Down To The Needle Read online

  The newscaster's expression changed somewhat. “As we all know, Winnaker's is the most sensational women's case since back in the 1950's when vice girl, Barbara Graham, cried out, 'I want to live!' as she was being escorted to the gas chamber.”

  The Winnaker crime scene flashed across the screen: a night sky lit by a home engulfed in flame and paramedics loading a man receiving oxygen into the back of an ambulance.

  The newscaster continued. “If you'll recall, Winnaker was convicted of the deaths of three people under heinous circumstances, the attempted homicide of another, and all other related charges in the gang-style torch burning of a home outside Creighton over eight years ago. Her accomplices were never apprehended because, to this day, Winnaker insisted she had nothing to do with the fire and, therefore, could not name names. Winnaker claimed she had been drawn to the Seaport area after seeing pictures in a travel magazine.” A magazine page with photos flicked onto the screen for less than a second then dissolved back over the newscaster's shoulder. “At the time she was arrested and all through court proceedings, Winnaker stuck to the story that the Nazi memorabilia found in her possession was all her father left behind when he died unexpectedly. Prosecutors alleged she migrated westward, enticed by the number of insurgent gang members living in Creighton.”

  Joe kept shaking his head. What could he find so interesting about an arson-murder case?

  “Which gang, Joe?”

  “In this case, the Dregs. But don't forget the White Liners and the Bangers either. They're all a sordid bunch.”

  Newspapers occasionally carried reports of gang-style violence. Anyone rejected as a member of the motorcycle gangs or the neo-Nazis, eventually found their way into the Dregs. That much Abi knew. The Dregs had a reputation for being the scum of the earth and everything in which they were involved proved it. Some shaved their heads imitating the Aryans. Some spiked and dyed their hair in gaudy colors. Some dressed like the biker crowd. Oftentimes, their appearances misdirected police when trying to solve crimes.

  The newscaster picked up his notes and moved them aside, a sign this story was about to end. “In order to support herself, Winnaker claimed she had been trying to sell at the flea markets what she thought was her father's worthless junk. Being homeless, she lived out of a mini-storage cubicle and ate her meals at The Beacon, one of the soup kitchens for the homeless. And, of course, at the mini-storage was where police found incriminating evidence that tied Winnaker to the crime.”

  Abi watched Joe stare at the screen, oblivious to the fact that the co-anchor had introduced a new topic. It was happening again: that streak of impatience that flared up as he tried to understand something, that pensive look in his deep-set eyes, the set of his proud square chin held steady as his mind took off on a tangent. Even the gray at his temples accentuated his mood. At that moment, his expression revealed an intensity she dared not challenge.

  A loss he suffered in his younger years had toughened him and taught him how to keep his emotions afloat. After she met Joe, he was instrumental in teaching her to laugh again. Despite some bouts of impatience, his overall mood seldom varied. Through him, she found a deeper measure of stability. They lived to bolster one another. He had always been patient with her, encouraging and supportive, even witty. Yet, in the past few weeks he seemed edgy, distant, might even have avoided her. Unexpectedly, he suggested they have dinner and watch one of his documentaries. But that news flash about Megan Winnaker was not his work and he didn't need an ulterior motive for them to be together.

  For two people with only sad memories to go on, they had cajoled one another into believing life could still be pleasurable, even joyous. They created their own happiness despite what the capricious hand of fate held over them.

  Joe turned and headed to the dining room to finish repairing the loose windows.

  Abi's pulse throbbed up the side of her neck and echoed in her ears. She had to calm down. Evenings after a busy day were not her strongest hours. She headed into the kitchen to check the dinner. Her nerves were jangled. Moments like these were unpredictable. How could fate have concocted such an outrageous dichotomy? Taut facial features with a cherub look that wore the years well, and a gift of an enduring svelte body, yet accompanied by an unpredictable case of angina pectoris. She stuck a nitro tablet under her tongue and hid the prescription bottle again before Joe could playfully sneak up behind her, as he often did.

  Chapter 3

  Early the next morning, the sky was clear and blue as a robin's egg. Gulls screeched overhead. Abi walked out onto the pier and watched fishermen cast lines, felt them settle in for the wait. The sight of shimmering water and the smell of salty sea air reminded her of happier times spent there with Becky Ann. The memory seemed like a different lifetime but always brought comfort, bolstering her faith that her precious daughter was still alive.

  Occasionally, she turned and looked back at the windswept cypresses that clung tenuously among the rocks along the sea cliff. Branches had grown, bent and twisted, pressed into crevices and swept upward, interpreting the wind.

  She studied the rock formation on the hill above, knew Joe's studio was below in the nearby business area. Inhaling the cool damp air, she lifted her fleece collar against the chill, snuggled deeper into the heavy jacket, and turned to stare out over the early morning horizon. When she exhaled, her breath was no longer white. Maybe Spring was settling in after all.

  “I had a feeling you'd be here.”

  She had not heard his footsteps. “Joe!” She turned and melted into his arms.

  “What is it with you and this place, Abi? I can always find you here.”

  “Becky loved to draw and paint on this pier.”

  Joe looked around. “Our little town of Seaport used to be the Cabot Cove of the west coast.”

  “Used to be. Now we're industrialized, sprawling over the hills into the next valley. Even have our own prison.”

  They held together and gazed out over the ocean. Finally, he broke the silence. “I'm sorry about last night.” His whisper hung heavy in the air with hesitation and sadness. His inability to perform had left them to fall asleep, though wrapped in each other's arms, with no choice but to accept the situation.

  She felt the growth of stubble on his chin scrape against her forehead. “What is it, Joe? We've had nights where we've only fallen asleep together. Lately when you've stayed, I wake in the wee hours to find you standing at the window.” Abi feared their relationship might be waning. “Have I been too bothersome with my search for Becky? What is it, Joe? Don't I give you the attention you need?”

  He seemed surprised. “That's not it at all.” He pulled her around, face to face. “But I do have something I need to sort out.”

  “You're afraid I'm going to get involved in the Winnaker case? Because I look at all cases of girls my daughter's age?”

  He remained silent, solemn. Then he surprised her. “I was involved in that case.”

  “You?” The admission took her by surprise. “How?”

  He kept his arm around her shoulder and they walked farther out on the pier. “I photographed her.”

  “In prison? You filmed a documentary about women inmates?”

  “Actually, no.” He might have wanted to talk but seemed preoccupied with something else.

  Regardless what Joe might be feeling, her curiosity stirred. “How is it you had a chance to photograph her specifically?”

  “You heard. She used to eat at The Beacon.”

  Abi didn't remember seeing anyone at The Beacon resembling the inmate. “That had to be some time ago. She's been incarcerated for how long?”

  Joe removed his gloves, unzipped his jacket, and breathed in the salty sea air. “Eight or nine, but all that was before we knew each other, back when I presented my photographic exposé on the homeless.”

  “You mentioned that showing when we first met.” How coincidental that he had photographed someone who became notorious. Why had he never mentioned that to
her? “You never spoke of your involvement in that case.”

  “It was all water under the bridge by the time we met.” He always shrugged when he preferred not to dredge up the past.

  His nonchalance irritated her. To think he could take this lightly. “Under the bridge? The case is still going on.”

  Joe watched a fisherman at the end of the pier reel in his line, add fresh bait, and cast again. Did Joe need the distraction in order to get his thoughts together? Something was surely troubling him.

  “Such heinous crimes. I don't think Winnaker's family dares come forward. Too ashamed. That poor girl.”

  “She'd never been here before, right? So she ate at The Beacon?” Abi had not lived in Seaport nor been a volunteer at The Beacon during the time Winnaker might have frequented the place. Even now, Abi only volunteered as a Friday evening server.

  “She claimed she came looking for family.” Joe kept shaking his head. “After her dad died she wanted to find relatives. The magazine pictures seemed familiar so she decided to take a chance.”

  The thought of a young girl who did not know her roots perked Abi's interest. “Her dad died? Where was her mother? Didn't she know whether she'd been here before? How—?”

  Joe brought up his hand. “Whoa, slow down. Winnaker has no memory of her younger years. Her dad told her that her mother ran away with another man.”

  A charge of nervous energy settled in the pit of Abi's stomach and was the kind of prompting she had learned to heed. This time, however, she had no clue what her senses were trying to convey. Abi really had no idea what her daughter might look like after twenty-three years. Yet, she knew she would know her in an instant and Winnaker's image didn't fit. Her facial features were all together different. Still, that nagging hunch prodded. “Why haven't you shared these details?”

  He seemed both amused and perturbed. “There's no way she's your daughter.” He shrugged again, which only irritated her.

  To think Joe had always known that the inmate was looking for family. “How can you just pass this off?” She heard the abruptness in her own voice. As long as they had known each other, they had never argued or had great differences, but this was inexcusable.

  Clouds had rolled in. It looked and smelled like they were in for spring rain. Abi snuggled closer and Joe gathered her up in his arms. “Look, somehow you've got yourself believing every homeless or wayward girl might be yours. This one's not, believe me.”

  “What gives you the right to decide?” Then she mentally asked herself why had she suddenly become so curious when the old police photos clearly showed a girl who looked nothing like her or her estranged husband. Yet, her stomach tightened. She needed to think. She couldn't allow Joe to deter her from investigating every possible case. She changed the subject to avoid a near argument. “And what's been troubling you?”

  Joe paced like she'd never seen him do. Finally, he stopped in front of her. “I guess I can't keep this a secret for long.”

  “Why would you want to?” She had been right all along about him having a problem.

  “Didn't want to burden you.”

  She stepped back and studied his worried look. “You know better than that.”

  “Abi, it took me years to come this far in a relationship.” He sighed heavily. “You've been my whole world.”

  If his affection had wavered, they had to get it into the open. They always discussed their issues, but he had been hesitant even before the sudden turn of events with yesterday's newscast about the inmate. “Something's changed your feelings?”

  He led her to sit on a bench along the railing. Waves lapped in a lazy rhythm against the pilings below. Another flock of gulls screeched and landed near the fisherman's bait. He threw bits into the water to dispel them.

  Joe took Abi's hands and looked her square in the eyes. “Abi, I don't know if I can explain. My gut's churning.”

  “I can see that.” She diverted her glance to the weather worn planking of the pier at their feet and waited.

  “It's not what you're thinking,” He pulled on her coat sleeve to draw her attention back to him. “Abi, this isn't about us. And, yes, I have a kind of dilemma.”

  “You, Joe?” He was a man she had come to know as being totally in command of his experiences. Her heart went out to him. “You've always been sympathetic to my needs. Surely you know I would help you with yours.”

  “You and I have been close from the day we met.” It sounded like a half question, waiting for her affirmation.

  “I remember how we started, you and me.” The memory made her smile. “Both of us like wounded birds, trying to light in the same tree, each fearing we'd be knocked off the branch by the other.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, me taking too long to get over the one big relationship in my life….”

  “Perhaps you loved too deeply.”

  He shrugged. “What was it with you?”

  “Tired of men who wouldn't participate in my life.”

  “That's right, happy you so easily blended into their world—”

  “But didn't want anything to do with my search for Becky.”

  “Must have been difficult for the guys when you said goodbye.”

  “Had to happen.” She refused to stay in a relationship where the guy was so complacent that he failed to recognize her needs.

  “We are a pair.” He smiled warmly. “We've created quite a history together, haven't we?”

  “But what's happening, Joe? For all the trust we've found in each other, in ourselves, let's not become strangers.”

  “That's never entered my mind.”

  “So, what is it? You've been distant lately.” She had suspected the purpose for last evening's dinner was not just about watching another of his documentaries.

  Abi had never had a friend with whom to share most everything, not even with Preston, her husband, who always kept secrets. Joe was that one confidant she had longed for. He was like the midnight beacon on the South Bay peninsula, across the crescent bay from where they sat on the pier at Pt. Meare.

  “I guess I don't know how to approach you on this one.” He shook his head and zipped up his jacket. “Let's go sit in the car. It's cold again.”

  As usual, Joe's old Range Rover was loaded with cameras and other equipment. He started the engine and turned up the heater. He seemed to want to talk but, perhaps, didn't know where to begin.

  “Just say it, okay?”

  “Actually, I was planning to ask you about someone I saw in the homeless crowd a few weeks ago.” He sighed heavily.

  “An old friend, Joe? Who?”

  He paused too long. “I think I saw Margaret.”

  “Margaret? Your Margaret from Texas? Here in Seaport?”

  “I-I don't know if it was her.”

  So that was why he seemed distracted lately. From what he had long ago told her, Margaret Griffin was the only other woman he had loved. His friends dubbed her his Lady Griff. In college, she was a homecoming queen and resident prima donna. Their on-again-off-again affair had the intensity of a roller coaster out of control and brought him to emotional ruin.

  “I knew something was eating at you.” He'd never kept secrets in all the years they were together.

  “She'd faded from my mind by the time I met you. I've rarely thought about her since.”

  It seemed incredible that someone's grand life could take such a downturn that would put them on the street. “What would she be doing among the homeless?”

  “I'm not sure. I'm tied in knots. Last night after dinner, I was going to ask you to help me find that woman.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I guess we sort of got sidetracked, didn't we?”

  “If she is Margaret….” He only shook his head.

  So, his old flame might be in town. That, if anything, would distract him. Maybe the fire of their tempestuous relationship had not died. From what Abi knew, Margaret was the rich girl who fell in love with an average guy. She had been torn between the y
earnings of her heart and her oil tycoon billionaire father's well-planned positioning for the security and longevity of the family line. Many times, Margaret led Joe to the pinnacle of requited love, only to dump him each time her father renewed threats of disinheritance.

  Abi hoped the love and caring Joe had shown her over the last five years was greater than anything he had felt for Margaret. His devotion seemed endless, his affection sincere. He had decades to get over Margaret, and there had not been any deep loves for him till they met. Clearly, he had loved Margaret and possibly still felt something.

  Chapter 4

  “What makes you believe she's Margaret?” To think he almost accused her of jumping to conclusions about the inmate. Now they'd both best slow down their thinking.

  He let out a long discouraging sigh. “Well, I'm not entirely sure that's who she is. I saw her when I popped in on you at The Beacon, about five, six weeks ago.” He exhaled a quick breath, as if once started, needing to get the details out. “I haven't been able to get that face out of my mind.” His expression was pathetic as he dealt inwardly with a past that might have come back to haunt him.

  “It's driving you crazy, isn't it?” Abi leaned over to him. He buried his face in the soft collar of her jacket. “Maybe you should show me her picture.”

  He pulled away suddenly to look at her. “Wha-at?”

  “Edith and I can watch for her.”

  “You'd do that?”

  She looked straight into his eyes and smiled warmly. “Don't you know me?”

  “It's… It's too big a favor. This is my—”

  “Nonsense. Is peace of mind too much to ask for?”

  “Abi, I don't think you understand. This was a woman—”