Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 01 - Murder Off the Books (23 page)

He grimaced. “You know exactly what I’m driving. I’m sure the frost-bitten cop I saw throwing the Frisbee radioed you two seconds after he saw me get out of that exterminator truck.”

“Joe Bryant is doing a great job pretending to be a student. He’s been camped outside for the last few days playing with that thing,” Bobbie said with a laugh. “He’s trying to impress
Greeley so he can get permanently assigned to the detective squad. He really wants out of that patrol car. He’s been on the edges of this case since the first call. Were we ever that damn young and eager?”

Mac started for the door, but then turned around. “Speaking of cars–you said Lenore’s roommate came by to pick her up the other day?”

“Housemate. Yeah.”

“What was wrong with Lenore’s car? Why did she need a ride?”

“She didn’t say.” Bobbie stared at him. “You think that’s important?”

He shrugged, thinking Lenore might have loaned her car to her boyfriend. “Maybe, especially if her boyfriend is Dan Thayer.”

***

“Where did you get the binoculars, Sam?”

“My Dad gave them to me a couple of years ago–before Tina-the-‘ho arrived on the scene–when he still remembered birthdays.” Bitterness oozed from the teen’s pores. “I grabbed them from the house the other day and stuck them in my bag. Thought they might come in handy.”

Ray shifted his position so he could see the doorway to Lenore Adams’ house. “Do you see anything?”

“No. Least not since that tall woman with the hat arrived.”

“You sure that wasn’t your uncle?”

“I’m sure.” Sam chuckled. “That woman was centerfold material.”

Carrie frowned and pulled her jacket closed. She knelt down next to the two boys behind the hedge. “Are you looking for your uncle or what? Cause I’ve got other things I could be doing–”

“You all have other things you should be doing.” Mac’s voice was loud enough that all three jumped and Carrie gave a little scream.

“Quiet,” Sam said, glaring at Carrie and then the detective. “Do you want everyone to know we’re out here?”

“Everyone knows already. I’m here to give you one chance to leave voluntarily before the police arrest you.”

Sam scrambled to his feet. “Bullshit. It’s a free country. We’re not on private property. We’re not bothering anyone.”

“You’re screwing up a police investigation. Obstructing justice. If that’s not enough they can tack on a charge of being annoying as hell.” Mac put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I want all of you to–”

“Keep your hands off me, old man.” Sam took a step back, shrugging off the detective’s hand. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Ray touched Sam’s arm. “I don’t think we’re doing any good here anyway. Dan doesn’t seem to be around.”

“Guys, is that–”

“We haven’t been here long enough to determine anything for sure. Lenore hasn’t been home more than twenty minutes. We only–”

“Centerfold? I don’t think so.”

“Mac, I’m sorry about earlier,” Ray said, his expression contrite. “I couldn’t tell you what we were planning–”

“Guys,” Carrie grabbed Ray’s arm to get his attention just as a car’s security system beeped, signaling its disengagement.

“What?” Ray asked. All three males stared at her.

She sighed and pointed towards Lenore’s house.

Mac and the boys parted the branches in the hedge so they could see.

Lenore and her housemate were standing at her car, a third figure hovering in the house’s doorway.

Mac thought Carrie had a point. The woman definitely wasn’t centerfold material.

“That’s Uncle Dan getting into the car,” Sam whispered, punching Ray’s shoulder. “I told you we could find him.”

“You and everyone else,” Mac said as a half-dozen police cars screeched onto the scene and the couple dashed back into the house.

Chapter 32

Rachel pushed open the funeral home doors and steeled herself for getting through another day of chaos.

“Mrs. Brenner? Do you still work here?” Myrna Bird asked, glaring at her over her bifocals. “It’s practically the middle of the afternoon.”

“Sorry. Mr. O’Herlihy is aware of my situation.”

“Why do you have Mr. Sullivan’s dog in here?”

“There’s a possibility of cats roaming the viewing rooms. Whiskey is here as a consultant to help us deal with the situation.”

Whiskey made a sound that Rachel took as agreement.

Mrs. Bird made a sound that Rachel took as disbelief, before she hurried off to answer a ringing phone.

“Rachel, dear, how are you today?” Althea Martin appeared behind her carrying a foil-covered plate. “I knew you wouldn’t have eaten anything substantial after that terrible experience you went through yesterday, so I fixed you some lunch. I stopped by your house first, but I must have just missed you. Did you walk again–I noticed your van was still at your house.”

Whiskey raised her nose, seeking the source of the food smell.

“My van wouldn’t start–again. I’m fine, even if everything else is falling apart. I spent the morning cleaning the house and trying to…well, you understand.” Rachel unlocked her office door. “I’m so sorry that I haven’t picked up Snickers yet.”

“No rush at all, dear. I love the company. In fact I’m considering getting a pet.” Althea set the plate on Rachel’s desk and gave Whiskey a pat. “I see you’ve acquired another companion.”

Rachel smiled. “She’s just on loan. I’ll be returning her to Mr. Sullivan today.”

“Well, I have to get to my women’s club. Kathleen O’Herlihy is presenting her research on pharmaceutical stocks.” Althea gave a pained laugh. “With the number of prescriptions I buy each month, I already feel like I own stock in the drug companies.”

“Thank you so much for the food.” Rachel smiled at the woman and then glanced down at Whiskey, whose twitching nose was resting on the desk only inches from the foil-covered plate. “I’m sure
we’ll enjoy every bite.”

The phone rang and Althea waved her goodbyes.

Rachel moved the plate to the safety of the center of her desk and answered the phone. “Rachel Brenner, how can I help you?” She lifted up a corner of the foil and peeked inside. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, hot rolls. Comfort food.

Whiskey whined her interest.

“Hi. I’m Julianna Jarrett, Mac Sullivan’s assistant.”

“Yes. Mr. Sullivan has mentioned you.” Rachel balanced the phone between her head and shoulder, while breaking off a piece of roll for the dog.

“Mr. Sullivan wanted me to pass on a message; he’s having cell phone problems.”

“What’s the message?”

“Let me read it to you. Sam didn’t go back to Philly–”

“
He what
?” She absentmindedly held the roll aloft, concentrating on the caller’s words.

“Your son didn’t go back to college. Mr. Sullivan said that Sam and his friends were playing detective and stumbled into the middle of a police stakeout.”

Whiskey gracefully rose up on her back legs and delicately relieved Rachel of the burden of holding the roll.

“No. That’s just not possible. Sam went back to
Philadelphia last night. Mac took him to the train himself.”

“Well, I don’t know about any train. Mr. Sullivan said that he talked the police into releasing them into his custody a few minutes ago and that he wants you to meet him at his office as soon as possible so he can hand them over. He’s not a babysitter, you know.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I know you’re just passing on the message.” Rachel took a deep breath. “Can you give me the address to his office?”

She grabbed a notepad and wrote down the street and building number, thinking Mac hadn’t chosen a great part of town to locate his business.

“Okay. I’ve got it. I’m leaving now. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Rachel disconnected the call and then dialed her son’s dorm room number and listened to the phone’s ring go unheeded long enough to wake the dead–or a college freshman.

She slammed the phone down. Her son was not where he was supposed to be. Mac Sullivan was right. She only hoped the detective was able to keep him out of trouble long enough for her to get to his office and pick up Sam and his partners in crime.

Whiskey whined and nudged her hand.

Rachel pulled the foil off the plate and set it down on the floor. The news of her son’s antics had eliminated her appetite, but someone should enjoy Althea’s food.

Her office door suddenly opened and Ms. Bird stuck her head inside. “The local stations are airing it live. Your brother is in a shootout with the police.”

***

“The house is surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

Crouched behind a police car, its lights still flashing, the head of the SWAT team relayed his demands through a bullhorn.

Ray watched dumbstruck as uniformed officers traveled to nearby houses, moving neighbors out of danger. He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. He felt detached–as if he’d been plopped down in the middle of an action movie and didn’t know his lines.

“
Let me talk to him,” Sam pleaded to the lieutenant who roamed the scene. “He’ll listen to me. You don’t have to hurt him.”

“I want all three of these kids taken into custody,”
Greeley ordered. He shifted his steely gaze to the private detective standing with them.

Mac stepped up. “I’ll be responsible for them.”

“We don’t need your help.” Sam snapped. He started forward, fists clenched, but was stopped in his tracks when Ray grabbed his arm.

“
Yes we do.” Carrie turned tearfully to the lieutenant. “We’ll stick with Mr. Sullivan.”

“I’m thinking of having him arrested too,”
Greeley growled, but then moved over to the group of sharpshooters who had their rifle sights trained on the front door.

“Thayer!” The cop with the bullhorn called out to the silent house. “Pick up the phone, Thayer. Don’t make this hard on yourself.”

A police negotiator stood with a cell phone against his ear. He shook his head. “He’s not answering.”

“How long do we wait,” one of the cops asked
Greeley.

A loud bang shook the air, startling everyone.

A white-faced Sam ran towards the house, breaking through the police line. Two patrolmen tackled him before he crossed the street.

“Hold your fire,”
Greeley ordered, waving a hand at the other officers. “Cuff the kid and put him in a patrol car. I don’t want to see,” he paused as Sam began screaming his uncle’s name, “or hear him again today.”

Ray’s eyes met the lieutenant’s. He read
Greeley’s expression and he prudently moved over next to Mac, pulling a frightened Carrie with him.

Greeley
grabbed the bullhorn from the patrolman standing next to him and faced the house. “Thayer, the boy is fine, but this has to stop before someone gets hurt.”

“What happened?” Ray asked.

“Car backfire,” Mac answered. “Sam thought someone was shooting so he ran right into the middle of it. I think that trait is one he inherited from his mother.”

“Thayer, answer the damn phone. Now!”
Greeley said, his voice booming through the bullhorn once more.

After a moment, the police negotiator handed a cell phone to
Greeley. The lieutenant listened for a moment, then answered Thayer. “The boy’s unharmed, in police custody. But if you don’t give it up now, I can guarantee you someone is going to get hurt. I’ve got some tear gas canisters that I need to use before the expiration date expires.”

Ray looked from
Greeley back to Mac. “He’s not really going to….”

Mac shook his head. “Only if he has to.”

The door to the house opened.

“Hold your fire,”
Greeley ordered the officers. “He’s agreed to come out.”

Dan Thayer, Lenore Adams, and a tall woman with long blonde hair gingerly stepped out onto the house’s front porch with their hands held high above their heads.

***

Rachel’s hands shook as she grabbed her purse, briefcase, and Whiskey’s leash. “Okay, I’ve got to go.”

“Do you want me to call someone for you? Maybe a lawyer?”

“Thanks. I-I don’t know yet. First, I’ve got to get my kid away from this mess. Then, I’ll do what I can for my brother.”

The dog, apparently sensing a leisurely lunch wasn’t going to happen, scarfed down the rest of the food, before the leather strap tightened and she had to abandon the plate.

Rachel turned in the doorway and surveyed the room and the paper-filled desktop. “I haven’t had a chance to go through today’s mail. I’ve got the rest in my bag, but I haven’t had a chance to review–”

“Don’t worry about this place,” Myrna said. “I can keep things going. I’ve been doing it for more than 60 years. Go take care of your family.”

She nodded gratefully. For once she was going to follow Mac’s advice to the letter. She was going to meet him at his office and drive Sam back to
Philadelphia herself.

Reaching the lobby, she paused as it occurred to her that she wasn’t driving anywhere–her van was at her house–sitting dead in her garage. Digging her cell phone out of her purse, she speed-dialed the local cab company. Having a car that was always broken down had necessitated her programming in their number.

The line was busy.

“Rachel? Are you okay? Everyone is talking about the–”

Rachel waved her hand in a dismissive manner at Kathleen O’Herlihy.

“The police are trying to arrest your brother,” Kathleen explained.

Rachel set her cell phone on reception desk and searched for a phone book. “I know. I know. But right now I need–”

Myrna joined them. “What do you need, Rachel?” She had to leave to deal with another ringing phone before hearing her answer.

Rachel found the phone book. “I need a cab. My van’s not–”

“I’ll drive you wherever you need to go,” Kathleen offered, giving Whiskey a pat on the head. “The ladies can do without my stock tips for another day or two.”

“Kathleen, thanks. Can we leave right now?”

“Sure. Where are we going?”

Rachel frowned. “I think I left the address in my office. Mac Sullivan’s detective agency?”

“I know where it is.” Kathleen nodded, taking Whiskey’s leash. “Let’s go.”

***

Mac looked through the one-way glass into the interrogation room. He sipped a lukewarm cup of coffee and tried to make sense of what the suspect was saying. Dan Thayer had waived his right to an attorney and was being grilled by Detective Giles.

Tom Atwood joined him at the window. “Lieutenant Greeley thought Joanne might be the best choice to get Thayer to open up–might remind him of his sister.”

Mac raised his eyebrows and took another sip of coffee.

“Yeah, I know.” Tom sighed. “Bobbie is trying to take a statement from Sam Brenner, but the kid’s clammed up. Says he not talking without his mother present. Bobbie tried to tell him he could invoke his right to an attorney, but there wasn’t a right to his mother–not at his age.”

Mac handed his cup to the young detective and pulled out his cell phone. “I tried calling her house, no answer. Tried her cell phone and just got her voice mail. I’ll try again.”

Another invitation to leave a message at the beep, and Mac snapped shut his cell. “She’s not answering.” He frowned. “She’s going to go ballistic when….”

Atwood nodded. “Maybe you should call the funeral home.”

Mac punched in some numbers, stepping into the nearby hallway.

“O’Herlihy Funeral Home.”

“Rachel Brenner, please.”

“Mrs. Brenner has left for the day. Can I help you?”

“Myrna, this is Mac Sullivan. Do you have a number where I can reach her? It’s important.”

There was a momentary silence. “I’m sorry, no. Mrs. Brenner was called away on–on family business.”

“So she knows about her brother?” Mac asked.

“Yes. She heard it on the news and is on her way.”

“Thanks.” Mac snapped shut his cell phone and walked back to the interrogation room. “She’s coming in.”

Atwood nodded and focused his attention on the agitated suspect and the deceptively calm cop.

“Anything we didn’t know?” Mac asked.

“Nah. Joanne’s waiting for
Greeley. Right now she’s just taking him through his contacts in the college administration. Says he’d never met Malwick until he started in the Comptroller’s office. Got the job through a college trustee who was on the board of the shelter where he’d previously worked.”