“You know why he wants to buy this house? Not to possess it and its history, but to obliterate it. To make the main floor a kitchen. The whole thing. Wipe out three-hundred-year-old hand-hewn floors and trim, rip out the grace and proportions, and toss in the fanciest, hot trend appliances. A wine cellar in the basement, TV room on the second floor, closets on the third.”
He sneered his disdain. He and Imogen Wooton were on the same wavelength.
“What about Jamie’s house?”
“Oh, yeah, he’s been after her to sell. Quite the campaign. After his uncharming charm offensive didn’t work, she was the first to get his dirty tricks treatment. And she’s — she was such a nice person. She never gave him shit back. Even though she’s worked so hard to fix up that house after her great-aunt wasn’t able to do much in her last years. And Phil wants to turn it into a garage. Turn a historic building into a two-story garage. And tear the top floor off for a roof deck.”
Tear out Jamie’s office. Belichek shifted to absorb an unexpected discomfort at that.
“How do you know all this?” he asked.
Garrison Enderbe did some shifting of his own. Belichek felt more than saw Landis’ increased attention.
“Victorina mentioned it.”
“Victorina Xavier, Phil’s wife?” After Garrison nodded confirmation, Landis asked casually, “You talk to her a lot?”
“Not a lot. Some. We’re neighbors. She’s not a bad person. He does crappy things to people, then leaves her to take the blowback — not that neighbors do anything to her. Most of them are cold, though, give her a wide berth. Because of him.”
Belichek bet Garrison didn’t give her a wide berth, and didn’t treat her coldly.
“What sort of crappy things has he done to people?”
“The things that can get under your skin with an annoying neighbor. You know.”
“Give me examples.”
“It’s nothing I know for sure. It’s just… Okay, I’ll tell you a few things. After my father told him there was no way in hell he’d sell to him, I’d come home and there’d be garbage in my back garden. Like somebody took a bag of trash out of the can and threw it over the back gate. Six days in a row — never Xavier’s garbage, always somebody else’s. Until I added cameras back there, along with a big sign saying I had cameras. My car got keyed, too. Twice.
“Before that, other neighbors swore he was the one who smashed potted plants they had on their front steps, had dog feces dropped in front of their houses — always right after some sort of run-in with Phil. No proof on those, but there is with what he did up in Delaware, I think. He owned a retail building in this little historic town and he wanted to expand it, modernize it, and the town denied permission because it was clearly against the code. So, he searched through the code, finds a loophole and opens an adult bookstore, right there in the middle of town. Finally, some of the people got together and bought the building off him, but he made an obscene profit.”
“How’d you hear about that?”
“My dad tracked it down when he was doing background on Phil.” He grinned again, this one not as pleasant. “As soon as Xavier bought that house, Dad researched him. Then he warned Jamie and Imogen and me, of course. He also warned the Old Town Committee what to expect. Even if Imogen, Jamie, and I gave in, they’d never let him do what he’s talking about.”
“But now Jamie’s gone. That might change the situation,” Landis reminded him.
The shadows returned that made him look older than his age.
“You don’t think he… He couldn’t have.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They took the long way around the block to Xavier’s house, with a pause where they crossed the far end of the alley while Belichek called back his most recent caller. “Mags.”
He held the phone so they could both hear.
She answered with, “Nothing.”
That was Mags, cutting to the chase with her first word so they knew where they stood.
“No sign of Jamie.” She allowed no sorrow into the word. “No sign of anyone being here. But — I take it back. There is something from the sheriff who came out. The owner of the cabin is Hendrickson York.”
“We just talked to him. Never said a word.” Landis was pissed.
Approving his pissed state, Maggie said, “Wish I could be a fly on the wall of your next conversation.”
* * * *
No one responded to their second round of knocking and doorbell-ringing at Phil Xavier’s house.
They picked up takeout at a hole-in-the wall Landis knew.
Driving back to the department, Landis said, “Enderbe sure doesn’t like Phil Xavier. His horror at the end, think that was genuine?”
“Politician,” Belichek reminded him. “What about the car business?”
“Politician or not, I say he’s probably telling the truth someone nearly ran him over. We’ll check. Doesn’t mean it was Jamison Chancellor’s car.”
“No. But if it was…”
“Look at the possibilities. At least the possibilities that would tie into our case. It’s her car and she’s driving and she’s trying to get away? Then why go back and get killed in her house later? She was killed there. That much the scientists agree on. It’s the killer in the car? Again, trying to get away? Then why go back and park it in the garage and leave it?”
“Second thoughts. Killed her, took the car to get away, then — when it’s not reported right away — calms down and figures the safest thing is to go on with outwardly normal life. Puts the car back when nobody’s around and quietly glides away.”
Landis stopped sharply at a newly-turned red light. “I’ll get to forensics. Make sure they collect the car and process it, get what DNA they can. Should have done it in the first place.”
“Looked like it had been sitting there peacefully. But the thing with DNA, just about anyone we’ve talked to so far could have ridden in that car under ordinary circumstances.”
“Yeah. That’s why they’ll check the driver’s seat extra carefully. Especially for that ex-boyfriend’s DNA.”
“He’s top of the charts?”
“Aren’t the nearest and dearest always? Besides, he’d be the most likely to give her a ride. Maybe she wasn’t going to be alone at this cabin — wherever it is — for the whole time.”
“Everyone says she’d ended it.”
“Maybe their relationship was exes with benefits. You coming in?” He’d pulled into a spot in the underground parking garage.
“Thought I’d do some other digging.”
“Another night at the Chancellor house?”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ve got a shitload of reports to go through.” He looked significantly at Belichek.
“Hey. Why don’t I come in, help go through them?”
“Great idea.”
* * * *
When they finally left the otherwise deserted detective bullpen, Landis went home for his first sleep in a bed since getting the call. Belichek returned to Jamie’s house.
He parked a block and a half away and took a circuitous route, leading him into the alley from the opposite end of the block. No sense having someone notice his car.
The gates of the four dark houses — Jamie’s, Imogene’s, Phil Xavier, and Garrison’s/his father’s — were all locked.
DAY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ford Belichek sat in his childhood room alone.
His own room. Neat and private. Windows that opened to trees and clear sky. A closet with clean clothes.
He didn’t take any of that for granted, even though he’d lived with his grandparents six years now.
He could hear his grandparents’ voices from downstairs.
Gran’s concerned in a way he’d never heard before.
Grandpa’s dug in deep, not giving an inch.
His grandmother said something about an old movie, which made no sense. Not at the time.
What c
ould a movie have to do with Grandpa being away so much and, when he was here, not being like himself. Instead, looking gray and hard, but with something deep in his eyes that unsettled Ford, because he’d never seen it in the older man’s eyes.
The man he most respected in this world. The man who’d arrived when he most needed him…
Or was that bit about the old movie something planted far more recently in his brain by Landis? Did he really remember that?
Did he really connect it with his grandmother saying his grandfather was taking some case far, far too much to heart?
* * * *
Belichek woke from a head-nodding drowse when Jamie’s journal hit the floor.
He’d started by reading her journal, which ended in August. Either she hadn’t kept one after that or it was gone. Taken? Despite nothing else up here in the office appearing touched.
If she’d stopped, that would be worth knowing. He’d ask Mags, but doubted she and Jamie exchanged journaling anecdotes. Maybe her cousin Ally knew.
After the most recent volume, he’d picked up the next oldest one, which had the two previous years in it. He started at its beginning and read through, then went to the volume older than that and started at its beginning, then the next volume older … and on.
It was a little disjointed, seeing Jamison Chancellor’s life through her own eyes by jumping backward in a chunk, then moving forward incrementally.
The most recent volume he’d completed had started with the earliest days of the foundation. Within this one should be the death of her aunt and what preceded it. But the beginning of this volume showed her as a carefree kid, which must have let him relax enough to fall asleep.
He picked it up, debating going. The sky still had enough dark in it to give him a couple hours sleep.
Then he saw a phrase about the end of school the next day and the start of summer vacation, including staying at her Aunt Vivian’s with Maggie and Ally.
He poured himself coffee from a thermos.
He needed to be alert to read this.
* * * *
The listens for Death, Murder, Violence spiked yesterday. But if he had nothing new, they’d drop even faster.
Oliver Zeedyk stared at the graph on the screen. He couldn’t wait until the next regularly scheduled episode. He needed to pick it up now to keep this growing.
The damned cops weren’t doing anything.
He needed that to change.
Fast, before DMV lost momentum.
He needed more. Something fresh.
Let’s see what he could stir up.
Kickstart this baby.
* * * *
Landis planted his hands on the desktop and leaned forward. He was tall enough to cover the depth of the desk and still loom above Hendrickson York.
“I asked you if you knew anything we should know and you lied to us. Outright lied.”
“I didn’t. I don’t know—”
“You know Jamison Chancellor was supposed to go to your cabin in Pennsylvania.”
Belichek could have told York it was no use. Landis was testy about the roadblocks to the investigation and itching to chew on somebody’s ass.
He’d seen all that the minute Landis picked him up at the Chancellor house first thing this morning. Also, that he was better rested now, so he’d have more energy for that chewing.
“But she didn’t. Go there, I mean. So, how could that possibly have any bearing on her death here, in her own house?”
“We decide what could or couldn’t have a bearing on her death. You tell us everything you know. That’s how this works. And if you don’t tell us everything, how else it works is we get you down to the department for formal questioning because we’re wondering what the heck you’re trying to hide.”
The man lost color so fast and so completely, that heart attack flashed into Belichek’s mind.
“Hide? I’m not trying to hide anything. If you’d asked me—”
“We went through that before. You tell without us asking. No excuses. You knew she planned to leave town and go stay at your cabin and you didn’t mention it.”
“I didn’t — I simply never thought of it. She has had a key to the cabin for quite some years. She could go there at will. She knew that. But it didn’t matter. She never left Fairlington.”
Landis went cool and calm. “I decide what matters.”
He stared until the older man nodded.
Landis went over the questions again, digging into the details, getting the same answers.
Belichek wouldn’t swear York didn’t have more he could tell them, but he was sure the man wouldn’t tell them now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Belichek’s stride slowed as he neared the detectives’ bullpen and heard Terrington’s voice.
“—can say what you like. He should be here no matter how many cases he’s solved. You know where he’s spending all his time? At the murder scene. Roy Isaacson heard it from patrol. What is he doing getting totally weird and spending the night at that dead woman’s house?”
“Hey, Belichek,” Felicia Ewer, one of the burglary detail, said.
She probably thought she’d done him a favor by shutting up Terrington, but he’d been fine with the guy running his mouth.
“Morning.”
“Landis is in the break room.”
“Thanks.” He could have waited for his partner to return to the desk near his, but out of a sense of obligation for the would-be favor, he went into the break room.
Belichek had made a detour to call Maggie away from the nosiness of his fellow detectives, ostensibly updating her on the visit to York, but also assessing how she was. Not great about summed that up.
She didn’t mention and he didn’t ask if J.D. Carson was around. Maybe the guy had gone back to Bedhurst, where he was half of a two-person law firm.
The break room’s institutional lighting bounced off bright white tables with a force reminiscent of the movies’ versions of old interrogation techniques. On the upside, the fridge, microwave — and most important — coffeemaker all worked.
“What’s this?” Belichek asked of takeout cartons spread across one table.
These didn’t usually sprout until lunchtime. Full bloom came at dinner. Only the hardiest made a showing late-night.
“Civic-minded citizens showing their appreciation with a little breakfast buffet.” Landis selected a breakfast sandwich and put it in the microwave.
“Huh.”
Landis frowned, looking him up and down. “What’s with you, Belichek? You’re looking woebegone.”
“You were the one griping yesterday about no ID.”
“But that’s me. You don’t usually get this morose unless it looks like we’re going to come up empty. You know something I don’t?”
“Know a whole hell of a lot you don’t.”
Landis stayed on the scent. “About this case. Something from Maggie—?”
“No.”
“Or something else that—” The microwave beeped. Landis punched the button to stop its noise, but didn’t open it. “It’s like you think we’ve already failed.”
“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Landis rocked back. “If that’s your criterium, we’re screwed from the get-go. They’re all dead when we start.”
“Have you ever thought about how much we know about the victims, about dead people? Except even with all we know, it’s like encountering Frankenstein’s Monster. Bits and pieces of a human being without the heart and soul.”
“You’re getting poetic on me, Belichek?” Landis opened the microwave, swaddling the breakfast sandwich with napkins with one hand while he looked at the screen of his phone held in the other.
Responding to Landis’ frown, Belichek asked, “Something important?”
“Not to the case.”
He groaned. He should have recognized that frown. “Which one?”
“The psychologist.”
“Isn’t she connected
to the department? Not to mention married. Landis—”
“Consultant. Not department staff. As for married, that’s her decision. Besides,” Landis continued, “her husband’s probably some soft bureaucrat who wears a three-piece suit to walk his dog. She lacked excitement in her life.”
He used to steer well clear of women with any association with the department. This psychologist was bad, but there was another one that worried Belichek more.
A judge.
Not a judge they appeared before, but… Christ. A judge.
He’d seen Landis talking with her in a courthouse hallway, and knew immediately.
Landis and Isaacson, neither one could keep it in their pants.
The difference was Landis didn’t mess close to home. Though he’d be uncomfortably close with this judge. In the building. That wasn’t something he’d done before.
Roy, though, had gone after and caught Mags — temporarily. Until the dumb shit cheated on her with a fellow officer. By the time he tried to get her back, this guy Carson was in the scene.
He’d done right by Mags at the scene. Beyond that, they’d see. And judge.
Which brought him back to his partner and females.
“I don’t give a damn if she’s panting at your zipper, Landis. She’s got that chunk of gold around her finger, stay the hell away, for once.”
“I went to her talks on how to know if you’re burned out because I was worried about my partner. You got what you want in here? I’ve got a mile-high stack back at my desk.”
Landis was dishing bull, but Belichek wasn’t going to fight this old battle right now.
“Only came in here to get you.”
But Landis came back to the topic, at least the part he wanted to talk about. His voice lowered as they neared the door. “The glass offices are worried about you burning out, too, Bel. Having you working this case catches them by the short hairs. They know what HR and the medical people said about forcing you to take time off. But they want you on the case. And there’s Terrington bleating about being told he’d be second, then getting booted down when the great and powerful Belichek rematerialized. Plus, some whack-a-doodle podcaster’s shooting off his mouth. Then throw in Isaacson stirring the pot and I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent out the guys with nets for you any moment.”
Price of Innocence Page 10
