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  “The characters in this drama, a little of your novelist side, Mr. Kile?” We shared a chuckle before Charles began to answer. “Eddie has lived a soft life. Everything paid by the general, including a liberal spending allowance. He was a strong young man, good high school athlete. The general did not want him to go into the military, not after he lost Eddie’s father in Desert Storm. Eddie has never really worked. In my day, we would call him a playboy, a womanizer. Then he met Ileana. It would seem she tamed him. They became engaged. She turned up pregnant. Then, well, you know.”

  I motioned to Mackie to bring us two more drafts before asking, “I don’t see the general as the kind of man who would raise a boy soft. Why did he?”

  “The general raised his son, Eddie’s father, Ben, quite differently. He required Ben take a part time job in high school. Ben was raised around military people and talk, and wanted nothing more than to follow in his father’s footsteps. Ben joined the army and had reached the rank of captain when he was killed in Desert Storm. The general anguished over whether he contributed to his son dying in ‘91 by bringing up the boy to be rugged and encouraging him toward the military. My guess is that doubt led to his handling Eddie exactly the opposite. The general has never said that to me in so many words, but I believe it to be correct.”

  “You spoke earlier of your great fondness for the general. Do you like Eddie?”

  “Not particularly. He’s spoiled, of course. And he does not speak to or of the general in the manner he should. He has so far squandered the advantages of his life. I suppose his life is what men often say would be the ideal: enough money, no work, lots of liquor and women. Truth is most of us would not want that life. Eddie has it and seems to like it. I find life without an absolute dedication or clear purpose shallow and superficial. Men should be committed to something above all else.”

  Mackie brought our fresh beers and took our plates and empty glasses.

  “I ask again, could Eddie have killed Ileana?”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Kile. He seems never to be out of control, never to be angry. Everyone likes him, not much respect, but he has polished his social graces. Until Ileana’s death and his arrest, Eddie had never dealt with anything tough or hard or demanding in his life. I have to think killing someone would be all of that. No. I don’t think so. The general has never believed Eddie guilty, and I know no better judge of men.”

  “Does the general like Eddie?”

  “Ah. That’s a hard one. The general is disappointed in the choices Eddie has made. He has waited for Eddie to take his life in some direction. When he was a boy, we hoped he might become a doctor, an engineer, whatever. In college, he drifted, took quite a few legal classes and psychology. Whatever happened to interest him without concern for a degree or career. For years, the general has encouraged Eddie to contribute his time to some worthy cause, but none of that has taken hold. Eddie is happy being Eddie. Things have always gone as Eddie wanted them to go. Well, except for the devastation of losing his fiancee. He loved Ileana and needed treatment for depression for nearly a year.”

  “When did Cliff join the staff?”

  “About thirteen years ago, something like that. Karen came to live with us first. Her coming was part of the general’s reason for increasing the size of the staff. My duties also expanded to helping the general with some of his non-investment business matters. This made me less available as a driver and the general had become less capable of driving himself.”

  “I’ve only seen Cliff once from a distance. He looks around fifty. How was he chosen?”

  “That requires a bit of back story. First, Cliff is forty-five, but you’re correct, in the face he looks older. He’s a hard drinker but exercises vigorously. His focus is on his legs and gut and stamina, like a boxer trains. For years, the general had covered the costs of keeping five old soldiers, badly disabled men from his command, in a home. When the last one died, the general assigned me to find Cliff, the last soldier’s son. He had gotten into drugs and started running with a motorcycle gang. The general put him in rehab, with Cliff’s consent of course. After that Cliff continued weekly therapy for some time. He’s the general’s driver and takes care of the five vehicles used by the family and myself. He also cares for the pool and spa and oversees the work done by the landscaping service.”

  Charles also told me the best time to catch Cliff at the house without his expecting me would be tomorrow midday. That Cliff had to take one of the cars into the dealer in the morning, but should be back by around noon. As for Eddie, he was a wisp of smoke that drifted in and out, but Charles agreed to call me when Eddie was home and looking like he wasn’t headed out.

  “So,” I asked, “what’s your opinion? Who killed Ileana Corrigan?”

  “The wisest thing I can say is that the general has a good man on that job, so I expect we shall finally find out.”

  Chapter 12

  I started the morning at the home of Robert and Melanie Yarbrough, the retired couple who had reported seeing Eddie Whittaker at Pea Soup Anderson’s restaurant in Buellton on the night of his fiancee’s murder. She was taller than her husband. Robert was stockier. Melanie had more hair, but they were tied as to who had more gray hair. I got to their house a few minutes after nine-thirty.

  I would have arrived earlier except Axel wanted to talk about the case and be brought up to speed on what I had learned from Charles during our lunch at Mackie’s. And I wanted his read from watching Charles. That took about an hour. While we talked, I gave Axel another assignment. He had done a lot of computer work for the Warden and developed quite a reputation in prison as a computer guy, not so much as a technician, but a researcher for the warden. His assignment: dig into the retired middle school principal who also claimed to have seen Eddie in the restaurant. I told him for now to restrict his inquiries to the Internet. Later, based on what he learned or didn’t we’d decide how to proceed. I was hoping he’d find that former Principal Flaherty had some nasty habit which could have been used to leverage him into lying about seeing Eddie.

  Robert and Melanie Yarbrough were each dressed in warm robes, sitting on their front porch, having coffee and sharing the newspaper. Their home faced east so they were enjoying the warmth provided by the morning sun. I introduced myself and we exchanged Merry Christmas greetings, and then I told them I was working on the death of Ileana Corrigan. The moment I mentioned her name, Melanie Yarbrough’s eyes got big, and she grasped the front of her robe as if it a cold breeze had sneaked inside. They had not forgotten the incident in the slightest. After a few more pleasantries I won’t bore you with, I dove into the water, so to speak. Well, my entry was more like a cannonball than a dive. I wanted to measure the size of their emotional splash.

  “It’s been eleven years, folks. I know you lied about seeing Eddie Whittaker in Buellton. I just don’t know why you did. You are lawful citizens, honorable people. Why would you cheat justice and possibly help a murderer go free?”

  “We saw him, Mr. Kile,” Robert Yarbrough said. “Just as we swore we did.” After he said it, he looked at his wife.

  “We saw him, Mr. Kile. Just as my husband said.”

  “The murder of this young woman, Ileana Corrigan remains unsolved. The murder of her unborn child remains unsolved. Neither mother nor child will rest easy until their killer is brought to justice. Folks, please, consider how you would feel if Ileana were your daughter and you were approaching yet another Christmas without knowing what happened.”

  Neither of them said a word, but their body language screamed their discomfort. That and the numerous glances each made toward the other. Had they been telling the truth they would have resented what I said. Instead, it made them nervous and uncomfortable.

  “Perhaps I should come back later and bring Ileana’s parents with me, the grandparents of the unborn child.”

  They were ready to crack, but for now were holding firm. Their eyes flittered, their gazes everywhere but upon my eyes. Their claws d
ug into the lie that had lived for so long, hanging on desperately.

  “Look at me! Damn it!” I hollered. “Look me in the eyes.” I sat still until they each had. “You are both grandparents. You have a grandson named Bobby. Can you imagine, just for a moment, enduring Bobby being murdered and the killer not being found for over eleven years. Imagine your living with that grief. That wound open. Come on!”

  Melanie Yarbrough broke first. She covered her eyes and cried. Her husband slid his chair close so he could reach over and hold her. Her sobs temporarily drowned out by the scrape of the metal legs of his chair against the concrete porch. “Robbie, I can’t do this. I can’t do it any longer. This lie … I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry. We must tell the truth. Please?”

  Robert Yarbrough patted the top of his wife’s hand. With his open palm against her face, his thumb gently wiped the stream of tears staining her cheek. “You’re right, Mel. The time has come. It should have come long ago.” They clutched each other’s hands and turned toward me, their eyes now on mine, looking for understanding, for forgiveness. Robert cut the core out of their lie.

  “We never saw Eddie Whittaker in Buellton. We were told to drive up there and have dinner in that restaurant. We were to be there at nine at night and to stop and buy gas for the car on the outskirts of town as we left. Once we heard of the arrest, we were to go to the police and swear we dined in the Pea Soup, leaving around nine-thirty. And that we had seen Eddie Whittaker in the restaurant when we left.”

  “We were to use a credit card to pay for the dinner,” Mrs. Yarbrough said, “and for the gas on our way out of town.” Robert nodded as if he had just recalled that part of their charade.

  “And that’s what you did?”

  “Yes,” she said while her husband nodded his head, his lips drawn tight; his eyes down.

  “Why? How much money were you paid?”

  “No, no. We received no money. We would not do such a thing for money, Mr. Kile.”

  Until then I had been standing up. I leaned back against their wooden porch railing. “Then why?”

  “Can we go inside?” Mrs. Yarbrough asked. “I’m getting chilled sitting here. It’s probably just the stress. Please?”

  Mr. Yarbrough stood up. “Of course dear, Mr. Kile, please come inside. There is more you need to know.”

  Their home was pleasant. Clean, neat, and big enough for two, and nicely furnished.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Kile,” Mrs. Yarbrough said while fidgeting with her hands. Then she began to cry again. They sat on the couch. Mr. Yarbrough held her.

  “How long have you folks been married?” I asked.

  “Thirty-five years. A wonderful life together, except for this terrible thing. We are so ashamed.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Yarbrough, why did you lie?”

  They had clearly lost their will to continue as they had for so long. The wrong of it had eaten through their resolve. Over the next half hour they told me of the morning when they walked their new puppy at the beach. The phone call Melanie received on her cell phone, the shot that had killed Snookie, and finally about the threat that stopped their hearts. “Do what you are told or my next shot will kill your grandson, Bobby.”

  Robert continued to hold his wife, but now he also swiped at tears of his own. Then I asked, “A man? A woman?”

  “A man,” Mrs. Yarbrough said, “a cold, heartless man, without feelings. How can anyone speak of killing a little infant, barely able to walk?”

  “There are such people. Fortunately, they are few.” I didn’t tell them that the number of such people seemed to be increasing every year. Or maybe saying that would only have revealed my cynicism which had grown with time, and my knowledge of too many such people. I also recalled the general’s words about America losing its taste for swift and final justice.

  “I know what I am about to ask you will not be easy. But believe me, it is necessary. Will you repeat everything you have told me into a tape recorder? I will not take it to the authorities without your permission.” After some resistance, they came to accept they had crossed a bridge this morning. That they could not put what they told me back into the darkness. They needed to do what they could to make amends for the pain and emptiness that filled the hearts of the parents of Ileana Corrigan.

  I went out to my car and brought back the tape recorder. They asked if they could record it as well. I agreed. With two tapes running, Mr. Robert Yarbrough and his wife Melanie retold the horror of their morning eleven years ago, and the tribulations they had endured since. When they finished it was clear, they had never seen Eddie Whittaker anywhere except in the newspaper and on the news eleven years ago.

  I drove back to Long Beach searching for the answer to the meaning of what I had learned. Someone had eliminated Cory Jackson, the only witness who had claimed seeing Eddie Whittaker at the scene of the crime. Oh, sure, Tommy Montoya could testify he was bribed to say he sold Eddie gas. But that only proved, especially with Cory Jackson dead, that no one knew where Eddie had been the night of the murder of his fiancee. The Yarbrough confession argued only that they had not seen Eddie in Buellton, not that he had not been there. Eddie says he went up there and nothing I had proved he hadn’t.

  Fact: Someone had coerced Mr. and Mrs. Yarbrough into claiming they had seen Eddie in Buellton. Fact: Someone had bribed and threatened Cory Jackson and Tommy Montoya into providing the original evidence that led to Eddie’s arrest. Fact: Someone had sold that alibi to the general for two million dollars. Lies told by others, along with an unknown party bribing and threatening Mr. and Mrs. Yarbrough to tell those lies did not prove Eddie did anything. Not that he had dinner in Buellton. Not that he didn’t have dinner in Buellton. Not that he killed his fiancee. Not that he didn’t kill his fiancee. The rest was conjecture that could fit various theories. One being that Eddie killed his fiancee and then extorted money from his grandfather. Was he capable of such a bold and diabolical plan, including arranging for his own arrest and release? Could someone else have murdered Ileana and crafted both events as part of a plan to shake down the general?

  We still had Principal Flaherty who claimed he also saw Eddie in the Pea Soup Andersen’s restaurant in Buellton. Maybe Axel had found something on Flaherty. If Flaherty, like the Yarbroughs, admitted not having seen Eddie in Buellton, I was still in the same position. Eddie either went to Buellton for dinner or he did not. At worst, that meant he lied about where he was. Not that he murdered Ileana. He could have been in bed with a married woman and lied to protect her secret. People lie about their whereabouts for many reasons, rarely to cover up having committed murder.

  I needed to get in Eddie Whittaker’s face. Get a read on the guy. In a normal murder investigation, the immediate parties are among the very first to be interviewed. However, the case of the murder of Ileana Corrigan was eleven-years old. Eddie had been interviewed, and later interrogated after his arrest, so his opinions and reactions were a matter of record. I had read them in the police file. I had intentionally held off confronting the general’s grandson until I had immersed myself in the case and all the other players. For a little longer, I would leave Eddie to stew in his own juice. He knew I was coming. He just didn’t know when, or where, or what I might learn before I got him nose to nose.

  *

  My next stop was at the home of Ileana’s parents, Betty and Willard Corrigan. They lived modestly in San Fernando Valley. Their home appeared to be about twenty years old, with blue siding and a block and iron rail wall around the property. The pride of their front yard, a queen palm whose fronds rose above the composition roof.

  I introduced myself at their door and they warmly greeted me into their home. Mr. and Mrs. Corrigan were recently retired, although Betty still worked some in real estate, sitting open houses for other agents. We chatted for a couple of hours.

  When I asked how long they had been married, their memories included the general giving them an all-expense paid two-week cruise from Long Beach to Hawa
ii, roundtrip, for their last anniversary. “They don’t make men like the general anymore,” Mr. Corrigan said.

  Mr. and Mrs. Corrigan did not recall their daughter having an old boyfriend who became incensed when Ileana chose Eddie Whittaker. That didn’t mean there was no such boyfriend. Only that after all these years, if there had been one, the Corrigan’s didn’t remember. Parents are often the last to know much about a daughter’s lovers. I asked the Corrigans about the expensive jewelry found where their daughter lived. They didn’t even know she had it. Faded memories are always a major problem when working old cases. That and real or possible witnesses having moved away or died, which I s’pose constituted faded memories to the max. Ileana’s parents did remember how their daughter had met Eddie Whittaker. Ileana had been out with one of her girlfriends, Karen Whittaker, and the two of them were with a group of bikers. They admitted that in those years Ileana was struggling with maturing and often took up with bad boys, like the bikers. That was why they were so pleased when she took up with a respectable boy like Eddie Whittaker. One of the bikers, the one who had introduced Ileana to Eddie Whittaker had been identified as General Whittaker’s chauffeur; Mrs. Corrigan said it like show-fer. They had remembered Cliff because, as a young man, Mr. Corrigan had been in the army and knew of General Whittaker.

  *

  I drove back to Long Beach wondering what role, if any, Cliff played in all this. Perhaps, the chauffeur’s connection to Eddie went beyond being the family driver. While I drove, I called Charles at the Whittaker home. He told me that back then Cliff had taught Eddie to ride a motorcycle and the two of them had hung around some. “Partying, they called it.” Charles further recalled that Eddie had trouble keeping his balance and eventually lost interest in his motorcycle.

  “You have to understand, Mr. Kile, Eddie was very coordinated and most things physical came to him easily when he applied the effort. When something didn’t come easily he’d sour-grapes it and walk away.”