Razing the Dead (14 page)

“He wasn't exactly buddies with anyone. He got along okay with them. But he'd gone to work for the township because he thought it was his civic duty, not because he wanted to hang out with the guys.”

“Who would he have had to report this to?” I asked.

“As far as official reporting, I think he'd have to tell Marvin Jackson—he's the township manager—and maybe the historic commission. Like I said, I don't know if he'd gotten around to it, or if he had time. He'd only just found . . . the bodies, I guess.” She stood up abruptly, her motions jerky. “I'd better get back before people worry.”

Janet stood up as well and, after a moment's hesitation, gave her a quick hug, which surprised Pat. “Pat, thank you so much for coming to us with this,” Janet said. “I know it can't be easy for you, especially right now.”

Pat impatiently brushed away more tears. “I had to do something. I mean, I laughed at George's little hobby, but I never thought it'd get him killed. That's not right. He was a good man, a good father, a hard worker. He didn't deserve to die in that muddy puddle, so close to home. If I know something that can help you find whoever did this, I want to help.” She glanced at her watch and stood up. “I've got to go. I'll be tied up for the next couple of days, as you can guess, but if you think of anything you need to know, call me, okay?”

“Of course. Thank you again.” I wavered for a moment: I barely knew this woman, and I'm not a hugger by nature, but she'd just lost her husband and she wanted to make it right—and if anybody looked like they needed a hug, she did. So I reached out to her, and she leaned against me, just for a moment.

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice. Then she turned and left quickly, with Janet trailing behind her to let her out.

Janet was back a minute later. “Well.” She dropped back into her chair. “What do we do now?”

“I . . . I'm not sure. I suppose I'll start by telling the FBI what Pat told us about George and his relationship with the township, and who he might have told about his find.”

Janet nodded, with a smile. “You're tight with that agent, right?”

There was no point in arguing. “Yes, and he'll want to know. I know it's not exactly evidence, but it gives us a clearer picture of what could have happened. I'll see him this afternoon. But I could use your insights about approaching the township.”

“What do you mean?”

I tried to gather my thoughts. “I don't come from around here, so I don't know who's who or even what problems the township is facing. It would help to know things like who the players are, how they get along. Do they usually agree or are there a lot of battles? What kind of financial shape is the township in, and what would this development project mean to it, in terms of jobs and tax revenues and stuff like that? Who would think it's important that it go forward ASAP, and who would like to slow or stop it, see it go away completely?”

“You don't ask for much, do you?” Janet said in a sarcastic but not unkind tone. “I don't live in the township, so I can't answer you directly. But I can find out who does know, and who'd be willing to talk to you or your agent friend.”

“That would be a start. How good are you at diplomacy? Subterfuge?”

She looked blankly at me for a moment, and then her face brightened. “Oh, you mean asking who knows what without being obvious about it?”

“Yes, sort of. Don't make it look like you're pumping them for information. We can't lose sight of the fact that somebody killed George, and it was probably over this. And it wasn't even in the heat of the moment, because that person moved George after he was dead, most likely to divert attention from where it happened and what was there. I can't ask you to put yourself at risk.”

“Message received, and I will be careful. But I guess I have to say that I want to help, too. I liked George. He was a decent guy, and made a point to chat with me for a minute when he visited here. I'm sure he never figured his hobby would be dangerous.”

Now I was checking my watch. “I'd better go too. Take care, okay?”

“I will. Thanks, Nell. Good luck.”

James was sitting in his car reading something in a file
when I pulled into my tiny driveway. “Am I late or are you early?” I asked when I climbed out of my car.

He smiled. “Neither. Both. No big deal. My interviews went more quickly than I expected.”

I fished my keys out of my bag and headed toward my door, and he followed. “Are they something you can talk about?” I asked, opening the door—then crossing quickly to the other side of the room to open windows. It was getting stuffy in the August heat, but I didn't leave the air-conditioning on when I wasn't around.

“Maybe.”

I waited for him to ask where I'd been, but he didn't, so I volunteered. “I may have something useful. Have you eaten? I think I have cold cuts and stuff. I haven't done much shopping lately.”
Mostly because I've been spending a lot of time at your place.

“Fine.” He pulled off his jacket and draped it over a chair.

He came up behind me as I was peering into the rather empty depths of my refrigerator, and turned me around to face him. “I haven't said hello.” He then kissed me thoroughly, and I wondered if we were going to skip lunch altogether. But he was the one to break it off. “We've got things to do, so let's eat.”

“Right. Food. Bread, turkey, some kind of limp lettuce. There's beer.” Which I kept only for him, since I didn't like the stuff much.

“Whatever,” he said. “Mind if I plug in my laptop? I've bookmarked some sites.”

“Sure, go ahead.” I assembled a couple of sandwiches on bread that I didn't dare examine too closely, found a miraculously unopened bag of potato chips, and presented him with a loaded plate, then took my own and sat down next to him.

He pushed the laptop aside to focus on his sandwich. “You said you had something new?”

I chewed for a moment, then swallowed. “After I talked to you yesterday I got a call from Janet Butler at CCHS, and she said George Bowen's wife wanted to talk to us.”

“The dead man's wife? I thought you said she'd be tied up with funeral arrangements and the like.”

“That's what I'd figured, but I think she feels guilty about blowing off George's hobby and wanted to make it right.” As we ate I proceeded to fill him in on what Pat Bowen had told Janet and me about who George might have told about his find. “So, in my humble opinion, you need to talk with Wakeman's senior staff, and as I've said before, with some of the guys at the township. And in the case of the township, maybe without the local police getting in the way.”

“I do know how to do my job, Nell,” he said.

“Of course you do, but you don't know local politics or who's buddies with who. I asked Janet to nose around and see if she could find someone you could talk to. You need someone who's willing to share the internal stuff.”

“What, you'll actually let me take part in your investigation?”

I had to check to make sure he was joking. “Hey, I'm just trying to help. You're the one who can dig into phone records and financial backgrounds and all that stuff. I'm looking to work out the local dynamic and that takes some insider information. My big question now is, if George comes home all excited about his big find, who does he tell? You can ask everybody he's ever known, or everybody in his address book or on his Christmas list. I asked Pat directly, and she wasn't sure.”

James held up both hands. “I surrender. You're right.”

“Music to my ears.” I grinned at him. “Look, I'll let you know if Janet comes up with a contact for you.”

“Please do. So, are you ready to look for a place? Unless you'd rather not?” He looked at me as if challenging me to back off.

“No, no, we should do this.” I stood up and took our few dishes into the tiny kitchen. “Do you want to lay out the basics? Size, location, number of bedrooms, all that stuff?”

He sat back in his chair. “You go first.”

He wasn't going to make this easy, was he? “Okay. I don't think we'll find an apartment that would work. And there's something about the term
condo
that makes me think of plastic. I've told you before, I like living in the suburbs—it keeps work and home separate—but I can see that might be difficult for you. I'm not wedded to the idea of a large house—a row house in a nice neighborhood would work. And I want a bigger kitchen and more closets. Your turn.”

He was smiling. “So far we're pretty much on the same page. You're right about the burbs—I hate to waste time commuting, although keeping two cars in the city may be difficult, or at least expensive. What do you think of Marty's place?”

Marty lived in a nice, tree-lined neighborhood within walking distance of the Society. Her row house was narrow but had high ceilings. Still, from what I'd seen of it, I remembered it as cramped, and that was with only her living in it. “Why, is she selling it?”

“No, I'm just holding it up as a model.”

“Not big enough for the two of us,” I said firmly. “We'd be bumping into each other all the time.” Neither of us was what you would call a small person.

“Okay. You want wider?”

“Yes. And maybe more windows, more light. I like it here because there are windows on all sides. And I want more elbow room if there are two of us. Don't you?”

“Yes. I wasn't sure if you would. More stuff to keep clean.”

“We'll hire someone,” I replied. “I hate housework. We're busy people, and we can afford it. What about condition? You into rehabbing a place?”

James skewered me with a look. “You seriously think either of us has the time to mess with woodwork and painting?”

Of course, older houses—which I preferred—always had something that needed fixing, but he was right. “Good point. So, how do we do this?”

“As I told you, you can take virtual tours of almost any place online these days. Of course, they're set up to make the place look good, so they don't show you the highway running right over the house, or tell you that you're in the airport flight path.”

“I'm not going to decide on a place by looking at a two-inch picture.”

“You don't have to. Tomorrow's Sunday—there should be plenty of open houses. Pick out some you like and we'll go look at them. I've already bookmarked a few.”

We looked at the online listings. There were plenty to choose from, but many we easily eliminated for one reason or another. One looked too dark, even from the thumbnail pictures. Another had no parking. This one was too close to a major road; that one was too expensive, even with our combined incomes. After a while I was beginning to feel like Goldilocks, complaining that none of the porridge was “just right.” “Am I being unreasonable, James?”

“I think we should walk through a few together. Things don't always look the same in reality.”

“Okay. Maybe we should go through a house that we know we'll hate, too, just to get the patter right.”

“Not a bad idea. Like a dry run. Are you into role-playing? Do you want to walk through and play happy homemaker and gush over the perfect cabinets and the cute bathroom tiles?”

“No. But if I did, you'd have to make manly noises about where you'd put your woodworking tools and the chain saw.”

He shut his laptop with a snap. “I think we've passed the point of constructive virtual searching. We can put together a short list of three to five places to look at tomorrow. Deal?”

“Okay,” I said hesitantly. “Can you take time off to go house hunting in the middle of a case?”

“Nell, I'm always in the middle of a case, usually more than one. But I'm allowed to have a life. Besides, half the people I need to talk to will be at George Bowen's funeral tomorrow. There's nothing that can't wait until Monday.”

“All right then, we'll let it all wait.” We passed the rest of the day in companionable fashion, doing nothing more significant than grocery shopping. It felt nice.

The next morning James pulled out a couple of maps of the city and its environs and spread them all out on my dining table, then booted up his laptop and started plotting. I left him alone because he seemed to be having so much fun. I was willing to go wherever he chose, since I had no idea where to start and I was trying to keep an open mind. I plied him with coffee and store-bought crumpets until he declared that he had a plan.

“I think I've got five that are worth a look. More than that and they'll start running together in your head.”

“Okay,” I said amiably, finishing my second cup of coffee.

He gave me a sharp look but didn't say anything. Was I not acting eager enough?

We set off on our house odyssey about eleven. James was a surprisingly patient driver and seldom got lost, so I felt free to watch the neighborhoods we passed through. It was interesting to see how quickly they could change, even within a block or two. I could also trace some of the city's history just by looking at the transitions, from sturdy rowhouses to modest individual homes to stately stone mansions or the other way around. I paid attention to where the public transit stops were and where the nearest amenities, like grocery stores and pharmacies, were located. And I felt a little out of my depth; it was hard to imagine actually living in any of these areas. I kept reminding myself that even Bryn Mawr had been unfamiliar once.

We toured all five places. The Realtors burbled on about school districts and property taxes, and I nodded and smiled—and didn't fall in love with any of them. There was always something wrong: too small, too dark, too inconveniently located. Not that I'd expected to hit the ball out of the park on the first try. After all, this was just an exploratory trip. But I was finding far more elements I didn't like than those that I did.

At four we called it quits and found a quiet coffee shop to recharge our batteries.

“What did you think?” James said carefully.

“There was nothing that wowed me,” I admitted, stirring the foam of my cappuccino. “This is harder than it looks. How about you?”

He shrugged. “About the same. But there's more out there, if we can find the time to look.”

“When's your lease up again?”

“End of the month. I can always flash my badge and lean on the rental agency, but I'd hate to do that. They'd miss renting to the returning students.”

Not a lot of time to make a big decision, although that didn't seem to be troubling James. “No pressure, right?”

“Nell, if you're having doubts . . .”

“No, it's not that. You know, something's been bothering me about Pat Bowen.”

James seemed startled at my abrupt change of topic. “About the murder?”

“Not so much that. But she said that she and George had kind of grown apart. He had his interests—in this case, local history—and she had hers, and they didn't seem to have anything together. Now she feels bad because he's gone and there's nothing she can do about it, except try to find out what happened. It's like she's lost him twice. How do couples avoid that? The drifting apart?”

“Nell, I don't know. I don't have a lot of experience in this. But—what's the expression? Don't borrow trouble? The Bowens must have been married for thirty years or more. You and I, we've got a long way to go before we get bored. Don't we?”

“I hope so.” I reached out for his hand across the table, and we gazed meaningfully into each other's eyes until the busboy came over and grabbed our empty cups. We weren't very good at mushy.

He finally said, “So what now? Are you going to see Wakeman anytime soon?”

“We don't have anything planned, but he kind of makes up his own rules. I've got Lissa looking at the early history of the area, so maybe she can figure out who the old bodies were. The FBI still has them, right?”

“We do. It's not quite clear what we're supposed to do with them. Bury them somewhere nearby, I suppose.”

“It would help if we know who they were—there might even be family around here somewhere. Anything else you need me to look for?”

“Not that I can think of. Just stay safe, will you?”

“I try, honestly. Things keep happening.”

He gave me a look but didn't say anything more on the topic, and our parting was sweet but short when he drove me home. I waved as he left and returned to my small, lonely home.