuries—and lied to her about the length of his hospital stay. Why? To gain sympathy? She remembered how angry and hurt he’d become on his last night here, when she’d questioned him about his “accident.” And this was after he’d begged her to help him with another scheme to avoid combat duty.

Nora couldn’t look Joe in the eye. “So, Ray borrowed a few bucks from Jackson and didn’t pay him back. I’m sorry. I’m really very sorry . . .” She turned and started to make her way up the ravine’s slope again.

“My brother never would have deserted,” Joe said, following close behind her. “I don’t think he cleaned out his locker and took off during the chaos after that explosion. I think Ray’s the one who cleaned out his locker.”

Nora stopped to stare at Joe again. “Now you’re not making any sense. Ray was killed in the explosion. The navy cleaned out his locker for him. You were here when they sent me Ray’s things. I have his scorched dog tag, for God’s sake.”

“I’m saying Ray cleaned out my brother’s locker and took off—after he’d set Jackson up to burn in that blast.”

Bewildered, Nora shook her head again. “That’s crazy . . .”

“Ray was supposed to be guarding a munitions dump that day.”

“I know that,” Nora said impatiently.

“Did you read my brother’s letter from two days before the explosion?”

Nora shrugged. “I don’t know. The letters weren’t dated.”

“The envelopes they’re in are postmarked. Two days before the explosion, my brother wrote to me about how his new buddy Ray and he pretended to be each other for a night—so they could fool the other guys in their outfit. It was Ray’s idea, of course. I spoke with one of the guys in their barracks. He said Ray did a terrific imitation of the way Jackson spoke. He even had Jackson’s walk down pat—that same little bounce in his step. In his letter, my brother said the ‘old switcheroo’ hoax worked and completely fooled the other fellas. Ray and Jackson even swapped dog tags for good measure. That was Ray’s idea, too.”

Her mouth open, Nora stared at Joe.

“I got that letter the day after the explosion,” Joe said. “It was like my brother telling me from the grave what had really happened. I knew right then that Jackson was dead. Their outfit was due to ship out for active duty soon. Your brother couldn’t have another convenient accident. And he couldn’t desert, not without having the navy searching high and low for his sorry ass. So, when he was assigned guard duty by that munitions site, he talked Jackson into taking his place for him—the ‘old switcheroo’ again, just for a couple of hours. My brother was probably happy to do it because he thought they were friends. I never met Ray. That’s why I asked for that photo of him. But I could clearly picture this guy talking my brother into exchanging dog tags—for good measure . . .”

Nora thought of Ray’s dog tag—and the scorch marks on it. The notion that he’d coaxed Joe’s trusting brother into wearing the dog tag made her sick.

“I don’t know exactly how Ray set off the blast,” Joe went on. “One simple way is to stick a lit cigarette in a book of matches. Ray could have checked in with my brother while Jackson was filling in for him on guard duty. All he had to do is toss the little incendiary device into the ammunition dump and then go back to the barracks. The cigarette burns down and lights all the matches, and bang. But that’s just a theory . . .”

“It’s all just a theory,” Nora argued. “You don’t know if any of it is true . . .”

“Like I say, I know my brother, and he never would have deserted his post. How well do you know your brother, Nora? Is it possible that Ray would go to such great lengths to avoid combat duty?”

Of course. It was more than just possible. But she didn’t dare answer him.

“The navy’s investigators are pretty sure Ray set off that explosion,” Joe said. “I got it on the q.t. from one of them. They’re just not going public with it . . .”

“That’s crazy. What are you talking about?”

“They looked into his previous accident, and then talked to some of the guys in his old outfit,” Joe explained. “They figured he tried to set up another accident for himself so he could avoid shipping out for combat duty—only he fouled things up and got himself killed.”

Nora frowned. “Then why didn’t the navy say anything to me about it?”

“Like I told you, they don’t want it going public. They don’t want people knowing how easy it was for an enlisted man to commit an act of sabotage. If the news got out, it might give a few disgruntled sailors some ideas. So they’re putting a lid on the whole thing . . .”

Nora couldn’t believe it. The navy already knew what she’d suspected about Ray’s death. And they’d chosen to keep it a secret.

“But the navy investigator I talked to,” Joe went on, “I couldn’t convince him that Ray switched places with my brother.”

“Well, you’re not going to convince me either,” Nora said. She glanced up toward the edge of the ravine. She felt cold and grimy in the dark, wooded gully.

“Don’t you see?” Joe said. “Ray practiced switching places with Jackson. He set him up. Then after the blast, during all the confusion, Ray cleaned out Jackson’s locker and disappeared. It was the perfect getaway. Everyone would be looking for Jackson, not him—everyone but me.”

“Listen,” Nora said steadily. “I’m sorry your brother disappeared. I know you’re angry and looking for someone to blame. But you can’t expect me to believe this whole cockamamie story you’ve invented that makes Ray out to be some horrible, manipulative—”

“He’s a killer, Nora!” Joe shouted. Tears filled his eyes. “You know what I hate most about that fucking son of a bitch brother of yours? It’s because of him that I have nothing left of Andy. His body’s burnt to a crisp, and Ray took all of Andy’s possessions with him. He probably sold everything or threw it away as soon as he got out of San Diego. There’s nothing. The navy won’t be sending me anything . . .”

Unnerved, Nora stepped back. Her heart ached for Joe. But he was scaring her, too.

Wiping his eyes, Joe took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know Ray’s your brother and you love him. But he’s been lying to you—and not just about how long he was in the hospital or the extent of his injuries. Jane told me when he showed up on your doorstep, it was a big surprise. It was Friday, April ninth, right?”

Nora merely nodded. She had no idea what he was getting at.

“Ray said he’d arrived by bus in Seattle earlier that same day. But, Nora, I talked to some sailors in his outfit. He finagled a two-week leave and on the morning of April third, he caught the bus to Seattle. Ray had been here for five days before he dropped in on you . . .”

“I don’t understand,” Nora murmured.

“Remember you told me the other night that Ray left town the day before your friend Connie was killed? Well, I checked, and he didn’t report back to the base until the seventeenth, two days after Connie Wiedrich’s murder.”

“That’s nonsense. I saw him get on the—” Nora fell silent. She hadn’t actually seen Ray board the bus.

“One of the guys in Ray’s outfit saw him at the downtown bus station when he got in on the seventeenth,” Joe explained. “The bus trip takes thirty-six hours, Nora. It doesn’t take three days . . .”

“What are you getting at?” Nora asked.

“Don’t you wonder what your brother did during those extra days he was in Seattle?” Joe asked. “Ray was here in town when Loretta Bryant was strangled—and when Connie was killed. But he went out of his way to hide that from you.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean anything!” she cried.

“It means a hell of a lot, and you know it,” he said. “In my file, did you see the newspaper article about two riveters from Consolidated Aircraft in San Diego? They were roommates, both strangled and stabbed . . .”

Nora nodded. “Yes, I saw it. But you can’t blame Ray for that because he was laid up in the hos—” She almost choked on the word.

“He was out of the hospital already, Nora,” Joe said soberly. “A couple of days after the explosion, they called me to the base about Jackson’s disappearance. I got a chance to talk to some of the guys in Ray’s and Jackson’s outfit; one of the sailors told me something—and an alarm went off inside me. He said that he noticed Ray had a kid’s toy in his locker. It caught the sailor’s eye because he’d given the same toy to Betty Rodenkirk, one of the girls murdered in San Diego. The sailor had dated Betty for a short while a few months before. He asked Ray where he’d gotten the toy, and they almost ended up in a fight about it. The sailor figured if Ray had a toy that had belonged to Betty, chances are he might have killed her. At the very least, he’d known her and refused to admit it. The sailor was ready to go to the cops about it, too.”

“Well, why didn’t he?” Nora asked defiantly. “If he was so certain my brother was a cold-blooded killer, why didn’t he go to the police?”

“The sailor broke into Ray’s locker the next morning, and the toy was gone. Ray denied ever having it. But the sailor was sure it was the same toy he’d given Betty. It was pretty unique—like one of those wind-up monkey dolls that play the cymbals, only it was a black Scottie dog.”

Stunned, Nora stared at him. She started to back away. “No, you’re lying. Jane told you about the toy Ray gave her, and now you’re making all this up . . .”

“Jane has it now?” Joe asked. “Jane has the wind-up toy?”

“You’re making this up!” Nora cried, still backing away. “You’re lying! Ray didn’t kill anybody. My brother’s dead . . .” Her foot caught on something and Nora stumbled, the flashlight and the apron flying out of her hands. With a crash she fell into some bushes. Branches and twigs snapped under her weight. Flailing around helplessly, she scratched her face and hands, but was barely aware of it.

Joe grabbed Nora’s arms and pulled her up and out of the bushes. “My God, are you okay?”

Nora started sobbing. “I won’t listen to this! Do you understand? My brother’s dead, and I won’t let you—”

“Ray isn’t dead, Nora!” he yelled, gripping her tighter. “He’s here in Seattle. I think he killed Gloria Dunbar—”

“No!” Nora screamed. She looked up and saw they weren’t far from the edge of the ravine. She just wanted to get away from him. “Leave me alone! God, please . . .”

“I’ve seen Ray watching the house,” Joe said, his face inches from hers. “I recognized him—from the photos Jane showed me. I think he might have lightened up his hair. I don’t know if he’s figured out who I am yet. But he knows something’s up. I’m pretty sure it was Ray who broke into the house last night . . .”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Nora cried, still struggling to get free of him.

“Let her go!” someone shouted.

Nora looked up.

From the top of the ravine, Chris charged down toward them.

With Joe distracted for a second, Nora managed to break free of him. She pushed him away—and then stumbled back. She grabbed hold of a tree to keep from falling again.

“Chris, wait!” Joe yelled. “Stop!”

But Chris barreled toward him like a crazy man. He lunged at Joe.

“No, honey, don’t!” Nora cried, reaching out toward her son. “I’m not hurt! He didn’t—”

But she was too late. Helplessly Nora watched as Chris plowed into him.

He knocked Joe off his feet, and for a moment, the two of them seemed to fly in the air. Then, with an awful thud, they landed. Joe remained there amid the smashed, broken underbrush, his face in the dirt. He didn’t move at all.

But Chris kept toppling down the muddy, wooded slope—until he slammed into a tree.

Then he, too, became completely still.