Razing the Dead (7 page)

The next morning I woke surprisingly early, given the
events of the prior day, and lay in bed reviewing what was going on. I should have checked with Latoya to confirm whether Ben Hartley, our new registrar, would be starting today. I had no way of gauging whether his military computer skills would translate to cataloging antique items and documents, but data was data, wasn't it? And James had recommended him—shoot, yesterday we'd been too distracted to talk about Ben. I reminded myself to find out a bit more about Ben's backstory and how he and James had kept in touch.

I couldn't do much about Lissa's position until I knew if there would actually be a need for it now, and under the circumstances I wasn't about to badger Mitchell Wakeman about that. But I meant what I had said to Lissa the day before: this planned development was a big project, and unless all evidence pointed directly to Wakeman or a member of his project crew, it probably wouldn't derail the project. Of course, that assumed the murder was solved and the killer identified sooner rather than later. Lissa had seemed surprisingly calm throughout the whole experience—after she'd thrown up. And she was observant. Of course, being able to read people wasn't quite the same as being able to read documents, but her apparent competence was reassuring.

Okay, moving on. James had said he was going to start the process of finding a new place for us to live—of course, that had been before he'd been assigned to the Wakeman case. Did I want to get involved in house or apartment hunting? Well, maybe first we should pin down what we were looking for. I liked living in the suburbs: I liked the privacy of a freestanding house; I liked the open space; I liked being someplace that was away from work. I liked having choices for commuting. James lived in the city, in an apartment. Would he want to stay in the city? Style-wise, my little carriage house was late Victorian, and while I hadn't gone overboard with decorating it in a true Victorian spirit, I liked that it was older and had a history of its own. James's apartment was definitely modern, stark, rectilinear. Where would we find a middle ground?

Enough. I jumped out of bed and started my day.

I arrived at the Society early, at least compared to recent days, but Eric had beaten me to the office anyway. “Mornin', Nell. Coffee?”

Eric and I had long since worked out a coffee agreement: whoever arrived first made the first pot. “Sure. Did I miss anything yesterday afternoon?”

“While you were out finding bodies?”

“Shoot, did it make the papers already? How did they find out so fast? It was only the one body.”

“Since Mr. Wakeman was involved, it did—you know he's news. Speaking of whom, he's already called this morning.”

“Did he want me to call him back?”

“No, he left a message, and I quote: ‘Project is a go. Lissa can start ASAP.' Make sense to you?”

“It does. That's good news, I think. A man of few words, isn't he? But decisive. So we will have a new, short-term intern. Can you figure out what paperwork we'll need? Funding will come from Wakeman or some subsidiary of his, and it's a term appointment—three months.”

“Will do. Right after I get you that coffee. Oh, and Latoya said that other new hire would be starting day after tomorrow.”

Bless Eric. I'd hired him because Shelby knew him, and he was a nice kid and needed a job, but he had far surpassed my expectations. By now I couldn't imagine running my office without him.

Coffee in hand, I settled myself in my office and contemplated where to begin. I should call Lissa, but I wasn't sure if I had her phone number. Should I call Ethan at Penn to get it? I didn't have his phone number, either, although that should be public information. Marty would know it, though . . .

As if by magic, Marty materialized at my door. “Someday I'll figure out how you do that, Marty,” I said. “I was just thinking about you.”

Marty dropped into a chair. “Good things, I hope. How'd Lissa work out?”

“What, you haven't heard?”

“Heard what?”

“We went out to see the site yesterday and found a body. Eric said it was in the paper.”

“You've got to be kidding! No, I haven't had a chance to look at the paper this morning. This was a body on Wakeman's patch?”

I nodded. “It was. The three of us were walking the grounds and we found him in a pond.”

“Anybody know who he is?”

“Apparently an official with the township there. You don't have any friends or family in Goshen, do you?”

“Maybe. Old neighborhood, there—mostly Quaker, way back when. What was the guy's name?”

“George Bowen, I think. James will know.”

“Why?”

“Because the local police called in the Mounties, and he got the case.”

Marty laughed heartily. “You're kidding! I would've loved to see that little meeting! They really think they need the FBI out there?”

“I think that was Wakeman's involvement. You know he wants only the best.”

Marty gave one of her ladylike snorts. “What's your take on Wakeman, now that you've spent some time with him?”

“Overall I'm impressed. He seemed like a straight-arrow guy, I guess. Not at all pretentious. He was really excited about this development project of his, and happy to show it off. At least, until we found the body.”

“Did Wakeman know the dead guy?”

“He said not.”

Marty shot me a look, and I wondered if I had sounded more skeptical than I intended. But she didn't pursue it. “So, you took Lissa along on this little jaunt?”

“Yes. I thought it made sense—she could get a feeling for the physical lay of the land. And I wanted to see how she got along with Wakeman, although they probably won't run into each other again.”

“What did you think of her?”

Something in Marty's tone made me look more carefully at her. “She's smart, and she's very calm—didn't panic about the body, and she asked intelligent questions. She was older than I expected, but she explained that she'd taken some personal time off before going back to school. Wakeman okayed her. How did you come to recommend her?”

“I met her at Ethan's office, and he said good things about her. And she needs the money.”

Marty sounded a bit abrupt, even for her. In the time I'd known her, Marty hadn't been involved with anyone, or at least not seriously. And she'd kind of hidden her involvement with Ethan, although since I'd been a little preoccupied, I could have missed the signs. Was she worried that Ethan had some interest in Lissa? I felt I was treading on shaky ground with my next question—although Marty had never hesitated to involve herself in my private life, I rationalized. “Do Ethan and Lissa have a history?”

Marty shrugged. “Maybe. I haven't asked.”

“Okay,” I said cautiously. “But you have no problem if the Society hires her for this project for a couple of months?”

“Nope. If Ethan vouches for her, she'll do a good job.” Marty's tone made it clear that she wasn't going to comment further.

“Fine. Do you know where I can reach her? I want to tell her the project is moving forward.”

“Sure.” Marty pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket and scribbled a number on it, then handed it to me. “That's Ethan's office—his assistant should know where to find Lissa.”

“Thanks. Was there something else?”

“When's your registrar showing up?”

“Day after tomorrow. I left it to Latoya to deal with the formalities, since he'll be working for her.” I did a double take. “Wait, how did you know we'd made an offer?”

“James told me that he was thinking of recommending Ben and asked if I thought Ben could handle the job.”

“Hang on. You know Ben, too? Why was there any question about whether he could handle the job?”

“I don't know him personally. James wanted to know what the job requirements were. Ben's had a rough time since the accident, and he hasn't worked lately, which looks bad on his résumé. But he's smart and hardworking, and he'll want to prove himself.”

“Will he fit in here?”

Marty smiled. “With this crew of misfits? I wouldn't worry. Just don't expect him to be real sociable.”

I sighed. But at least the registrar position didn't require a whole lot of social interaction, just computer skills and a good eye. And as for those, anyone I hired would have to demonstrate them directly, whatever his or her baggage and background. “Ask Latoya about his start date. And don't co-opt him to do all the Terwilliger stuff first.”

“Would I do that?” Marty said, batting her eyes with exaggerated innocence. She stood up. “I'm going back to the processing room, by way of Latoya's office. See you later.”

She had no sooner walked out the door when Shelby appeared. Good thing I hadn't planned to get anything like work done this morning. “Hi, Shelby—what's up?”

Shelby took the chair that Marty had vacated. “You've got a new corpse, I hear.”

“Did my name come up in the paper?” I asked, almost afraid to find out.

“Nope, but Mr. Wakeman's did, and I knew where you were going yesterday afternoon, so I put two and two together. How many does this make?”

“Too many. And to top it off, James caught the case when the FBI was called in to help.”

“My, my—just like old home week. What is the great Wakeman like?”

“Surprisingly normal, for a multimillionaire mogul. He seems to like what he does, and he had a great time showing us his plans for the place.”

“So this body in the pond won't slow the project down?”

“Apparently not, according to him, because we have the go-ahead to start the historic research on the site. Best case, the murder investigation will be wrapped up quickly and we'll do the research here and give him a gold star and everything will go as planned.” That had to happen sometime, didn't it?

“Let's hope so. They're sure it's not an accident?”

“So the coroner says.”

“What a shame,” Shelby said, then pivoted the conversation away from murder to ordinary Society business.

After she left I tried to remember what I'd originally planned for the day. I heard the phone ring, then Eric call out, “Agent Morrison for you.”

I picked up. “Hello. Is this official business?”

“Just wanted to see if you had time for lunch. I can bring sandwiches.”

“A working lunch? Sure. Here?”

“One?”

“Okay. Uh, there isn't a problem with anything, is there? Have you solved yesterday's murder?”

I could hear him chuckle. “I may be good, but I'm not that good. I just wanted to touch base with you. See you at one.” He hung up, leaving me slightly confused. But that was a state I was used to.

“Eric?” I called out. “I'm having a quick lunch with Agent Morrison at one, here in the building. You have something to keep me busy until then?”

He appeared in my doorway with a sheaf of papers. “Sure do.”

At one, I went downstairs to let James in. I was beginning
to wonder if I might as well go ahead and give him a key, since he was at the Society so often. He arrived on time carrying a bulky bag. I had to admit he was looking good, considering what he'd been through over the past month. Concussions were sneaky, and sometimes left nasty aftereffects, but he hadn't complained. It was back to business as usual.

But the old, serious James was back, and I realized how much I would miss the warm, funny James now that he was back to work.

We decided to eat in the first-floor conference room, which was usually empty. After we had doled out food, I asked, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” he responded.

“First day back and a lot of running around yesterday. You got thrown into the deep end pretty fast.”

“I'm fine, Nell. Really. I wanted to talk about yesterday, and what we've learned.”

“By the way, Wakeman called early this morning and left a message, and said that the project was still on. Is that true?”

James took a large bite of his sandwich. “Close enough. It's not as though the township called a meeting last night and hashed it all out, but I gather the relevant parties put together a conference call and decided that the project was important to the community and, barring any legal issues, it would go forward as planned.”

“You think Wakeman leaned on them?”

“I don't know, but I don't know if it would have been necessary in any case. You want the details on the dead man?”

“Please.” I picked up my sandwich and started eating, chewing while I listened.

He opened a file but rattled off the key points without looking at it. “George Bowen, age fifty-seven. Engineer by training. Lived in the township and worked for them for about ten years. Wife who works in West Chester. Two kids, both married and living out of state. Volunteered for a lot of civic activities. Interested in local history. All-around nice guy, from what everybody says.”

“Do you believe ‘everybody'?” I made air quotes as I said the last word.

“No reason not to.”

“So nobody had a reason to want him dead.”

“Not that we've found, but it's been only a day.”

“Have your forensic guys done their bit yet?”

“At first light this morning. Mr. Bowen did not die at the pond but somewhere else yet to be determined.”

“How do you know this?”

“There's no evidence of a struggle or an attack in the area around the pond, which would have held impressions since the ground around there is soft and damp. There are, however, some interesting footprints leading up to the pond, but they couldn't follow them through the grass to the point of origin.”

“So you're saying someone carried George Bowen to the pond?”

“You do ask all the right questions. Yes, he was carried. He weighed about one eighty, so it would have taken a strong man to carry him without dragging, and there are no signs that he was dragged—that we would have seen.”

“Obviously the field isn't exactly well lit. Could a strong man have slung the body over his shoulder and carried him across the field from somewhere else? In the dark?”

“Like a fireman's carry? Maybe.”

My questions just kept bubbling up. “Why the pond? I mean, it's kind of close to the road. Anyone driving by would have noticed someone dumping a body there.”

“It would have to have been in the middle of the night, when it was darkest, and there was the least traffic. That squares with what the coroner said about time of death. Still, getting him there had to be quick. You're right—nobody could stroll around with a body and expect not to be noticed for long. As for your first question, so far all we know is that the pond is not where he died. You saw for yourself that it's not deep enough to hide a body, so maybe the body was dumped there simply to distract our attention.”

“So you've narrowed the search to a strong man. Does that help?”

“Not a lot,” James said cheerfully. He must have been used to it. “His wife came home about six but he wasn't there. She wasn't surprised, because the township holds a lot of after-hours meetings, and sometimes they run over into dinner. She ate and watched television for a while. She was mildly worried when he wasn't back by the time she went to bed, but not enough to act on it. I gather it's happened before.”

“Did they have problems?”

“Not that she'd admit, but she was obviously upset, and people under those circumstances usually fall back to the ‘don't speak ill of the dead' mode. No doubt the police will be talking with her again.”

“So he could have been having an affair, and maybe the other woman's spouse or boyfriend or whatever found them together and went ballistic?”

“It's a possibility, but there's no evidence. Yet. But it's early days.”

“And that's all you've got?”

James gave me a smile tinged with exasperation. “Nell, this happened yesterday, and we've just started. But, yes, there's nothing obvious jumping out. The guy lived within his means, had a small balance remaining on his mortgage. His kids are happily married and solvent. No unexplained money coming in or going out of his bank account, no overextended credit cards. If he wasn't dead, he'd be a model citizen.”

“But he is dead. So what happens now?”

“We continue to investigate. If we don't turn up anything on George, we look at people who might have something at stake in this property, or in the development going forward. People in the township, or in any other townships that might have been competing for the project. People on Wakeman's management team. We'll keep widening the circle and digging deeper.”

“Sounds like archeology, doesn't it? That reminds me, what about the research on the history of the site?”

“What about it?”

“Should we—Lissa or the Society—be looking for anything that might provide a motive?”

“Ah, Nell—things aren't always all about the Society, or history, or you.”

I was stung, oddly enough. “Hey, I was there, remember? At the same time that this guy coincidentally ended up dead in the pond when Mitchell Wakeman was showing off his dream project to a pair of wonky historical researchers. Are you saying to ignore any historical information that might be relevant? Without even knowing what it is?”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit a nerve. No, I won't rule out a connection, but I'm not going to make any assumptions about it, either. Is that fair?”

“I guess,” I grumbled. This was stupid. I was not a crime investigator; I managed a building full of history investigators. Past and present did not often collide, and when they did, they seldom resulted in corpses. But it was unsettling nonetheless.

“I missed you last night,” James said softly.

“Me, too. You got rid of Lissa?”

“Are you jealous that I went home with a younger woman?” He smiled.

“No, not really. If anything”—I leaned in close—“I'm guessing Marty thinks Lissa's got her eye on Ethan. But don't you dare tell her I said that.”

James raised one hand, and said solemnly, “I am an agent of the federal government. I know how to keep secrets.”

“This is Marty we're talking about.”

“There is that. But you don't have to worry, Nell. We're good, you and I.”

“We are.” At least, I hoped so. Oh, how I hoped so.

“But you've got to remember, Nell, that what I've told you today has to remain between us. I shared it with you only because you're already involved, so you have a right to know at least some of the details.”

“What if Lissa asks questions? She was there, too.”

“Just tell her you don't know anything beyond what's in the papers and that it's an ongoing investigation, which is true.”

“Speaking of which, how did the papers get onto it so fast?”

“I can't say for sure,” James said, “but it's possible that Wakeman and his people put the story out there to make sure they look transparent.”

That was an angle I hadn't considered. “What about Marty?”

James looked pained. “Why would she stick her nose into this?”

“Because she's Marty. Are you going to swear there wasn't a Terwilliger living in West Chester in seventeen-whatever?”

“No. If she asks for details, just point her to me, okay?”

“I'll be happy to.” Enough about the crime, since there wasn't much information to go on—yet. “So, what's the story on Ben? Or can't you talk about that without breaking all sorts of confidences?”

He sat back and thought for a moment before answering. “Look, I know there are a lot of things you as an employer can't ask or consider in hiring someone, at least in theory. I know you well enough to know that your main goal is to find someone who can do the job for the Society.”

“Why are you dancing around the question? Is there something that I should know that I'm not supposed to ask about?”

He sighed. “Not exactly. Okay, you already know that I met Ben in college. We weren't exactly best friends, but we hung out together, along with some other guys. After college he joined the army and stayed on for quite a while, as a number cruncher, an analyst, not a combatant. Then he left, and he was trying to figure out where he fit in the private sector, and then the accident happened—by the way, it wasn't his fault. He got T-boned by a drunk and ended up in the hospital for a while and then in rehab. He's understandably bitter about it. I'll tell you in confidence that he's had trouble adjusting to civilian life in a wheelchair—he used to be an active guy. What he needs most right now is to have a job, one that lets him feel useful and productive again. He's smart and he's got the skills, and I think he can do what you need here. But there may be some speed bumps along the way, because this is far from a military organization.”

I had to smile at that. “You think? Thank you for telling me, and you know I'll keep it to myself. I might have to share this with Latoya, but I will only if I think it's necessary.”

“Don't handle him with kid gloves, Nell,” James said. “Let him do the job. Just give him a little time to settle in, okay?”

“Of course.” I gathered up my lunch trash and stuffed it back into the original bag. “Was there anything else?”

“Where will you be tonight?”

“Where do you want me to be?”

“With me.”

So simple. Shouldn't it be? “Okay. Dinner?”

James smiled. “I brought lunch. You can figure out dinner.”

“Deal.”

And we went our separate ways, slowed only by a rather steamy kiss before we emerged from the old conference room.