Chapter Thirty-Four
Marshall Landish’s sister lived in a single-family brick home with a wide wraparound porch in the Mount Lookout area of Cincinnati.
The small lawn had recently been mowed, and window boxes of bright red and yellow flowers adorned the upper windows.
A red tricycle was parked at the base of the wide stone steps.
Why this surprised Zach, he wasn’t sure. He supposed it was because the name Landish conjured up such dark thoughts, and this picture-perfect symbol of American family bliss went completely against those murky notions.
Of course, Marshall’s sister Linda was no longer a Landish. Her married name was Winston.
He glanced at Josie, and she gave him a small smile, though her eyes told him she was nervous, as did the way her hands opened and closed at her sides as though unconsciously seeking something to hold on to.
He reached over and squeezed her hand, unable to resist offering her a small reassurance with his touch, if only very briefly.
Before Zach even knocked, he could hear the boisterous sounds of children playing inside.
He used the knocker to rap on the door, and the noise inside grew louder for a moment, as if every member of the household was moving toward the door.
When it was pulled open, a dark-haired woman stood there, holding an exuberant poodle by its collar, as two young kids met her where she stood.
“Mrs. Winston? I’m Detective Copeland. We spoke on the phone.”
She bobbed her head, shooting a quick, nervous glance at Josie. “Yes,” she said, moving aside and using her arm to gesture that the kids move aside as well. “Please come in.” She turned her head toward the stairs and yelled, “Carl?”
Zach and Josie entered, and a second later, a tall man with a blond beard and a receding hairline came down the stairs.
“The detective is here,” she said to him.
He greeted them quickly and then shuffled the kids and the dog off in a noisy parade of footsteps, clicking dog nails, and loud requests for cookies and juice.
Linda Winston showed them into a living room, and they all took a seat. When they both declined the beverage she offered, she laced her hands in her lap. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
“I know you wanted to meet with me eight years ago,” Josie said, and Linda turned her attention to her. “I wasn’t ready then, and I’m sorry I denied your requests.” She glanced at Zach, and he gave her a small nod.
“I understand why you did,” Linda said quietly.
Josie stared down at her hands for a moment. My God, she’s brave. How she was doing this was beyond Zach. So lionhearted, his Josie. “Earlier when Zach…Detective Copeland talked to you, you said you’d heard about the so-called copycat who was mimicking your brother’s crime.”
Sadness passed over Linda’s expression. “Yes. I’ve been following the story. It’s…awful.”
“Yes,” Josie agreed. She cleared her throat. “In the course of the investigation, some questions have come up, and I’ve been trying to recall specific things about your brother in order to help catch the copycat.”
Linda frowned. “What sorts of things?”
Zach had told Josie not to indicate there was any question about Marshall Landish’s involvement in the original crime.
There was no evidence to that yet, only questions, and it would be cruel to give this woman false hope on that front.
Josie cleared her throat. “Nothing specific at this point. The truth is, I don’t know what memories might help. ”
“So you’ve been going over that…time.”
“Yes.”
“That must be difficult.”
“I was hoping… Well, I was hoping you might be willing to talk to me about Marshall in sort of…general terms. I know that might be difficult for you too.”
Linda stared at Josie for a moment before sitting back in her chair.
“No, actually, I don’t mind talking about Marshall.
I’m glad someone wants to hear about him.
I don’t believe he did it. I never have.
” She looked up at Josie, their gazes holding for a few moments, these two women who came from such opposite sides of the case against the man they were discussing.
Yet it was clear to Zach that Landish’s sister was a decent person.
She wasn’t necessarily correct about her brother’s innocence, but she obviously believed what she said.
And she understood the predicament Josie was in enough to offer sympathy.
“I know,” Josie said softly. “Will you tell me why?”
“It simply wasn’t in him to carry out the crime committed against you.
Marshall was…awkward, shy. He even came across as simple sometimes, because of his stutter.
But he wasn’t. He was intelligent. But mostly, he was empathetic.
I knew him better than anyone because I practically raised him.
He brought home every stray he came across when he was a little boy.
He couldn’t even kill a spider. He’d scoop it up with a cup and put it outside. He was a gentle boy and a gentle man.”
“His stutter…did it ever come and go? When he got overwrought or angry, did it disappear?”
Linda shook her head. “Honestly, I can’t recall Marshall getting angry, but…
no. If he became frustrated or anxious, his stutter actually got worse, not better.
But it was always present. He was self-conscious of it.
He tried different techniques to lessen it, but nothing ever worked.
Marshall was very aware of his stutter, Ms. Stratton.
He’d have never thought you wouldn’t notice it or that he could hide his identity if he uttered one sentence.
The man who abducted you kept that mask on for a different reason. ”
Josie blinked, swallowed. “When I was with Marshall, he said some things that gave me the impression that he’d gone hungry.” She was obviously changing the subject. What Linda had just said rattled her.
Linda looked down, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Our parents struggled. Occasionally the cupboards were bare.” Clearly she didn’t want to confirm the things Josie was saying, but she was being truthful anyway.
“What do you mean by struggled?” Josie asked, her expression guarded, as though she thought Linda would shut down her question.
But Linda didn’t pause, didn’t look at Josie as though her inquiry was too personal.
She’d been waiting a long time to talk about her brother—to mount a small defense of him, however unofficial.
“Our father had PTSD. He would go through bouts of depression. It was hard on my brother. He was sensitive, and my father’s drawing away hurt him.
Anyway, there were lots of times my dad was out of work.
Our mother tried her best to make ends meet, but times were often tight. ”
They were both quiet for a moment. Zach wondered whether Linda knew her brother as well as she thought she did.
A person couldn’t always know the things inside another, the things other people hide, the parts they play.
The information about a depressed, unstable father set off warning bells.
Had Landish repressed his rage at his father—his own violent tendencies—all his life until it finally erupted in a sadistic crime?
“What about his color blindness?” Josie asked. “The police acquired his Army records and said it was listed there.”
“Yes. It didn’t seem to hold him back in any way.
We found out he had red/green color blindness when he was a kid, but the topic rarely came up after that.
Kids adjust, I guess, and it wasn’t a big deal.
I never even thought about it. Our father had it too.
It runs almost exclusively in the male side of the family.
His son would have likely had it too.” Her eyes widened suddenly, obviously realizing what she just said.
She grasped her hands in her lap. “Anyway, it was his stutter that distressed him, because it was the stutter other people judged him on.”
Josie’s forehead creased, as she stared behind Linda. “He couldn’t see red…” she murmured.
“No. He couldn’t tell red from gray. Why? Did the man who abducted you remark on something red?”
Josie didn’t answer her question, still pensive.
“If he couldn’t see red or green, but if something or another was likely green, say a leaf or grass, would he guess?
Would he call it green even if it looked gray to him because he’d figure it was his color blindness giving him the wrong information? ”
“I…guess. Maybe. I don’t really know how to answer that.”
Josie looked mildly relieved as though she’d just supplied a plausible answer to a question.
The question of how Landish had known the color of her underwear or guessed.
Zach’s skin prickled. He supposed he understood her reasoning.
If Landish had looked at her undergarments and they’d appeared gray to him, it was more likely they were red and not green.
He’d have made the same guess, he supposed.
Sort of a leap, maybe, but…it worked as an explanation.
“Thank you, Linda. I appreciate you answering my questions so honestly. For your time.” Josie paused, her eyes moving to the mantel where there were several photos.
She stood, and Linda did too, following her to the place where there was an eight-by-ten headshot of a boy in a cap and gown.
Josie picked it up, brought it closer. Only her profile was to him, but Zach saw her neck move as she swallowed.
She replaced the photo on the mantel, her hand trembling slightly.
She turned toward Zach. “We should go.”
Zach waited until they were back in the truck, pulling away from the curb. “What is it?” he asked quietly. There was something haunted in her eyes, and it’d been there since she’d looked closely at that photo.
“His eyes.” She shook her head in confusion. “They weren’t right. The color was…similar. But not exact.”
“Josie, it’s been a long time—”
“No.” Her voice burst forth, and she took a deep steadying breath.
“No. His eyes were all I could see of his face. I…I can’t forget them.
I’ve never looked at Marshall’s photo up close like that.
And…no. They’re not right. Something was off.
Zach”—she pierced him with her gaze, shock and fear in her expression—“those weren’t Marshall’s eyes staring out of that mask. ”