other hand, it could have been due to my turning up just when it did. The outcome might have been entirely different had I not arrived on the scene during their somewhat heated discussion.
There are times I despair of ever being in the right place at the right time, but maybe that wasn’t true regarding my visit to Etta Mae Tompkins’s house. No, on that one occasion at least, I had somehow managed to stumble into arriving at exactly the right moment.
Sometimes things just work out.
CHAPTER 7
P eople who go missing of their own volition usually do so because they’ve got something to hide. People who go missing against their will usually disappear because someone else has something to hide. At that point I had no idea which of those causes applied to Elaine Manning. But if I was going to find her—as I had been ordered to do—then it made sense to start asking questions in the last place she’d been seen.
On my way to the King Street Mission I had been concerned about what I’d say to the Seattle homicide cops I was liable to run into who would also be there working. Turns out I needn’t have worried on that score. No one was there. It was Wednesday. LaShawn Tompkins had died on Friday. His death may have made a big media splash over the weekend, but by Wednesday his deathwas old news. Not only that, the clock had ticked far beyond those first critical forty-eight hours when a case is most likely to be solved—if it’s ever going to be solved. Homicide cops don’t necessarily have a short attention span, but police departments can and do, especially if something else comes up in the meantime.
So J. P. Beaumont had the King Street Mission pretty much to himself. When Pastor Mark turned his back on me and then disappeared into an office on the far side of the front desk, he didn’t tell me I should move along. So I didn’t. I went into questioning mode, starting with the almost toothless Cora.
On the one hand, it was hard to look at her. On the other hand, it was hard not to stare. For her part, Cora seemed to be totally unaffected by her tragically flawed physical appearance. She had finished doing whatever she had been doing on the computer. An open Bible now lay on the desk in front of her.
“I’m looking for Elaine Manning,” I said. Cora glanced cautiously over her shoulder, as if to make sure Pastor Mark’s door was closed before she answered my inquiry.
“Like Pastor Mark said,” she told me, “Sister Elaine left.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
Cora shook her head. “No. She just took off.”
“Are you here at the desk most of the time?” I asked.
“Oh, no. Just today. It’s my chore for the day—minding the front desk.”
“And who was minding it when Ms. Manning left?”
“Sister Elaine, you mean. That was Saturday morning. As it happens, I was on the desk then, too. I had lunch-cooking duty and I traded with Brother Samuel. I hate cooking.”
“What time was it?”
“Right after breakfast. Around nine or so. The cops had comeby the night before and talked to Pastor Mark. They told him what had happened to Brother LaShawn. The rest of us didn’t hear about it until breakfast, when Pastor Mark made the official announcement.”
“And how did Sister Elaine react to that news?” I asked.
“About the way you’d expect. She was very upset, crying and everything,” Sister Cora said. “But then we all were. Brother LaShawn was just the nicest person you’d ever hope to meet.”
“And Ms. Manning left right after that?” I asked.
“Almost right after,” Cora verified with a nod. “She left the table while the rest of us were still there. When she came back downstairs, she had a suitcase with her. Well, not a suitcase, actually, a duffel bag. She went into Pastor Mark’s office and talked to him for a few minutes. I was sitting here at the desk by then, so I heard them—their voices, anyway, not exactly what they were saying. They were yelling. I heard
There are times I despair of ever being in the right place at the right time, but maybe that wasn’t true regarding my visit to Etta Mae Tompkins’s house. No, on that one occasion at least, I had somehow managed to stumble into arriving at exactly the right moment.
Sometimes things just work out.
CHAPTER 7
P eople who go missing of their own volition usually do so because they’ve got something to hide. People who go missing against their will usually disappear because someone else has something to hide. At that point I had no idea which of those causes applied to Elaine Manning. But if I was going to find her—as I had been ordered to do—then it made sense to start asking questions in the last place she’d been seen.
On my way to the King Street Mission I had been concerned about what I’d say to the Seattle homicide cops I was liable to run into who would also be there working. Turns out I needn’t have worried on that score. No one was there. It was Wednesday. LaShawn Tompkins had died on Friday. His death may have made a big media splash over the weekend, but by Wednesday his deathwas old news. Not only that, the clock had ticked far beyond those first critical forty-eight hours when a case is most likely to be solved—if it’s ever going to be solved. Homicide cops don’t necessarily have a short attention span, but police departments can and do, especially if something else comes up in the meantime.
So J. P. Beaumont had the King Street Mission pretty much to himself. When Pastor Mark turned his back on me and then disappeared into an office on the far side of the front desk, he didn’t tell me I should move along. So I didn’t. I went into questioning mode, starting with the almost toothless Cora.
On the one hand, it was hard to look at her. On the other hand, it was hard not to stare. For her part, Cora seemed to be totally unaffected by her tragically flawed physical appearance. She had finished doing whatever she had been doing on the computer. An open Bible now lay on the desk in front of her.
“I’m looking for Elaine Manning,” I said. Cora glanced cautiously over her shoulder, as if to make sure Pastor Mark’s door was closed before she answered my inquiry.
“Like Pastor Mark said,” she told me, “Sister Elaine left.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
Cora shook her head. “No. She just took off.”
“Are you here at the desk most of the time?” I asked.
“Oh, no. Just today. It’s my chore for the day—minding the front desk.”
“And who was minding it when Ms. Manning left?”
“Sister Elaine, you mean. That was Saturday morning. As it happens, I was on the desk then, too. I had lunch-cooking duty and I traded with Brother Samuel. I hate cooking.”
“What time was it?”
“Right after breakfast. Around nine or so. The cops had comeby the night before and talked to Pastor Mark. They told him what had happened to Brother LaShawn. The rest of us didn’t hear about it until breakfast, when Pastor Mark made the official announcement.”
“And how did Sister Elaine react to that news?” I asked.
“About the way you’d expect. She was very upset, crying and everything,” Sister Cora said. “But then we all were. Brother LaShawn was just the nicest person you’d ever hope to meet.”
“And Ms. Manning left right after that?” I asked.
“Almost right after,” Cora verified with a nod. “She left the table while the rest of us were still there. When she came back downstairs, she had a suitcase with her. Well, not a suitcase, actually, a duffel bag. She went into Pastor Mark’s office and talked to him for a few minutes. I was sitting here at the desk by then, so I heard them—their voices, anyway, not exactly what they were saying. They were yelling. I heard
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