by J A Whiting
“You know what I mean,” she told him.
“Just don’t remind me how old I am.”
“She was active. Involved.” Olivia shook her head. “She was only sixty-three. That isn’t old.” She stared at the waves pounding the rocks.
“How do they know she had a heart attack?” Olivia went on.
“Well…I don’t know. They just know.”
“They didn’t do an autopsy. Maybe it was the fall from the bike that killed her. Maybe she got distracted. Maybe she lost control of the bike and …”
“Liv…she had a heart attack…she fell off the bike but that wouldn’t have caused the fatality.” He was quiet. “Anyway, the result is the same.”
Olivia’s leg jiggled up and down. She ran her hands through her chestnut hair. The air was cooler now.
“Should we go home?” Joe asked.
“Not yet.” Olivia didn’t say anything for a few minutes. She sighed. “Something’s not right.”
“How do you mean?”
“Aggie died but there was nothing wrong with her.”
Joe started to shake his head.
“Why would someone cut out someone’s tongue?” Olivia asked.
“I don’t know. So he couldn’t speak…to stop him from talking,”
“Exactly. So what did Andersen know that someone didn’t want him telling? Why slip that necklace into my pocket? What’s ‘red Julie’ mean?”
Joe turned his palms up. “Don’t know.”
Olivia continued to fire off questions. “Who was that man who showed up and menaced me at the accident? Who was that guy impersonating a cop that came to talk to me?”
Joe looked at her.
“Aggie didn’t say anything to you before you went to visit your sister those last two weeks of April? She wasn’t worried about anything?”
“No. She didn’t tell me anything of the sort. We emailed back and forth during the two weeks I was in California. Just general chit chat.”
“And then she dies,” Olivia said. “Doing something she never does.”
“What are you getting at, Liv?”
“She was in contact with you almost every day that you were away. But she never told you what was wrong. She was closer to you than anyone, besides me. Why didn’t she say anything?”
“Maybe there was nothing to tell.”
“Maybe she was trying to protect you…and me,” Olivia said. “And why didn’t she go to the police?”
“The police? For what? Protect us from what?”
“There’s only one reason she wouldn’t go to the police,” Olivia said.
Joe stared at her.
“She didn’t trust them.”
“Liv, why would she go to the police? About what?”
“Something must have been worrying her. Something must have had her afraid.”
“God. Like what?”
Olivia shrugged.
“Well, if something was worrying her, how do we know she didn’t go to the police? Maybe she did go to the police. We don’t know,” Joe said, exasperated.
Olivia shook her head. “The chief would have told us.”
“Why are you so sure that something was wrong?” Joe asked.
Olivia looked at him. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
***
Olivia led Joe into the extra bedroom that Aggie had used as a den. She opened the closet door. Aggie had a small safe built into the closet wall where she kept important papers, some old jewelry that she never wore but couldn’t part with, her and Olivia’s passports, and a few hundred dollars in cash. Joe and Olivia both knew about the safe and both had the combination. Olivia turned the knob, punched in the code, and opened the safe. She stepped back. Joe moved closer. His eyes widened.
He turned to Olivia. “A gun?”
She nodded. “I was going through her things. I found it this afternoon.” She paused. “There’s something else.”
“Every time you say that, it’s never anything good,” Joe muttered.
Olivia led him to Aggie’s bedroom. She opened the third drawer of Aggie’s dresser and pushed some sweaters aside. Joe looked.
He shook his head. “What the hell?”
A butcher knife and some pepper spray lay in the drawer.
They looked at each other.
“This is why I think something was wrong,” Olivia said.
Chapter 6
Olivia had an appointment to meet with the detective, the real detective, on Monday morning. She told Joe that she would be fine meeting with him alone, so Joe went to Wells for the day to work on his house project. The detective asked Olivia to meet him at a coffee shop at the edge of town. She arrived first, got tea, and took it outside to the patio tables overlooking the main street. The tables were crowded with early morning tourists and some locals scattered here and there.
Olivia watched the patrons who were approaching the coffee shop. She and the detective had swapped descriptions of each other over the phone. A man fitting the detective’s description walked into the patio area and Olivia raised her hand to signal to him. He nodded and headed over to her table. The detective was tall, lean, but muscular, and younger than Olivia expected. She thought he must be in his late twenties. He wore a pair of navy slacks and a fitted white collared shirt which left no doubt that this was a man who worked out. A lot. He got more than a few admiring glances from the women customers as he passed them.
Olivia stood.
“Ms. Miller?”
“Yes. Nice to meet you, Detective.”
They shook hands and sat down.
“Jason Brown. Thank you for meeting me,” he told Olivia. “I won’t take too much of your time. As Captain O’Brien told you, the case has taken an unexpected turn with suspicion of foul play,” the detective said.
“Suspicion?” Olivia asked.
Detective Brown met Olivia’s eyes. “Yes. We can’t be sure what we’re dealing with until we look into things.”
“He had his tongue cut out. He’d been shot. That sounds like foul play to me.”
“True.” Brown opened his leather folder and took out his pad and pen. “Would you mind recounting for me the events of the night when you came upon the accident?”
Olivia took a deep breath and looked down at her tea cup. She recalled what happened from the time she turned onto the exit ramp until she got back in her car and drove away. She left out a few things.
Brown’s eyes met Olivia’s. He didn’t say anything.
“Is this the productive pause where if the officer doesn’t say anything the interviewee will keep talking?” Olivia asked.
“It could be,” Brown replied. He sat without saying anything.
Olivia just looked at him. She stayed quiet, then said, “If you’re looking for something more, I guess you’ll have to ask.”
“Is there more to know?”
Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Brown wrote in his notebook.
“Ogunquit’s a pretty small town. I’m surprised there’s a detective on staff,” Olivia said.
Without looking up, Brown said, “I’m with the State Police. Originally out of Portland but I’ve been working the York-Ogunquit-Wells area for the past year or so.”
“This must be quieter than around Portland,” Olivia said.
“There’s trouble everywhere, I’m afraid.”
Brown made eye contact with Olivia. “Did the victim say anything?”
“Nothing I could understand.”
“What about other witnesses? Was anyone else around?”
“I thought I saw a man running away from the overturned car. It was very dark. I didn’t see where he went. No one else was around until just before the cops and paramedics arrived.”
“So you didn’t notice anyone else in the area when you came on the scene?”
“No.” Olivia didn’t know if she should tell him about the man.
Brown stared at Olivia. “I get the fee
ling you’re not telling me everything, Ms. Miller.”
Sweat beaded up on the back of Olivia’s neck. “I…” She shrugged.
“Think back on the night. Just walk yourself through it all again in your mind. See if anything new comes up. Take your time.” He went back to writing in his notebook.
Olivia felt unnerved. After a minute she said, “I remember that there was a man off to the side.”
Brown lifted his eyes.
“The guy on the ground. He seemed upset by the man’s presence.”
“How so?” Brown asked.
“He seemed more than upset. He seemed terrified. The man gave me the creeps, actually.”
“Did you just remember him now?”
Olivia shook her head. “No. I didn’t say anything because…I don’t know…it didn’t seem relevant.”
Brown said, “Just tell me what you saw. I’ll decide if it’s relevant.”
Olivia didn’t like his tone. She lifted her tea cup to her lips while keeping eye contact with Brown.
They were both quiet.
“Another pause?” Olivia asked with an edge to her voice.
Brown sat straighter in his chair and asked, “Had you ever seen this man before? Did he seem familiar in any way?”
“No. He wasn’t familiar to me. I would have remembered him if I had seen him before.”
“Can you describe him?’
“The guy was tall and slim. Muscular, but not heavy. He was wearing a suit. It was dark out so I didn’t see that much. But he had a look on his face. Cold. Mean. It chilled me. I felt… in danger.”
“Could you pick him out of a lineup?”
Olivia tilted her head. “A lineup?” She paused, thinking. “It was dark. We were under the streetlight, but, no, maybe not. No, I don’t think I could.”
“Did he say anything?” Brown asked.
“Nothing,” Olivia said. “Really. He didn’t.”
“Did you notice a vehicle?”
Olivia shook her head.
“Was he still there when the officers arrived?”
“I didn’t see him anymore after the authorities arrived.”
Brown looked at the cars passing by on the street. He turned to Olivia. “Why were you afraid of him?”
Olivia thought. “A feeling. His eyes. His silence.” She added, “I could imagine him doing that…with the tongue. Or worse.”
Brown changed the subject. “How long have you lived on Whitney Way?”
“Well, ever since I was very little I would spend summers there, and some weekends, holidays. My aunt owned the house. I lost my parents when I was one. My aunt became my legal guardian.”
“You know a lot of people in town?”
“Some.”
“But not the victim?”
Olivia shook her head.
“Why not?”
Olivia cocked her head. It seemed a strange question. “Ogunquit’s a small town, but obviously I don’t know everyone here. As I said, I’m usually just here in the summers.”
“Well it seems the victim knew you.”
Olivia blinked.
“He had your name in his wallet. And your picture with your address in Medford written on the back.”
A chill raced down Olivia’s spine and her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She closed her mouth. Her eyes were like saucers. “He…my name? Why?”
“That’s what I hoped you could tell me,” the detective told her.
“I have no idea.” Olivia’s eyes darted around. Her mind raced. She shook her head. “No idea at all.”
Chapter 7
Olivia walked home from the meeting with the detective as fast as she could. She sat at her computer and with hands shaking, typed the victim’s name and the word “obituary” into Google. She hit enter.
She clicked on the listing that came up in the search. When the page opened, the man’s picture was in the upper left corner of the write-up and his smiling face made Olivia jump. She pored over the words. Martin Andersen. Age 52. Lived in Boston. Educated at Dartmouth. MBA Yale Business School. Relatives deceased. Owner of Andersen Financial. Long time environmental activist. Leaves his partner, S. Rodney Hannigan of Boston. Funeral would be Wednesday at 2pm.
Olivia re-read it. She leaned back in her chair. Why was my picture and address in your wallet, Martin? Who are you? Who were you? Her eyes scanned the write-up again. She made a note. Rodney Hannigan. Looks like I’m going to a funeral, Olivia thought.
***
Joe stood next to Olivia’s Jeep as she opened the driver’s side door.
“I wish you’d let me go along,” Joe pouted.
“It would be a waste of your time. I’m just going to talk to him. It’ll be fine. No sense in you losing time on your project,” Olivia said. “I’ll be ok, Joe. Nothing’s going to happen to me at a funeral.”
“If the guy seems unreceptive then just leave. Don’t push.”
“I won’t push.”
Joe took a deep breath. “I’m uneasy, Liv.”
“I know. Me, too. I’ll be careful.” Olivia hugged him. “I promise.”
Olivia got into the Jeep, buckled the seat belt and started the engine.
“Call me when you’re on your way back,” Joe said.
Olivia rolled her eyes at him.
“I mean it,” Joe told her. “Humor an old man.”
Olivia smiled. “Okay, okay.”
She waved as she pulled away.
***
It took an hour and a half for Olivia to make it to Boston. She used her GPS to find the church and pulled into the parking area in the back. The lot was nearly full. Groups of people were congregating on the sidewalk and in front of the church. Olivia climbed the granite steps and took a seat in the back pew. She wanted to scan the crowd as they entered, but she wasn’t sure what she expected to see.
People took their seats and music began to play. The priest and attendants led the coffin procession down the aisle. A slender, well-groomed man followed behind. His face was drawn and pale. His eyes were red.
Near the end of the service, the funeral director made an announcement inviting attendees to join Mr. Hannigan at a nearby restaurant for luncheon immediately following the ceremony. Burial would be private.
Olivia rose and quietly left the church. She walked to the restaurant and waited outside on the sidewalk. People began to arrive from the church. Two men were about to enter the restaurant when Olivia stepped forward.
“Mr. Hannigan?”
One of the men turned to Olivia.
“May I have a moment?” she asked.
The well-dressed man nodded and his companion went in alone.
“I’m sorry for your loss and I’m sorry to bother you at this time. But I wondered if I could ask you some questions? My name is Olivia Miller.”
“Questions?” Hannigan asked.
“I sat with Mr. Andersen after the accident. Until the ambulance arrived. I was the first one on the scene.”
Hannigan’s eyes misted over. “I see,” he managed. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Thank you for staying with him. I’m grateful that he wasn’t alone.”
“Mr. Hannigan, my aunt passed away in early May. Under what I think…well, what I think are strange circumstances. These two deaths, so close together, they seem…suspicious.” Olivia paused and went on. “Being at the scene with Mr. Andersen, the police took my statement and questioned me.”
Mr. Hannigan nodded.
“The police said that Mr. Andersen had my name and address and picture in his wallet.”
Mr. Hannigan’s eyes widened. “You knew each other?” Hannigan asked.
“No. That’s what’s so puzzling. We never met. Do you have any idea why he had my name? Did he ever mention me to you?”
“No. Never.”
“Did either of you know my aunt? Her name was Aggie Whitney.”
Hannigan shook his head. “No. The name isn’t familiar.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Olivia whispered. “Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Andersen?”
“No, of course not. Martin was kind, gentle. He was a good friend to everyone. Helpful. A good person. I don’t know. I don’t know how this happened.” Tears started to run down Hannigan’s face.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said and touched his arm. “Was anything different? Did he seem like anything was bothering him? Was he worried? Stressed?”
“No. He seemed himself for the most part. Martin was never secretive. He told me everything. He had been in Europe on business until the day before he died.”
“How long was he in Europe?”
“Four weeks. He left May 2. I remember the date because it was my birthday. We had dinner at the airport just before Martin left.”
Olivia’s face was serious. Aggie had died on the night of May 1.
“Was it a scheduled trip?”
“No. In fact, it was quite last minute. Martin had been staying at the house in Ogunquit for about a month. He was working on a book on personal finance and was running his business from the beach house. He was planning on spending two more weeks in Ogunquit but he came home unexpectedly the night before he left for Europe. He said a client in London needed him right away, so he booked the flight for the next day.”
“Do you know who the client was?”
“I don’t.”
“Was it unusual for Mr. Andersen to be called away like that?”
“Oh, not at all. Martin had many high end international clients. When they were in need, they expected Martin there immediately.”
“When did Mr. Hannigan return from London?” Olivia asked.
“The day he was killed.”
“So the very day he returned from Europe, he made a trip back to Ogunquit?” Olivia asked.
“He said that when he was called away so suddenly in May he had left another client’s paperwork at the beach house,” Hannigan said. “He said it was essential. He was planning to drive up that night from the airport, pick up what he needed, have dinner, and return the same evening.”
Olivia nodded.
Hannigan said, “We both have demanding careers with many late nights, overseas travel, events we are expected to attend. I should have canceled my meeting the night he returned. I should have gone to Ogunquit with him. I should have been with him. I…”
