A Body to Spare (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) (17 page)

Bingo. Give the woman a prize.

“Yes, Grace,” Greg responded, “they are the same person. I told you that Willie is the black sheep in the family, and this is why. I’m the only one who keeps in touch with him, and I’d rather the rest of the family not know that.”

“Gotcha,” Mom said with a jerk of her head. “Don’t worry. I can keep a secret.”

“You sure?” Greg asked, looking for confirmation. “This isn’t fodder for your blog, you know.”

“Nor is this visit from Elaine,” I tacked on for good measure.

“I like your blog, Grace,” Elaine told Mom artfully and with a smile. “I read it regularly.”

Mom looked at Elaine and beamed like she’d just received praise from a rock star. “You do?” I was about to voice the same surprised question.

“Yes, I do,” Elaine told her. “I really enjoy An Old Broad’s Perspective, but I’d be sorely disappointed in you if my name ever ended up there. Willie’s shouldn’t either. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Don’t you worry, Elaine,” Mom assured her. “Neither will.”

Elaine glanced at me, and it was my turn to give her a small nod of assurance. My mother could be a bit daffy at times, like asking Emma Whitecastle to pay me a visit, but she wasn’t a snitch. Maybe it was because she was the black sheep in our family.

“We’ve been assured that Willie had nothing to do with any of this,” I said to Elaine, getting the conversation back on track. “And he’s just as anxious to get this resolved as we are so the police will stop thinking about him.”

“Okay,” Elaine said. She took a long drink of her coffee and put the mug down on the coffee table. “Do you know how Zach died?”

“We were told by suffocation,” I told her. “The police don’t think he was dead very long before he was put in the trunk.”

“Interesting,” she said, considering the information. “Most hitmen would use a gun. Not always, but usually, unless they were concerned about blood or noise.”

“Maybe whoever did this,” I said, “wanted to make sure Zach didn’t bleed all over the trunk of my car. That’s pretty considerate, don’t you think?” All three of them shot their eyes at me like I’d gone off the rails. “I’m just joking,” I quickly added. “Geez.”

“Not considerate,” Elaine said, “but careful. Shooting means blood, and blood can leave a trail back to the killer or to where the murder took place. Even a drop can give the police a great deal of information these days. Obviously, whoever did this wanted the boy to be found, and the killer knew you’d be the perfect candidate.”

“So it is someone Odelia knows?” asked Greg.

“Not necessarily,” answered Elaine. “It could be someone who’s read or heard about her adventures in the news. Not all of them have been kept quiet, even if the police have been pretty careful about it. But for sure the killer, whether it was hands-on or hired out, wanted that body found. It could have been a message to Zach’s father. And whoever did this knew that boy was alive and being kept somewhere all these years.”

Elaine pulled a phone from her pocket and hit a button. “Hi, it’s me,” she said into it in a low voice. “You know that contract we turned down, the one for Zach Finch and his sister? Well, he turned up dead in Odelia Grey’s car, and his sister took a dive off a balcony today.” She paused and looked at me, a grin on her face. “Yeah, her again.” She turned her attention back to her call. “Quietly dig around and see if any of the other local crews took the job or know anything about it. I’m sure whoever wanted those kids dead went somewhere else after we turned them down.” She listened, then said, “Right. Zach Finch and Jean Finch.”

“Jean Finch Utley,” I added.

“The sister also went by Jean Utley,” she said into the phone. “I want to know who did these jobs and why they stashed Zach’s body with Odelia. And I want to know
now
.” She sharply ended the call and looked at us. “Lisa’s on it. She’s good at ferreting out information like this.”

When Elaine got ready to leave, I walked her to the door. “My brother is looking into Zach’s friends,” I told her. “You never know, one of them might be keeping a secret.”

“Good start,” she said. “And look into the father as deep as you can. Willie can probably help with that more than I can. Another thing: kidnappers don’t usually keep a kid alive after being paid ransom money. I’d say the kidnapping was close to home. If the kidnappers knew the family, they might have kept Zach alive.”

“You mean he’s been living with them all this time? And not necessarily as a captive?”

She shrugged. “Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe Zach preferred being with them over going home. Maybe Zach took the opportunity to break from home. Look into that family’s background and see if there was a reason for Zach not to come home. Didn’t you say Jean took off right after college and changed her name?”

I nodded. “Yes, but she also worked for her father for a while, even if she didn’t disclose that to us. She said she hasn’t had contact with her father in a long time. And their mother committed suicide a few years after Zach’s disappearance.”

“Match up the timeline,” Elaine suggested. “My gut is telling me that you’ll see a correlation between the mother’s death and Jean running away from home. If Lisa turns up something, I’ll let you know.”

Without a word, Elaine left, went out to a dark sedan parked curbside, and returned with a cell phone. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. “It’s a burner with one of my numbers programed into it. Use it if you need to reach me, and if it rings, answer it. It’ll be me and only me. Don’t use it for anything else, got that? Also, text me if anything significant comes up.”

I nodded, and again we gave each other a brief hug. “Thanks, Elaine, for your help,” I told her once we broke apart.

“No problem, Dottie.” She smiled and leaned in close. “By the way, your mother cheats at gin rummy. She clipped me for $3.75.”

“Put it on my tab.”

twenty

We made it to
the Long Beach police station barely within the two-hour time frame. We were taken back and parked in a hallway where we cooled our heels for another forty-five minutes before Andrea Fehring was ready to see us. Plastic molded chairs held people of various genders and description, mostly on the rough-looking side, who had also made it past the front desk and were on hold in this second phase of waiting like cattle queued up for slaughter. As far as I could see, none of the other folks were handcuffed, which made me feel better.

“We forgot the darn sandwiches,” I hissed to Greg partway through our wait. I’d spent most of the waiting time anxiously watching for new text messages and catching up on my various Words With Friends games. When that was done, I stared at the scarred linoleum and listened to my growling stomach.

Greg laughed. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we won’t starve.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You scarfed down Mom’s banana bread. I should have taken some to go. I don’t answer questions very well when I’m light-headed.”

“I was just about to put out a BOLO on you two,” Fehring said as she came down the hallway to fetch us.

“We made it here within the two-hour time frame we promised,” I pointed out. “We didn’t even stop for sandwiches. It was
you
who weren’t on time for this coffee klatch.”

She led us back to an interrogation room. “Sorry, but I was unavoidably detained,” she apologized. “Zach’s father finally showed up. We weren’t able to reach him until last night. He got here just after I heard from you two a few hours ago.”

I turned my head in several directions as we walked, hoping to catch sight of the man in question among those waiting, but saw no one that looked like the Alec Finch in the photos I’d found online.

“Quit rubbernecking, Odelia,” Fehring snapped. “He’s in an interrogation room.”

“Should we have a lawyer present?” Greg asked after we entered a room and Fehring closed the door behind us.

“That’s up to you, Greg,” Fehring said, “but I just want to know what happened in Studio City. Shipman isn’t sharing like a good boy.” Fehring and I took seats on opposite sides of the table—us and them right off the bat. Greg pulled his wheelchair up to the end like an arbitrator. “I also wanted to let you know that we’re about to release the whole story to the media now that we’ve reached Alec Finch.”

“Does he know about his daughter yet?” I asked.

“To my knowledge, he doesn’t know she’s dead. Shipman asked me to wait on him for that,” Fehring told us. “Shipman’s on his way back from Studio City now. I did ask Finch about his relationship with his daughter since Zach’s disappearance and if he knew both of them were apparently living here in Southern California.” She paused, then added, “At least we think Zach might have been living here. Finch said he wasn’t aware of his son’s whereabouts at all. He always assumed he was dead. As for Jean, he said they didn’t see each other much after she moved to California but that they remained close and talked often and she never mentioned her brother.”

I threw Greg a surprised look. Fehring caught it and said, “From that look, I’d say you know something different.”

“Right before she died,” I said, looking back at Fehring, “Jean Finch told us she hadn’t spoken to her father since she left home after college.”

Fehring did some head calculations. “She was probably about twenty-six when she died, so that would be in the neighborhood of about four or five years, wouldn’t you say?”

“The way you said that,” I noted, “Jean died years ago instead of just a few hours ago.”

In response, Fehring amended her comment. “Jean was probably around twenty-six when she took a nose dive to her death today. That better?”

I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling, then brought them back down to hers. “About that,” I agreed. “But the thing is, she told us she left for California right after college to become an actress, but she didn’t. She didn’t move to California until about three years ago. Between college and then, she worked for Aztec Investments, one of her father’s companies. It’s located in Chicago. She also lived in Chicago for a while. So while she did move away from home, it wasn’t directly to California.”

“One of the guys with Zach the night he disappeared works for Aztec now,” Greg added. “Nathan Glick.”

“Nathan Glick came here today with Mr. Finch,” Fehring told us.

“Aztec even funded Glick’s education through scholarships from the company,” I added.

Fehring leaned forward. “How do you two know this?” she asked, looking from me to Greg and then zeroing back in on me like a heat-seeking missile.

“I’m a paralegal, Andrea,” I answered. “I have access to all kinds of search engines.” I was really getting tired of explaining myself, even if it was only a half truth. “It isn’t that difficult to go online and piece together someone’s timeline from public records. Jean changed her name when she moved to California. Before that she worked in Chicago for Aztec under her real name. But she never mentioned that job when we spoke to her.”

“Did you ask her about it?” Fehring asked.

Greg shook his head. “We really weren’t there very long.”

“But it did look like someone had lived in the condo with Jean until recently,” I offered. “She claims it was a guy, another actor who left to take a job in New York.”

“Did she say when exactly?” Fehring asked.

“No, but it might have been very recently,” I answered. “The furniture was still there, but all personal stuff was gone.” From a side pocket of my purse I pulled out something wrapped in tissue. “I did find this.” I placed it on the table and carefully unwrapped it. “This was left behind in a drawer in the bathroom. There’s long blond hair caught in the teeth. There are also sneakers left behind in the closet of the second bedroom. Maybe Zach was living with his sister. I would have liked to ask the neighbors who were huddled around Jean’s body about her roommate, but Shipman hustled us off for questioning before I could get close.”

“I would have done the same,” Fehring said.

Greg looked at me with surprise. “You didn’t tell me you had that.” He indicated the comb.

“I forgot, honey,” I told him honestly. “After Mom called, my mind was sort of on that.”

“What’s wrong with Grace?” Fehring asked with concern. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No,” Greg answered before I could. “At least it turned out to be nothing once we got there. She called Odelia in a bit of a fluster and asked us to drop by as soon as possible.”

“That’s why we had to postpone coming here,” I added, pleased that we stuck to the truth somewhat about Mom. “But she’s fine, and the problem’s resolved.”

“That’s good,” Fehring said with genuine relief. “Something happening to Grace is the last thing you need right now.”

“Tell us about it,” Greg said half under his breath.

“Good thinking with this comb, Odelia. I’ll take it and see what comes up,” Fehring said. “Zach did have long blond hair.” She went to the door, opened it, and said something to someone. An officer came in with an evidence bag and carefully scooped up the comb. “Process the hair on this,” she told him. “See if it’s a match against the Finch kid. And put a rush on it.”

“A rush?” the officer said with skepticism. “Everything’s on rush.”

“Tell them this is for the FBI’s Finch case,” she said. “See if that can get things moving faster.” The officer nodded and started to leave with the comb. “And if it doesn’t, let me know,” she added.

Before we left, Fehring made us go over every detail again of our conversation with Jean Utley while she jotted down notes. When we were done, she said, “Do you two have someplace to go?”

“Home?” I suggested.

“Maybe not,” she said. “As soon as both of these identities are released, the media is going to explode. Zach Finch’s death would be bad enough, but coupled with his sister’s death, the whole world is going to go crazy for any tidbits they can get. We’ll try to keep your names out of it as best we can or at least minimize your exposure, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be a leak to the press. A press conference is going to take place in a few hours, so be prepared.”

Greg and I exchanged glances that once again put Fehring on alert. “You know, you two,” she said with frustration, “if you’d just come in and spill your guts about everything you know, we wouldn’t have to go through this little guessing game.”

I took a deep breath. “You know that video that showed up on that one newscast showing the car wash and me screaming when I first see the body in my trunk?”

Fehring laughed. “Hard to forget, Odelia. Especially the graceful way you dropped to the wet pavement and almost took Grace down with you.”

I curled my lip at her before continuing. “Well, the guy who shot that video showed up at our home, and I caught him taking video through our back screen door.”

“Did you call the police?” she asked.

“No,” I admitted. “I—” I started, then paused and corrected, “We—Greg and I—let him go. He seemed to be just a geeky guy trying to impress the newscaster on TV. You know, that Gloria Connors. He has a thing for her and also wants to break into TV news himself.” I dug around in my tote bag and produced Swayze’s phone. By accident I almost handed over Mother’s burn phone. “We took his phone and kept it.” I pushed the phone with the broken front glass across the table to Fehring. “If you play the last couple of videos, you’ll see the one taken at the car wash, a blurry one taken through the slats in our back fence, and the grainy one taken through our screen. None of them are very long except the last one. We kept it on while we were talking to the guy,” I explained. “It was in my pocket but the audio was running.”

“His phone wasn’t secured by a password?” Fehring asked with surprise.

“It was,” Greg explained after a sheepish hesitation, “and it kicked in shortly after we took it, but one of the guys at my shop managed to hack it, and we reset it for our use. The new password is
geek
.”

Fehring started to say something, then thought better of it. Instead she played the videos and watched with interest.

“His name is John Swayze. He works at the
LA Times
as a gopher,” Greg told her. “There’s a photo on there of Zach’s body with the note. He must have taken it before the police moved in.”

Fehring wasn’t studying the last video, but the one before it—the one taken through the slats of our fence. The audio was much clearer than the picture. Fehring listened with interest. “Who are you talking to, Odelia? She looks familiar.”

I hesitated, then fessed up. “It’s Emma Whitecastle. She’s a—”

“I know who Emma Whitecastle is,” Fehring said, cutting me off. “Did you call her?”

I shook my head. “My mother did, totally without my knowledge. She’s a big fan of Emma’s show and wrote and asked her to look into the body in my trunk. I think Mom thought Emma could contact Zach’s ghost, so I decided why not talk to her and see what cropped up. I had nothing to lose.”

“Do you believe that stuff, Detective Fehring?” Greg asked her.

In answer, she shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve never met the woman myself, but I know that Emma Whitecastle and her mentor, Milo Ravenscroft, have helped clear up a few crimes over the past few years. I have a friend, another detective, who worked with her on a case in Las Vegas. He respects her a great deal. He claims she even shot a guy once to save his life.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised. “Did she kill the man?” Maybe Emma and I had something in common.

“No, she didn’t, but the guy she shot was about to shoot my friend.” Fehring played the video again, this time closing her eyes and concentrating on what Emma had told me about birds and multitasking. “Interesting,” she said when she opened them again. “Do you think this Swayze knows who was in the trunk of your car?”

“He gave no indication of it,” I answered. “None at all.”

“I’m going to be keeping this.” Fehring pocketed Swayze’s phone. It wasn’t a request but a statement of fact.

“And another thing,” Greg said, “my guy said there are no other photos or videos on the phone. Usually people have tons of them on their cells. He thinks that maybe it was cleaned off recently because it doesn’t look like a new phone. Oh, and the guy lives right here in Long Beach,” Greg added. “At least that’s what his driver’s license said.”

Fehring smiled. “Well, that will be convenient, won’t it?”

She looked us both in the eye, one after the other. “But next time something like this happens,
call the police
!” Her tone left no room for rebuttal.

After taking a few seconds to compose herself, Fehring patted the pocket with Swayze’s phone and said, “This really convinces me that it would be best if you go somewhere for a few days.” She paused, then added, “And not just because of the press but for your safety. If Jean was murdered and not a jumper, whoever did it might have seen you there and wonder what you know. Don’t make it easy for them to get to you. You were lucky with this Swayze guy. The next intruder might not be so easily handled with a baseball bat.”

I looked at Greg. “We could go to my mother’s, but her retirement community doesn’t allow big dogs, not even as visitors.”

“And my parents are remodeling the upstairs of their house right now,” Greg remembered. “They’re crammed in their downstairs guest room for the time being, so that’s out.”

“We’ll ask Seth and Zee,” I said. “Seth’s allergic to cats, but we can stash Muffin at my mother’s for as long as we need.” I turned to Fehring. “The Washingtons live in a gated community in Newport Beach.”

“Even better,” she answered. “Go straight home, pack up some things, and get out as soon as you can.”

I was about to call Zee when I changed my mind. “If we’re in danger, I don’t want to get Zee and Seth involved. I don’t want to get anyone involved.” I looked at Greg and saw that he was nodding in agreement. “Honey, maybe we can go to a hotel for a few days. Something pet-friendly with a kitchen.”

“I have a better suggestion,” he said to me. “We’ll leave Muffin with your mother and Wainwright with my folks and stay at Steele’s place. He’s out of town for another week, isn’t he? I’ll bet if you ask, he’ll say yes.”