A Body to Spare (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) (18 page)

“But he has a two-story townhouse,” I reminded Greg. “You can’t get up to the bedrooms.”

“So I’ll sleep on the sofa in his den for a few days.”

“But you can’t shower there. His downstairs bathroom is barely big enough for you to use as it is.”

“I have a better idea,” Fehring said. Unclipping her phone from her belt, she made a call. “Dev, it’s Andrea. I’m here with Greg and Odelia and they’re in a bit of a fix.” She listened, then laughed. “So true.”

Greg and I exchanged looks, understanding that we were the butts of an unheard joke.

“They need a place where they can lay low for a few days and we don’t want to get their families or the Washingtons involved. I remember that you have a good set up at your place that might accommodate Greg. Can they stay there a few days until some things clear? I can fill you in a little later.”

“But Dev’s getting ready to move,” I objected.

Fehring held up a hand like a stop sign to silence me while she listened. Then she said, “Okay. They’ll be there soon. Oh, and can they bring the dog?” Another pause, then she said into the phone, “Great. I’ll tell them.” She ended the call.

“Get your stuff, and get yourselves and both the dog
and
the cat over to Dev’s place. No arguments. He’s waiting for you. Do you know where it is?”

“What about my mother?” I asked. “Should she come with us?”

Fehring thought about it. “How secure is her retirement community?”

“It’s gated and has a round-the-clock guard at the gate,” Greg answered. “And we can tell Grace to stay put and not leave.”

“Will she listen?” Fehring asked. It was a legitimate question since she already knew Mom quite well.

“She will if Greg tells her to do it,” I said. “If I tell her not to open her door to strangers, she’ll not only open it, she’ll go out and round them up out of spite.”
Or let in killers.
But I kept that comment to myself.

Fehring gave off a low chuckle that started in her gut. “Mothers…I have one. I know the frustration.” She paused. “What about Clark? Is he still in town? Maybe he could watch over her or take her to his place in Arizona for a few days.”

I shook my head. “Something came up with his job. He left on a red-eye last night. I think he left his car at the airport, so he should be back when he’s done with whatever he’s doing.”

She looked at the large watch on her wrist. “Okay, then tell Grace to stay put behind those gates until further notice, then you two get yourself over to Dev’s.”

In unison, Greg and I nodded our compliance, then were shown the door like a couple of schoolkids being dismissed by the principal.

twenty-one

As we were leaving,
a man came out of the men’s restroom located in the hallway where we’d been cooling our heels earlier. I recognized him right away as Alec Finch. He was tall, with faded blond hair combed back slick over his head, which accommodated a long, narrow face with small blue eyes. Zach looked a lot like him.

The elder Finch was dressed in a suit with hardly a wrinkle. If he rushed to get here, along the way he made sure he was flawlessly groomed, almost like he was readying himself for the news cameras. He moved down the hall in our direction stealthy and alert, his eyes moving to take in his surroundings like a panther ready to jump at either danger or easy prey. He wore power like his suit—tailored and impeccable. He didn’t look like he was suffering from grief or even from jet lag. Fehring said Alec Finch knew about Zach but not yet about Jean. But even with one child dead, even a supposedly long-dead child, you’d expect a little more wear and tear.

“Mr. Finch,” I said, approaching him, “I’m sorry for your loss.” I was careful to use the singular.

He looked like he was going to brush me off like an annoying gnat, but at the last minute he stopped. “Who are you?” he asked as he looked me over. “You’re not a cop. How do you know about my son? Are you with the press?”

“I’m Odelia Grey, and this is my husband, Greg Stevens,” I told him.

He held up a hand to stop me from saying anything more. “Odelia? I know that name.” Still keeping his hand up, he looked me over again, this time as if looking for a bar code so he could scan me into his memory bank. He lowered his hand and stared into my face with intensity. “You’re the person who had Zach.”

“Not exactly, Mr. Finch,” I told him. “I
found
Zach. I didn’t know I
had
him.”

He took a step closer, into my personal space, keeping his eyes locked on mine, but said nothing. Greg wheeled in closer. “Mr. Finch,” Greg said, trying to get the man’s attention, “my wife and I were just leaving. So if you will excuse us?”

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Finch said to me, ignoring my husband, whose head came up only to his waist. “A reward? Sorry,” he spat. “I already paid, so tell whoever you’re working with to piss off. They’re not getting a penny more.” Finch said the nasty words without raising his voice, keeping them low and menacing. I backed up a few feet. He might look good on the outside, but inside he appeared to be coming apart at the seams, which is more what I would expect from a grieving parent.

Greg wedged his chair into the space I vacated when I backed away. “I’m down here, Mr. Finch.” Greg kept his voice low, too, and added a touch of warning to his tone. “I’m the one speaking to you right now.”

A man approached us. Like Finch, he was dressed in a fine suit. I did a double take, recognizing Nathan Glick from his photo. “Everything okay here, Alec?” he asked. He reached out and put a hand lightly on Finch’s upper arm.

Finch didn’t look at the guy but shook off the hand as he slowly took his eyes off of me and looked down at Greg. “That’s better,” Greg said once he had the man’s attention. “My wife was only expressing her condolences, which is what nice people do. She had nothing to do with your son’s murder. For some unfortunate reason, her car was targeted as the body dump. We’re cooperating one hundred percent with the police. If you have concerns, please address those to them.” Greg turned to me. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get out of here.”

We exited the hallway into the entry of the police station and were heading for the door when Finch caught up to us. The other guy was behind Finch, trying to get him to back down. Again he placed a hand on the older man’s upper arm.

“Just a minute, you two,” Finch called to us. “I have questions I want answered.” Nearby, cops in the entry stood ready to intervene should things get ugly.

“What’s the problem here?” asked Fehring as she came through the door from the hallway.

“No problem, Detective Fehring,” Greg said. “Odelia expressed condolences to Mr. Finch here on the loss of his son, and he had trouble accepting them gracefully.”

Finch yanked his arm away from his keeper and glared at us, waiting for answers to questions he hadn’t asked yet. I noticed Fehring was eyeing Finch with caution. The guy with Finch was studying Greg and me. Finally, Fehring said, “Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, you two get out of here before we break the story. I’ll call you if we need anything else.”

“I want to speak with these people,” Finch demanded of Fehring.

“We’ve already taken their statements, Mr. Finch,” Fehring told him, “so let’s go back and talk some more while we wait for Special Agent Shipman.” As if underlining her request, a uniformed officer stepped forward and opened the door to the back. Finch stared at the door but didn’t budge.

While Fehring was trying to calm Finch down, we exited the building and headed for our van, which was parked in a nearby handicapped spot. We were almost tucked inside when Finch came out of the police station in a huff and looked around. As soon as he spotted us, he headed our way, yelling, “I don’t give a damn what the police say. I want answers from you, and I want them now.” On his heels was Fehring, a uniformed cop, and Glick.

Greg started the engine and started to pull out of the parking spot when someone ran up to Finch. I shook my head in disbelief. It was John Swayze, his right hand heavily bandaged but not in a cast or sling. Maybe it wasn’t broken. Greg stopped the van, mesmerized as I was by the turn of events.

“Hey, Mr. Finch,” Swayze yelled, holding a phone out in front of him. Obviously, he’d replaced the one we’d kept. “Do you have any comments about your daughter’s death today?” The question froze Finch and everyone else in their tracks. Even Greg and I stopped breathing for a few seconds.

Finch found his voice first. “What in the hell are you talking about?” he asked. Fixing his steely eyes on Swayze, he stepped forward until the kid stepped back, as I had earlier. Finch was definitely an aggressive personality used to intimidating people.

“Zach and Jean. They’re both dead,” Swayze said, his voice not quite as confident as it had been when he started. “Do you think their deaths are related?” Swayze pushed on. “Where do you think Zach’s been all this time?”

“Jean?” Finch asked no one in particular. “Jean’s dead? That’s impossible!”

“Ask the cops,” Swayze said. “They know.”

People in front of the building had stopped to watch the show but gave the situation cautious room, not wanting to crowd the players in case someone went postal. Greg and I watched the whole thing while seated in the van. It was like watching a close-up drive-in movie, except it was daytime and there was no popcorn.

As Swayze noticed the attention, the ancient fight-or-flight question clearly crossed his face. He backed up, then turned tail and took off. A police officer shouted and started after him, but Fehring told him to hold back. I knew Swayze was the flight type.

Finch turned to Fehring. “Is this true?”

“Let’s go inside, Mr. Finch,” Fehring said to him. “We have more to discuss.”

“I want to know now!” Finch roared. Glick again put a hand on his arm to calm him down. Finch shook it off once again. “Stop handling me,” he snapped at Glick.

“Mr. Finch,” Fehring said. “Please calm down and come inside. We can explain everything.”

“Holy crap!” I said to Greg.

“You got that right, sweetheart.”

Fehring noticed us and walked over to Greg’s side of the van. I thought maybe she was going to invite us inside for more questioning, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked, “I’m assuming from your description that that character is John Swayze. Am I correct?”

“That’s him,” Greg confirmed.

“I suppose you need us to come back inside,” I said, leaning toward Greg’s window. Part of me wanted to stay close to the action, but the bigger part of me wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.

Fehring thought about it, then said, “No, get out of here and get yourself to Dev’s as soon as possible. If we need you, we’ll call you. Right now we need to do some damage control before the press conference.”

Once we were on our way home to pack up the animals and ourselves, I turned to Greg. “What did you make of that?”

“I’m speechless,” he answered. “How did John Swayze know about Jean or that Finch was even in town?”

“And how did he know the body in my trunk was Zach Finch?” I asked, adding another question to the growing pile. “He gave no indication yesterday that he knew.”

“Maybe he pieced it together from what Emma Whitecastle said,” Greg suggested. “He did overhear that.”

I shrugged in response. “I’m sure Fehring will get to the bottom of it.”

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall while Fehring talks to Finch,” Greg said. “I’m kind of disappointed that Fehring sent us packing.”

“Me too. But I’ve really had enough of the police. And when Shipman gets there, the shit will really hit the fan. He didn’t want Finch to know about Jean until he was present.”

“Finch didn’t seem all that tore up or surprised about Zach.” Greg glanced over at me. “Did he to you?”

“No, at least not at first, but later I could see the cracks the strain is causing. Especially when he almost got nose to nose with me. Everyone deals with grief differently,” I noted. “And depending on when the police finally reached him, he might have had time to process it while he travelled here. He looked pretty darn good for a man travelling from who knows where, but I doubt he flew coach. He probably has his own jet.”

“I’d like to know when they actually reached him,” Greg said. “Fehring said it wasn’t until last night, but even if he was in Timbuktu, a man like that is always reachable.”

“If he wants to be,” I said with emphasis.

“Exactly,” agreed Greg. “Steele is on his honeymoon and still able to be contacted. I’m sure the feds were reaching out to Finch via every way possible until they got him on the line. Even if they didn’t have a direct number for him, his office would have tracked Finch down pretty quickly when the feds called on Wednesday, when Zach’s body was found. Men like that are never far from the pulse of their empire. So why is Finch just now getting to Southern California?”

“Maybe he was climbing Mount Everest?” I suggested tongue-in-cheek.

“Or in seclusion at an ashram,” added Greg with equal sarcasm.

“He didn’t strike me as the ashram type, honey.”

Greg glanced over at me. “Me neither. I’d like to know when his office or whoever reached him and why he didn’t respond right away.”

“I’m sure the police didn’t tell his office about Zach,” I said.

“Maybe not,” Greg agreed. His jaw was tight as he spoke. He had taken an instant dislike to Alec Finch; we both had. “But didn’t Fehring say he claimed he was close to his daughter?”

“That’s what I recall.” As soon as I answered, I knew where Greg was going with this. “If he was so close to her,” I said, sounding out the thoughts coming together in my head, “then he knew she lived in LA. Most parents receiving a call from the police near where one of their kids live would answer it pretty darn quick.”

Greg glanced over at me. “Bingo! Either he didn’t know Jean lived in Southern California or he didn’t care. Doesn’t sound to me like they were close.”

I pulled out my phone and started texting.

“Who’s that going to?” asked Greg.

“Clark,” I answered. “I’m asking him to contact me as soon as possible. He’s our eyes and ears in Illinois. Maybe he can find out something about the Finch family dynamics that isn’t in that toothy photo taken at the country club.”

Greg glanced at me. “And I’m sure the guy with him was Nathan Glick. He looks like the photo you have, and Fehring said Glick arrived with Finch.”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure that was Glick.”

I pulled out my phone again and got to texting, this time letting Clark know that Nathan Glick was in California. At this rate, my fingers would be worn down to nubs.