Razing the Dead (21 page)

“Janet, is there some way to get a sample from the two
sons?”

Janet smiled. “You mean, without asking them?”

I almost laughed. “That would be too easy. Do you know either of them well enough to ask? Where do they live?”

“Huh—let me think. I think both of them are still around West Chester, or at least in Pennsylvania. The younger son, Eddie—yes, the name has been passed down—lived on the farm until his father died and Wakeman took over the property. He never married, and he must be sixty now. He's a member here, but only because his father gave so much that we made him an honorary one. So I guess I know him, but he's not exactly a regular customer here. I do know him better than his brother, William, but that's not saying much. I don't think I've ever seen William in here.”

“I met Eddie at that press conference,” I said, “but he left as fast as he could. I had the impression he wasn't comfortable with that kind of attention. I'm sure the brothers have been interviewed about George's death and the bodies and the whole history of the farm.” But who had interviewed them? I wondered. Odds were that the interviewers were local good ole boys who'd known the Garretts all their lives. Had the interviewer asked the right questions? Would that person have known if he was being lied to by one or another or even all of the Garretts? “It might look odd if someone came around now asking for a cheek swab.”

“You want to break into their houses and steal a toothbrush?” Janet said, with a glint in her eye.

“That only happens on television. Look, if we want to prove our theory, we need to get serious. Janet, do you think you could ask them to come here?”

“I could come up with an excuse, I guess, at least for Eddie, since he's a member. Maybe a question about the family papers?”

“Has Eddie shown any interest in the past?”

“Not really, but he has to know that we're looking at the papers now, given everything that's been happening.”

“But we don't have much time,” Lissa said. “Even if Eddie comes in right away and you get DNA from him, it'll take a couple of days to process that to compare to the other samples. So the whole investigation has slopped over into next week already.”

“At least it would be progress,” I said. “No other agency has come up with anything. We ought to have preliminary DNA results for the bodies by tomorrow, and if we have to wait for a sample from Eddie to compare to, so be it.”

Suddenly I really wanted to talk to James. I was out of my depth here. I had no idea what constituted evidence of anything or how to go about getting it even if I knew. I could end up doing more harm to the investigation than good. Heck, Eddie could probably sue someone if we tricked him into giving a sample.

Lissa's voice interrupted my thoughts. “Nell, how do you want me to spin all this for Wakeman's report?”

“I don't think he'll want wild speculation. If it turns out to be a good story, we can add it later, but I'd rather have the basic story of the land in his hands than give unsupported guesses about possible murders.”

“So, what do you want me to do, Nell?” Janet asked.

“Call Eddie Garrett and ask him if he can come in to talk about the family papers. That's an innocent and appropriate request. Don't make it sound urgent—tomorrow would be fine. Then if he shows up, offer him a cup of coffee or tea or whatever then make sure you save whatever he drank out of.”

Janet laughed. “Okay, I can do that. But I think you've been watching too much
CSI
.”

“Probably.” I stood up. “We've already taken too much of your time. Let me know if you reach Eddie and if he'll talk to you.”

“You want to sit in, if I do talk to him?”

“If it seems natural. It might look odd if I was there. You know the Garrett material well. Oh, you are taking good care of the daybook, aren't you?”

“Yes, I put it in the safe. And I won't mention it unless Eddie brings it up.”

“Good. Who knows, it may turn out to be crucial. Lissa, you ready to go?”

Janet escorted us to the front door. Outside it was still hot, even on the tree-shaded street. I dropped Lissa off at the Paoli train station and headed back to Bryn Mawr. We had cobbled together some shaky theories with very little to back them up, and if we told someone and we were wrong, we'd look very foolish. I parked behind my house and let myself in, then I went upstairs to change into something cool. Downstairs again, I checked the time: only four thirty, so James would still be at work. Well, I had work-related things to discuss with him, so I called him.

“Again?” he answered, but with a hint of humor.

“Yes, again. I wanted to report on my meeting with Janet Butler. That's business related, right?”

I could hear his sigh. “Before you ask, I don't have the DNA results yet.”

“I didn't think you would. But Janet and Lissa and I talked about our theory.” I decided not to mention that we were going to try to get yet another DNA sample for him to run. I wasn't sure how legal or ethical it would be if we tricked either Garrett male to obtain the sample. And it was a pretty weak theory to begin with.

“Who've you got?” he said, all business.

“Both of Ezra Garrett's sons still live in the immediate area. Both are members of the historical society in West Chester but spend very little time there, if any. Janet is going to call and ask Eddie Garrett if he could come in to discuss the family papers that his father left to the society. And then maybe she can segue into asking him if he knew about the buried bodies on the land, since it was recorded in the family records.”
And somehow get a DNA sample
.

“You think he's involved?”

“I have no idea. I barely know the man—I shook hands with him at Wakeman's press conference and that's it—and Janet knows him only slightly better because he's used the historical society's resources. I'm sure the local detectives have interviewed him, but they don't know as much about the family history as we do now. Besides, if something has been a closely guarded secret for two centuries plus, then it's likely to stay a secret, right? He may know something he hasn't told.”

“Pretty thin stuff, Nell.”

“You have anything better?”

“No. Where are you?”

“Home. But we're getting together tomorrow night, right?”

“Yes, we have plans for tomorrow night,” he finally said enigmatically. “I'll meet you at the Society, unless something else breaks. Six?”

“Good. And then we'll have the whole weekend to look at places, right?”

“Yes. I'll hold you to it. See you tomorrow.” He hung up, endearments conspicuously missing. I knew he was at work, but still. Why was I doing this to him?
Well, free single woman with no strings, what are you going to do with yourself tonight?

I ended up playing on the computer, trolling through search engines, sticking in the name
Ezra Garrett
just to see what came up. Bits and pieces, including a nice obituary. Ezra sounded like he'd been a great all-around guy, a solid member of his meeting, an elected township official for decades, a supporter of worthy causes, a former school bus driver and a fox hunter—how did those last two go together? He'd been a good custodian of his land and his history. Had he known about the bodies? Had he handed over the family documents knowing that eventually the daybook would send someone looking for them? Who in Goshen would have pointed a finger at a pillar of the local community like Ezra in any event?

I kept searching idly, coming up with different versions of the same information. But then I found something new: a small news article from a local newspaper a few decades back reporting the death of a
third
son of Ezra Garrett's, who had died at the age of twelve in an unfortunate accident involving one of his father's guns. Details were vague, probably to protect the one who had pulled the trigger, but I thought I could read between the lines.

I felt chilled. I had my own history with weapons, one that I tried my best to avoid thinking about. Generally that worked, but what had happened when James was injured and nearly died had brought it barreling to the forefront again. I was still processing my own feelings about that, and I hadn't even told James the whole story, although I knew he needed to know. Add one more item to the list for dinner tomorrow. But at the very least, I could empathize with the family's tragic loss—I knew all too well how much pain that could cause. So now I knew that Ezra's long and productive life had not been without tragedy. It made me sad. Or maybe I was just sad in general: if I was honest with myself, I would have rather have been with James tonight. What would it be like to come home to each other in the same place every night? I was used to being alone; could I adapt to being half a couple all the time?

With a man who people shot at?

With a man who I loved?

Fish or cut bait, Nell. Get off the fence and commit to one side or the other. All you're doing now is making the two of you miserable.

I woke up early, feeling anxious even before I opened my
eyes. Today was Thursday, and Wakeman wanted his report tomorrow. I was confident that Lissa could put together something appropriate, but George Bowen's unsolved murder nagged at me. It had to be connected to those older bodies, didn't it? My mind wandering, I pondered what to wear. James and I hadn't made detailed plans for the evening, but I assumed I'd be staying over, which suited me fine, even if we spent the night looking at property listings.

It was only when I went downstairs to make breakfast that I noticed that the light on my landline phone was blinking. I didn't check it often because few people called me on that line, and most of those were telemarketers or people asking for money, and I preferred to not answer rather than try to come up with yet another polite way to say no. I punched in numbers and retrieved my message, which turned out to be from Eric, informing me that Janet Butler had managed to set up a meeting with Eddie Garrett for ten o'clock this morning and he hoped I'd get the message before I came all the way into the city.

Why hadn't he called me on my cell phone? I checked it and realized I'd turned the sound off. Had I been subconsciously trying to avoid talking to James? During our last conversation, at the end of the workday, he'd sounded a bit cool, and I hadn't wanted to make things worse. But I scrolled through the messages and there were none from him last night, although I did find one from Eric, which was identical to the one he'd left on my home phone.

I thought for a moment, and then I realized I was tired of tiptoeing around the murder. I wanted some answers, and Eddie Garrett might have them. If he didn't, I'd rather know now so we could move in another direction.

So it looked like I was going to West Chester rather than to Philadelphia this morning.

It wasn't even eight o'clock yet, so I decided I'd wait until nine to call Janet to strategize. If she wasn't answering by then, I'd just go over and sit on her steps and wait for her. That would still give us a little time to figure out how we should approach Eddie at ten.

In the end, that's what I did, and I was sitting in the shade enjoying watching the morning bustle of the town when Janet walked up to the building. “I take it you got my message!” she said. “But I didn't expect you in person.”

“I decided I'd rather sit in on it than not. My presence won't intimidate Eddie, will it? We've already met, so he knows who I am. I thought you and I should talk before Eddie arrives. Did he think there was anything strange about you inviting him over?”

Janet was working her key into the front door. “No, or not that I could tell, but he's not one to waste words. Come on in.” She led the way through the cool interior, flipping on a few lights along the way, and into her office. “You want coffee?”

“Always, but I'll come along with you so we can talk.”

“Great.”

I followed her to a space barely bigger than a closet, which held a single-cup coffeemaker and a sink and a small fridge and little more. “I should have given you my home number or my cell number yesterday,” I said. “I guess I figured it would take you longer to set up something with Eddie.”

“He more or less retired when the farm was sold, so he has plenty of time on his hands. How do you suggest we approach him?” Janet handed me a cup of coffee and then started one for herself.

“You've had conversations with him in the past, haven't you?” When Janet nodded, I went on, “You can start with telling him about how you've been going through Ezra's bequest since all the attention on the Wakeman project started up, asking him if he could tell us more about the family papers. That should give an opening to talk about the daybook, if he's seen it. Then see how he reacts. If he knows about the bodies, he should show
some
sort of reaction. But be tactful, of course.”

Her coffee made, Janet turned to me and leaned against the mini fridge. “Nell, what do you really think we're going to find out?”

I thought I owed her an honest answer. “I don't know for sure. Let's just talk to him and see where it goes—he's one more piece of this puzzle. If you're okay with that?”

“That I can do. I really do think we need to get to the bottom of this. I know a little about Eddie, and I have a hard time visualizing him harming anyone. But I'm glad you're here, anyway—I'd probably put my foot in my mouth without you for backup. Let's leave the coffee in my office and go down and meet him in the lobby.”

The building was slowly coming alive as staff came in and turned on more lights. Janet and I stood chatting in the lobby until Eddie Garrett walked in. I paid more attention that I had the last time I'd seen him: he looked older than what I knew to be his sixty-plus years, his face weathered, his hands still rough from many years of manual work; he was also taller and broader than I recalled. Dairy farming must be hard, and he'd put in a lifetime doing it. He hovered hesitantly, looking from one of us to the other.

Janet stepped forward with a warm smile. “Welcome, Eddie! I'm so glad you could make it on such short notice. You remember Nell Pratt, right? I asked her to join us because she's the local expert on historical documents, and I'm sure she'll be interested in your family's records. Please, come upstairs where we can be comfortable.”

“Hello, Miss Pratt. Yeah, I remember you from that press conference.” We followed Janet back to her office in silence.

“Would you like some coffee?” Janet asked.

“Don't trouble yourself,” Eddie said.

“Oh, it's no trouble with these modern machines. Won't take a minute.” Janet darted down the hall, leaving Eddie and me to sit in awkward silence.

I fought to break it. “We didn't have a chance to talk much at the press conference. From all that I've read or heard, your father was quite a noteworthy figure in Goshen. He was involved in a lot of different things, wasn't he?”

“Yeah. He liked to keep busy. Course, he had me to look after the farmwork.”

Did I detect a hint of bitterness in his tone? “Did you handle it all on your own?”

“We had some hired help. Herd was too big for one man, even with the fancy modern machines. And there was always some new regulation coming along. Hard work. Then he sold the place to that damn developer. Oh, sorry.” Yes, definitely bitter.

Janet returned and set a mug filled with coffee in front of Eddie. “I didn't know how you liked it, so I brought sugar and creamer.”

“Black's fine.” Eddie picked up the mug and sipped once, then set it down again, looking at us expectantly. Time to talk: I sat back and let Janet take the lead.

Janet gave him a smile that didn't betray any nervousness. “Eddie, I can't tell you how happy we are that your father entrusted us with his papers. Since all this recent trouble, I thought we should go through them sooner rather later, so I pulled out the boxes and I've been doing some preliminary sorting. Awful thing about George Bowen, wasn't it? Did you know him?”

I wondered if Eddie would notice the abrupt change of subject, but all he said was, “Met him now and then at the township. Wouldn't say we were friends.”

“He was a member here, too—really took an interest in local history.” Janet's glance darted briefly toward me, but I didn't interrupt her.

“Plenty of that to go around,” Eddie said. “What do you want from me?”

“I thought you might be familiar with the papers that your father donated, since they involve many generations of your family, and maybe you could give me some guidance about where to start? You know, which documents might be the most interesting? Maybe we could put together a small exhibit, timed to coincide with the opening of the Wakeman development.”

Eddie's expression didn't change. “Not much to tell. Family settled on the place seventeen-something, and we were still there until Pa sold it to that Wakeman guy.”

“Kind of an unusual transaction, wasn't it?” I asked. “Did all the family agree to that? Or would you rather have stayed and kept the dairy farm going?” I wondered if he would think I was being rude, asking such a personal question.

Apparently not. Eddie shrugged. “Pa had his mind made up. My brother, William, went along with it, so I didn't have much choice. The money offered was good, and the dairy business isn't what it once was. It seemed for the best.”

Given what I'd seen of him so far, I had to wonder if Eddie had put up much of a fight, no matter what his preferences had been. “It must be hard to leave a place where you and your family had so much personal history.”

“I've moved on.” Eddie didn't add anything else. I wondered where he was living now.

I heard my cell phone ringing in the depths of my bag. When I looked at it, I saw it was James. “Excuse me—I have to take this.” I walked out of the office and into the hall before I answered.

“Where are you?” James said.

“In West Chester, talking to Eddie Garrett. Why?”

“The DNA results are in.”

“And?”

“I don't know what you were expecting, but it turns out that the two dead men were closely related, probably brothers. You're betting they were also both Garretts?”

I was stunned into silence for a moment; that was one item I had not been expecting. “You are very good at your job. Yes, I am.” More so than ever.

“And you're going to ask Eddie Garrett for a sample?”

“I . . . don't know. Depends on what he says. It may not be necessary.”

James was silent for a couple of seconds. “Do you think he had anything to do with George Bowen's murder?”

“Maybe. It makes sense, in a way.”

“Nell, be careful. Tell Janet Butler to be careful. You're interfering in a police investigation.”

Not for the first time
, I wanted to say, but didn't. “I will. See you later.” I hung up before he could lecture me any more. And turned off the ringer.

“I apologize,” I said as I returned to Janet's office. She raised an eyebrow a discreet eighth of an inch, and I nodded, just a bit. I hoped she had gotten the message, that there was more to tell. “Did I miss anything?”

“Eddie was just telling me about how proud his father was of the history of the farm.”

“Do you share his enthusiasm, Eddie?” I asked, hoping it sounded like an innocent question.

“About history? Not much. There was always too much to do around the place—I didn't have time to mess around with old stories and papers and stuff. My brother went to college, got a job where he wears a suit. I ended up looking after the farm with Pa.”

I nodded, mainly to encourage him to talk. “Let me tell you, people like Janet and me, who work at institutions like this, we're always thrilled to find original documents. It makes history seem so much more real, and then we get to share that feeling with the public. What did you think when those two older bodies were found? Obviously they'd been there for a long time.”

His expression hardened. “I was as surprised as the next man,” he said.

“Do you know, there's something in one of the documents that suggests that those bodies had been there since the Revolution,” Janet said brightly.

Eddie's gaze swiveled slowly from me to Janet. “Is that so.”

“We think they might have taken part in the Battle of Paoli,” I added. He didn't rise to the bait, so I went on. “I thought it was curious that the part of the farm where they were found was never used as pasture.”

“Pa never wanted to—said he liked to keep some trees around the place. Cattle need shade now and then.” Eddie's tone was neutral, giving nothing away.

“Still, it's surprising that nobody found the bodies before now,” I said, watching him.

“Like I said, lots of history around here.” If he'd been a cat, I thought his tail would be twitching by now.

Time to lob my little bomb. “There's something even more interesting about those bodies, Eddie. It turns out they were brothers.”

Eddie's head whipped back toward me. “How would anybody know that?”

“DNA,” I said. We held each other's eyes for several beats.

He stood up suddenly. “Janet, I've got a . . . an appointment I've got to be at. Can we pick this up some other time?”

Janet had come to her feet when he stood. “Of course, whenever you like. I really appreciate your help on this, Eddie.”

“Yeah.” He turned and left abruptly, too quickly for Janet to follow.

She sat down again slowly. “Well, that was interesting. I take it that call was from the FBI, about the DNA test?”

“Yes. I certainly didn't expect that result. We have to rethink our theory, if it was brother against brother.” And only one of them in a British uniform. “What an awful thing.”

“It is,” Janet said softly.

We were silent for a few beats, and then I said, “And if you handle that carefully”—I nodded toward Eddie's coffee mug—“you'll have a Garrett sample to compare it to. He was definitely spooked we knew that the bodies were related, which makes me think he must have known.”

“But why would he care so much?”

It was all coming together. That so-polite article I'd read the night before? The boy with the gun had to have been Eddie, even though he wasn't named. “I think it's something personal.” I described the old news article to Janet. “I think it's possible that Eddie was involved in the shooting accident that killed his older brother, even though the article didn't say so outright, since they were both children and the family was respected in the community. If that's true, then the idea of brother killing brother would have a lot more meaning to him. He might think that if it came out, the old story would be dredged up again and people would know what he'd done all those years ago. But of course, that would also mean he knew who the bodies were.”