“Uh, taxwise.” Zederberg raised his face to the lieutenant. “While they’d lived here way beyond the minimum period for capital-gains forgiveness, the house has also appreciated to the point. . . . ”
Tess couldn’t follow the rest of what Steven Zederberg said, but it sounded interesting, so she resolved to ask her brother-in-law, Arthur the Attorney, about the issue.
If she ever get done with this crime scene, that is, so she could go visit Joan at the hospital.
“You look way too cute to be a cop.”
Puh-leeeze, thought Tess. Where do guys find such garbage lines? Could there be a “
dumb-ass.com
” somewhere on the Web?
She was at the step-up entrance to the RV, about to go in to look for the camp hatchet Steven Zederberg had mentioned. The male, forties and balding, stared back at her over the bordering fence, focussing less on her face and more on her butt.
Tess said, “And you’d be?”
“Pete.”
“That’s your last name?”
“No.” A husky laugh. “First. Pete Odabashian.”
Zero hope of remembering that one. “Can you spell it for me?”
He did.
Tess said, “And you live next door?”
“Why I’m standing where I am.”
“What can you tell me about the Zederbergs?”
“Well, they were quiet, that’s for sure. No wild parties, probably because she’s way younger than he was.”
“By how much?”
“Actually we happened to talk about that once.”
Tess heard his “happened” the loudest.
Odabashian said, “We were all like ten years apart.”
“The ‘we’ being?”
“Well, Marty was the oldest, at fifty-six. I’m next at forty-seven, then Nan at thirty-six, and Stevie at twenty-five.”
Using “Nan,” not her full first name. “Anything else about your neighbors?”
Odabashian shrugged. “Not very religious, though I think the kid’s decided to be, since he wears a yarmulke all the time.”
Tess remembered that was the religious word for the skullcap. “How’d the family get along?”
“Fine, far as I could tell. I’m guessing Marty and Nan had to help Stevie out, starting a new business with student loans, an office, his own apartment, and so on. Then Marty decided to pull the ripcord on owning and running the company, and they bought this camper here. He was always puttering around in it, even forgot to close the door sometimes.”
“Lock it, you mean?”
“No, not even click the door shut. I’m surprised he didn’t get a squirrel or skunk building a nest in there.”
“How about Mrs. Zederberg?”
Odabashian squinted. “In what way?”
A careful reply. Tess inclined her head toward the RV.
“Roughing it?”
“Ah, right. I got the impression Marty was a little higher on the great outdoors than Nan was.”
“Mrs. Zederberg told you that?”
“Not in so many words. But I remember they took the camper out for a trial run, toward really touring the country in it. When Nan came back, all I heard was her not feeling safe driving it, banging her head or elbow into things. Even though the camper’s enormous to look at, when Marty invited me to take a Cook’s tour, it’s kind of like a submarine inside, and I kept banging into cabinet corners and doorways myself. Plus there’s the poisoned ivy and bug bites Nan got on their maiden voyage.”
“Was that the only point the Zederbergs disagreed on?”
“Why don’t we have a drink together, and I’ll tell you everything you want to hear?”
God. “Like whether Mrs. Zederberg had any . . . male friends?”
“Aside from me, you mean?”
Consistency is not always a virtue, especially when it hints at a motive for killing the woman’s husband. But all Tess said was, “Yes.”
“How about that drink first?”
“Actually, I’d rather start by holding hands.”
Odabashian seemed stunned. “You would?”
“Yes. If you were inside this camper, I need to take elimination prints from your fingers.”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”
“Tough luck. You can hop over here now, or you can cool your heels for a night or two in jail until a judge gets around to making you cooperate.”
Pete Odabashian gave Tess a sour look. “Somehow, you’re not so cute anymore.”
Coming through the CSU door at headquarters, Detective Lieutenant Kyle Hayes said to Tess, “The vic’s wallet was gone, but the stash of cash he kept in that library—and the wife kept in the kitchen—are both still there.”
Suggesting a killer/robber not familiar with the household’s habits. Then Tess looked up from logging in the evidence baggies used at the crime scene. Hayes was carrying two folders of different colors, neither of them ones the department used.
Tess said, “What are those?”
“Personnel files. From the vic’s former business and the wife’s job at the museum. She’s a docent.”
“What’s that?”
“Cassidy, you have to get out more. A ‘docent’ is like a tour guide.”
Tess kept her temper. “Thanks.”
Hayes laid the folders on the counter next to her. “The family’d like to have the decedent in the ground by nightfall.”
“What’s the rush?”
“Religious thing. The ME knows about it, and he’s putting Zederberg at the top of his list. Though, if it was up to the wife, we’d be looking at burning, not planting.”
“Cremation?”
“Only the son’s gotten pretty devout over the years, and he said it was also a religious thing to bury, and the funeral director’s agreeing—naturally, since he’ll get more money on the deal.”
Tess was trying to think all that through when Hayes said, “I’m gonna get some coffee. Be back in ten to see how you’re doing.”
No “Can I get you something, too?” Tess said, “I’ll be here.”
As soon as Hayes closed the door behind him, Tess moved over to the folders. She was a little surprised that the owner of a company had a personnel file on himself. Opening “Zederberg, Martin,” Tess read about his selling of medical supplies, some correspondence on him in turn selling his company, and some more letters about retirement options.
Then she turned to “Zederberg, Nanette.” Given date of birth, she was a good twenty years younger than her husband, as Odabashian had told Tess. And not much employment history: nurse’s aide, restaurant hostess, “docent” at the museum.
Luckily, Tess was back at her logging by the seven-minute mark, because Hayes burst through the door early. And empty-handed.
“Where’s your coffee?”
“Cassidy, we’ve got a weapon.”
“The weapon?”
“Well, that’s something we’re just gonna have to find out, aren’t we?”
Silently, Tess said good-bye to witnessing the birth of her first niece or nephew.
The uniform assigned by Dispatch to investigate a bloody hatchet had enough sense to leave it on the ground.
Hayes said to her, “Any identification on the caller?”
“I can check with Dispatch, Lieutenant, but they didn’t tell me squat on that.”
Tess lowered her duffle bag to a patch of grass maybe ten feet removed from the weapon. She had a gut feeling the tipper stayed anonymous, though she also knew that 911 had caller ID, so they at least could trace the number.
Probably to an equally anonymous pay phone.
“Cassidy, you want to process this thing?”
Looking forward to it all day. “Yessir.”
Tess bent down, trying to picture how the hatchet got there. “We’re about three miles from the Zederbergs’ house, right?”
“Ballpark. And in the direction the widow saw her ‘hulking man’ walking.”
There were two huge prints, probably thumbs, in blood on the handle, but any others seemed too smudged to matter. “I don’t remember Mrs. Zederberg saying anything about him carrying a bloody hatchet.”
“You didn’t interview the woman. She was upset, likely to miss stuff. Especially since she just ‘glanced’ at the guy.”
“Only other people could have seen him, even focus on a big man acting odd. Why would he bring the murder weapon this far?”
“The guy could have it in a bag. Or he could just be a crazy.”
“But why not wipe the thing off? Or hide it, even bury it?”
Hayes and the uniform both laughed.
Tess said, “What?”
“Cassidy,” the lieutenant still chuckling, “you are a mite slow. ‘Bury the hatchet?’”
“Oh.”
At her computer, Tess cursed. After taking preservative close-up photos of the hatchet’s handle, she’d lifted both latents perfectly from the surface. However, neither of them was in the state or federal databases.
And there were no prints in the house that didn’t belong to one of the three Zederbergs, and none in the RV beyond theirs and those of the neighbor, Pete Odabashian.
Tess ran all four people through the computer. Zip also, which meant nobody had a criminal record, served in the military, or applied for any of a dozen kinds of licenses or permits.
The good news was that Tess had done all she could on the case, so now there was nothing official keeping her from going to the hospital.
“It’s a boy,” the new papa said, beaming in the gleaming corridor, a piece of cardboard in his hand.
Tess smiled at her brother-in-law. “That’s terrific. How’s Joan doing?”
“Great, just great. Still a little groggy, but only because they had to do a Caesarian section.”
Meaning general anesthetic, so that made sense.
Arthur held up the cardboard. “And isn’t this just the cutest thing?”
Tess glanced at “the cutest thing,” then began to stare at it, and finally read the label. “What does ‘I/M-Print’ mean?”
He told her.
Tess nodded once. Twice. Three times. “Arthur, what happens when a married couple goes to sell their house?”
“What happens?”
“Taxwise,” said Tess Cassidy, “and keep it simple.”
She had to give Detective Lieutenant Kyle Hayes credit. He was willing to do what Tess asked.
They were both in the Zederbergs’ living room with Nanette, son Steven, and neighbor Pete Odabashian.
The widow checked her watch and spoke with an edge to her tone. “Okay, my husband’s funeral starts half an hour from now. What’s this about?”
Hayes said, “Cassidy?”
Tess had already drawn and released a deep breath. “I want to take prints of all your . . . big toes.”
“Our what?” Odabashian said.
“We found impressions on the handle of a hatchet, and the blood on its blade matches the decedent’s DNA.”
The son said, “So?”
“The prints are either the thumbs of a ‘hulking man,’ like the one your stepmother reported to Officer Kollings, or the big toes of somebody else.”
Mrs. Zederberg said, “I don’t understand.”
Tess looked at her. “I got the idea when I visited my sister in the maternity ward a few hours ago. The hospital takes an ‘I/M-Print,’ meaning ‘Infant/Mother-Print.’ Or ‘prints.’ The mother’s thumb and the infant’s foot. So there’s no question about somebody going home with the wrong baby.”
Steven Zederberg said, “I repeat myself, but so?”
“The prints on the murder weapon weren’t in any of our databases. So if the ‘hulking man’ wasn’t the source of those prints, maybe one of you is.”
Odabashian said, “Should I be calling a lawyer?”
Hayes—God bless him—chimed in, “Just let Cassidy here take prints of your big toes, okay?”
Nanette Zederberg sighed, but began to take off her shoes.
“This is absurd,” from her stepson, who nevertheless began to do the same.
Odabashian said, “Not until I talk to an attorney.”
Now Hayes put some steel into his voice. “You can cooperate, too, or sit in a cell until a judge tells you to comply.”
Tess thought, Just what I already told Odabashian about his fingerprints. “I’ll only be a minute, and this way you’ll avoid any legal fees.”
Odabashian gave her another sour look, but he bent to untie his shoelaces.
When all three were barefoot, Tess “rolled” their big toes. However, when she compared their prints to her latents from the hatchet, there was no match.
“So,” said David Zederberg, wiping the ink off his toes with a cloth from Tess’s duffle, “all this was a waste of time.”
“I’m afraid so,” Hayes shaking his head.
Tess decided on one last try, using what her brother-in-law had told her at the hospital. “Mr. Zederberg, as an accountant, what happens when a married couple sells their house?”
“I explained all that to the lieutenant.”
“Can you explain it again?”
A sigh, much like his stepmother’s. “So long as they lived in a principal residence long enough, the net equity from the transaction is protected from taxes up to a certain point. And Dad said he didn’t care about the surplus profit. He’d rather pay the capital gains hit on it so he could start his new life as,” a tilt of the head toward the driveway, “an RV nomad.”
Tess said, “And if one of the spouses dies before the sale?”
“Then the survivor gets a ‘stepped-up basis,’ all the way to the fair-market value of the deceased spouse’s half of the property as of the date of death, thereby saving sometimes hundreds of thousands in capital. . . . ” The son looked from Tess to Hayes and back again. “Wait a minute. What are you saying?”
The lieutenant nodded, and Tess continued. “Given your new accounting business and student loans, office and apartment expenses, that house money you’d inherit without all the capital gains tax could come in very
handy. Not to mention the proceeds from your father’s sale of his medical supply company.”
“Oh,” from Odabashian, “this is really good stuff.”
Steven Zederberg’s face twisted. “Nanette?”
His stepmother blinked, and Tess could see a tear slide down the side of the woman’s nose. “And if I had been here to die with Marty, you’d have gotten this ‘stepped-up basis’ from both of us, wouldn’t you?”