Linda Winston showed them into a living room and they all took a seat. When they both declined the beverage she offered, she took a deep breath, lacing her hands in her lap. She peeked at Josie, then looked back at Zach. “I have to say, I was extremely surprised to get your call earlier. 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 nodded, looking 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 that was mimicking your brother’s crime.”
Linda nodded, sadness passing over her 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.”
Josie nodded.
Linda regarded her for a moment. “That must be difficult.”
“Yes. 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 and then sighed, sitting back in her chair. “No, actually, I don’t mind talking about Marshall.” She offered Josie a gentle smile. “I’m glad someone wants to hear about him.” She gave her head a small shake. “I don’t believe he did it.” 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 obviously 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.” She shook her head. “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.” She smiled, a small lifting of her lips. “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?”
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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.” She looked down at her hands. “He tried different techniques to lessen it, but nothing ever worked.” She met Josie’s eyes. “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.” She paused. “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 frowned, 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.”
Linda shrugged. “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 . . . it was his stutter that distressed him, because it was the stutter other people judged him on.”
Josie bit at her lip, her forehead creased, as she stared behind Linda, obviously recalling something. “He couldn’t see red . . .” she murmured.
Linda shook her head. “No. He couldn’t tell red from gray. Why? Did the man who abducted you remark on something red?” She looked at Josie hopefully.
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?”
Linda frowned. “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.