He paused. ‘You see, Rachael does all that.’
‘Did your wife wire the money? Did she send a check?’
‘I guess you don’t know my daughter. No way anybody is going to cash a check for her. Rachael wires money to her on a regular basis. You see, Jayne has to be on medicine to prevent seizures. Because of what happened to her head.’ –
‘Where is the money wired?’ I asked.
‘A Western Union office. Rachael could tell you which one.’
‘What about your son? Do you communicate with him?’
His face got hard. ‘Not a bit.’
‘He’s never tried to come home?’
‘Nope.’
‘What about here? Does he know you’re here?’
‘About the only communicating I intend to do with Temple is with a double-barrel shotgun.’ His jaw muscles bunched. ‘I don’t give a damn if he is my son.’
‘Are you aware that he is using your AT&T charge card?’
Mr. Gault stood up straight and tapped an ash that scattered in the wind. That can’t be.’
‘Your wife pays the bills?’
‘Well, those kind she does.’
‘I see,’ I said.
He flicked the cigarette into the mud and a crab went after it.
He said, ‘Jayne’s dead, isn’t she? You’re a coroner and that’s why you’re here.’
‘Yes, Mr. Gault. I’m so sorry.’
‘I had a feeling when you told me who you are. My little girl’s that lady they think Temple murdered in Central Park.’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ I said. ‘But I need your help if I’m going to prove she is your daughter.’
He looked me in the eye, and I sensed bone-weary relief. He drew himself up and I felt his pride. ‘Ma’am, I don’t want her in some godforsaken pauper’s grave. I want her here with Rachael and me. For once she can live with us because it’s too late for him to hurt her.’
We walked along the pier.
‘I can make certain that happens,’ I said as wind flattened the grass and tore through our hair. ‘All I need is your blood.’
18
Before we went inside his house, Mr. Gault warned me that his wife did not have good coping skills. He explained as delicately as he could that Rachael Gault had never faced the reality of her offsprings’ blighted destinies.
‘It’s not that she’s going to pitch a fit,’ he explained in a soft voice as we climbed the porch steps. ‘She just won’t accept it, if you know what I mean.’
‘You may want to look at the pictures out here,’ I said.
‘Of Jayne.’ He got very tired again.
‘Of her and of footprints.’
‘Footprints?’ He ran callused fingers through his hair.
‘Do you remember her owning a pair of army jungle boots?’ I then asked.
‘No.’ He slowly shook his head. ‘But Luther had all kinds of things like that.’
‘Do you know what size shoe he wore?’
‘His foot was smaller than mine. I guess he wore a seven and a half or an eight.’
‘Did he ever give a pair of his boots to Temple?’
‘Huh,’ he said shortly. ‘The only way Luther would have given that boy boots would be if Luther still had ’em on and was kicking Temple’s butt.’
‘The boots could have belonged to Jayne.’
‘Oh sure. She and Luther probably wore close to the same size. She was a big girl. In fact, she was about the size of Temple. And I always suspected that was part of his problem.’
Mr. Gault would have stood out in prevailing winds and talked all day. He did not want me opening my briefcase because he knew what was inside.
‘We don’t have to do this. You don’t have to look at anything,’ I said. ‘We can use DNA.’
‘If it’s all the same to you,’ he said, eyes bright as he reached for the door. ‘I guess I’d better tell Rachael.’
The entrance of the Gault house was whitewashed and bordered in a pale shade of gray- An old brass chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and a graceful spiral stairway led to the second floor. In the living room were English antiques, oriental rugs and formidable oil portraits of people from lives past. Rachael Gault sat on a prim sofa, needlepoint in her lap. I could see through a spacious archway that needlepoint covered the dining room chairs.