Birdy Waterman 01 - The Bone Box

what I’m looking for,” Birdy said. “That would be you.”
    Pat appeared surprised. “Me?”
    Birdy nodded and introduced herself, and the flicker of recognition—at least of her name—came over Pat-Stan in the most pleasant of ways. The woman, who leaned a little because she didn’t like the way the prosthetic leg felt on the stub of her thigh, managed a warm smile.
    “You’re grown up,” she said. “You look the same in the eyes, but, well, well, you have grown up.”
    Birdy returned the smile. “I remember how kind you were to me back then.”
    “And you’ve come here to tell me that?” she asked.
    “Not exactly,” Birdy said. “I came for help.”
    Pat-Stan narrowed her focus, ignoring a couple of women haggling over a stack of vintage hankies. “What kind of help?”
    “I came here for my cousin Tommy.”
    Pat-Stan shifted her weight and winced. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Of course not,” Birdy said, explaining that Tommy was ill and she wanted to help clear his name before it was too late.
    “Where’s he living?” she asked.
    Birdy paused a beat. She wondered why Pat-Stan asked that. “Walla Walla. He never got out of prison.”
    The shop manager looked genuinely surprised. “But that was more than twenty years ago. I thought he’d be out long ago,” she said.
    “He won’t admit to something he didn’t do. And that’s the only way he could have been paroled.”
    “I wish I could help you,” she said, stepping away to twist the small padlock on the jewelry case door.
    Birdy touched her shoulder. “You can. You don’t have to wish.”
    Patricia took a small step backward, both hips now resting against the cabinet. “I don’t remember anything,” she said. “I was a secretary studying to try to get the god-awful job that cost me my leg. The pension is good. But I’d rather have my leg.”
    It was a joke, an attempt to defuse the tension between them.
    “Actually, I’m a little surprised that you’re alive. I spent a half hour with Sheriff Derby and he told me that you were dead.”
    “Interesting. He probably wishes I were dead. The man’s a complete ass. He was a terrible boss, he’s estranged from his only kid, his wife only comes out to pose for campaign photos. Messed up. I hate him.”
    Some common ground, good.
    “You’re not one to hold back,” Birdy said, trying to keep the disclosures coming. “But why would he wish you were dead? I don’t get that.”
    Again, nervousness took over and Pat-Stan called to the women fighting over the hankies that she’d be right over. She looked back at her visitor.
    “I really don’t want to get into it,” she said.
    Birdy pushed harder. “Does it have anything to do with Tommy’s case?”
    Pat-Stan waited a long time. Uncomfortably long. It was one of those awkward pauses that usually invites an exit from an uncomfortable conversation.
    “Probably,” she said. “No. Yes. I mean, I don’t know. Jim was not just a jerk yesterday. His jerkdom has been a long time coming.”
    “What about Tommy?” Birdy asked.
    Pat-Stan pretended to search her memory. “I can’t say. Really. I don’t exactly remember.”
    “Please,” she said.
    “I’ve said all I should. I really do wish you luck. Don’t know how it can help Tommy. He’s served more than his time, that’s for sure. Can’t give back all those years.”
    “Do you think they should be given back?” Birdy asked.
    Again, a long pause. Pat-Stan clearly wanted to spill her guts right over that tacky display case, but she held back the best she could.
    “I will say this and it’s against my better judgment. I transcribed his tape and I can tell you this.... When I saw his statement at trial I noticed that it was slightly different. Some parts were omitted.”
    “I have his statement here,” Birdy said, pulling out the file.
    “I don’t have my glasses and I wouldn’t remember exactly. Just something kind of bugged me. I told Detective Derby about it, but he dismissed it as a clerical error. That really angered me because, well, I was the clerk.”
    “What was different?” Birdy asked.
    Pat-Stan shrugged. “Don’t remember. Check the tape.”
    “Video?”
    “No, audio. We taped all the interviews. Policy.”
    This interested Birdy. The transcripts—no matter who did them—didn’t sound completely like Tommy. “Where are the tapes?” she asked.
    “I’ve got some. When I left, I was so mad that I took a bunch of old case