Cornelia Drive was not the typical venue in which Mars paid visits to victims’ families. The lawns on Cornelia Drive got more attention than most of the kids Mars saw in city neighborhoods. The curved street was lined with 1950s-style ramblers, many of which, like the Fitzgerald house, were white brick.
Mars rang the doorbell. Phil Keck came to the door. He shook Mar’s hand too hard and then held on to keep Mars in the entryway. In an artificial whisper, standing too close, Keck said, “I think we should go slow on this with the family. You know, until we’re sure. Absolutely sure. I was thinking after I hung up with you that maybe what’s happened is that Mary Pat’s ID got stolen. That the girl you found on the bluffs had ripped it off.”
“That would be a long shot,” Mars said. “The ID the vic was carrying fits the body. What have you told the family about my coming out?”
“I just said that in a missing-persons case having other jurisdictions involved is helpful. That you were somebody I knew and trusted, that you’d be helping out. I haven’t said anything about your being Homicide or about the body you found on the bluffs.”
“One thing I can’t figure, Phil. What are you doing here?
Even in Edina, a missing teenager can’t be something the PD pays much attention to right off. What gives? You do home visits on all these cases?”
Keck shook his head with his eyes closed. “You can’t imagine the kind of kid Mary Pat is, in addition to which her dad, Doc Fitzgerald, delivered both my kids. When Mary Pat was in junior high, she baby-sat my kids. Her parents are beside themselves and my being here helps. And I know this is what people always say in these situations, but in Mary Pat’s case, it’s really true: her being gone without telling her parents just isn’t in character.”
“I thought you said on the phone you were pretty sure she was with her boyfriend.”
“Well, I did—and I do think that’s where she’s going to turn up. It’s just that it doesn’t really fit, so I’m playing it safe.”
“Okay. This is how I want to handle things. I want a description from her parents of what she was wearing when they last saw her, and I want to see a recent picture. If either of those fits with what we found on the bluffs, that’s it. I’m going to tell them we’ve found a body that matches her description.”
“Hold off, would you? If at that point it looks like this really might be Mary Pat—good God, I can’t believe I’m even saying this out loud—but if it sounds like it might be her, I’ll drive downtown myself to identify the body.”
“That’s fine. But I’m not dinking around to make you feel good, Phil. I need to get going on this. You know as well as I do that time is critical, and I wouldn’t be out here in the first place if I wasn’t pretty sure.”
“No problem. My God. If this is Mary Pat, I’m as hot as you are to get going. I just don’t want the Fitzgeralds to suffer that kind of shock unless we’re sure. C’mon in and I’ll introduce you.”
The Fitzgerald living room was large, with a picture window at the back of the room facing Lake Cornelia. The furniture was heavily upholstered in floral prints, with lots of highly polished end tables and tassle-shaded lamps. It looked like it had been delivered en masse from Grand Rapids, Michigan, maybe twenty years ago, and taken good care of since.
Doc Fitzgerald was standing when they entered the room. A tiny woman, wearing sunglasses and hanging on to a mug of coffee like it was life’s blood sat beside him in a chair that probably weighed four times what she did.
Keck put a hand on Mars’s shoulder. “Doc, Mrs. Fitz, this is the guy I told you about. Special Detective Marshall Bahr from the Minneapolis PD. Mars and I worked together years ago. He’s first class, and we’re lucky he’s able to help out.”
Doc Fitzgerald stepped forward with energy to shake Mars’s hand. “I—we—do appreciate this very much, Special Detective. A bit embarrassed, of course. I’m sure Phil’s told you we think this is a goose chase. If Mary Pat wasn’t so conscientious, I doubt we’d think twice about her being gone two days. She’s almost nineteen—but it’s not like her … .”
Mars held up a hand. “No problem. Just a couple of things that would help me out. Do you have a recent picture of Mary Pat?”
Mrs. Fitzgerald spoke without moving. “Her senior picture’s in our bedroom on the dresser—” She stopped and her face tightened slightly. “Doc. The picture of you and Mary Pat that was taken down at the Biltmore, in Phoenix, in February. It’s in your study. That one’s more recent, and more like she has her hair now.”
Doc Fitzgerald returned with two photos. One was a portrait in a nine-by-twelve frame. The girl in the picture had close-cropped white blond hair. The other was a snapshot. Father and daughter looked out from the frame, smiling into the camera against bright sunlight, each with a golf club in
hand. Doc Fitzgerald had a sun visor on. Mary Pat Fitzgerald was bareheaded, her pale blond hair blowing across her forehead and onto her father’s shoulder.
Doc Fitzgerald handed both photos to Mars. “Like Mother said, the snapshot down at the Biltmore is more like her hair is now. Her senior picture was taken when she still had her hair cropped for swimming.”
Mars turned away from Fitzgerald as if to look at the photos in better light. He faced Phil Keck, giving him a slight nod, which caused Keck to change color.
Mars said, “She’s a beautiful girl. It would help if I could take the photos with me. I’ll see that you get them back. Would you happen to know what Mary Pat was wearing when you last saw her on Thursday?”
Again, it was Mrs. Fitzgerald who spoke. “I remember she wore her Ralph Lauren windbreaker, because I told her it wasn’t warm enough, that she should wear her down jacket. But she said she was just going over to Southdale to get fitted for her prom dress and it would be fine.”
“The windbreaker. What color was it?”
“Pink. The windbreaker was pink.”
They took the news about the body quietly. Doc Fitzgerald moved away to stand in front of the picture window, staring out at the lake. Mrs. Fitzgerald rose abruptly. “I’m sorry. I should have offered you coffee when you came in.” She walked quickly but unsteadily toward the kitchen. Mars and Phil Keck stood awkwardly in the center of the living room until she returned, carrying in shaking hands two mugs of steaming black coffee. She didn’t ask if they wanted cream or sugar, and after putting their cups down on an end table, she went back to the kitchen.
From the window, and still facing the lake, Dr. Fitzgerald
spoke. “I don’t mean to suggest that what you’ve said isn’t based on good police work. Far from it. I have the highest regard for law enforcement in this community. But I can’t help feeling—and Phil, you can bear me out on this—I can’t help feeling that if you knew Mary Pat, you’d know how unlikely it is that she could be the unfortunate young woman you’ve found … where is it you said? …”
Mars answered. “The Father Hennepin Bluffs. Just across the river from downtown.”
“Well, there it is. I’ve never heard of the place and I’m sure Mary Pat hasn’t either. It doesn’t make any sense, not any of it, and with all due respect, I think you’ve got the wrong girl.”
Keck spoke, and for once he was helpful. “My idea, Doc, is that I can get this straightened out. I’ll drive downtown and—” Mars caught the brief halt while Keck stopped himself from saying he would identify Mary Pat’s body. “—I’ll meet with the medical examiner and get this business straightened out. Mars can stay here and get more information we can use in finding out exactly where Mary Pat is.”
Dr. Fitzgerald turned from the window. He’d pushed his glasses up on his forehead and was rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I hate to keep imposing, Phil, but—well, Mother and I’d appreciate it.” Keck was out the front door when Dr. Fitzgerald went after him. “One more favor, Phil. Call from the medical examiner’s office, will you?”
A phone rang in the kitchen, twice, without Mrs. Fitzgerald picking up. Dr. Fitzgerald scurried toward the kitchen as if he expected that she wouldn’t answer. Mars could hear him on the phone, his voice briefly effusive, then subdued, but Mars could not make out what was being said.
Within minutes Dr. Fitzgerald came back into the living room. “That was my son Robert. We tried to get hold of him
yesterday, but he’s been out of town. He lives in Boston … teaches English at the university there. He wants to come out, which doesn’t really seem necessary … but …”
“The more people who knew Mary Pat, the better.” Mars winced when he realized he’d used the past tense. But the doctor didn’t seem to notice. “If you don’t mind,” Mars said, “I’d like to ask you and Mrs. Fitzgerald a few questions. Do you think you’re up to it?”
“Of course. Yes, of course.” He hesitated. “I’ll just get Mother.” He walked back to the kitchen. When he returned, Mrs. Fitzgerald was at his side. Her gait was more unsteady than before. She clutched her coffee mug with both hands.
Ah. The dark glasses, the trembling hands, the everpresent mug. It wasn’t just grief Mars was seeing. Mrs. Fitzgerald was drunk.
Mrs. Fitzgerald took her place in the overstuffed chair. Doc pulled a hassock up, sitting down a little to the front of his wife. He leaned forward in an attitude of eagerness, as if his answering Mars correctly would guarantee the outcome he wanted.
Mars began. “Tell me what happened on Thursday, including anything that might have upset Mary Pat before she left the house, and what’s happened since then.”
Doc looked to his wife and back at Mars. “I’m going to have to ask Mother Fitz to begin. I was at the hospital from early Thursday morning until late that night. I’d had two breach deliveries and a C-section on Thursday. I didn’t know of any of this until I got home just before midnight—”
“It’s just like I said before.” Mrs. Fitzgerald’s voice was too loud, with the slightly arrogant tone that some drunks adopt. “Mary Pat was just going to run over to Southdale about her prom dress.” Mrs. Fitzgerald made a harrumphing sound, which turned into a cough.
“Do you remember when she left?” Mars could see that Mrs. Fitzgerald was made uneasy by the question.
Doc interrupted in a gentle voice. “I called home just after Carol Givens had delivered her baby—which was about nine-thirty A.M. You said Mary Pat had just left to run an errand over at Southdale. Do you remember, Mother?”
Mother Fitz took another swig from her mug and shrugged.
“And you didn’t hear from Mary Pat again?”
Dr. Fitzgerald answered. “As I said. I got home just before midnight and noticed that the station wagon wasn’t in the garage.” He paused, glanced briefly at his wife. “Mother doesn’t drive, so I assumed Mary Pat was out. Mother was already sleeping when I got in, so I just sat up for a while in my study, doing some reading. I turned in around one A.M., I’d guess.”
The doorbell rang, startling the three of them.
“I’ll go.” Dr. Fitzgerald rose abruptly and started toward the front door. Mars held up his hand to stop him.
“You’re expecting somebody? Any chance this is the boyfriend?”
“Brian? No, I don’t think so. We’re not expecting Brian back until tomorrow. It could be anybody—people have been calling and dropping by pretty steadily since yesterday morning.”
“Go ahead, answer the door.”
Doc returned with a girl Mars guessed to be about Mary Pat’s age. She walked in with an assurance that came from the near certainty that she would be the best looking person in any room she entered, in combination with the natural arrogance of adolescence.
“Special Detective Bahr, this is Becky Prince. Mary Pat’s best friend.”
Becky Prince looked at Mars, but neither spoke nor
smiled. Mars noticed she didn’t bother to greet Mrs. Fitzgerald, but turned to Doc Fitzgerald abruptly.
“Have you heard anything?” She spoke only to Doc.
Doc glanced at Mars. It was clear he didn’t want to say anything about the body on the bluffs. “Sit down, Becky. We haven’t heard anything since you were here last night. Phil Keck’s asked his colleague here to help out, and we were just telling him everything we know about what happened Thursday, which isn’t much.”
Becky crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture of frustration and tension. “Has anybody tracked Brian down yet?”
The phone rang before Doc could answer Becky. “That’ll be Phil,” he said, heading to the kitchen at a slow run. Mars braced himself for what he knew would be bad news for the Fitzgeralds.
When Doc came back, he moved slowly, but did not seem unduly upset. He glanced at his watch. “That was Bobby, calling with his flight time.” He jingled change in his pocket and glanced at his watch again. “I really was expecting we’d have heard from Phil by now. It’s been …” He looked at Mars. “How long would you say before we could expect to hear from Phil?”
“I wouldn’t guess, if I were you. Any number of things could have slowed him down. We’ll hear from him when we hear from him. Right now—”
The phone rang again, causing impatience to override Mars’s sympathy for the Fitzgerald’s situation. He clutched at Doc Fitzgerald’s arm as Doc headed off to answer the phone.
“You got an answering machine?”
“Yes, but if it’s Phil—”
“If it’s Phil, we’ll hear his voice. Right now what I really need is a basic picture of where we are, which I can’t get if
we’re interrupted by every phone call. Let’s just sit down, all of us, and get some facts straight.”
Doc stood momentarily to listen to the answering machine, but whoever had called hung up before the recorder started. He sat reluctantly. Becky Prince turned to stand in front of the picture window, her back to the rest of them. But Mars had no doubt she was keeping track of what was going on.
Mars began again. “You were saying you went to bed around one A.M. on Thursday … well, actually that would have been Friday morning.”
Doc nodded.
“So you went to bed around one A.M. Friday and Mary Pat wasn’t home yet. Was it usual for her to be out until after midnight on a weeknight?”
Becky answered, her back still turned. “It was a weeknight but it wasn’t a school night. It was staff development for teachers, Wednesday through Friday, so we had off. Which is why Brian went up north to his cousin’s to cut wood, which he does every staff development break in the spring.”
“Up north to his cousin’s to cut wood?”
Becky turned to face him. With her back to the light of the window, she appeared as a silhouette. “He’s got a cousin who owns a lot of land up in Itasca County. He lets Brian come up every spring and thin out some of the forest on his land. Brian cuts the wood in spring, leaves it to dry out, then goes back up over Columbus Day weekend in the fall. He picks the wood up and brings it back to the cities to sell. Drives around in his pickup looking for houses with chimneys and asks if they want to buy wood. He makes a couple thousand every year doing that.”
“What was unusual was for Mary Pat to be out that late without leaving word.” Doc drew his index finger across his
lower lip. “I just assumed she’d told Mother she was staying with Becky, or …” He trailed off.
“So you realized she hadn’t come home when you got up yesterday morning?”
“Well, it was on my mind, I guess. Because I checked the garage first thing when I got up. The station wagon was still out. That was just after six. I wasn’t comfortable calling Becky that early, so I waited until about seven-thirty to call.”
“Mrs. Fitzgerald …” Mars turned his attention back to the mother. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, when did you tell your husband you hadn’t heard from Mary Pat on Thursday night?”
Again, Doc answered for his wife. “Special Detective, Mother has suffered from migraine headaches for years. She’s had a bad week and has been taking medication off and on. The medication pretty much does her in, so I didn’t wake her when I got home Thursday night. She was up around seven o’clock Friday morning. That’s when I asked her where Mary Pat was, and when she didn’t know, I called Becky.”
“And you called Phil Keck when?”
“I called Phil right after I talked to Becky.”
Doc paused, his gaze caught by something behind Mars. Mars swiveled to see Phil Keck standing silently in the front hallway. Mary Pat’s father rose slowly, without speaking.
Without coming fully into the room, Phil Keck spoke. “It’s bad news, Doc. It’s bad news.”