that dates from Ballard High School Beaver days, when the cheerleading squad used to give pet names to all the athletes."
"You two knew one another back then?"
"As well as a lowly sophomore ever knows the senior movers and shakers. You know how that goes. Else and Alan Torvoldsen were a real item back then."
"That's the guy she was going to marry? The one who knocked her up? Isn't he the same one Watty wants us to see later today?"
"That's right. In case you hadn't noticed, Ballard's really a small town stuck in the middle of a big city."
Sue Danielson nodded. "I'm beginning to figure that out," she said.
I got up and prowled around Gunter Gebhardt's compulsively clean workshop. Stored in one cupboard I found the collection of carefully crafted plaster molds he had used to create his army of lead soldiers. I also found the collection of paints and delicate brushes and files he must have used to do the finish work on the soldiers once they came out of the molds. Painstakingly making those soldiers must have been the sole creative outlet for a man with considerable artistic talent and capability.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and the stairs creaked under the weight of heavy footsteps. Soon Else Gebhardt appeared from behind the partition at the bottom of the stairs. She was still crying, but she was smiling through the tears.
"Kari's coming down from Bellingham. Michael's bringing her down. They'll be here early this evening. I can hardly believe it." As far as I could see, it seemed reasonable that a daughter faced with news of her father's death would show up to help her mother. "What makes that so hard to believe?" I asked.
"You don't understand," Else replied. "The last time Gunter and I saw Kari was the night of her high school graduation. She cut us dead--refused to speak to either one of us. I thought it would break her father's heart."
"I heard you on the phone earlier. When all this came up, how did you know where to call her, then?"
"Kari stays in touch with her grandmother--with my mother," Else answered.
No wonder Else wanted to be out from under her mother's thumb. Inge Didriksen was a problem. On more than one front.
The phone call from Kari seemed to have had a calming effect on Else. After that we settled down and took some more organized information from her. What time her husband had left the house the previous evening--seven. Where had he said he was going--the boat. Did Else know of anyone with whom Gunter was having difficulties--she did not. Was she aware of any business dealings that may have gone awry-not that she could think of.
The questions were straightforward, and so were the answers. That kind of basic interview may not seem like much in terms of drama or excitement, but the information gained usually forms the foundation of a murder investigation. It's like a baseline X ray on a cancer patient. It tells investigators where and when things started going haywire. It's the hub of a wagon wheel--an initial point for branching out and asking more questions.
As we walked away from the house and threaded our way through the collection of parked cars, I was struck by how commonplace and ordinary the house looked. Yet inside those sandstone walls there had been a world of multigenerational conflict--years and decades of parents and children at war with one another.
Of course, everyone tries to pretend to the outside world that his own family isn't at all like that, but maybe if you scratch the surface, most of them are just that way. Sue Danielson's family certainly wasn't absolutely smooth and trouble-free. The little lunchtime set-to with Jared had proved that.
I left the Gebhardts' home in Blue Ridge convinced that Else and Gunter's seemingly troubled existence, one filled with marital and parental strife, wasn't all that different from anyone else's.
Mine included.
8
Sue Danielsonand I drove back to Fishermen's Terminal and hit the bricks, or rather the planks. We
"You two knew one another back then?"
"As well as a lowly sophomore ever knows the senior movers and shakers. You know how that goes. Else and Alan Torvoldsen were a real item back then."
"That's the guy she was going to marry? The one who knocked her up? Isn't he the same one Watty wants us to see later today?"
"That's right. In case you hadn't noticed, Ballard's really a small town stuck in the middle of a big city."
Sue Danielson nodded. "I'm beginning to figure that out," she said.
I got up and prowled around Gunter Gebhardt's compulsively clean workshop. Stored in one cupboard I found the collection of carefully crafted plaster molds he had used to create his army of lead soldiers. I also found the collection of paints and delicate brushes and files he must have used to do the finish work on the soldiers once they came out of the molds. Painstakingly making those soldiers must have been the sole creative outlet for a man with considerable artistic talent and capability.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and the stairs creaked under the weight of heavy footsteps. Soon Else Gebhardt appeared from behind the partition at the bottom of the stairs. She was still crying, but she was smiling through the tears.
"Kari's coming down from Bellingham. Michael's bringing her down. They'll be here early this evening. I can hardly believe it." As far as I could see, it seemed reasonable that a daughter faced with news of her father's death would show up to help her mother. "What makes that so hard to believe?" I asked.
"You don't understand," Else replied. "The last time Gunter and I saw Kari was the night of her high school graduation. She cut us dead--refused to speak to either one of us. I thought it would break her father's heart."
"I heard you on the phone earlier. When all this came up, how did you know where to call her, then?"
"Kari stays in touch with her grandmother--with my mother," Else answered.
No wonder Else wanted to be out from under her mother's thumb. Inge Didriksen was a problem. On more than one front.
The phone call from Kari seemed to have had a calming effect on Else. After that we settled down and took some more organized information from her. What time her husband had left the house the previous evening--seven. Where had he said he was going--the boat. Did Else know of anyone with whom Gunter was having difficulties--she did not. Was she aware of any business dealings that may have gone awry-not that she could think of.
The questions were straightforward, and so were the answers. That kind of basic interview may not seem like much in terms of drama or excitement, but the information gained usually forms the foundation of a murder investigation. It's like a baseline X ray on a cancer patient. It tells investigators where and when things started going haywire. It's the hub of a wagon wheel--an initial point for branching out and asking more questions.
As we walked away from the house and threaded our way through the collection of parked cars, I was struck by how commonplace and ordinary the house looked. Yet inside those sandstone walls there had been a world of multigenerational conflict--years and decades of parents and children at war with one another.
Of course, everyone tries to pretend to the outside world that his own family isn't at all like that, but maybe if you scratch the surface, most of them are just that way. Sue Danielson's family certainly wasn't absolutely smooth and trouble-free. The little lunchtime set-to with Jared had proved that.
I left the Gebhardts' home in Blue Ridge convinced that Else and Gunter's seemingly troubled existence, one filled with marital and parental strife, wasn't all that different from anyone else's.
Mine included.
8
Sue Danielsonand I drove back to Fishermen's Terminal and hit the bricks, or rather the planks. We
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