Mourning Dove (31 page)

Matthew Farrell called
the number of a friend in the Bureau. “Henry, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“What’s up, friend?”

“I’m working a case and
the rabbit’s ex got confused after a B & E. Apparently, he called your
agency instead of the number he was given.”

“They direct him back
there?”

“No, they told him I
didn’t exist.”

“Then who got caught in a
drug bust in Chicago last week?”

“That’d be me. I wasn’t
the perp, I was a hotel guest.”

“Aha, and the lady who
dropped your gun into the pool?”

“Is the estranged wife to
the guy who called the FBI around four today.”

“I’ll check. What’s his
name and number?”

“Try both his home phone
and his cell.” He gave his friend the numbers and waited for him to run them.

“So why’d he call the
bureau?”

“There’s a little
friction between us and the locals barely gave it lip service when the same
thing happened to his place of business a few weeks ago. Supposedly he tried
the number I gave him first. Unfortunately that line took a deep six in the
hotel pool, too.”

“Must have been some
party, first your gun, then your phone. Was she worth it?”

“I called you for help,
not advice to the lovelorn. Have you found anything yet?”

“Computer is searching
its little heart out. This is not your lucky day. I have one more search
route.”

“Whoever he talked to
said they would meet him at his home at seven tonight.”

“Well, shit. That doesn’t
sound good.”

“Yeah, that’s what I
thought. If we can trace the connection, I just might find the mole.”

“Tapped phone?”

“Like Piccadilly at rush
hour.”

“Well, my friend,
whomever he called wasn’t a bureau connection.”

“His wife says it
probably was the number in the front of the local phone book.”

“I ran that first. Looks
like somebody intercepted the call.”

“I’m flying solo, Henry.
I’m in DC and I don’t trust regional on this.”

“I can have a local drive
by.”

“No, I’ve got another
contact outside the agency, actually. Thanks for checking, I owe you one.”

“It’s lonely out in the
cold,” Henry said and hung up.

Tell me about it
,
Matthew thought as he folded his cell and slipped it into his pocket. How could
he make an eight hour trip in ninety minutes? His superman suit was still at
the cleaners. He palmed the cell again and made another call.

***

His doorbell chimed and
Ron hauled himself up from his recliner and onto his crutches. “I’m coming.
Hold your shorts on.”

He opened the door and
blinked at the round little man standing at the door. “May I help you?” Ron
asked.

“Maybe I can help you,
sir. You called the FBI and they sent me. You had a break-in?”

Ron looked at the man
with graying hair and goatee and shook his head. “Do you have any
identification?  I don’t want to be rude, but you aren’t exactly what I was
expecting.”

“Of course you’d want
that, I’m Charles Johnson, special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
He whipped out a black bi-fold with ID and badge and flashed it in Ron’s face.
“And your name, sir?”

“Ron Stafford.” He
reached out to shake the older man’s hand and invited him into the house. “I’m
a little confused. No offense, but you look like you should be playing golf in
a retirement community somewhere in Florida.”

The agent smoothed down
his tie. “They send me when they really don’t think the problem is federal in
nature. Maybe we should get you off your foot. Must be awkward hobbling around
on crutches all day?”

“You have no idea. Would
you like some coffee? I made a fresh pot.” Ron headed for the kitchen.

“No, no that’s fine.
Please sit down and tell me why you called the Bureau for a simple break-in,
Mr. Stafford?”

Ron began at the last
break-in and brought the agent up to date. Then he asked the question that has
been on the tip of his tongue since this guy walked into his house. “If you
don’t think the FBI can help me, why are you here, Mr. Johnson?”

“Sometimes what appears
to be a simple local disturbance has enough issues that make it our business.
Have you determined if anything is missing?”

“It’s a little hard to
know with the mess left behind. But I think I caught the guy before he
finished.”

“Then, you got a good
enough look at the intruder to determine it was a male?”

“Well no, I never saw
him. I’m just assuming it was a man. The furniture and supplies that were
toppled were not light. But I’m sure he escaped through the kitchen when I came
in the front door. I heard him crashing through the back yard.”

“You’re in the process of
remodeling?”

“Something like that.”

“Something like what?”

“The house is still under
construction.”

“How long have you lived
here?”

“Fourteen years.”

“That’s a long time to be
building a house. Is there a Mrs. Stafford?”

“She lives in Maine.”

“Separated or divorced?”

“I don’t know what that
has to do with this?”

“Estranged spouses have
done worse in revenge.”

“She wouldn’t do this. I
know Sara. I think it has to do with what my son was into.”

“And his name?”

“His name is moot point,
he’s dead.”

“Then why did you mention
him?”

“He died in March under
suspicious circumstances. The state police called it a suicide.  We’ve since
found out he was working undercover. We believe he found something and hid it
before he was killed. Now we suspect that a number of people are looking for
what he found. A man my wife met claims to be an agent with the federal
government. Ever since he came into our lives, crazy things have been
happening. When I called the number he gave me, I ended up in a voice mail
center. I thought the FBI wouldn’t put me on hold. Then I called you, well not
you specifically, just the local FBI office.”

“I’ll get to this man who
contacted you in a moment. First, why do you think this break-in is a federal
case?”

“My son was working for
the federal government and whatever’s happening is related to his
investigation. Therefore, this most probably is a federal case.”

“I see. About this man
your wife contacted, what name did he give her?”

“He calls himself Matthew
Farrell. When I gave his name to your office over the phone this afternoon,
they said they never heard of him.”

“He could be with another
agency. I’ll check him out when I get back to my office.” Ron watched him add
the name to the notes he’d taken throughout the interview. “Tell me what it is
you think your son found. If I can link that to this break-in you will have the
full investigative power of the Bureau behind you.”

Ron took a deep breath
then let it out. “Finally, someone I can trust.”

***

Later that night Matthew
Farrell was driving north on the Jersey turnpike when he answered his cell
phone. “What’ve you got for me, Jordie?”

“I got there ten minutes
before the guy showed. I used my telephoto lens and got several shots of him
leaving his car and meeting Mr. Stafford at the door. I got the make, model and
license plate of his car, too. It’s a Maine plate.”

“It wasn’t a government
plate?”

“No way, not with a loon
on it.”

“How long was he in
there?”

“Almost an hour, he left
by the front door. I got shots of that, too. Hey, Mr. Farrell, I thought the
place was bugged?”

“Somebody took mine out.
Did you see Ron in the doorway when the guy left?”

“Yup, he’s okay. He
looked pretty chummy with the guy. I know Mr. Stafford wouldn’t be on the other
side of this thing.”

“I think he’s just been
snowed, Jordie. He probably bought into this guy’s lies. You didn’t follow the
guy out, did you?”

After a moment of silence
he asked, “Jordie, you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I know
you told me not to but tailing him was easy. I was careful though, stayed
several cars back. He drove around Portsmouth going around in circles.  I think
he was just looking for a tail. But he never spotted me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he went home,
you want the address?”

***

The knot in Sara’s
stomach wasn’t going away. Laying in bed watching her bedroom clock march its
way through the night was not going to make a difference. Now it was two
o’clock in the morning and she knew she was going to throw up. Oh please, please,
please stay down there. Aw shit!

Down the hall, left turn,
slide through the bathroom and flip up the lid, a half second too late. She
vomited until nothing was left inside and her legs felt like overstretched
rubber bands quivering beneath her.

By the time she’d cleaned
up the mess it was three o’clock and her stomach had finally eased its torment
enough to realize she hasn’t gotten a call all night, not from Ron, not from
Matthew. Well, Mom always said no news was good news, if she could only believe
that. She was going to chew both of them out when the sun rose. God, she was
tired.

Sara reached over and
shut off the alarm. It was still ringing. She tried again. It was pounding
through her head. It was the doorbell. The clock showed a red digital 9:30. She
pushed her arms through the sleeves of her robe and walked down the hall to the
front door.

“Sara, you look like
crap.”

“Cass, thank you for your
astute observation. Why aren’t you at school?”

“Water main break, why
aren’t you at work?”

“Stomach flu or food
poisoning, depending on whether or not you’re sick, too.”

“I’m fine, but obviously
you aren’t. What can I do for you?”

“Not a whole hell of a
lot unless you have a new stomach I can rent. I need to call the office before
they think I jumped ship.”

“I’ll make you some tea
and toast. You make the call.”

“If this is the flu,
maybe you should get as far away from me as you can.”

Cass turned at Sara’s
bedroom door. “Remember when we shared chicken pox in college? And you wouldn’t
leave my side? I’m staying. Make your call and climb back into bed.”

Ten minutes later, Cass
stretched out in a chair beside Sara’s bed, Sara nibbling toast, Cass sipping
tea. “You are the only one I know who would willingly sacrifice herself on the
altar of influenza.”

“Just remember to return
the favor in four days when I too am the color of gray chalk.”

“What’s happening out
front? Looks like a red flashing light on my wall.”

Cass stood up and peeked
through the blinds. “This doesn’t look good. An ambulance and a police cruiser
just pulled in next door.”

“The Obermeyer’s?”

“Bingo. I’ll go over and
see if there’s anything I can do?” Cass said.

“Ruth said he wasn’t well
when she brought the cake over. I want a full report, but wash your hands first
just in case this is the flu.”

Most of the toast was
back on the plate; Sara’s stomach muscles ached. Eyes closed, almost asleep,
her cell chimed. “Hello.”

“Sara, you sound awful.”

“Matthew, you are the
second one today to point that out. Why not run a headline in the Portland paper.”

“Grumpy, too.”

“You were supposed to
call me back last night!”

“I chose not to disturb
your sleep.”

“You wouldn’t have. I
didn’t get any.”

“I’m sorry, love, because
of me?”

“No, I caught a bug.”

“I’m calling to give you
a follow up on last night. I take it you aren’t at work. Are you up to this?”

“What happened with the
FBI?”

“I’m not sure the bureau
was involved, but someone came to Ron’s house and spent an hour. I couldn’t, as
you say, beam myself from DC to New Hampshire, but I had someone I trust do
some surveillance for me. Did Ron call you afterward?”

“No, and that’s probably
not a good thing. It means he’s sure he was right to go around you and now he
plans to make me sweat out my curiosity.”

“Listen, where are you
exactly?”

“I’m in bed with a cup of
tea and a piece of toast benevolently fixed by Cass who got a free holiday
because of a plumbing problem at work.”

“Is she there listening
to this?”

“No. Why?”

“I want to make sure
you’re alone when I tell you this. She doesn’t need to know at the moment.”

“Tell me what?”

“The man who came to see
Ron last night is the same guy with the umbrella in Chicago, Alfred Carmody.”

“But that’s impossible.
The man…”

“My surveillance guy
followed him when he left. He had Maine plates on his car, not government
plates. Are you still with me?”

“Go on.”

“You know where he
followed him to?”

“Tell me.”

“To your next door
neighbor’s house, he didn’t park on the street or in the driveway. He drove all
the way into the garage, closed the garage door, and turned off the lights.
Sara, how much do you know about your neighbors?”

She was up and looking
through the blinds watching the emergency crew load a body into the back of the
ambulance. Cass, with her arm wrapped around Ruth’s shoulders, helped their
elderly neighbor into the ambulance beside the body.

“Matthew, I can tell you
the man who lives next door died this morning.”

***

“What
happened?” Sara asked Cass while trying to stuff her shaky legs into a pair of
black slacks.

“You saw?”

“Through the blinds,
someone needs to be with Ruth.” A dozen different memories of Sara’s
grandmother preparing for her grandfather’s burial ran through her mind. “What
killed him? Did Ruth call her rabbi?”

“Sara, slow down and sit.
You’re not in any condition to go out. Climb back into bed.”

“You said she’s alone,
except for Oscar. She needs someone now.”

“I’ll go. What does she
need?”

“Do you have the keys to
her house?”

“I’m driving her car to
the funeral home. I’ll stay with her there until someone else comes. If she
called a rabbi, will he come to the funeral home?”

“Yes, I’m sure. He’ll
take care of everything, but someone needs to sit with Oscar’s body.  She’ll
probably have the service this evening or tomorrow morning at the latest. It’s
Jewish tradition not to wait. How did he die? Does she know?”

“She said something about
a stroke. She called their doctor and he confirmed over the phone to the police
that Oscar was his patient and not in very good shape, a bunch of medical
jargon I don’t understand. It was enough for the police to give permission for
his body to be moved to the funeral home.”

“I’m going with you. Ruth
needs his prayer shawl. Things have to be done at the house.”

“I can do that, Sara.
Just tell me.”

“Come with me, but I have
to do it. I’m the only one between us with Jewish blood in my veins.”

Minutes later they were
walking through Ruth’s front door. The couch and an overstuffed chair had been
moved to the middle of the room. In the front bedroom, Sara looked for a cloth
to cover the mirror on the dresser.

“Find me a couple of
sheets and a pillow case, Cass, dark colors if we have a choice. We need to
cover the mirrors.” Sara looked into their closet, and then searched the
drawers of a man-sized chest.  Second drawer down was the shawl she needed and
a copy of the Torah. She reached for the electric cord to disconnect the clock.

“Sara, I put a pillow
case over the bathroom mirror. I hope that’s all right?”

She nodded; stripping the
bed brought her back to her grandmother’s death when this job fell to her and
Carl’s death when she wasn’t permitted in his apartment, blockaded with police
tape.

Cass handed her a second
set of sheets and they remade the bed in silence. Sara flipped the top sheet in
the air and knocked a picture frame to the floor. Bending down she picked up a
large gauze pad and the picture, it was a portrait of Oscar and Ruth taken at
another time. Sitting down on the edge of the half-made bed, Sara stared at the
five by seven in her hands.  The neighbor she never met and the old man from Chicago were the same man. “Omigod! He wasn’t ill. He was a spy!”

“What did you say, Sara?”

She hadn’t realized she’d
spoken aloud. Now she was going to lie to her best friend for the first time
ever. “He reminded me of someone else. It’s so very sad. Let’s get this finished.”
Sara gently placed the photo back on the night stand, face down. Looking around
the room, she nodded at its completeness and spread the spare sheet across the
dresser mirror. Cass gathered the rest of the disposable debris from the
emergency crew and Sara slid the gauze pad into the trash bag. Back in Ruth’s
living room, she reached into the cabinet of a grandfather clock and stopped
the pendulum.

“I’ll be right back,
Cass. I need to check the other two bedrooms for clocks and mirrors.” In a
small den Sara tried the desk and filing cabinet. Both were locked as she
suspected. No mirrors, one clock to stop. In the closet were two black storage
boxes the size of foot stools, not cardboard, but heavy metal of some kind.
They were sealed with an old fashioned lock. In the spare bedroom on the wall
above a small dresser where a mirror should have been was a picture of a solemn
young man dressed in black with a kippah on his head. It was an old picture in
a plain wooden frame hanging from a single wire – Oscar maybe? She turned it to
face the wall and found an aging yellow envelope tucked into the frame. She
probably shouldn’t, but she needed answers. She slipped the envelope into her
slacks pocket, turned the picture back, and draped the dresser scarf over the
image.

They moved the couch and
chair back into the indentations of their permanent place on the carpet and
shut the door on a secret life of the neighbor Sara never knew.

***

Sara picked up before the
first ring; it was like telepathy.

“Matthew, I was just
about to call you. Where are you?”

“I'm on my way north. Do
you know any more about your neighbor?”

“Are you sure about this
man who talked to Ron?”

“I wouldn’t have said so
if I wasn’t. Tell me what you know.”

“They’re Jewish, from Israel. They spent their teen years in concentration camps.”

“How do you know this?”

“Cass can ferret out more
information in a casual cup of tea than anyone I know.”

“She’d make a good spy.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“You know what else,
Matthew? Oscar Obermeyer was also Alfred Carmody.  I told you his accent was
forced in Chicago.”

“You said you never met
him. Did you see his body?”

“Just the body bag, but I
saw a picture of the Obermeyers on the nightstand beside their bed. Cass saw it,
too. Add the beard from Chicago, a gabardine suit, and the pointed umbrella and
you have Carmody.”

“I don’t want to know how
you managed to get into their bedroom. Did you happen to catch the number on
their license plate?”

“Maine plates with a
loon. That’s all I got before Cass drove out of my view.”

“Cass was driving their
car? This is beginning to sound like Alice and the rabbit hole.”

“Ruth rode in the
ambulance to the funeral home. Cass followed in their car.”

“Do me a favor, Sara.
Drive to the funeral home and bring Cass back.”

“And, check the license
plate in the process?”

“Good girl. How are you
feeling?”

“Better. I was thinking
of going back to work as soon as I know the funeral arrangements.  I guess I’ll
go rescue Cass and head to Portland before my stomach changes its mind. Are you
coming here?”

“I’ve got some things to
check out, first. Did you hear from Ron?”

“I was about to call him
when you called me.”

“Don’t. Let him sit in
silence for a while.”

“I like your way of
thinking.”

“It’s not that. The less
he knows the safer he’ll be.”
And the less he’ll give away,
Matthew
thought.

***

“Afternoon, Jimmy.” Sara
joined the stocky new fitness manager in the elevator.  “I didn’t expect to see
you here, is the club closed already?”

“Between three and four
is the only time I can take lunch. You don’t look so good, Ms. Stafford. Maybe
you should go home.” The concern in his blue eyes was at odds with the dimple
of his smile.

“I was riding out a touch
of stomach flu, this morning, but I’m okay now.”

“If you come up to the
club on your dinner break, I’ll make you a protein drink.  It’ll be easier on
the tummy than solid food.”

“Thanks for thinking of
me, but I’ll pass this time. I really don’t have the time to spare today.”

“For you, Ms. Stafford,
I’ll bring it down. Don’t tell anyone; they’ll all want door to door service.”

“Thanks Jimmy. I won’t
say a word.” The elevator door opened on six and Sara stepped out. Nice kid,
always thinking ahead, and Sara suspected, cultivating favors. Something seemed
to be lurking under the surface in Jimmy, though. What was she thinking? She
was chasing monsters in every person she saw. That was what she got for hanging
around a government agent.

Just inside the financial
office door, chaos reigned. A snow storm of paper covered the floor.  Steve and
Louise appeared to be spreading the pile. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Oh, Sara! Give us a
collective heart attack, why don’t you.” This from Louise, who had two pens and
a pencil stuck in her fly-away hair.

“A meeting, lost file,
last week’s stats,” she added with an armful of paper clutched in her hands.

“Minor collision, chief,”
Steve added rising from the paper pile on the floor. “We thought you were out
with the flu?”

“Just a little stomach
bug, it seems to be better now. I have last week’s stats in my computer.  I’ll
get them.”

***

Wednesday morning at the
Jewish cemetery, Sara and Cass stood together, shivering. “I don’t know how
she’s holding up, Sara. She refused to leave him all night. She tells me her
rabbi didn’t get there ‘til this morning. What’s the big deal with that?”

“Cass, there are rituals.
Reform Jews are a little more relaxed but there is still the process of laying
him to rest.”

“But in Portsmouth? With
an Israeli Flag on his coffin?”

“She told me they’re
citizens of Israel.”

A winter wind whipped
down from the hill behind the cemetery, beyond the black wrought iron fence. A
deep shiver ran through Sara.

Cass turned. “How are
you
holding up?”

“Damn bug came back again
last night. I can’t seem to get warm this morning.”

“I told you not to go in to
work. What are you looking at?”

“The man in the black
suit on the hill, just beyond the gathering.”