Linda decided to test her theory that Pamela Watts was extremely adept at changing her appearance. She removed the unmarked driver’s license photos and mug shot from the folder, placing them side-by-side in front of Sister. “I know it’s been years, but which photo is Pamela’s?”
The old nun pursed faded lips, pointing to the newer images. “None of these are her. Two of the women have smaller, pert noses while their faces are thinner.”
Linda wrote a note on the file. “Thank you, Sister. All of these pictures are of Pamela.”
Sister Monica scowled, closely inspecting various pictures. “As you said, many years have gone by since I last saw Pamela.”
Linda deliberated on how to proceed. “I’m in contact with the correctional facility, and I’m awaiting her files. I think it would be most helpful to talk with the Andersons, if they still live in the area.”
Sister Monica scanned one of the folders. “I can see if the Andersons’ contact information is still current; but even if it is, they may not want to talk to you.”
“I understand. But innocent lives have been taken here, and I need you to do everything possible to get in touch with them.” Linda continued tapping her pen absentmindedly, questions of Pamela’s motivations and circumstances thrashing around in her head.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2002 MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA CATHOLIC CHARITIES OFFICE
Linda had been in touch with the correctional facility in Shakopee from the beginning, and while they had been cooperative, the warden pointed out Pamela Jane Watts had been imprisoned back in the ’70s and didn’t qualify as a cold case. Spring and summer faded into autumn before corrections located her files. In early November, while Linda was still in Minnesota, her prison records arrived in Lincoln. Shakopee had more news; they did not know the whereabouts of Gordon Sayles, which Linda thought strange. While Lyle combed Pamela’s incarceration history for any useful nuggets, Amy was busy trying to locate Sayles, hitting plenty of dead ends.
As she awaited the arrival of one of the Anderson children in Sister Monica’s office, Linda was relieved he had agreed to speak with her. The rest of the Andersons had flatly refused Monica’s request for a meeting. She worried that she might not be able to get firsthand accounts. But the brother had changed his mind and agreed to talk with her. The office door opened, and a tall, slender man in his early forties followed Sister Monica into the room.
“Mr. David Anderson, this is Captain Linda Turner from Lincoln, Nebraska. She is working a case you may be able to assist her with. I’ll leave you to chat.”
Sister Monica closed the door behind her, and Linda rose to shake David’s extended hand.
“I appreciate you agreeing to speak with me. You may be able to shed some light on the kind of person we’re dealing with.” She took a seat and motioned for David to sit. “I’m not sure how much the sister told you, but we’re investigating a triple homicide, and Pamela Watts is a person of interest.”
“Anything I can do to help, although many years have passed. But there are some things you never forget.”
“Having your puppies drowned is a terrible ordeal. But let me start from the beginning. How long did Pamela stay with you?”
“I think it was slightly over three months, but it seemed much longer.”
“Do you remember how you and your siblings got along with her?”
David settled into his chair. “There are just me and my sister, Louise. Neither my sister nor I could stand Pamela. Mom and Dad referred to it as ‘only child syndrome,’ and because she was an only child, they were patient. We had several foster kids, some of whom Louise and I became very close to. But Pamela always had this attitude that she was somehow better than us, even though we were providing a loving home and family.”
“Three months isn’t a terribly long period. Was it the puppy incident alone, or were there other things leading up to removing her from your home?”
“Pamela was such a brat that it had gotten to the point where my sister and I wouldn’t be in the same room with her. Our parents were aware of the tension and had caught Pamela in lies about where she had gone or who she’d been with. Typical teenage stuff, except that she totally disrespected the rules my folks had. She frequently missed curfew and wore lots of makeup and smelled of pot.” He coughed and looked Linda in the eye. “They knew it wasn’t working out and were going to contact the social worker. But when she drowned Maggie’s puppies, that was the last straw. We realized there was something seriously harmful with her mentally. Rather than risk something more serious, they packed her bags and took her back to Catholic Charities.”
“Anything else that you can remember?”
David shook a fist in recollection. “I don’t know if this will help, but Pamela had an odd mark on her body besides that mole. Her right earlobe had a small hole, like a partial moon almost. I remember because it was so unusual. Besides that, she insisted that it was Louise who had killed our puppies. It wasn’t true; Louise was heart-broken when they died. By then, my parents had reached their limit. They never took in any foster kids after that, which is a shame. As devout Catholics, it was kind of their mission to help children who didn’t have families, but Pamela Watts destroyed their faith.”
Linda scribbled a note regarding another confirmation of the oddly shaped hole. “I’m sorry your parents’ faith was tarnished. They were only trying to provide a loving home.”
“It still makes me angry, as it does my sister. We provided kids with a good, stable family environment, and it took only one bad apple for our parents to question whether what they were doing was worthwhile.”
21
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2002 RICHMOND HEIGHTS, MISSOURI GALLERIA MALL
It was going to be difficult keeping his intentions from Susannah, but on this sunny autumn afternoon, Ray told her he was going to visit a former church member who was ill, which was true to some extent. After his pastoral visit, he drove out to the Galleria in Richmond Heights in search of an item he never expected to purchase again. Moving with purpose past upscale stores, he reflected on how much one’s life could change in less than a year. He thought that perhaps that was naiveté on his part. In his line of work, he saw more often than most how their lives could change overnight. Usually, it was the tragic circumstances of an accident or untimely death, but if he thought over the last several months, his feelings shouldn’t come as a surprise at all. And it was time he made an honest woman of Susannah Baker.
At the curve in the mall corridor, he spied Helzberg Diamonds, and his step quickened. He went directly to the case of diamond engagement rings, his air of purpose catching the attention of a young, blonde sales clerk.
From behind the glass counter, she smiled. “May I help you, sir?”
To Ray’s surprise, he was genuinely nervous, his first words more of a stammer than a statement. “Yes, I want to see some . . . I’d like to see what you have in engagement rings.”
“We have a wide selection in all price ranges. How much were you thinking of spending?”
He smiled at the clerk. “You know, it’s been a long while since I’ve done this, so I’ll take all the help I can get. What would be the average price a gentleman would spend?”