On a Killer's Trail (12 page)

Connor had lifted his head and was listening, too. “What’s his name, Neil?”

“Joseph Parlin.”

“Birth date?”

“He was two months older than Jim,” Neil told him. “And you’ll love this. His mother still has his birth certificate. She’s faxing me a copy.”

The fax machine next to the secretary’s desk began to hum. Neil and Connor both jumped up and walked over to watch the document print.

“Okay,” Connor said. “So he was old enough to have a driver’s license and a Social Security card. Let’s check it out.”

Kate followed them to Connor’s desk. Even though she couldn’t write this story today, she might be able to use it later.

“Connor’s trying to get into the DMV records in Augusta to see if anyone with the name Joseph Parlin has a current Maine driver’s license,” Neil explained. “But it seems their computer system is down. The ice storm knocked the power out in most of the capital early this morning. If the electrical service isn’t restored by morning, all the state government offices will be closed tomorrow.”

“Call the nearest Social Security office and see if they’re still open,” Connor said. “We may be able to bypass Augusta to get the information we want.”

Neil went to his desk and made a quick call. “They’re open.”

“Go get ’em, Tiger. I’ll get back to chasing the bank records.”

Kate shrank back toward the secretary’s desk, stifling the urge to beg them for another favor.

Neil glanced at her, then back at his captain. “Uh, Connor?”

“What?” Connor glanced at him, then focused on Kate. “Look, Neil can’t take you along, kiddo, but I know you’re dying to go.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t—”

“If a reporter happens to show up at a venue where a cop is working, that’s one thing. Expecting special treatment is another.”

“I know.” She started to apologize, but stopped and eyed him carefully. “Are you…Uh, I might just have some business down at the Social Security office….”

“Imagine that.” Connor slid his reading glasses on and turned back to his computer. Neil grinned at Kate and headed for the stairway. She hurried down the stairs behind him.

T
hey sat in the waiting area at the Social Security office for half an hour.

“I should have called ahead and talked to the supervisor.” Neil rose and began to pace. After another fifteen minutes, his name was called. They were led to a cubicle where a clerk whose name tag read “S. Martin” asked Neil how she could help him. They stood for ten minutes while she searched on her computer for a file under the name of Joseph Parlin.

Neil began to fidget. Finally, the clerk looked up with a smile. “It seems Joseph Parlin’s number is active.”

“Is there a question?” Neil asked.

“Well, twenty years ago we were notified that he was deceased, and his account was canceled. But recently we received an affidavit saying Joseph Parlin was alive. Apparently, he’d been MIA or something. Some ghoulish mistake, I guess. Anyway, the number was reactivated in…July.”

“July.” Neil looked at Kate. “He’s been planning this since July. Now, tell me, miss, who submitted that affidavit? Because I just talked to Joseph Parlin’s mother, and she says he’s still dead.”

More time on the computer. The clerk moved slowly, hitting a key, then waiting, then hitting another. “His cousin,” she said at last.

“James M. Burton?”

“That’s correct.”

“All right,” said Neil, “can you give me Parlin’s current address?”

“Do you have authorization from Mr. Parlin?” the clerk asked. “Because I’m not supposed to give out that infor—”

“Mr. Parlin is dead,” Neil said patiently. “How am I supposed to get his authorization?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”

“I am a police detective,” he said carefully, one word at a time. “This is a murder investigation. Isn’t that authorization enough?”

She looked confused. “Perhaps you should speak to my supervisor. He’s over there.” She gestured toward a man in a three-piece suit at a desk noticeably larger than any of the others in the room.

“Good idea, but don’t lose your place in that computer, because I’ll be right back for that data.”

Kate followed Neil to the supervisor’s desk. Neil explained the situation and how James Burton, who was now a fugitive, had sworn his dead cousin Joseph Parlin was alive.

“We think Mr. Burton may have assumed his cousin’s identity as a way to escape undetected after killing two people and stealing a million dollars from the Animal Protection Society,” Neil said.

“I see.” The supervisor took off his glasses and started wiping them with a tissue. “A very interesting story.”

“Sir,” Neil said with his most persuasive smile, “we need to get the current address for Joseph Parlin, that is, the man using the name Joseph Parlin. You need to authorize your clerk to release that information to me.”

“Highly irregular,” he said skeptically.

“Maybe so, but this is a murder investigation. Do I need a warrant?”

The supervisor eyed him for a moment, put his glasses back on, stood and walked over to the clerk’s desk.

“Miss Martin, you may give this gentleman the information he’s requested. Just type it out and print three copies. Give them one and place one in the box for—”

Neil gritted his teeth and pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket. “Could you just tell me the address, miss, and then you can type it up after? We really need to get going.”

“Seventy-four Hitchings Road, Westbrook,” she said.

Neil smiled, wrote down the address and walked out the door.

As soon as they were outside, Kate burst into laughter. “So that’s how you get information out of a brick wall. Do you really think Jim Burton is hiding out in Westbrook?”

“I dunno. It’s too close, really. Someone could see him anytime.” Neil walked her to her car. “Careful. It’s icy there. Jim could alter his appearance. You know, contacts instead of glasses, grow a mustache, that kind of thing. And if someone thought they recognized him, he could just say, ‘I’m his cousin,’ and whip out his driver’s license.”

“I guess you’re right.” She smiled up at him. “I’ll follow you back into town, but I don’t think I’d better go to the police station again. That would be pushing it a little far. I’ll head for home.”

“Okay. Drive carefully.”

“Thanks a lot.” She got into her car and started the engine. As she pulled out onto the street, she looked in her rearview mirror and saw Neil standing motionless on the sidewalk, still watching her.

Neil got behind the wheel of his car and slowly made his way back to the station. When he got to the office, he checked with the Department of Motor Vehicles again. Apparently, their power was on, and he was able to get Joseph Parlin’s driver’s license this time. As Connor came from the break room with a fresh cup of coffee, the image came up on the screen.

“Lousy picture,” Connor said. “Print it out.”

It was definitely Jim Burton with brown eyes, not blue, and dark hair, full and thick on top. Corrective lenses required, but no glasses. And no record of motor vehicle violations.

Neil studied it for a long moment, then shook his head. “Hard to believe that’s the same man.”

“Let’s get the whole unit together and hash this over,” Connor said.

Suddenly the lights went out, the computer screens went
black and the office was still. The big windows on two sides let in the dim afternoon light, so they could still see. Dimmer lights around the edge of the room came on.

“We’ll have minimal power if we have to run on generators,” Neil said.

The monitors around the room lightened, and all the men went to their desks to reboot their computers. Connor took his cell phone down the hall toward the break room. Neil figured he was checking in with Adrienne.

When he came back a couple of minutes later Jimmy asked him, “Got power at your house, Captain?”

“Nope. It went out when ours did.” He called the men to his desk. “All right, it looks like Jim Burton set up an ID under his dead cousin’s name and put a Westbrook address on his driver’s license and Social Security record.”

“Westbrook?” said Lance. “Incredible. He can’t still be there.”

“You may be right,” said Connor. “He set this identity up to shield his getaway, but he’d be stupid to stay there long.”

“So, are we going over and check it out?” asked Jimmy.

“You bet. But we’ve got to get the Westbrook police in on it. You can set that up, Jimmy. Call their day patrol sergeant and fill him in. Ask for a unit for backup. Tony, you go get the warrant. Jimmy and Lance, call home and tell your wives you’ll be late for supper and not to worry. Gentlemen, please wear your vests.”

They all headed for the locker room.

An hour later, the Priority Unit went back to the city and wearily climbed the stairs. Even if the men had wanted to use the elevator, they couldn’t. The generator ran only necessary equipment. There wasn’t any hot water in the locker room.

Neil yanked the Velcro on the side seam of his bulletproof vest. “No clothes or furniture in the house. Nothing. What a bust.”

“Big disappointment for the captain,” Jimmy said as he peeled off his vest.

“Well, we knew it was a long shot that Burton had stayed around,” Neil admitted, “but I was hoping.”

“We all were,” Jimmy said.

Tony hung his jacket and vest in his locker on the other side of Neil’s. “I thought we had something, too.”

“We did,” Neil reasoned. “We still do. And Lance has some information on that woman Natalie, the one with the Samoyed. We can check her out tomorrow. If the Registry of Deeds is open, we’ll get data from them and find out if he had financing for the house. There’ll be lots of things to do tomorrow. Maybe Connor can even figure out how to make that offshore bank freeze Burton’s account.”

Connor breezed in from the outer office. “Head on home, men. Neil, are you going to your apartment?”

“Yeah.”

“Drive carefully. It’s starting to sleet again. Do you have heat at home?”

“I’ve got a kerosene heater.”

“Why don’t you just come to the house? We’ve got the fireplace and a little woodstove in the garage. I can set it up in the sunroom if we need it.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll worry about you dying of carbon monoxide poisoning,” Connor admitted.

“I can go to my folks’. They’ve got a woodstove.”

“If you want. But we’d be happy if you came to our house.”

It was tempting. Kate would be there. This new friendship with her was definitely a good thing, but he didn’t want her to think he was pursuing her again. He was still wary from the way they’d crashed and burned last summer. Still, he hoped any lingering doubts she harbored about him could be resolved as they matured spiritually. And he knew that, for once in his life, he didn’t want to blow this relationship.

“I’ll be fine,” he told Connor.

He drove home and took his flashlight out of the glove compartment, then trudged up to his apartment and went in. It was nearly as cold in there as it was outside. It took him a while to get the heater going. When it was burning in the kitchen, he used bottled water to make himself a glass of Tang, then sat in front of the heater, warming his hands. When they were warm enough, he made a sandwich and ate it.

On impulse, he took out his cell phone. Would the ice storm affect the transmitting towers? He clicked to his phone’s address book and stared at the number, trying to decide if he should call or not.

Probably best to leave Kate alone. But he wanted to call her, and hear her voice again. After a long moment, he clicked instead to another number.

“Pastor Robinson? This is Neil Alexander.”

The minister’s warm voice calmed him, and Neil felt he’d taken the right course. “You said you’d help me study the Bible if I wanted, and there are some things I feel as though I need tutoring on.”

“I’d be happy to meet with you once or twice a week. In fact, you’d be welcome here at the parsonage this evening, if you don’t mind studying by lantern light.”

Neil smiled. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Connor called Neil early in the morning. “We can have showers in the locker room at the station if we get there early, before the shift changes and the generator is on peak use.”

Neil scrambled into his clothes and shut off the kerosene heater. He didn’t dare leave it running when he wasn’t there. He drove to work carefully, passing two fender benders on the way. People were in the park, chopping ice with hatchets and filling buckets. He assumed they would take it home and melt it to wash with. He hoped they wouldn’t drink it.

Connor brought two gallons of bottled water to the office.
“Adrienne stocked up before we lost power,” he said. “When she heard some areas blacked out, she bought twelve gallons of water and a pile of flashlight batteries and candles and crackers.”

“How’s the baby doing?”

“Good. We’re keeping her bundled up. How about you? Were you warm enough last night?”

“Barely. The landlord told me he’s keeping the pipes warm in the basement, but it was pretty chilly in my apartment. If we don’t have power tonight, I might visit you.”

They hit the showers. The other detectives were at their desks when Neil went out into the office.

Neil and Tony drove to Natalie DeWitt’s address. No one responded to the doorbell, but inside, a dog barked. Neil tried calling and got her answering machine. They spoke to two neighbors. She worked, but they didn’t know where. Lance’s report hadn’t told them where she was employed, so they went back to the station.

“Joseph Parlin signed a contract on the house in Westbrook,” Jimmy told them. “A payment was due yesterday, but the bank didn’t receive it, and the Realtor hasn’t heard from him.”

Connor sent Tony and Neil to court for Stephen Burton’s hearing. The judge decided not to send him to trial. Instead, Stephen got a suspended sentence and probation.

The streets were strangely lacking in traffic as Neil drove cautiously back to the station. Most of the stores were closed, and pedestrians were rare. Road crews were throwing salt and sand everywhere to protect the city from lawsuits. He hated to run his truck through it. The diner near the police station was closed, and they were hungry.

“Taco Bell is open,” Jimmy told them. Tony and Neil drove over there. Somehow, the restaurant was in a pocket that still had power. They ordered hot coffee and takeout food and took it back to the office. It was nearly two o’clock. Connor was pacing, so Neil knew things weren’t going well.

“What’s up?” he asked, handing Connor the extra cup of coffee and burrito he’d brought.

“Absolutely nothing. I can’t seem to find anything on this Natalie person.” The rigid line of his back spelled frustration.

“Did you do a credit check on her?” Neil asked.

“I tried. The system is pretty much down now.”

Neil chewed a bite of his burrito and walked to the window. As he looked out on the glittering street below, sipping his coffee, he decided it was time to call his mother.

“Cornelius Jan Alexander! I was worried about you. Are you okay?” she demanded.