Chapter Nine

Mom seemed to have forgotten all about her sandwich until Garrett’s hand crept across her plate. “Hands off, you bottomless pit,” she said, giving his hand a smack.

“Ow!” Garrett withdrew his hand and rubbed it.

“Don’t even look at mine,” I said, starting on my sandwich’s second half. “You’re the one who freaked out Mom.”

“I really need you to think about what else you might remember about this Joe Smithson,” said Garrett. His finger hovered over the photo. Mom had only just returned to the table and her information was now paramount. However, the way his finger hesitated, there was a small chance he might want to see Mom freak out again.

Obviously, I would never .

“I can’t say I remember much. He lived there less than a year. It might have only been ten months or so at the most, and even then, he worked away a lot.”

“Did he say what he did?” I asked.

“Sales, I think.”

“Selling what?”

“I don’t know,” Mom snipped in exasperation.

“Hopes and dreams,” chipped in Dad.

I frowned, wondering for a moment if that was a brand I hadn’t heard of.

“I mean, Joe could sell water to the Atlantic Ocean. He was a charmer all right,” said Dad. “He could sell you your own house and you’d thank him and ask if he wanted cash or check. I remember him now.” His mouth turned down, apparently unimpressed.

“He was a contractor for some big firm and he liked the travel but he liked being at home too,” said Mom. She tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “He said he was looking to put down roots.”

“Was he from Montgomery?” I asked.

“I… don’t know.” Mom leaned over to look at the photo, not touching it and I wondered if she were thinking about the pair in the picture or deep cleaning the table. “The boy went to The Walsingham School.”

“So you do remember him?”

“No, it’s the patch on his jacket. It’s a boarding school in Boston. Very expensive. I wonder if I have a photo of him.”

“The boy?” asked Garrett.

“No, Joe. I just thought, I’m sure he came to a birthday party we threw for your dad. We got him a new camera so I’m sure he took a lot of photos. Let me see if I can find them.” Mom picked up her sandwich and headed into the living room, leaving us with Dad.

“It was a fancy camera back then,” said Dad. “I think I still have it. I’ll get it.” He got up, grabbed a handful of chips, and headed after Mom.

“What do you make of all that?” asked Garrett. He scraped his chair back and walked over to the countertop, reaching for another roll.

“Joe Smithson is as close to John Smith as you can get without sounding one hundred percent like a made up name.”

“That’s what I thought too. And sales? Not a job people ask questions about. Too generic. Too boring.”

“The travel might have stirred up some questions,” I said.

“Not if he made up where he traveled to. If it were international, people would remember that. It would sound glamorous, but make it boring, say he’s got to go to nowheresville and it’s just a dull traveling sales job that no one wants to talk about.”

“So he’s absolutely charming and asks people about themselves, listens to their stories, praises the men, flirts with the ladies, and everyone thinks he’s great, except Dad, but no one knows anything about him,” I surmised.

“That’s what I would do if I had an ounce of charisma and wanted to throw people off the scent. I just have to figure out what the scent is.”

“We,” I corrected him.

“The state is literally employing me to do this.” Garrett stuffed cheese into his roll, followed by a lettuce leaf and a dollop of mayo, then he took a large bite.

“The Dugans literally hired me to do this,” I countered.

“Fine. Whatever. Like I said before, I’m happy for the assistance. I’m overloaded with cases and the priority on this shifted up, thanks to those jewels. The chief has taken an interest.”

“Here it is,” said Mom, brandishing a thick photo album as she returned to the kitchen. She swept our plates out of the way and the album landed on the table with a thump, on an open page. “That’s Joe,” she said, pointing to a photo. My father was center, beer in hand, laughing at something. Off to the left, his face partially turned away was a man in jeans and an open-necked, checkered shirt, the sleeves rolled up, a beer also in his hand. “I thought there might be another but he’s not in any of the posed group shots. I did remember he offered to take a few of the photos. It was thoughtful of him.”

Garrett and I exchanged a look. I wondered if he were thinking the same as me: that was a good excuse not to be photographed.

“Do you mind if I take this?” asked Garrett, leaning over Mom’s shoulder.

“Go ahead, but I’d appreciate it if you returned it; otherwise I’ll have a gap in this book and I don’t know what I’ll fill it with.”

“I’ll make a copy and return it,” said Garrett, sliding the photo from its transparent pocket. He retrieved the other photo and pocketed them both. He grabbed our plates and headed for the dishwasher. “Thanks for lunch. I have to head back to the station.”

“I have things to do too,” I said, standing up.

“Here’s the camera!” said Dad, returning. “Oh! Are you going? Don’t you want to see how it takes real film? You have to open the case and stick it in the slot.”

“I’ll check it out in a museum,” said Garrett as Dad flashed the camera’s cavity at us with pride.

“I found a photo,” said Mom. “We did take one with your camera! Garrett, I’d appreciate an update. It’s horrible to think poor Joe might have been buried in his own backyard. He didn’t deserve that, regardless of whatever he did. What did he do?”

“No idea,” said Garrett.

Mom turned her attention to me, narrowing her eyes. “Was he in witness protection?” she asked, placing a hand to her chest. “Was it mob-related?”

“I don’t know any more than Garrett! Was he close to any of the other neighbors?” I asked.

“I couldn’t say. The house next to Joe’s was empty for a while around then. Yes, that’s right. A tree fell through their roof and they had to move out for months but I don’t recall if that was before or after he left... disappeared. Anyway, yes, I think they moved in before Joe did.”

“I went by the house earlier and there’s a lot of mail and a parcel on the porch. Are the homeowners away?”

“Tom died last year and Bea just moved to a retirement community. Although I’m not sure if she’s visiting her son in Maine. Or maybe the other son in New Jersey. Anyway, I’m not sure if the house is sold yet. I’ll ask if she wants the mail collected.”

“What about the other neighbors?”

“Some of the other neighboring homes turned hands more than once so it’s hard to say if he was particularly friendly with anyone. Do you remember?” she asked my dad.

Dad shrugged. “I think he came to some of the neighborhood socials but I was busy working back then and hung out with my cop buddies mostly. He wasn’t really my kind of fellow.”

“Why was that?” asked Garrett.

“I don’t really recall. It could have been because I was just busy more than Joe’s personality. I had my career and an awful lot of children coming and going.”

“And now he has shelves to put up,” said Mom. She glanced at her watch and made a show of shooing us to the door. “I have an afternoon glassblowing class to get to. There’s a quiz afterwards and I don’t want to be late. I thought I might make something in my free time for the Dugans to cheer them up. I already gave the basket from my basketweaving class to Serena for Victoria’s room. She was thrilled.”

I doubted that and I didn’t dare ask what glassblowing entailed; I was just content Mom didn’t try to sign me up too. Perhaps one day my mother’s thirst for learning and hobbies might abate but until then, I was glad she found things to do that she enjoyed.

“It looks like we might have narrowed down our deceased to a likely suspect,” I said to Garrett as we walked out together. “Joe Smithson could be him.”

“Could be. Mom’s photo only partially shows his face. It’s not enough for an identification but it could be the man in the driver’s license. I’ll run everything I can on this Smithson guy when I’m back at my desk. He could just have been a tenant who moved on.”

“I’ll look up property records and verify the list of names Mom gave us. Perhaps the landlord will still be around?”

“Good idea. The ME bumped the corpse up the list so I expect to have something on that tomorrow too. I’ll update you when I can.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll see if I can learn anything out about the boy. Perhaps I’ll find something we can cross-reference, and if he’s his son, it might lead to a genuine identity. Joe Smithson has to be a fake name so I doubt I’ll find a boy named Smithson at that school.”

“I smell a rat about this Joe for sure but Mom’s other information about the residents might turn up something. Until we get something concrete, all leads are still on the table.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Hey, there’s something I was curious about. Is there an obvious cause of death or does the ME need to investigate further?”

“The ME needs to investigate for a definitive report but I had a look before they took the body away and I think I can give you an answer. There appeared to be a small caliber gunshot wound to the temple. I haven’t seen many gunshot wounds on an almost entirely decomposed skeleton before so I need the ME to confirm it but she seemed reasonably sure at the scene.”

“He could have done that to himself,” I said.

Garrett shrugged. “Yeah, but he sure as hell didn’t bury himself. Even if it were a suicide, someone covered it up. That’s a bunch of laws broken. I’m leaning towards homicide.”

“Did you find a bullet?”

“No, but it’s also possible he was killed elsewhere and transported there. The spent bullet could be as close as inside the house but if so, there have been substantial renovations so it’s unlikely we’ll unearth the exact spot he was killed. I have crime scene techs going over the house this afternoon.”

“I’m glad you didn’t tell Mom and Dad that.”

“I didn’t think it would go down well. Best they find out for themselves. Then they only have their own nosiness to blame. Although Dad would know I’d call the techs in since I had cadaver dogs go over the house and I left a uniform posted outside.”

“I feel like someone would have heard a gunshot in our neighborhood.” We’d reached the sidewalk and I looked around, conscious of how quiet it was. Here was your average neighborhood. Kids shouting and laughing after school and on weekends, the sounds of lawnmowers and barbecue parties, cars shuttling residents around. We were not a neighborhood of crime so prevalent it went unnoticed.

“You would think so but it depends on when it happened. July Fourth? Nope. It would sound like a firework. Super Bowl? Over that kind of noise, unlikely. Even if it were just a regular night, they’re on the corner lot. Mom says the neighboring house could have been empty, and a small caliber weapon wouldn’t make a lot of noise. Maybe the TV was on, or music was playing. Plus, no one is going to remember the sound of a pistol pop from back then.”

“What are the chances of finding the bullet at all?” I wondered.

“It’s remote, but it might be worth taking another look in the yard once we’ve gone over the house. The ME took a sizeable amount of dirt with her from around the body so we might strike it lucky. I’m not holding my breath.” Garrett’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen and stuck it back into his pocket, then pulled out his car keys. “I’ll pick you up at three thirty to go see the forger?”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

We parted ways, Garrett’s lack of confidence in finding further evidence lowered my mood after I’d been so pleased about my mom’s stream of information. However, by the time I reached the office, I remained reasonably confident that I could put the Dugans’ minds to rest and get them returned to their home relatively scandal free. Garrett seemed to have no suspicion about them or their involvement and I was sure they would be pleased to hear that.

Back at the office, I spent the next hour looking through property records, confirming my mother’s memory was extremely efficient. While I didn’t find a Smithson or the Langs, that didn’t surprise me since they’d been tenants. I did find an owner for the time period named Elsie Greenberg. Further digging revealed she owned four duplexes and a small apartment building, plus a single family home in Bedford Hills. The last address had to be her own home. Clearly, the property business had paid off.

There was little else available online about Elsie Greenberg, which was disappointing, but I found a marriage license to a Leon Greenberg fifty years ago, and birth records of two children, Elon and Naomi. Elsie was close to eighty years old. After scrolling several pages, I found an old business article with a photo of a woman in a dark dress beneath a cloud of graying hair. The article was about home offices being all the rage and Elsie was quoted as saying keeping her overhead low meant she could pass the savings onto her tenants. Apparently, she’d never consider hiring office space and her husband was happy to run his construction business from their Bedford Hills home too.

When my phone rang, I wasn’t surprised to see Maddox’s name flash up.

“Thought I’d check in and see if you’re as bruised as me,” he said.

“I’m barely bruised. The woman who tackled me thankfully broke my fall. You looked okay,” I said.

“I felt fine. Then, when I woke up this morning, my wrist hurt like heck. The doc thinks it’s a sprain.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Worst things have happened. Did you file your report?”

“Shoot! No, I didn’t. Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem. I hear you got a case that distracted you.”

“Garrett mentioned you called.”

“I didn’t hear it from him.”

“Jord?” I guessed.

“Nope.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Always. Your mom told me. She wanted to know if the FBI should get involved in the case. I said no unless there were more bodies. I’m not sure if she were relieved or annoyed. It seemed to be a mixture of both.”

“Garrett confirmed there aren’t any more bodies.”

“Guess that means I don’t have to swoop in. I heard there was a fortune in jewels found on the body. Whatcha looking at?”

“I’m sure Garrett told you that it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Sure from the general public. I’m an FBI agent. I’m intrigued. I want to help out.”

I frowned, narrowing my eyes. “Do you?”

“Of course! It’s not every day a stash of jewels is unearthed from a shallow grave. It’s the kind of case we all hope for. So the body was a man? Not a woman?”

“Definitely a man, according to Garrett. I didn’t get close enough and even if I did, I’m not sure I could tell the difference without some obvious clues. Like lipstick. Or a beard.”

“And it wasn’t recent? Is everyone sure?”

“Apparently, but the ME still needs to confirm.”

“When?”

“Soon, hopefully.”

“And there’s no clue who this guy could be?”

“It’s looking like he had a bunch of aliases. What we don’t know is why.”

“Criminal activity,” said Maddox decisively.

I held back a laugh. “We figured that. What we don’t know is what kind of criminal activity. We do have a possible photo of the guy with his kid. It was in his wallet.”

Maddox was quiet a moment then. “A girl?”

“No, a boy. A teenager.”

“Have the names Stanley, Underwood, Temple, or Fournier come up?”

“No. Why all the questions?”

“Thought it might have some bearing on a case I’ve been working on a while but it doesn’t sound like it.”

“If it involves jewel theft and murder, I’d like to hear about it.”

“Jewels and theft, yes. Murder, maybe. It’s complicated.”

“It’s never complicated,” I said.

Maddox laughed. “It’s an ongoing case so my lips are sealed. Let’s get drinks soon anyway.”

“Lily’s bar?”

“Of course. I’ve had enough of O’Grady’s. The beer is tepid and nothing crazy happens. Although I’d prefer not to fall through anything, get shot at, or lose any clothes in the next few days.”

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I quipped.

“Nowhere’s safe with you, Graves. Keep me posted on your case and if you want to cozy up in any dark crawl spaces, let me know.” He disconnected before he had a chance to hear my eyeballs roll back into my head.

I sent Lily a text asking her if she wanted to join me on a lead and almost immediately she replied: Yes! Where are you?

At the office. Need to go to Bedford Hills.

I’m nearby. Meet you out front.

I grabbed my purse and tossed my phone in my pocket and headed to the parking lot. By the time I’d driven up the ramp to idle outside the building, Lily was walking towards me wearing denim shorts, a t-shirt that bared her midriff, and tennis shoes. She hopped in eagerly. “Is this another stakeout? Do I actually get to see something this time?”

“We’re going to speak to someone who used to own the end house,” I told her.

“Oh, cool. Should I have brought a flashlight?”

“No. It’s daylight.”

“I meant for the interrogation.”

“We’re not interrogating. We’re going to ask the landlady a few questions about the house, whom it was leased to, and what do they remember about the tenants. It’s not much of a lead but most of the neighbors moved and the one that didn’t has severe memory issues, while the other nearest might be away visiting relatives. So far, my mom has been my best source of information.”

“It pays to know everything about everyone,” said Lily. “If I weren’t such a scrupulous bar owner, I’d be keeping tabs on all my patrons, especially the ones sneaking into the restroom and thinking I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong with going to the restroom?”

“In mixed pairs? We don’t have unisex restrooms,” said Lily. “I’m thinking about how to word it so people stop doing that.”

“How about ‘stop doing that’?”

“That works. It’s succinct. What do we know about our lead?”

“She’s eighty. Married a bazillion years. Two kids. That’s it. I don’t even know if I have the correct address. It’s a guess.”

Lily kept a steady patter of questions up as I drove and when we parked outside the Bedford Hills address, she let out a low whistle. “Hello, McMansion,” she said, as we gazed at the Grecian columns, the neat, formal hedging, and the enormous American flag flying from the porch. Two black limousines were parked in the carriage driveway and it looked like they were having a party inside. A waiter with a tray of canapes moved past the window of what could have been a living room, pausing to hold out the tray to two suited men.

“This doesn’t look like a rental,” I said, pleased at my guesswork.

“I don’t know about that. My parents have had leases at some pretty stupendous dwellings.”

“Let’s check.”

“And if they don’t answer, we can break in.”

“Lily, no.”

“But…”

“No!”

Lily’s mouth turned down. I felt like I’d admonished a particularly well-meaning puppy, which filled me with guilt. “We can break in if it’s really necessary,” I said, hoping it wouldn’t be.

We headed towards the house and rang the doorbell. A moment later, a man in black suit answered.

“May I help you?” he asked, looking us over, a small crease between his eyes suggesting disapproval. He paused at Lily’s midriff and I was inclined to tell him he had no business judging because could he get abs like Lily’s after childbirth? I didn’t think so!

“I’m looking for Mrs. Elsie Greenberg,” I said. “May we speak with her?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“I don’t want to interrupt the party. It’ll only be for a few minutes. It’s important,” I said, reaching for my private investigator’s license.

“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. Mrs. Greenberg can’t talk to you.”

“Oh?” I felt like I was missing something.

“Mrs. Greenberg passed away over the weekend. This is her wake.”