Santa Barbara, California, December 12, 1958
Two days later, Hansen was standing by the door between the detective bay and the front desk, angrily cramming folders into a metal filing cabinet and ruminating over the call he’d just received from Canada. Olga’s father, the poor man, had wanted an update on the investigation. It was hard to understand him through the static on the line.
“She wouldn’t go off without telling us,” he said and then broke down. “My wife’s in the hospital, sick with worry.” His voice cut in and out during the long-distance call. “Have you?… mother-in-law?… She’s been… Olga’s afraid of…”
“I know, Mr. Kupczyk. We’re looking into everyone and everything.”
“Thank you. Thank you for helping us.”
Hansen ended the conversation and looked up front when he heard his name called.
“Someone out here wants to see you.” The duty-desk sergeant gestured toward a young woman in a white nurse’s uniform sitting by the front door, fiddling with a business card. “Gina… something.”
The detective took a few steps in her direction. “Detective Hansen,” he said.
“I’m Gina Gallo*, Olga Duncan’s friend. I was with a patient when Detective Thompson came by yesterday to ask more questions of everybody.” She held up the card. “He left this at the hospital.”
“Thompson’s my partner. He’s out right now, but we’re working together on the investigation,” Hansen said as he escorted the nurse back to his desk. He pulled a chair over for her. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
Miss Gallo shook her head, causing her shiny brunette ponytail to sway. “No thanks. I don’t drink coffee.”
Hansen moved his chipped mug aside. “Well, I probably drink too much… coffee.” He smiled at her pretty face, then looked down and fumbled together some message slips that were scattered across his desk. When he tried to put the messages on the spiked paperweight, he knocked it off the desktop. “Son of a biscuit eater,” he muttered. His face turned red as he leaned over to pick things up off the floor. “Excuse my English.”
Gina bit her lip to hide a smile.
“So, you’re one of Olga’s friends?” he said as he struggled to get the little papers onto the spike.
Gina placed her delicate hands on the desk. “I decided to come down here and try to talk face-to-face so I can find out what’s going on. I just hope you’re not too busy to…”
“No, no, not too busy. Of course not,” Hansen stammered as he reached for a folder in the metal basket at the corner of his desk. “I read through these initial statements of the nurses who reported Olga missing. Someone did a follow-up interview with everyone at the hospital the next day, right?”
“Not really an interview. An officer came by to see if Olga had showed up yet. It seemed like he’d already decided she took off on her own.”
“That’s all changed now. Our lieutenant’s made this case the number one priority in our department.” Hansen pulled a page out of the folder. “You don’t think Olga’s run off?”
“No.” Gina’s ponytail snapped back and forth. “She was being threatened and harassed almost daily by her mother-in-law. It started before she married Frank, and it never let up. When Olga changed her home phone number, the woman started calling the hospital.”
“You witnessed this harassment firsthand?” Hansen pulled out a tablet to take notes.
“No. I never met the woman, but she called the hospital all the time, and Olga told me about the threats. Poor Olga was so upset that she broke down crying during surgery a few times. She would have to leave the operating room.”
Hansen wrinkled his brow. “Frank know about this?”
“Yes, but he’s an idiot when it comes to his mother. The last time I saw Olga, she told me she’d finally realized that Frank was still a little boy. ‘He’s never grown up,’ she said. ‘He still does whatever his mother tells him to do.’ ” Gina leaned in closer to Hansen. “You know, from the first, when Olga didn’t show up for work that morning, I knew something was terribly wrong. She told me once that she went into nursing to help humanity. Olga was the most conscientious nurse I’ve ever known. She never missed a shift. After they found the sliding glass door of her apartment wide open, and her purse… well, I just knew Olga was dead.” Gina’s eyes welled. “How can something like this happen?”
I ask myself that question every day, honey. Hansen held her gaze for a moment. “You don’t think she just got fed up and decided to leave her husband?”
“Olga loved Frank. She told me many times, ‘Frank has so much feeling for his mother, I just know he’ll have the same for our child.’ She hoped that after the baby came, things would be better. I think she believed that Frank loved her, too… as much as he could.”
Hansen scratched his scalp with his pencil. “And you’re sure she’d talked to Frank about the harassment, the threats from his mother?”
“She told him about it over and over, but he’s such a mama’s boy.”
Hansen scribbled a few notes. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Isn’t that enough? Can’t you just arrest Frank’s mother and make her tell you what she did to Olga?”
Hansen smiled a little. “It ain’t that easy. We need evidence.”
The young nurse nodded uncertainly and sighed. “Well, is it okay if I check in with you once in a while to see if you have any news?”
“Sure, why don’t you leave me your phone number in case I have any more questions?” Hansen ripped a piece of paper from his pad, and his hand knocked over the spiked paperweight again. He had to grab his coffee cup to keep it from tipping over.
Her face brightened. “Sure, call me. I want to help all I can.”
Hansen smiled a crooked smile as he handed her the paper and a pencil.
An hour after Olga’s friend left, Thompson got back. “More dead ends. The body that washed up in Carpinteria was a man, not a woman. I also talked to the switchboard operator at the hospital. Got more accusations about Mrs. Duncan making threats, but no real evidence.” He took off his jacket and threw it across his desk. “Anything new here?”
“Busy, very busy.” Hansen summarized his interview with Gina, without mentioning that he had her phone number in his shirt pocket. “She says Frank loves Olga.”
“He’s got a funny way of showing it.” Thompson dropped into his chair. “Goddammit, Olga disappeared three weeks ago, and all we’ve got is his mother’s alleged threats and her bullshit story about being blackmailed.”
They sat in silence for a moment, then Hansen said, “Why don’t we pay Mrs. Short a surprise visit? But this time we’ll make sure she’s on her own.”
“Good idea.” Thompson stood up. “And I’d like to be the one to take a crack at her.”
As Thompson knocked softly on the door of number twelve, he glanced uneasily at the apartment just above, where Hansen had gone to talk to Mrs. Duncan and keep her busy. Thompson waited a few seconds, then knocked again, a little harder. No response. He put his mouth right next to the door and called out softly, “Mrs. Short?”
The door opened a few inches. The chain was on; Thompson couldn’t see much inside the dark apartment. But he heard the old woman’s timid voice clearly enough: “Yes?”
“Detective Thompson, Santa Barbara Police.” He flashed his badge in the gap of the doorway. “Remember me? We talked earlier in the week when my partner and I installed the recording device on your friend’s phone.”
“What do you want? I’m not feeling very well.” The old woman finally appeared in the doorway, wearing a ratty cardigan over a cotton housedress. She pulled the sweater close around her throat.
“I just need to ask you a few more questions about Olga Duncan.”
“I don’t know anything. I never met her. Sorry.”
She tried to close the door, but Thompson held it open with one hand. He put his face close to the opening and peered down at the old woman. “This won’t take long.”
After a few seconds, she unlatched the chain and stepped back. Thompson walked into a musty-smelling room. The windows were closed and the shades drawn even though it was nearly eighty degrees outside, another unseasonably warm Santa Barbara winter day.
Mrs. Short stuck her head outside and looked around before closing the door and locking the deadbolt.
Thompson took off his hat. “Do you mind if I sit down?” He nodded toward a sagging upholstered chair.
Mrs. Short made a sweeping motion with her arm and took a seat on the sofa. “Betty warned me not to talk to you. She said you’re just going to try to trick me.” Her hands trembled as she fiddled with a string of glass beads around her turkey neck. “And Betty does things to people who cross her.”
Thompson made himself remain very still. “What doesn’t Betty want you to talk about? Olga?”
“Yes… Olga… the annulment… the Mexicans… everything.”
Sweat trickled down the detective’s spine. Annulment? Mexicans?
Mrs. Short hugged a small blue pillow. “If I talk to you, she’ll find out what I said. Betty always knows what people are doing against her.”
Thompson leaned forward. “Mrs. Short, you don’t have to worry about Betty. She doesn’t know I’m here, and my partner’s upstairs with her right now, keeping her busy checking the phone recorder. Now, tell me about this annulment.”
Mrs. Short covered her mouth and stifled a little bleat. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“A young woman is missing,” Thompson said firmly, “and you may have been a witness to a crime. That’s serious business, Mrs. Short. We have to check out everything, and you have to tell us the truth. What’s this about an annulment?”
“I only went with them to Ventura to see the lawyer and go to the courtroom,” she whimpered. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re saying Frank got his marriage annulled in Ventura?”
“Not Frank. Betty. She did it. Frank didn’t even know.”
Thompson wrinkled his forehead. “Mrs. Duncan got her son’s marriage annulled without his knowledge? How is that possible?”
“She hired a man.”
The detective pulled a small notebook and pencil out of his breast pocket. “A lawyer?”
“No, a man from the Salvation Army… to do odd jobs. She called the Salvation Army to get someone….” Mrs. Short fluttered her fingers. “Betty isn’t allowed to go down there anymore. You know, problems, but she can still call. The odd-job man was supposed to wash the windows. That’s what she told them on the phone.”
Thompson stopped writing. “She called the Salvation Army to hire a man to wash her windows? I don’t think I follow. How did this man annul Frank’s marriage?”
“He pretended to be Frank. Betty pretended to be Olga, and we all went to a judge in Ventura last summer.” She folded her hands in her lap. “But I didn’t do anything. I just went along for the ride.”
Thompson worked to process what he was hearing. “Mrs. Duncan paid this odd-job guy to impersonate Frank?”
“She promised him a hundred dollars, but when we got back from Ventura, she told him she didn’t have the money….” Mrs. Short’s voice trailed off.
Thompson leaned back. “What about these Mexican men you just mentioned? How do they fit into this? Are they the same guys Mrs. Duncan’s accusing of blackmail?”
“I really can’t say.” Mrs. Short dabbed at her eyes again. “I’m an old woman. I mind my own business, and I’ve never hurt anybody. Can’t you just leave me alone now?”
Instead of leaving, the detective moved to the sofa next to Mrs. Short. “I can see that you’re afraid.”
The old woman sniveled. She nodded vigorously.
“I think we should finish this conversation down at the police station. Your choice, but make it fast. My partner’s going to be finished talking to your friend in a little while.”
Mrs. Short stood up. “All right, but I’ll have to think of something to tell Betty when I come back… about where I’ve been.”
“We can protect you. You tell us what happened to Olga, and you won’t have to worry about Elizabeth Duncan. If you help us, we’ll help you.”
Mrs. Short darted around the coffee table and sprang for the front door with the agility of a woman half her age. She unbolted the lock and said, “Good, because the Mexicans are after us. She didn’t pay them either.”
Thompson escorted Mrs. Short through the side entrance of the Santa Barbara Police Department while Hansen parked the car.
“This won’t take too long, will it?” Mrs. Short said when they reached the bottom of the stairs. She adjusted her glasses and looked around, blinking in the bright florescent lighting. “My programs start in an hour.”
Thompson escorted Mrs. Short into an empty interview room. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, water?”
“Glass of water, if you don’t mind.” She folded her wrinkled hands on the table. “Ice would be nice.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Hansen and Lieutenant Peck were waiting outside the room. “Whatta we got?” the lieutenant barked the instant Thompson closed the door. “This old biddy know anything?”
Hansen answered for his partner. “We think she knows a lot. She’s Mrs. Duncan’s sidekick, so to speak. They’re together practically twenty-four hours a day.”
“But does she know where Olga is?”
“She’s not saying, but she knows plenty,” Thompson said. “Get this: she just told me Betty got her son’s marriage annulled.”
The lieutenant laughed. “She got his marriage annulled?”
“She says Mrs. Duncan hired some guy to play Frank and impersonated Olga herself at an annulment hearing in Ventura. Mrs. Short was there when it happened.”
The lieutenant raised his eyebrows. He barked out another laugh. “That’s crazy.”
“She also mentioned something about Mrs. Duncan owing money to some guys.”
“Might be the blackmailers, Moya and Baldonado,” Hansen said.
“You sure she’s dealing with a full deck?” the lieutenant said.
Thompson shrugged. “She’s afraid of the Duncan woman. I only got her talking by saying that we’d protect her. I think she’s ready to get it all off her chest. This could be the break we need. What can I give her?”
The lieutenant rocked back on his heels. “Promise her anything you want. Just get her to tell us what happened to Olga Duncan.”
Thompson sat opposite Mrs. Short. “You need to tell me everything you know about what Elizabeth Duncan said or did regarding her daughter-in-law,” he said in his kindest voice. “If you’re truthful and you help us find this young woman, I’m going to help you.”
Mrs. Short sat hunch-shouldered at the table. “I can’t go back to my apartment after this. You don’t know Betty.”
“We’ll put you up in a hotel. You’ll have a guard.” Didn’t the lieutenant say to promise her whatever it took?
She perked up. “Hotel? How about the Miramar? You know the one with the blue roofs?”
“Hold your horses,” Thompson said. “You need to tell us what you know before we start making reservations. Let’s start with the annulment.” He looked down at his notes. “You say she hired a man from the Salvation Army to impersonate Frank.”
“Un-huh, Ralph.” Mrs. Short smiled. “I have a boyfriend named Ralph.”
Thompson looked up. “Your boyfriend is the man Mrs. Duncan hired to impersonate Frank?”
Mrs. Short fluffed her hair. “No, no, not my Ralph. It was another Ralph, from the Salvation Army.”
“Okay. When did this annulment take place?”
“August, I think. Betty called an attorney in Ventura to do the paperwork.”
“Just like that?” Thompson snapped his fingers.
“Yes, sir. She told the attorney’s secretary on the phone that she wanted to go to court the same afternoon and have the annulment granted by the judge. Said she was in a hurry.”
“She told the secretary what to do?”
“Oh yes, Betty’s very well-versed on the subject. She knows all about annulments. She’s done it herself many times.”
“Really?” Thompson made a note. “What happened when you got to Ventura?”
“The lawyer had all the paperwork ready. He didn’t ask for any identification. Just had Betty and Ralph swear under oath that they were Frank and Olga, and then they went to court that afternoon and told the judge that they wanted the annulment.”
“Anything else?”
“Betty wrote the lawyer a check for $100, but it bounced.” Mrs. Short reached for her pocketbook. “I’m tired. Can’t we finish this tomorrow?”
Hansen entered the room carrying a glass of water. No ice. He set the glass in front of Mrs. Short and took a seat next to his partner.
“You’re doing really well, Mrs. Short,” Thompson said, “but let’s go back a bit. When did Betty become upset about her son marrying Olga?”
“Why, before the beginning. Before they even got married, Betty was upset about it.” Mrs. Short took a sip of water. “Frank promised Betty that he would never marry Olga. Then he went out and married her secretly. But Betty found out anyway. The same day.”
“And how did Betty find out?” Hansen asked.
“She called the hospital where Olga works and asked to speak to her. She was going to warn her again not to marry Frank.”
“Again? Betty had called Olga before?” Thompson said.
“All the time, but the person who answered that day said Olga wasn’t there. Said she had the day off because she was getting married.” Mrs. Short fiddled with the clasp on her purse and pulled out a crumpled tissue. “Boy, was Betty mad. She said, ‘My son will never live with her… over my dead body….’ ” The old woman put the tissue to her nose and blew out a long blast. “Or maybe she said, ‘I’ll kill her first.’ ”
Thompson stopped writing and looked at his partner. “I’ll kill her first?”
“How do these guys you mentioned earlier fit into this?” Hansen asked Mrs. Short.
“When the annulment didn’t do the trick, Betty hired two boys at the Tropical Café that Mrs. Esquivel introduced her to. They were supposed to take Olga to Mexico.” Mrs. Short glanced back and forth between the detectives. “They were supposed to get rid of her… somehow… maybe kill her in Mexico, I think, and get rid of the body. Betty said she had pills and acid if they needed them.” Mrs. Short twisted her fingers around the tissue. “I don’t suppose one of you would have a cigarette?”
Thompson did not move. Hansen set his pencil on the table and lined it up next to the yellow pad. Muffled voices drifted in from the squad room outside the door.
Finally. Thompson looked at his watch and wrote 4:30 p.m. on the pad. “You’ve been a big help, Mrs. Short. But this is going to take a little while longer. Detective Hansen’s going to step outside for a moment and speak to our lieutenant.”
He walked his partner to the door and spoke a few words before returning to the table and giving his head a quick shake to compose himself. He folded his fingers together and looked intently into the weary eyes of the old lady sitting across from him. “Mrs. Short, our lieutenant is going to call the district attorney’s office. You need to tell them everything you’ve told me. Understand?”
Mrs. Short’s eyes welled. “What about the hotel?”