We drove down to Remington the next morning, Rachel with me in the Prius and Colin in his own car. Rachel studied with her laptop the whole way.
The woman at the front desk didn’t seem to remember me, but she acknowledged us and called Lillian Mannes’ room just like yesterday. “Go ahead,” she said, speaking mostly to Colin. “She’s scheduled for physical therapy in half an hour.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
Lillian Mannes looked up as we entered. She sat in the same chair, with a different flowered dress on, and turned off her TV resentfully. “Colin.” Her voice was low and raspy.
“Grandma. This is Tom Jurgen, you saw him yesterday. And Rachel.”
The room had two chairs and a bed, but none of us sat. Lillian stared at us warily.
“Yesterday I asked you about the boy you took to the police station when your son was arrested.” I leaned against the straight back of one chair. “We need to know about him. Colin needs to know.”
Stared at me, then looked at Colin. Then her eyes dropped. “Please . . . it was so long ago.”
“Grandma.” Colin hesitated. “There’s—something weird going on. I’m getting messages from mom. Do you get that? She’s dead, and she’s sending me messages telling me to find my brother.”
Lillian shook her head, saying nothing.
“There were two kids, weren’t there?” I kept my voice low. “Colin and Kirk. But Kirk died.”
“No.” She reached an unsteady hand for a plastic cup and gulped water through a straw. “Kirk—no. He didn’t die.”
“But there’s an obituary.”
“No. We told her that he died, and she placed the notice in the paper. She insisted. Bradley didn’t want two children. He tried to—tried—but we stopped him. I stopped him.”
I glanced at Rachel. She nodded. Lillian was telling the truth.
“It was at home. Bradley couldn’t pay for the hospital.” She sat back, staring straight out, avoiding our eyes. She snatched a tissue from a box. “One of the neighbors was a midwife. Eileen—she didn’t know what was going on, she was in too much pain. They weren’t expecting twins, I don’t know, she hardly ever saw a doctor.”
Colin listened, still standing, his eyes closed tight.
“The babies came, and Eileen was asleep, and Bradley wanted to—” She blew her nose. “But we said we’d take him. And we told Eileen he’d died. So we took Kirk home with us.”
“Wait a minute—” Colin dropped into a chair. “You—where did he live? I never saw him.”
“In the basement. There was a closet. He stayed there. Whenever you came over, he stayed there. We taught him to stay out of sight. We schooled him, took care of him.” She sounded defensive. “We did the best we could! But people wouldn’t understand. We had to keep him safe.”
“Safe from your son?” I asked.
She nodded, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Bradley never wanted him.”
“So why did you take him to the police station when Bradley was arrested?”
Lillian blew her nose again and dropped the tissue on the floor. “We thought—we knew we were never going to see him again. What he did to Eileen—he was lost. We wanted him to see Kirk, just once, but he told us to go away. Just go away.”
“So where is he now?”
She shook her head. “He left when he was 18. He calls sometimes. He’s still nearby—I see him on the street, in the grocery store—at least until I had to move in here, after William died. Two years ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”
I looked at Colin. His eyes were stony, his body taut, as if he were fighting to hold his emotions inside. Rachel put a hand on his shoulder. He groaned quietly.
A knock on the door startled us. A woman in sweats leaned in. ”Mrs. Mannes? It’s time for your physical therapy.”
Lillian looked up, her face shaking. “Just—just a minute.” She blew her nose again and took another sip of water, then stared at us, defiant.
I had more questions, but I’d have to hold them for later. “Let’s go. Thanks for your help, Mrs. Mannes.”
She didn’t answer. The therapist looked puzzled but didn’t ask anything as we left.
Outside we sat in the Prius. For a few minutes no one said anything.
Then Colin spoke. “I got a brother I never knew about?”
“And she put him in a closet,” Rachel said. “You don’t have to be a Psych student to know that’s going to screw up a kid.”
“But why would mom tell me to find him?” Colin asked. “And kill him?”
Rachel poked me. “Any thoughts, oh master detective?”
“Did you pick up anything, oh hot psychic sidekick?”
She nodded “There’s a little something in the air.”
“Magic? Evil?”
“Maybe, but it’s faint. Like it’s fading, maybe. Plus, she’s scared. Angry. Still hiding—something. She’s closer to him than she’s letting on. I think she’s seen him. Recently.”
Colin stared at her. “Wow. You’re really—I thought—oh no, have you been reading my mind all this time?”
Rachel laughed. “Nothing you can’t tell your boyfriend. Or mine.” She punched my shoulder lightly.
“If she knows where he is, we ought to go back and ask her. Maybe after her PT is over.”
Rachel shook her head. “We won’t get it out of her now. She’s too scared. She thinks she might be crazy.”
“So what do we do?” Colin’s frustration was growing. “Do we hold a séance?”
“If she really is in contact with Kirk, he might come here. Especially now.” I looked at the entrance to the home. “She’s not going anywhere, so he’d have to come to her.”
“She could just call him,” Colin said.
“She’s too upset.” Rachel nodded. “I think she’d have to see him in person.”
“So I’m stuck here all day.” I sighed. “Wish I’d brought sandwiches.”
“I’ll pick some up for you.” Rachel opened her door. “Come on, Colin.”
“Wait, wait.” He held up a hand. “You’re just going to sit here all day? I’m not even—well, I guess I should be paying you, but I’m just a poor grad student.”
And I had other cases to work on. But I’d brought my laptop, and I could do almost anything I needed to with that. I almost had a few wide-mouthed bottles in the trunk for other bodily functions.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Rachel said. “Right, Tom?”
What could I say? “Sure. Pick me up something to eat?”
“Right.”
They came back 15 minutes later with a bag of wrapped sandwiches, some chips, and a few bottles of water. Rachel kissed me on the cheek, then jumped back into Colin’s car. He waved as he pulled away.
The parking lot was a semicircle facing the building. I moved my car to one end where I could keep an eye on the front door without being too obvious. I could see a loading bay off to one side, but I didn’t know about any back doors. They’d probably be locked to keep the residents from wandering away. I hoped.
I sent a few emails, ate a few chips, and kept my eyes open as I waited, hoping I wasn’t wasting the day on a case that wasn’t going to help pay the cable bill.
Stakeouts are boring. Keeping your concentration up hour after hour is difficult. I made notes of everyone who came in and checked them off when they left, but I missed two people and one pizza delivery truck. The pizza truck made me hungry, so I ate a sandwich.
Rachel called me midafternoon. “How’s it going, Sherlock? Talk fast, I’m on a class break.”
“Nothing yet. I’m going to have to use one of the bottles in the trunk soon. You bought me too much water.”
“Just make sure you throw it out when you get back. No sign of Kirk?”
“No. I’m assuming I’d recognize him. I hope he looks a little like Colin.” I sighed. “At least no one’s come out and told me to move.”
“Thanks for doing this. Colin really wants to pay you, so I said we’d work something out.”
“That makes me nervous, even if he is gay.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter. And I’ve met his boyfriend. How long are you going to stay?”
“I don’t know. Visiting hours end at eight.” I’d noticed the sign on the front door. “I’ll try to stick it out until then.”
“We should have found some underpaid staff member to bribe if anyone comes to visit her. Darn it.”
“Next time. Wait, hang on.” A van pulled up the driveway.
“Is it him?”
“I don’t know. Probably just another visitor. I’ll call you.”
The car was black, dusty, and dented, with Illinois license plates and a bumper sticker for a casino somewhere. The door opened, and a young man popped out, in a denim jacket and jeans. I grabbed the binoculars next to me and tried to zero in as he walked to the front door. It might be Kirk—he had the same general build as Colin, similar hair. But I couldn’t get a clear look at his face.
I made a note of the license plate and sat back to wait, the binoculars in my lap. I sipped some water. Another car parked and two women walked through the sliding doors. A bird flew overhead.
The sliding doors opened and the man walked out. I snatched up the glasses. No beard, short hair, but big ears like Colin. Probably Kirk. I started the Prius.
We drove a few miles. First he stopped at a Taco Bell, and I had to wait outside with my stomach rumbling as he ate a late lunch, or whatever meal he was on. I munched on one of the sandwiches Rachel had brought me. Eventually he came out and started up his van again.
Then he parked in front of a small apartment building—long, two stories, about two dozen units. The siding needed fresh paint and the sidewalk out front was cracked. I watched him go inside, made a note of the address, and called Rachel.
“I think I found him.” I gave her the address.
“You really are a master detective. Now what? We go in, guns blazing?”
“Not exactly.” I didn’t have a next move yet. “Heard anything from Colin?”
“I’ll text him. Want us to come down?”
“Not until I have a better idea of what to do. I’ll let you know when I think of it.”
I called the management office—the number was on a sign out front—told a few strategic lies, and eventually found out that Kirk Mannion lived in apartment 214, had been there for two years, never made trouble and paid his rent on time. He’d worked at a local school as a custodian when he first took the apartment; the manager didn’t know if he was still there now.
I hung up before they got too suspicious of my questions. With the information I had, I could do some snooping on my phone.
I couldn’t find any trace of Kirk before five years ago. He was listed on the staff at a high school, a manager of custodial services. He’d been arrested on a drunk and disorderly once; he had a Facebook page that he’d never posted anything on.
An hour later he came out and got into his van. If I was a TV private eye I’d probably have broken in to search his apartment. Since I’m just me, I followed him.
He drove to a Home Depot and came out with a shovel, two buckets, and a rolled up sheet of plastic. Then he went to the grocery store and came out with two plastic bags stuffed with food and a six-pack of beer. Then we went back to the apartment.
It was after 4 p.m. I called Rachel. “I have sort of a plan. Can you and Colin come down later? Before the nursing home closes.”
“Yeah, I think he’s ready to do anything to get this over with. What about you?”
“I want to stick with Kirk.” I told her about the Home Depot trip. Then I outlined what I wanted her to do with Colin.
“Should I bring Daffy Duck?” That was the name we’d given to the handgun I’d bought a few months ago after a run-in with a supernatural serial killer. I still have nightmares about that case.
“I don’t think he’s dangerous,” I said, hoping I was right. “Just your usual pepper spray.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know when we’re on the road.”
Rachel hung up. I looked in the rearview mirror. There was a gas station across the street. Maybe I could duck in to use their restroom without losing Kirk.
Rachel called me when they arrived at the nursing home, around 6:30. “We’re here. Anything happening?”
“No, he’s inside playing Call of Duty or whatever the hot new game is,” I told her, watching the windows. “Colin okay?”
“I’m fine.” He sounded nervous. “Got another email from Mom. It says, ‘Where are you?’”
I thought for a moment. “Tell her you’re close. I’ll text Rachel if Kirk moves.”
“Okay.” He handed the phone back.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Rachel told me. “We’re going in.”
“Love you too.” We hung up.
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