The L. Iler at 590 Longview Drive turned out to be Louise, Angie’s talkative, emotional mother. Louise informed Laurie that Angie’s last name was Claybrooke, she was divorced, and she now lived with her daughter, Nicole, on Cooper Drive. Her voice cracking with emotion, Louise went on to say Angie had never really gotten over the “horror of discovering those two slain boys.”
“An image like that can stay with a person forever,” Laurie agreed.
“Oh, my dear, you have no idea,” Louise said, crying into the phone. “She had horrible nightmares for years. We took her to a psychologist, paid a lot of money, but that quack didn’t help her at all. That was money wasted. I think Angie’s life was altered that night. She was never the same person.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Laurie said.
“Is it your intention to ask Angie about that terrible night?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my, my, my. Is it absolutely necessary? Can’t you get your information from some other source?”
“I’m afraid it is necessary,” Laurie said. “But I promise to make it as easy for her as possible. You know, I won’t ask her about certain specific details. Just general information.”
“I would be most grateful if you would do that. Angie needs to forget, not remember.”
“What can you tell me about the young man she was with? Greg Spurlock?”
Louise snorted. “Huh, I thought he was a bum. A jerk. I had no use for him at all.”
“Why did you have such negative feelings toward him?”
“Because he treated Angie like crap, that’s why. He would take her to a movie and make her pay for her ticket. Sit out in the car and honk rather than come to the door and pick her up like a real gentleman would. Things like that. Angie never would say it, but I suspected he did some heavy drinking. Probably did drugs, too.”
“Did you have evidence he used drugs?”
“No. Just a feeling, that’s all.”
“How long were they together?” Laurie said.
“They were never together. They only had four or five dates. I don’t think they went out again after that night.”
“The night when they found the bodies?”
“Yes, that horrible night,” Louise said, more angry now than upset. “He never called again, which was fine by me. And I think by then Angie had come to see what a loser he was. She was happy to be rid of him.”
“He’s a doctor now, you know?”
“So I heard. Well, all I can say is, I hope he treats his patients better than he treated my daughter.”
Laurie had to endure another ten minutes listening to Louise berate Greg Spurlock before she was finally able to get Angie’s home address and phone number. Laurie thanked Louise for her help, promised once again to be gentle with Angie, and closed her cell phone. She was exhausted by the conversation, which felt like it had lasted a week.
Laurie wondered if perhaps the shrink had seen the wrong Iler woman.
Nicole Claybrooke was as concise and together as her grandmother was scattered and talkative. In a matter of seconds, she let Laurie know that her mother was a real estate agent with Rector-Hayden, she was showing a house in McMeekin Place, she should be finished at any moment, and, by the way, here’s her cell phone number.
Laurie thanked her and hung up. She thought about grabbing a bite of lunch, but decided to go ahead and call Angie. With any luck she might catch her between showings. Angie answered on the second ring.
“This is Angie Claybrooke.”
“Miss Claybrooke, this is Detective Laurie Dunn, with Lexington Homicide. I-”
“Homicide? I give my word that I haven’t murdered anyone lately. Not that the thought hasn’t occasionally crossed my mind.”
“That’s good to know. The reason I’m calling is to see if you have some free time this afternoon. If you do, I would like to get with you. Ask you a few questions about that night in nineteen eighty-two.”
Laurie immediately regretted the way she had broached the subject with Angie. It was clumsy and insensitive. She cringed, unsure how Angie was going to respond.
“No prob,” Angie said, cheerfully. “I’ve just finished showing a house, and my next showing isn’t for another two hours. If you like, we can meet here. It’s a terrific house. Who knows, maybe you’ll like it enough to buy it.”
“In McMeekin Place? On my salary? I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”
“As Don Corleone so famously said, ‘I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.’”
“Yes, and as Sam Spade so famously said, ‘it’s the stuff that dreams are made of.’”
Both women laughed.
“When you turn into McMeekin Place, it will be the third house on the right,” Angie said. “You’ll see the ‘For Sale’ sign out front. You can park behind my black Volvo.”
“I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”