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“Maybe.” Frank was concentrating on writing down social security numbers; although it would take a little time, with that information, he could probably find any of the women who were still alive. “This information is almost fifty years old. Robinson could have moved out of the area. He could have died when he was forty. There are lots of possibilities.”
I looked over his shoulder and noticed that even if they didn’t match the list, Frank noted the women’s social security numbers. “We don’t want to be too cocky about this co
WE THANKED HOBSON Devoe and let him guide us out of the building.
“You’ll have to come back and visit the museum sometime,” he said as we were leaving.
“I’d like that,” I told him. “And someday I’d like to sit down with you and Austin Woods and eavesdrop while you reminisce about Las Piernas.”
He laughed. “You’d fall asleep faster than Austin does at that old desk of his.”
“One other thing,” Frank said, “if you don’t mind my asking, is there a story behind your name?”
“Devoe?” The old man smiled mischievously. “Oh, you must mean Hobson. Well, yes. I am my parents’ youngest child. They had six girls before me. When my mother went into labor with me, my father told her he wanted a boy this time. She said he could have Hobson’s choice.”
I LOOKED OVER my notes as we walked to the car, reading off the names of the seven women who were on both lists.
“You still have some time this morning?” I asked.
Frank looked at his watch. “Not much. I want to get something set up for keeping an eye on anyone he might be after. And I’ve got an appointment with the Coast Guard about Havens’ boat. They thought they might have more information for me today.”
I flipped back to the names of people who had called into the paper or the police. “Don Edgerton, Howard Parker and Justin Davis. Those match up with the Mercury records for children’s names. Plus this Robert Robinson.”
“I’ll see what I can do to track him down.”
“I’ll go to the morgue when I get back to the paper, Frank. I want to see if I can dig up some stories about this incident at the child care center.”
“Good. I need to talk to the other three soon, though. I think we’re going to need to divide the paper’s interests from the department’s on this one. What if Pete and I talk to them, and you interview them on your own, provided they’re willing to talk to the paper?”
I considered objecting, but some intuition told me that it was more important to find out what had happened at the Olympus Child Care Center. I went along with his suggestion because I had a strong feeling that the key to understanding Thanatos was probably waiting for me back at the paper.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t all that was waiting for me.
19
Dear Cassandra,
Did you enjoy the Christmas present? Truly, I am sorry that I ca
Time has softened the heads of my tormentors. There are so few left for me. They drink from the River Lethe, but justice is due all the same.
Do you feel it, Cassandra? Yes, I know you do. Our time together draws near, and you are a little afraid. Your feeble attempts to protect yourself amuse me. Cerberus will be no obstacle. One ca
Icarus will be the next to die.
Your beloved,
Thanatos
“Postmarked from the airport,” I said absently to John. I was trying to force myself to calm down by studying notes he had scrawled on the dryboard near his desk. I had been standing there for several minutes, but to this day, I can’t tell you what any of them said about plans for the next edition of the Express. John cleared his throat as he finished reading the letter, and I turned to face him.
“The airport, huh?” he said. “I guess that makes sense for Icarus. Better call your sweetums and tell him to advise the folks on your list not to get on any airplanes.”
I ignored the gibe and told him I’d call Frank.
“The River Lethe,” he said, frowning. “Something to do with the dead, right?”
“Yes. The river of forgetfulness. The shades drink from it before passing into the kingdom of the dead.”
“Hades?”
“Or Tartarus, depending on who’s telling the tale. Drinking from Lethe brought a kind of oblivion, made those who drank from it forget all that they were before they died.”
“So Thanatos is telling us that even if the victims have forgotten something – or forgotten him? – they are going to be punished all the same.”
I nodded. “Nemesis is the goddess who represented divine vengeance.”
“That leaves Cerberus,” he said. “The three-headed dog who guards the gates of Hades.”
“I think Thanatos is telling me that our dogs aren’t going to stop him from getting to me.”
He was silent. He seemed to be at a loss for words. It’s fairly remarkable to find John Walters in that state.
“I’ll call Frank,” I said, and left his office.
TALKING TO “MY sweetums” calmed me down. Frank appreciated the information, but didn’t have time to come by for the letter. He told me the department would send another detective to pick it up. He also said they would post someone at the airport and warn airport officials not to let anyone on our list get on a plane without talking to the LPPD first.
I WENT DOWN to the morgue, which Wrigley has been trying (in vain) to get us to call the “library,” and asked for the reel for November 10, 1944. Since Devoe claimed that J.D. Anderson was a publicity hound, I hoped there would be a story about the transfer. With luck, there might also be some mention of the earlier child care center story.
It took some searching, but sure enough, there was a small story about Mercury Aircraft transferring twenty-five war widows from the Los Angeles plant. Arrangements included housing and child care. “Each of these women was married to a man who made the greatest of sacrifices for this country. These women deserve our utmost care and concern,” J.D. was quoted as saying. No photos, no children’s names. The article closed by saying that Mercury was trying to help these women because they had faced special difficulties following the closure of the Olympus Child Care Center the previous spring.
The previous spring. At least my search was narrowed down from “the war years.”
I went back and asked the guy at the counter for March, April, May, and June of 1944. But no matter how much I grumbled or scowled, the assistant (I couldn’t bring myself to call him the librarian, but of course mortician isn’t the proper term, either) wouldn’t let me take more than seven reels at a time.
I tried to keep my eyes from crossing as I sca
WOMAN CHARGED WITH MURDER
IN CHILD CARE CENTER TRAGEDY
Pauline Grant, the child care worker who allegedly struck and killed an eight-year-old boy last week, has been taken into custody and will be charged with second-degree murder, a spokesman for the Los Angeles District Attorney said yesterday.