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“Bernie was my high school health teacher,” she began. “I was fifteen the first time I saw him. He was fifty-six. A forty-one-year age difference. Scandalous, don’t you think?”
I shrugged wanting to remain noncommittal.
“Anyway, I was in love, instantly. It was dramatic, the kind of dramatic that appeals to a teenager. I set my sights on him, began staying after class, pretending I didn’t understand things I understood perfectly well. Soon I was teacher’s pet. Then I was more. Much more.”
She put her cigarette out and lit another.
“I can’t begin to describe how thrilling it was to have a man like that love me, not to mention I was a mere child stealing a grown woman’s husband. The power. My parents were very social—alcoholics in case you can’t read between the lines—so they were gone a lot. Bernie and I had a signal. When they left, I’d call his house and let it ring twice then hang up. He’d make an excuse and come to me. Eventually I convinced him to marry me, or vice versa. That part’s a little fuzzy. He divorced his wife and we were married when I was seventeen.”
She enjoyed her cigarette.
“Bernie lost his job, of course. But he found another one in Fullerton. He had a friend there who got him on as a shop teacher. I think they felt as long as he wasn’t near young girls… It was years before I fully understood. I’ve always been something of a tomboy, and then the thing with Pete Michaels—which happened right before he met me. I think Bernie thought if he could be with me then everything would be all right. It wasn’t though. He was back to boys soon enough. About ten years ago there was another boy, Ricky Tamayo. Spoiled little brat. His parents found out what was going on. Ricky’s father beat Bernie nearly to death. Brain damage. Pretty severe. He’s in a home. I go to visit once a month. The staff thinks I’m his granddaughter. So does Bernie.”
She stubbed out her cigarette.
“Things were hushed up. It was called an accident. Since it happened on school grounds there was a settlement, and they’ve generously maintained his teacher’s insurance. In the end, I’ve done well for a skinny little tomboy with daddy issues.”
“Why do you think Larry Wilkes is innocent?”
“Pete Michaels asked Bernie for money to move to Santa Barbara. And by asked, I mean, threatened to expose him if he didn’t give him ten thousand dollars.”
“He told you that?”
“He did. I think he told me to keep me in line. I was certainly afraid of him for a while. And then someone let the Tamayos know what was going on with their son.”
I had a strong feeling I knew who tipped them off. Of course, I was sure she was telling me the truth. I recognized the signal with the telephone, something Pete picked up and used with Larry. What I wasn’t sure about was whether any of this was evidence that could be used at trial.
“Your husband is brain damaged?”
“He’ll never stand trial, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Would you be willing to testify if we can get another trial for Larry Wilkes?”
“No. Absolutely not,” she said. “My lawyer would never allow it.”
I sat for a moment trying to figure out if there was another way to this information. Sammy was very likely the only one who knew about the attempted blackmail. Larry didn’t know since he hadn’t mentioned it. And… he was hardly a credible witness. Maybe Pete mentioned wanting to move to Santa Barbara, but it’s doubtful he added that he was trying to pull the money together through blackmail.
“Do you know anything about how your husband convinced Andy Showalter to get him a gun? Or even why he chose Showalter for that task?”
“No. I didn’t ask a lot of questions about the murder. It seemed like the more I knew the more danger I was in. To be completely honest, I tried hard tonotknow things.”
And that was it. I’d reached a dead end. I’d proven that Larry Wilkes was innocent—to myself at least. But I still didn’t have anything that would get him out of prison.
22
April 17, 1996
Wednesday morning
The next morning before I left the house, I nudged Ronnie and asked, “Hey, what’s going on with the co-op? Did they accept your offer?”
“They countered. So I countered the counter.”
“Is that good?”
“Yeah, we’ll make a deal. We just haven’t yet.”
I got to The Freedom Agenda late—again. I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter. All I had planned was a short conversation with Lydia and then a phone call to Corcoran Prison to schedule a meeting with Larry Wilkes. I could write him a letter saying that we declined to take his case and save myself the drive, but that felt cowardly. I’d raised his hopes, I could at least be the one to dash them.
