by Tim O'Mara
‘Allison’s working until at least three,’ I said. ‘Can you wait until then? I’m not sure what she wants to do.’
Five seconds of silence. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I need to get Mom home so she can pick out what to wear and make some calls to change plans she had for tomorrow.’
‘Can’t she do that from her cell phone?’
‘She could if she brought it, Ray. But, at the moment, it’s sitting in its charger next to the coffee machine in her kitchen.’ Pause. ‘I need to get her home.’
My mother was likely driving my little sister a bit crazy in her one-bedroom apartment. Lately, she’d been bugging Rachel about all the little changes she’d have to make once she was married. Everything from new dishes to bed linens. It was always better to be in motion with my mother, and the bigger the space the better. I did not envy Rachel the half-hour drive to my mom’s house.
‘Maybe we’ll come out tonight then,’ I said. ‘We’ll have more details by then anyway. Are we even sure there’s a service and that we’re invited?’
‘We’re not sure of anything yet, Ray. But if there’s a service, I’m guessing we will be invited. Marty and Helaine didn’t have that many friends, according to Mom.’
And my mother would know. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s do this: I’ll call you later this afternoon and we’ll come up with a plan. Allison and I will either come out tonight or early tomorrow morning. You can get us at the station, right?’
‘Instead of you taking a car service, of course.’
Rachel couldn’t help but take those little shots at me. Apparently not having a car was yet another sign of my immaturity. In truth, not owning a car was one of the major reasons I loved living in Brooklyn. My sister insisted on owning one, even though she lived in Queens. This meant she had to move it from one side of the street to the other a few times a week – the famous ‘alternate side parking’ hell of the five boroughs – and also pay a good chunk for insurance money just for the privilege of driving around the New York City area a few times a month.
‘I’ll call you later then. Give my love to Mom.’
‘I’ll be sure to do that, Ray.’
We ended the call just as the buzzer told me my clothes were dry: one more accomplishment for the day. The socks and underwear were in their respective places in my bureau when the phone rang again. This time, I did not recognize the number. I thought of letting it go to voicemail, but after the events of last night, opted instead to pick up.
‘Hello?’
‘Raymond?’ A male voice.
‘Yeah.’ I waited for a response. None seemed to be coming. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Who’s this?’
I heard some coughing and then the caller cleared his throat. ‘Oh, sorry, man,’ he said. ‘It’s Martin. Martin Stover.’
The name sent a tingle up my arms. It took me a few seconds: Marty’s kid. I guess he was going by Martin now. What the hell is he calling me for?
‘Hey, Martin,’ I said. ‘Listen, I’m so sorry about what happened to your dad. How are you and your mom holding up?’
‘Honestly, Ray,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to tell. We got home last night, heard the news, and then had to head back into the city. Your uncle had one of his people drive us back in, though. Good thing, too. I don’t know if I’d have made it.’
‘Yeah, he told me he was going to arrange that. Are you back home now?’
‘No. The cops kept us until after midnight. Mom and I decided to stay overnight. Not that either one of us was able to sleep. We got a room downtown. Not the Village. Chelsea, I guess? I don’t know the city like my dad did.’
‘Were they able to tell you anything new?’
‘Who?’
‘The cops. Were they able to tell you and your mother anything about … you know, what happened to your dad?’
He was silent for a few beats. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not why I’m calling.’
Why are you calling?
‘We just got a call from the cops.’
‘They need to talk to you again?’
‘No,’ he said. He was coming across like this was all too much for him. I heard him take a deep breath. ‘Not those cops. The Nassau County cops.’
‘Nassau? What do they want?’
He cleared his throat again. When he spoke again, he sounded like a two-pack a day smoker. ‘Dad’s office was broken into.’
Shit. ‘When?’
‘Late last night, early this morning. They’re not quite sure.’
I was about to ask if the police thought the break-in was connected to the murder, but that’s the kind of question I was working on not asking. But still: why was he calling me? What could I do for him now?
As if reading my mind, Martin Stover said, ‘They want a family member out there. To sign off on some paperwork or something. You know better than I do how this stuff works, right?’
‘I guess,’ I said. ‘But I’m not family.’
‘Actually, Ray. You are.’
It took me a while, but then I got it. Marty Stover had never dissolved the partnership after my dad’s death. He had arranged it – the way only lawyers can understand – that my family would be a limited partner and be eligible for what amounted to profit sharing from the practice. From what I understood, it worked better for my mother in the long run than Marty just buying her out. Marty was good that way.
‘So you want me to …’
‘Yeah, Ray, if you would. Mom finally passed out a few hours ago after I gave her some of my sleeping pills.’ Which you just happened to have on you? ‘Anxiety meds, actually,’ he explained. ‘They knocked her out, and I don’t wanna wake her up until I have to. I’m sitting here in the room making arrangements with the temple for tomorrow and trying to get the word out. I could head back to the Island, but I don’t wanna leave Mom alone, you know?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I gotcha.’ I wasn’t quite sure what I could do at the law office, but if that’s what the cops wanted, I’d do it. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘Thanks, Ray. I guess I’ll either see you later or tomorrow.’
I ended the call and looked at the time. I’d have to call Allison and my sister. It looked like I’d be on Long Island before Rachel and my mother. I also needed to call Edgar. He had a car and was always willing to let me borrow it.
And he was going to love the reason why. A murder victim’s office had been broken into the day after his murder and I was going to the scene of the crime.
My second one in two days.
NINE
‘I really appreciate this, Edgar,’ I said as he got out of his car, illegally parked in front of my apartment. ‘I owe you one.’
He joined me on the sidewalk and said, ‘I know a way you can pay me back, Raymond.’ He paused for some dramatic effect that he couldn’t quite pull off. ‘Immediately.’ He adjusted his eyeglasses, tilted back his baseball cap, and stuck his hands in his pockets. Even behind those thick lenses, I could see his eyes grow three sizes. ‘I mean, like, right now.’
Oh, really? I thought. Then I asked the question I already knew the answer to.
‘And how’s that, Edgar?’
‘You can take me with you, Raymond. I mean, how cool would that be? You’re going to check on your dad’s old office that was broken into right after – or during or before – your dad’s old partner was murdered. That is real cop stuff, man. Talk about cool beans.’
Edgar talked a lot about cool beans, usually in relation to something to do with ‘cop stuff.’ This clearly fit the bill in his mind.
‘Edgar,’ I began, ‘I’m only going out there as a formality. They need someone to sign off on the crime scene. Legally, my family – my mother – still owns part of the firm, so … Besides, there’s not going to be much to see. It was a break-in, at a law firm, when no one was around. It’ll be boring.’
‘Not to me,’ he said. ‘And don’t try telling me it’ll be dangerous, either. You just said it was going to be
boring. Boring is not dangerous.’
He had me there. For better or worse, he was learning to think like me.
‘How am I going to explain your presence at the scene to a bunch of cops I’ve never met, Edgar? I just brought a friend?’
‘You can introduce me as your security specialist,’ he said, almost imperceptibly puffing out his chest. ‘I can check the alarms, the access points, see if anyone tried to get into the computers.’ He smiled before his next sentence. ‘Isn’t this the kinda stuff you tell me I have to practice? Getting out into the real world, talking to real investigators at real scenes and not just at bars?’
Edgar was a regular at The LineUp, the cop bar where I worked every Tuesday night. It was owned by Mrs McVernon, whose deceased husband came out of the police academy with my uncle and had worked the same streets with him. Edgar did a lot of talking at the bar, and we’d been working on his listening skills. And, again, he got me. This was exactly the sort of situation I’d been helping him become more at ease with.
I held out my hand. ‘Give me the keys, Edgar.’
‘Oh, come on, Raymond. I promise, I won’t say a—’
‘Give me the keys so I can drive, Edgar. I don’t want you all excited behind the wheel on the Long Island Expressway.’
It took him a few seconds to realize I had just said yes. He put the keys in my open palm, opened the passenger-side door, and got inside the car before I could change my mind. Anybody watching might think I was taking a kid out to see his first Yankees game.
Traffic on the Long Island Expressway – also known as the LIE or ‘The World’s Longest Parking Lot’ – was not too bad this particular Saturday afternoon. On the ride in from Brooklyn, Edgar suggested it would be a good idea to get any computer passwords we’d need from Marty’s son. I made a quick call, told him what we needed, and he obliged.
We pulled into a parking spot behind the law firm about fifty minutes after leaving Brooklyn and parked between a Nassau County cop car and a dark-blue town car that probably belonged to a detective. The break-in at Marty’s office was getting the royal treatment. My uncle’s friend on the Nassau PD must have received another call.
I always liked going to my dad’s office. He and Marty had purchased an old two-story house, one of the oldest in this town. They had turned the bedrooms into offices, the living room into a waiting and reception area, and the kitchen into a break room. Since my father’s death, Marty had finished the upstairs and rented out those ‘offices’ to a variety of lawyers throughout the years. I think that’s where Marty Junior got his start. Now he was downstairs with his dad.
‘Now remember,’ I said to Edgar as I pulled the key out of the ignition, ‘you are not to speak unless you’re spoken to.’
‘Or if I notice something they clearly overlooked,’ he said as if that made all the sense in the world. Edgar, like a lot of techie folks, likes to point out others’ oversights.
‘Uh-uh. Then you speak to me. I’ll bring it to their attention.’
‘You sound like you don’t trust me, Raymond.’
I opened my door and he followed suit, bringing his laptop bag with him. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you,’ I said across the roof of the car. ‘Think of this as your first class. You’re more of an observer than a participant.’
‘But what if I—’
‘Then you talk directly to me.’ Before he could argue again, I added, ‘You’re my security specialist, remember? Not theirs.’
That cheered him up. We walked to the front of the house – around an attached garage that Marty had put in after my father’s death – and were met by a uniformed Nassau County officer. She was about forty, made the uniform look good, and seemed to be thinking of better ways to spend her Saturday than babysitting an office robbery. She slipped her cell phone into her pocket and stood a little straighter as we approached.
Behind me, I heard Edgar mumble, ‘Wow.’ He was never easy around women, and now he was about to meet an attractive one in a cop’s uniform? It was every cop nerd’s dream. I just hoped he could keep his cool.
‘Can I help you gentlemen?’ she asked. Her badge read ‘Mueller.’
‘I’m Raymond Donne, Officer Mueller,’ I said. It was weird saying that to a cop and getting absolutely no reaction. We were not in New York City anymore. ‘I’m here about the robbery, representing the Stover and Donne families.’
‘You a lawyer?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Schoolteacher.’ Again, no reaction. ‘Is there a detective inside we can talk to?’
‘Wait here, please.’ She disappeared through the front door. Edgar let out a deep sigh he’d been holding in. A minute later, Mueller re-emerged and said, ‘Go on in.’
‘Thanks,’ I said and motioned Edgar to follow me. He did, careful not to get too close to the woman he’d be thinking about for the next few days.
It had been a lot of years since I last stepped foot into my father’s offices. It still smelled the same – like old law books – and I was hit by a jolt of nostalgia. This was where my dad spent most of my youth, away from his family. I would go here sometimes on weekends when my mother had things to do. Rachel and I would set up in the living room and either do homework or watch TV. It was almost like our parents were divorced and this was my father’s new house. The living room we were standing in was familiar. The TV was gone and the furniture had been updated, but it still looked the same.
A large man in a dark suit came out of one of the offices. In honor of this being a Saturday morning, he apparently had chosen not to shave or completely tie his purple necktie. As he tapped his notebook against his thigh, he stepped over to me and Edgar, gave us both a look, and asked the two of us, ‘Which one of you is Mr Donne?’
‘That would be me,’ I said, sticking out my hand. As he shook it, I said, ‘And this is Edgar O’Brien.’
‘Detective Carney.’ He shook an obviously pleased Edgar’s hand as well. ‘So this is your father’s place, huh?’
‘It was,’ I said. ‘He’s been dead for a while now.’
He scrunched up his eyes. ‘Then why are you here?’
I explained about the deal between Marty and my family the best I could. The detective pretended to understand my non-legal and confusing explanation. He looked around the place. ‘Well, the good news is it was a pretty clean break-in, as far as these things go. A neighbor was walking his dog this morning and noticed the front door was open. He knew Mr Stover and had never seen the door like that. When he called inside and got no answer, he called nine-one-one.’ He scratched the inside of his ear and then examined his finger. Finding nothing of interest there, he said, ‘If you see something, say something, I guess.’
‘Was anything stolen?’ I asked.
‘I thought that’s what you’re here to tell us, Mr Donne.’
How the hell was I supposed to know if anything had been taken from the office? The living room looked fine to me after twenty-something years, and I wasn’t sure what I’d be able to tell the detective about the offices. I thought I had been summoned just to sign some papers and make sure the place was locked up again.
Edgar cleared his throat. I looked over at him and watched as his face closed in on itself. He was clearly dying to say something. ‘Excuse me,’ I said to the detective and pulled Edgar off to the side. ‘What is it, Edgar?’
‘Access point?’ he whispered, sounding like an impatient teenager. ‘How’d the burglar get in without setting off an alarm?’
I thought about that and nodded. I turned back to Detective Carney. ‘Mr O’Brien is a security specialist,’ I explained. ‘He’d like to know how the burglar got in without setting off any alarms.’
Carney looked at Edgar as if he were a rare specimen. Edgar got that look a lot.
‘You brought a security specialist? For this?’
‘He happened to be with me when I got the call from Martin Stover. Junior. He also offered to drive me out, so …’
‘Doesn’t your
security specialist talk to anyone but you?’
‘He does, of course. It’s just that when he’s taking in a scene, he prefers to speak only to his client.’ I stepped closer to the detective and added, ‘It’s a bit of a quirk, I know, but he’s real good at his job, so I live with it.’
I let Carney soak that in. ‘Well,’ he said after a while, ‘for a lawyer, Mr Stover didn’t have the best security system. He did have the front and back doors alarmed, along with all the first-floor windows. Apparently, our burglar accessed the house through an unalarmed upstairs window, and when it was time to leave, he was able to walk out the front door without setting off the alarm. It’s one of those old-school systems you can shut off from inside without a password.’
I nodded like I knew anything about home alarms and security systems. ‘Any idea when the break-in occurred?’
Carney checked his notebook. ‘Neighbor called it in at eighty-thirty-five, so any time before eighty-thirty-four would be my guess.’ He followed that with a sly smirk.
You gotta love a detective with a sense of humor. I could just imagine my uncle chewing on this guy’s ass after a comment like that.
‘Obviously,’ I said. ‘I guess we should have a look around.’ I felt myself getting into this now. If not for my curiosity then for the sheer joy of extending the funny detective’s Saturday afternoon. ‘Edgar.’ I turned to my security specialist. ‘Why don’t you check the computers in the offices down here? See if anyone tried to access them.’
That got Carney’s attention. ‘I don’t think he should be touching anything, Mr Donne. This is a crime scene.’
‘Do you want to call in your tech people?’ I asked. ‘I have complete faith in my man here. We have the passwords for the computers and he is here. How long would it take your people to arrive? On a Saturday?’
Carney mulled that over and it didn’t take him long to see the plus side of having Edgar check out the computers. The quicker the computers were checked out, the quicker we could all get out of here.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘But I’m gonna have Officer Mueller come in and watch him.’
