October 4, 2018
Minneapolis, MN
Allison picked up when she saw the Gulf County Police Department on her caller ID. “Hello, this is Allison Pedersen.”
“This is Detective Iliana Sudhan, Gulf County PD speaking. I don’t know how to say this any other way, Mrs. Pedersen,” the detective said. “We have an unidentified murder victim here that could match the description you gave of your husband.”
“Could match? I don’t understand,” Allison said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “I sent a picture.”
“Yes, and thank you for that. The victim we have has had some trauma that makes recognition difficult with just a photograph. We’re going to need DNA confirmation to rule him in or out.”
Allison only heard the first part. “Trauma?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Sudhan. “If we could get a sample of your husband’s DNA, we could get a result in two hours. The quickest way is for you to bring it here.”
After Detective Sudhan told Allison which items would most likely have her husband’s DNA and gave general directions to the Gulf County Police Department, Allison said she would get on a plane as soon as possible. She got up slowly and walked to the bedroom. The horror that she had dreaded enveloped her. She placed Ernie’s hairbrush and extra toothbrush in a Ziploc bag beside her own toiletries and booked her flight to Houston.
Galveston, TX
Detective Sudhan hung up the phone after speaking to Mrs. Pedersen. She thought that it was likely that her John Doe was about to get identified. The motive for his violent murder remained elusive. It seemed that whoever killed her John Doe tried and succeeded in slowing the identification process.
It was time to call it a day. Two murders in her town drove up the year’s murder rate. A 200% increase.
She headed home. Bob was working the evening shift in the ER and wouldn’t be home until after midnight.
She marveled at how they had managed to stay married, employed, and raise their son by alternating shifts until she worked her way to detective and he, to head nurse. Their son, Ben, was now at Rice University. He was a real blend of their coloring and could easily fit in with all the shades that filled the cosmopolitan city of Houston.
The last eighteen years seemed both grueling and gone in a flash. She sometimes wondered if they had ever stopped to smell the roses along the way. She thought of her parents who, after their marriage, had settled on the eastern edge of Texas and run a convenience store. They had managed to get their four children through college.
Iliana Sudhan was the youngest child and the last to leave. She often thought her interest in law enforcement was rooted in the anxiety she had felt behind the counter of her parents’ store. Her dad had a shotgun under the cash register and was insistent that all the kids were comfortable using it. He was clear-eyed about the risks of a convenience store in East Texas. Being Brown was only one step up from being Black, and while, for the most part he was deferential to the White clientele who ran the town and frequented the store, he wasn’t going to die without a fight.
The day Sudhan graduated from college, her parents sold the store and headed to Pakistan for a long visit. When they returned, their next stop was buying a little place near her to help raise their grandchild.
“And to garden and see the sunlight,” her dad said.
Born in America in 1947, his family’s American story preceded that of many Americans. His grandmother’s family had lived in Texas when Texas was still part of Mexico. After Texas gained its independence in 1837, her family was one of the prominent Tejano families that, along with prominent Anglos, governed Texas during its nine years of independence before it joined the U.S. in 1845.
His grandfather came from Kashmir in 1907 to help build the Western Pacific Railroad. Falling in love, he had married Sudhan’s great-grandmother and moved to San Antonio. Feeling guilty about not returning home for an arranged marriage, he had insisted that all of his male heirs return to Kashmir for their brides.
When Sudhan’s father went to Kashmir for his arranged marriage, he fell in love with the sister of his betrothed. They eloped, bringing shame to their families. For defying her grandfather’s wishes, her parents were banished from San Antonio to East Texas.
When Iliana had fallen in love with Bob, who was studying nursing in Houston while she studied criminal justice, her parents had been thrilled to have their last child happily married.
Bob’s family came in 1960 from the Netherlands and he was born in Texas in 1970. He was considered a “real American” even though he was only second generation. Nobody ever gave him a lecture or told him to “go home.” It was a lecture which Sudhan heard frequently. She had learned not to give in to the temptation to tell her critics that her ancestors were in Texas when theirs were still on the plains of Europe.
After a hard shift, Louise hung up her white coat, collected her lunch bag, and was heading to the ER exit door to look for Marnie when she was stopped by a question.
“Dr. Finnerty, do you have a minute?”
Unlike the usual last-minute question, the person posing it didn’t work in the Emergency Department. Her antenna went up immediately when she saw his ID badge.
“Sorry to ambush you. My name is Chris Hill. I’m from the Bay City Daily and wanted to talk to you about Dr. Drake. You were here the night she was brought in, correct?”
Initially, Louise didn’t say anything, remembering the frequent bad press the paper had provided about her ER.
The man saw her hesitancy but plowed ahead. “I already got the facts from Dr. Torson, who was the treating doctor. She said you were a friend of Dr. Drake and I hoped you could share your thoughts as to why she was murdered? Do we know if murdered is even the right word? You must have some theories.”
He doesn’t waste any time. No preliminaries. And yes, I have some thoughts, if not theories, about the motivation. But she was unlikely to share them with him. It was then that Marnie appeared from the elevator. Marnie had finished her visit with Dorothy Riley, their sweet neighbor from the old days. They credited Dorothy with keeping them alive through harrowing weeks of finals and board exams with baked goods and vegetables from her garden.
They were headed to happy hour at O’Bryan’s. There was no lack of happy hours on The Island. The watering holes had learned the benefit of extended hours to service the shift-working staff at the medical center as well as the tourists who had lingered on the beach past sunset. Didier had a meeting with the Galveston Island Nature Council, so Louise’s mother was spending the evening with the kids.
Marnie glanced at Chris’s badge and smiled. “It’s about time one of you guys showed some interest in Gen’s murder. I’m Marnie Liccione, another friend of Gennifer Drake.”
Of all of Marnie’s assets, that open smile made everyone, male or female, putty in her hands. It was clear to Louise that Mr. Hill would be joining them for drinks. Despite her reservations about talking to reporters, she was happy to see Marnie’s interest in the handsome journalist.
It was a short walk to The Strand, Galveston’s historic main drag, and down a side street to O’Bryan’s. The three of them set off on foot. The night was a bit cool for once.
Louise loved this time of year, when there were hints that the siege of summer was coming to a close. The tourists would thin out, leaving the beach an open expanse for exercising and family outings.
Louise, Marnie, and Chris settled themselves into a booth at O’Bryan’s on Post Office Street. The women sat next to each other. Chris slid into the other side of the booth. Louise and Marnie ordered Causeway Kolsch. Chris ordered Knob Creek on the rocks.
When Chris pulled out an old-fashioned notebook and ball point pen, Louise continued her assessment. Mr. Hill was easy on the eyes. Mid-forties, tall and slim. His dark brown hair was shaggy and a few weeks overdue for a haircut. He wore a blue oxford cloth shirt, untucked, with gray slacks and Birkenstock sandals. This was Galveston, after all.
“Thanks for agreeing to talk to me, Dr. Finnerty,” Chris said.
“Dr. Finnerty works fine for the record, but we’re on a first name basis at O’Bryan’s. Call me Louise.”
After a few preliminary questions about how long the women had known Gen and in what capacity, Chris Hill dove in. “The paper is going to run a follow up story about Dr. Drake the day after tomorrow. As you know, the police are saying that she died under suspicious circumstances.”
“Yes, like murder,” Marnie interjected.
Chris glanced at Marnie and continued, “Have you received any word on the autopsy results, Louise?”
Louise had to take a deep breath before responding. It was unreal to her that she was in a bar discussing her friend’s postmortem.
“I don’t have anything official. I wasn’t the treating physician, so I don’t have access to the details. Plus, the report hasn’t been finalized. I did hear that she showed signs of trauma with what appeared to be defensive injuries and blood and skin under her fingernails.”
“Do you have any idea, any theory, about why someone would want to kill Dr. Drake?” Chris asked. “Any enemies? History of abusive relationships? She worked at the Gulf National Lab. Was there any hint that she might be mixed up in some sensitive research there? Something that somebody would kill for?”
Louise was glad that the drinks had arrived and all three took big sips. This was getting stressful. She knew she was limited in what she could reveal about a patient, even the deceased.
“That’s a lot of questions,” Marnie said, as she glanced at Louise.
Louise nodded to let her friend know it was fine with her if Marnie chimed in. She had called Louise earlier to explain about finding the letter.
Marnie continued. “No enemies or abusive relationships that we know of. We think there’s some connection to the lab.”
Chris quit taking notes. “Why is that?”
Before there was time to answer or stall, Louise stood up and waved to a couple of women on their way out the door. “Hey, Connie and Tina!”
Louise had worked with Dr. Connie Garcia for five years. After having a set of twins, Connie left the ER for more civilized hours. It happened all the time in emergency medicine. She and her sister, Tina, knew all the best places for happy hours on The Island. The fortuitous coincidence at this happy hour was that Dr. Tina Garcia was a pathologist in the medical examiner’s office.
“Can you join us? I still miss you, Connie. How are the girls? You remember Marnie?” Louise asked.
After more introductions, the sisters said they could stay for a few minutes. Both had husbands on duty at home. “This is our monthly sisters’ night out,” Tina said.
Louise brought the conversation around to Gen.
“She wasn’t my case,” said Tina. “But I heard the results. They came out this afternoon. I’ll tell you, at least what I heard. Off the record.” She shot a stern look at Chris.
He held up his hands, palms facing the group in a posture of surrender. He was outnumbered and besides, he probably didn’t want to antagonize his sources.
“The autopsy confirms that Dr. Drake was murdered. Although she had been in the water for at least 30 minutes prior to her mortal injury, she didn’t drown. There was no water in her lungs. She had evidence of strangulation and blunt trauma. Her liver was lacerated, and she bled out internally.”
Tina’s description was unvarnished and presented as one physician would relay the information to another physician.
Around the table, everyone took another big sip of their drinks. Marnie and Louise were horrified to realize that their friend had been able to make it to shore only to be killed in such a brutal fashion.
After seeing their reaction, Tina said, “Oh, sorry to be so graphic. I forgot that this was personal for y’all. There is more.”
“Please go on,” they said in unison.
Tina said, “Her toxicology is preliminary, but it was positive for opiates.”
Marnie and Louise were shocked into silence. Louise regained her composure as the sisters started leaving. She thanked Tina for the information. As she gave Connie a hug, Louise promised to get together again soon.
“Okay, then,” said Chris, sinking back onto the worn booth. “That was more than I expected to learn tonight. Can I ask a few more questions?”
“Shoot,” Marnie replied, even more resolute to figure things out.
“Opiates? Do either of you suspect she had a drug problem?”
Louise shook her head.
Marnie said, “Absolutely not. Aside from the fact that Gen was super conscientious about taking care of the body she had worked so hard for, she was always a straight arrow. Her research is the thread we need to follow to figure out what happened.” Marnie explained to Chris their suspicions related to the missing flash drive.
“Louise and I are sure there’s information on it that Gen wanted protected. The question is where she hid it. I haven’t asked Garrett about it yet—he’s still pretty raw.”
“Who’s Garrett?” Chris asked.
“Garrett Mancinelli is, was, her boyfriend. They were about to move in together. Do you know Garrett’s Seawall Trattoria? He’s the owner.”
“Yeah, his name is familiar. I think I know Garrett from somewhere in my past. High school? Sports? I don’t know. Somewhere. Probably an old Island family thing.”
Marnie wasn’t interested in the “Born On the Island” relationships that constantly cropped up among the descendants of Galveston’s A-list families. She forged ahead. “So, Chris, do you want to help us find it? The flash drive? We think she hid it in the lab. Do you know how we can get into the lab with your newspaper connections? Do you know an investigator who could help us?”
“Well, yes, maybe, and yes. Let me sleep on it.” He gave them each one of his cards so they could reconnect.
Checking her watch, Louise said, “We’ve got to get going. You two can talk tomorrow. I think we need to find this thumb drive, but we need to be careful. If Gen was murdered, there are some powerful forces at work here.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Chris said.
Chris walked slowly back to his car, thinking about the interview. He had obtained much more information than he had expected. He had the makings of a big story. Marnie’s intensity about the investigation drew him to her. Among other things—like her good looks and obvious intelligence.
Clearing his mind, he noticed The Grand 1894 Opera House and thought about its history. Opened as an opera house with stars like Sarah Bernhardt, it had descended into a vaudeville theater on its way to becoming a seedy movie house. Now it was being resurrected and restored as a performing arts center.
He turned north to continue his walk on The Strand. Originally named B Street, it was renamed The Strand after an enterprising jeweler insisted on copying the name of the famous street in London. The name stuck and the five-block stretch was a booming commercial center during the latter half of the 1800s. Banks, cotton exchanges, wholesalers, and newspapers were housed in iron fronted brick buildings. The Strand became known as “The Wall Street of the South.” Throughout the nineteenth century, Galveston was the biggest city in Texas.
The Great Storm of 1900 demolished The Island and left 6,000 dead. This devastation combined with the ascendency of a safe, deep water port in Houston brought an end to Galveston’s status as a commercial center. After the hurricane, most of the old buildings were replaced by hulking warehouses. It wasn’t until the last half of the next century that Islanders restored and revitalized the area.
It was a short drive to his home. Well, he wanted it to be his home. Right now, it was a work in progress. He had purchased the house on 18th Street from his cousin two years ago. Hurricane Ike had done serious damage to the Victorian mansion in 2008, but the place had been in the family since it was built. Originally, his family’s money came from the Galveston Cotton Exchange, which one of his ancestors had founded after the Civil War. Much of the man’s financial success allegedly came from cheating the farmers, as well as the buyers, and the state of Texas at each step in the process.
When the port of Galveston lost its dominance to Houston, his family branched out into oil and gas. They also owned and ran the Bay City Daily until the mid-sixties, a bit of family history that had fascinated Chris while growing up and eventually led him to choose journalism as his major.
He padded up the steps to the garage apartment, which served as his living area. He could see a light on in the big house and knew Rosa, the Hill’s retired seventy-five-year-old former housekeeper, and now Chris’s maintenance coordinator, was getting ready for bed. When he reached the top of the stairs, Chris wasn’t surprised to see a covered plate of chile rellenos on his doorstep.
It was getting late. He had one more thing to accomplish before watching the last few innings of the Astros game and piling into bed with a book.
He had told Louise and Marnie that he might have an investigator. Savannah would be perfect. He made a call, left a message, and followed up with a text. After warming up the plate of food Rosa had prepared for him, he flipped on the TV. The Astros were beating the A’s 8-0 in the seventh.