Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (21 page)

He had to admit it stirred the detective in him. “So she’s stabbed to death, stripped, and buried in a makeshift grave. That is someone not playing nice at all.”

MacIntosh frowned. “Putting it mildly, in my opinion. She’s been there awhile. This didn’t happen last month or even last year, obviously. The ME is not a forensic anthropologist and doesn’t claim to be. He took a guess and said between twenty and sixty years.”

“Kind of a big window.”

“I’m not going to disagree.”

He walked the plank again. “You don’t think the remains could be anyone in your family, do you?”

“No.” Her eyes flashed as she shot him a lethal look. “I don’t know what your family was like, but mine might have noticed if someone was missing.”

“My mother left when I was five. My father checked out not long after he physically shoved me out the front door and told me to not come back. All I know are missing people. None of us would have noticed at all.”

He’d shocked her. He could tell because her face went very still and she drove with a sudden concentration. A dairy farm flashed by, cows in the field, the sun warm on the bucolic scene, which was incongruous to the conversation. She finally murmured, “That’s terrible.”

God, that was the last thing he wanted. Her pity? No thanks. “Not as bad as you might think. I had it a lot better than some kids. Roof and food.
Much
better than some. What I am saying is that sometimes we do take at face value what people say when maybe it isn’t the gospel we think it is.”

“What does that mean?”

“Is there anyone else you can ask besides your grandfather?”

It was galling that Santiago was more intelligent than he seemed on the surface.

His observation took Ellie in a different direction. They’d been headed up to Oneida County so she could show him the spot where the bones were found, and then she could take him to the county sheriff’s office for those files it looked like they would both be reviewing, but instead she turned off for Schofield, just south of Wausau.

Her great-aunt had a cell phone, which amused her, especially since she could actually use it pretty well even at close to eighty years of age. When Ellie called, Mae answered with a warm, “Hello, baby girl.”

“Auntie Mae … hi.” She hadn’t been a baby for thirty-two years, but there were people in your life you allowed latitude.

“I haven’t seen you since spring.”

Okay, that was a fair complaint, but she also had a litany of good excuses. “I moved. We had that big case. One thing after another. Speaking of such things … what are you doing this afternoon?”

“Today?”

“Like in an hour or so.”

“You’re just in the neighborhood? This is pretty far up from Milwaukee.”

“Is it okay? I have a…” She stopped not quite sure what to call Santiago as friend didn’t really qualify, and substituted, “… fellow police officer with me.”

“Of course, honey. I’d love to see you at any time.”

When they pulled into the driveway bordered by trim flower beds, she turned to her companion. “I don’t know if I even need to say this, but my great-aunt is a little old lady with an emphasis on that last word.”

He unfastened his seat belt and looked remarkably agreeable, which didn’t reassure her at all. “I really only swear in front of people it will annoy.”

“Hmm. Shall we go in? Please wipe that smirk off your face.”

“Smirk?” He opened his door and eased out in a manner that said he wasn’t entirely healed yet despite claiming to be just fine. “I think I need a definition on that one, baby girl.”

She’d kind of hoped he hadn’t heard that.

“If you know foibles, you know smirk.” She also got out and slammed her door.

She’d always loved her great-aunt’s quaint home. It reminded her of a doll’s house, with a gabled roof and painted siding, and a small comfortable porch with a swing. Out back there was a truly magnificent oak tree Ellie and her sister had climbed as children.

“Where is the picket fence?” Santiago asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And shouldn’t there be twenty cats or so lurking around?”

“No cats, just one little dog.”

“Let me guess. Poodle?” The smirk deepened.

“Some kind of terrier, I think. His name is Jack. He’ll hate you, by the way. He hates all men.”

She was worried about making this visit, but only a little. Santiago was the kind of man little old ladies wanted to reform. Smart but wounded, wary and distant, but with a little sliver of vulnerability now and then.

Auntie Mae opened the door and Jack came rushing out, barking furiously, but when Santiago crouched down and held out his hand, he quieted and came forward to at least sniff it, then lost interest and shamelessly dropped to the floor and offered his belly for a scratch.

Seriously? It figured. Just to spite her, the dog liked him.

Her great-aunt was slightly stout in a matronly sort of way, with wavy gray hair and surprisingly smooth skin despite her age. She never wore anything but a dress or for an informal event a blouse and skirt—she’d said firmly more than once that she would feel ridiculous in slacks—even when tending to her garden, in which case she wore a smock and a hat. The stereotype had always amused Ellie but also was in some way very comforting. Her grandmother had been much the same. They’d only been a year apart in age and their closeness might have been a mirror of Ellie’s relationship with her own sister, even though they had been sisters-in-law and not actually blood relatives.

“Hi honey.” Her aunt gave her a quick kiss and a hug, and then turned an inquiring gaze in a request for the requisite politeness to the man standing beside her.

“This is Detective Santiago. Can we ask you a few questions?”

“My, that sounds official. I watch my fair share of television. All those shows are so popular. I have to remind myself, my great-niece really
is
a police officer. So you all really do say that? My answer is yes, of course, but let’s go into the kitchen. Coffee?”

Santiago laughed and shook his head. “I love you Scandinavians and your coffee. Morning, noon, and night. I’m fine, but thank you very much.”

“How about iced tea?”

“That sounds great actually.”

The house smelled as always like cinnamon with a hint of talcum powder in the background. Ellie sat at the old wooden table and accepted a cup of impossibly strong coffee she would only sip and said without preamble, “Is there any chance you can help us in the identification of those bones?”

Her great-aunt sat down opposite and gave her a puzzled look. “What bones?”

“The skeleton found on Grandpa’s property.”

“First I’ve heard of it.” Her aunt’s face tightened. “They found … a human skeleton?”

“He hasn’t said anything?” Ellie prodded gently.

“No, but it’s not surprising.” Mae took a drink from her cup after a moment, her hands steady. “I guess I didn’t realize such a thing had happened. Robert is my brother, but it isn’t like we talk often. I doubt we’ve spoken since last spring. There isn’t much of a need. Aside from you and Jody, there isn’t a lot to talk about. We chat occasionally. Old people get a little boring. We tend to do the same thing every day.”

“The medical examiner is a bit iffy on the age,” Santiago explained. “It’s a female, probably not that old when she died, but it was at least two decades ago, and maybe more. Understandably the sheriff’s office is reluctant to pour a lot of time into it. I’m not sure I am either, but I don’t have a lot else to do right now, so some help, if you can give it to us, would be appreciated.”

That was pretty reasonable. His smile was actually close to charming. Who knew that was even possible. Ellie added, “No one seems to have a theory. I just wondered if there is a story or anything you recall from when the property was purchased.”

“No, but then again, honey, your grandfather bought it years before he married Helen.”

That was slightly confusing.

“I thought he built the house as a wedding present.”

“He did.” Mae nodded and smoothed her coffee cup with the tips of her fingers. “The original one burned down. That was right after his first wife left him.”

It felt like the world stopped revolving for a moment. “His
what
?”

“Didn’t you know your grandfather had been married before?”

She hadn’t. That was … incredible. Was it significant? She wasn’t sure, but as a detective, all information was significant until proved otherwise. “No,” she said quietly.

“They divorced. It wasn’t quite so usual back then.”

Her voice was stuck somewhere in her throat.
Young woman, shallow grave, a secret never mentioned
 … she didn’t like it. “How come no one has ever told me?”

“I’m not sure, but does anyone celebrate a failed marriage? Besides, people just didn’t talk about it so freely back when
we
were young. Now no one would think twice about it.”

“Not to celebrate it, but it is a piece of family history.” Ellie thought it over, conscious of Santiago across the table and now wishing she hadn’t brought him along. “Does my mother know? She has never mentioned it. Neither did Dad either.”

Not once.

“I’m not sure, actually,” Auntie Mae said with some measure of surprise. “Is it important?”

It was Santiago who said agreeably, “Ma’am, we will be sure and let you know.”

Chapter 20

There was fate and there was the kind of bad luck that just followed people around. She’d never really orchestrated anything. She’d just been a victim, in many ways, as much as anyone else.

Now, after weeks, here came someone asking questions, just when she thought it was behind her.

The sheriff … he had a job to do, she understood that.

“Any truth to it?” He’d been direct but polite.

How strange it was that she really hadn’t balked much at murder but didn’t like the lying. So she’d said, “I am really not sure what you are asking, Calvin.”

“Sir,” he’d corrected. “At this moment, I’m sir, understand?”

They were cousins. Life liked to play small jokes.

“I don’t suppose anyone could misunderstand that statement.” She could feel her jaw tighten. “Cal, what do you want from me?”

He rested his knuckles on the table and bent down to stare her in the eyes. “Did you have something to do with this? Because I’m going to tell you, there are a few people in this town that think you did.”

“To do with what?”

“You are in a sexual relationship with her husband. Rumor has it you were after him all along.”

The blunt declaration jarred her and her head snapped back. “Says who?”

“Everyone knows it. Jesus, Helen,” he muttered as he straightened. “I cannot believe you put me in this position.”

*   *   *

The corporate offices
of Henley Enterprises were situated in a towering building downtown; a glass and steel building with a bank title on the marquee on the city skyline and an escalator, and for those who needed to go to the twentieth floor, elevators.

But Carl figured it was much easier to just walk a block or so and knock on the door.

He didn’t know his neighbors. Not any of them really. He knew what kind of cars they drove, and out of habit noticed. Otherwise, no real contact. He really didn’t belong and his occupation made most people cautious for some reason.

The house was unique, but all of them on this particular pricey drive were different, the neighborhood an old one, most of the places built in the 1920s, when opulence was a way of life if the money was there. He actually had no idea when the Henley family had bought theirs, but it was a huge, sprawling, two-story brick home, with two wings and three chimneys, set back a good way from the street by a shaded drive. No gate, but he didn’t have one either. Gates were pretentious and real wealth required no pretention.

Hands in his pockets, he strolled up the drive, not quite sure what he was going to accomplish from this visit. He’d talked to both Hamish and Rays and been informed the family had not been interested at all in discussing their son’s possible involvement with Fielding’s wife, brushing it off as just a brief affair.

He was scheduled to fly out to Florida in just a few hours, so he needed some information quick, which was why he’d decided on this course of action.

Carl was a firm believer that people looked at the profession of detective in a different light if you wore a very nice designer suit and spoke perfect English. Maybe they’d talk to him. Hamish was a small, clever man with a tendency to let his New York accent slip through, and Rays looked like a cop, big and buff, with a flattop and a scar on the side of his neck that Carl had never asked about. They were both thorough and good at their jobs, but in this instance, he thought maybe he could be more effective.

The woman who answered the door was middle-aged and well kept, with carefully tinted hair and a draped scarlet cashmere sweater. Her perfectly plucked brows rose in inquiry. “Yes?”

He didn’t hold out his badge, knowing in advance that would set the tone of the interview. “I’m Carl Grasso. I actually live just down the street. I’m also a detective with the Milwaukee Police Department. I would very much like to talk to Garrison. Is he home?”

She hesitated just enough. “My son does not live here.”

“We know he has his own apartment. A few questions, that’s all. You’ve already spoken to detectives, and we appreciate the cooperation. I’m just following up.”

“My husband might not like him talking to you without our lawyer.”

Her husband, poised to possibly make an impact on the political vista of the state of Wisconsin, would probably prefer Carl be shooed away politely.

“He’s hardly under arrest or even close to it. I just have a few questions that were not asked the last time.”

She bit her lower lip but didn’t invite him in. “Everyone is sorry about that young police officer, but my son had nothing to do with it.”