they would’ve tried anyway.”
“All right,” I said, setting aside the gas man theory, not unhappily, because it was unprovable. “Suppose Magda did it.”
“An eighteen-year-old girl knifing a woman to death?”
“It’s not impossible.”
“It’s pretty farfetched.”
“She said she left at noon on Good Friday and went to church. Maybe she killed Mrs. Talley before she left. She knew no one was coming back till she was expected on Sunday. They could have had an argument. Maybe it was unintentional.”
“But you’re forgetting the twins,” Sergeant Brooks said. “Magda knew the twins. She knew they were savants, that they would remember everything that happened.”
“That’s true. I hadn’t really thought of that.”
“So she couldn’t take a chance of having them tell what they saw. Which pretty much rules out anyone who knew the twins’ powers.”
“So we’re back to the gas man.” We said it almost in unison and then we laughed.
“Now, as it turns out,” Sergeant Brooks went on, “the twins never said anything. If they were guilty and they understand what they did, I can see why. But if they’re not guilty, why haven’t they ever said anything? There was no statement, no denials, nothing.”
“They were traumatized,” I said.
“I can buy that. But what I can’t buy is someone knowing in advance that they would be.”
“Which, as you said a minute ago, rules out anyone who knew them. It leaves me with a very tough job.”
“They may have done it.”
“They were described as almost docile.”
“I’m not a psychiatrist,” Sergeant Brooks said, “but I’ve seen cases where normal people went berserk. Can you rule out that a retarded person could do the same?”
“Of course I can’t rule it out. But I’ve spoken to James Talley twice, and he seems a man of sadness, not a man of anger.”
“But he’s been traumatized, remember? He’s not the same person he was before his mother’s murder.”
“I think that’s true,” I said, starting to feel discouraged. But discouraged is not defeated. “I need to find Magda,” I said. “The law of averages says she’s still alive, and my head tells me she hasn’t forgotten any of what happened.”
“You want to see her even though you think she might be guilty of murder?”
“I don’t really think that. What I think is that she knew the Talleys more intimately than anyone else.”
“Granted.”
“And if there’s anything at all that isn’t in your file, she may know it. But how am I going to find her after forty years?”
He pulled the bottom sheet of folded paper out from under the other two, folded it in half and in half again, and wrote Magda Wandowska along the top edge. “Okay,” he said thoughtfully, “let’s see what we know about her. In 1950 she’s eighteen years old and a recent immigrant from Eastern Europe. And she’s a good Catholic. Either she stayed home and took care of Mom and Pop in their old age or she married. If she married, her name’s different.”
“Right, but she married in the parish church. They published the banns and they’ll have a record of the marriage.”
“Good thinking,” he said with approval. “I could run up there next week and ask around.”
“No. Let’s just find out where the church is. I’m very good with clergy.”
He looked at me, then said, “Okay. We got that one out of the way.”
“There’s something else.” I took a sip of my iced coffee. It was such a long shot. “The Talleys lived nicely. Mrs. Talley paid Magda a dollar an hour. When I was reading the
Times
on microfilm the other day, I looked at the want ads. Do you know that people earned fifty-seven and a half cents an hour in 1950?”
He gave me the nice smile. “I didn’t.”
“So a dollar an hour was a lot of money for housecleaning and baby-sitting.”
“Agreed.”
“And it didn’t sound as though Mrs. Talley worked at all.”
“Not if the Wandowska girl was the
“All right,” I said, setting aside the gas man theory, not unhappily, because it was unprovable. “Suppose Magda did it.”
“An eighteen-year-old girl knifing a woman to death?”
“It’s not impossible.”
“It’s pretty farfetched.”
“She said she left at noon on Good Friday and went to church. Maybe she killed Mrs. Talley before she left. She knew no one was coming back till she was expected on Sunday. They could have had an argument. Maybe it was unintentional.”
“But you’re forgetting the twins,” Sergeant Brooks said. “Magda knew the twins. She knew they were savants, that they would remember everything that happened.”
“That’s true. I hadn’t really thought of that.”
“So she couldn’t take a chance of having them tell what they saw. Which pretty much rules out anyone who knew the twins’ powers.”
“So we’re back to the gas man.” We said it almost in unison and then we laughed.
“Now, as it turns out,” Sergeant Brooks went on, “the twins never said anything. If they were guilty and they understand what they did, I can see why. But if they’re not guilty, why haven’t they ever said anything? There was no statement, no denials, nothing.”
“They were traumatized,” I said.
“I can buy that. But what I can’t buy is someone knowing in advance that they would be.”
“Which, as you said a minute ago, rules out anyone who knew them. It leaves me with a very tough job.”
“They may have done it.”
“They were described as almost docile.”
“I’m not a psychiatrist,” Sergeant Brooks said, “but I’ve seen cases where normal people went berserk. Can you rule out that a retarded person could do the same?”
“Of course I can’t rule it out. But I’ve spoken to James Talley twice, and he seems a man of sadness, not a man of anger.”
“But he’s been traumatized, remember? He’s not the same person he was before his mother’s murder.”
“I think that’s true,” I said, starting to feel discouraged. But discouraged is not defeated. “I need to find Magda,” I said. “The law of averages says she’s still alive, and my head tells me she hasn’t forgotten any of what happened.”
“You want to see her even though you think she might be guilty of murder?”
“I don’t really think that. What I think is that she knew the Talleys more intimately than anyone else.”
“Granted.”
“And if there’s anything at all that isn’t in your file, she may know it. But how am I going to find her after forty years?”
He pulled the bottom sheet of folded paper out from under the other two, folded it in half and in half again, and wrote Magda Wandowska along the top edge. “Okay,” he said thoughtfully, “let’s see what we know about her. In 1950 she’s eighteen years old and a recent immigrant from Eastern Europe. And she’s a good Catholic. Either she stayed home and took care of Mom and Pop in their old age or she married. If she married, her name’s different.”
“Right, but she married in the parish church. They published the banns and they’ll have a record of the marriage.”
“Good thinking,” he said with approval. “I could run up there next week and ask around.”
“No. Let’s just find out where the church is. I’m very good with clergy.”
He looked at me, then said, “Okay. We got that one out of the way.”
“There’s something else.” I took a sip of my iced coffee. It was such a long shot. “The Talleys lived nicely. Mrs. Talley paid Magda a dollar an hour. When I was reading the
Times
on microfilm the other day, I looked at the want ads. Do you know that people earned fifty-seven and a half cents an hour in 1950?”
He gave me the nice smile. “I didn’t.”
“So a dollar an hour was a lot of money for housecleaning and baby-sitting.”
“Agreed.”
“And it didn’t sound as though Mrs. Talley worked at all.”
“Not if the Wandowska girl was the
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