Red Julie (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 2) (18 page)

Two officers emerged from the cruiser. Olivia greeted them and pointed to Joe. One look at Joe and the cops summoned an ambulance.

The EMTs checked Joe’s heart rate and blood pressure and gave him some fluids. They suggested a ride to the hospital to double check everything but Joe flatly refused. By the time Olivia was finishing up talking with the officer, Joe had some color back in his face. The second officer had called the station to request a detective and some lab personnel in order to process the severed finger. He had gone into the house to gather preliminary information when ten minutes later he radioed his partner to send the EMTs into the house immediately. The rest of his message was garbled and Olivia couldn’t make out what he said but the other officer shot into the house ahead of the EMTs, his gun drawn.

Commotion ensued with the arrival of another squad car, two detectives in an unmarked vehicle, and a second ambulance. Olivia, Brad, and Joe stood next to Brad’s car watching the assemblage, the adults exchanging questioning looks. Mikey sat in front of them on the lawn patting Lassie.

“What’s going on?” Brad asked no one in particular.

Olivia strained to overhear what an officer was relaying back to headquarters. Her eyes widened. She leaned over to Joe and Brad. “Mike Sullivan’s in the basement,” she whispered. “He’s hurt. Unconscious but alive.”

“He was in the house this whole time?” Joe asked.

Emergency workers wheeled a stretcher towards the house.

Olivia turned her head to Brad and kept her voice low. “That guy who showed up…the guy in the driveway…he was the man at the accident scene.”

Brad stared at Olivia.

“Was he looking for Mike Sullivan? Did he know Sullivan was here” Olivia asked. Her voice was shaky.

Brad shrugged. “Who knows? What connection does that guy have with Sullivan?”

Olivia and Brad exchanged glances.

“Are you okay, Joe?” Olivia asked. Joe was sitting in the car again.

Joe nodded. “I’m fine.” His head was pressed against the seat headrest. “Just resting.”

Another police car arrived. A woman stepped from the backseat. Mikey spotted the woman and yelled, “Auntie!” He ran to her and they hugged. A detective spoke to the aunt.

One of the first officers to arrive returned to Olivia, Joe, and Brad and told them that they had no more questions for them but would most likely be contacting each one in a day or two.

“Is Mr. Sullivan going to be okay?” Olivia asked.

“The EMTs are taking care of him. They’ll be moving him to the hospital shortly,” the officer told her.

The three of them said goodbye to Mikey and climbed into Brad’s car for the drive home.

Brad looked into the rearview mirror at Olivia. His face was somber.

“What the hell happened back there?” Brad questioned.

Joe was still quiet, sitting with his eyes closed. Olivia filled Brad in on what had occurred at the house while he had been searching for Joe.

“Brad,” Olivia said. “That guy. The finger.” She shuddered. “Whose finger was it?”

“Good God. Who knows,” Brad managed. He looked pale. “Mrs. Sullivan’s?”

Olivia felt sick. “What if Mikey was there alone? When the guy showed up at the house,” Olivia said.

“Thank God he wasn’t.” Brad stared at the road.

“It was that awful man from the accident scene,” Olivia said. “What was he doing at the Sullivan’s? He must have been looking for Mikey and his mom. Did he have something to do with Mike Sullivan’s accident?”

“Could he be working for Siderov?” Brad asked.

“Do you think so?” Olivia continued, “Where did Mrs. Sullivan go? She would never leave her child alone in the woods so long.” She swallowed. “Do you think she’s dead?”

Brad’s worried eyes held Olivia’s.

“What the hell is going on?”

They were quiet for the remainder of the ride home. When they arrived back in Ogunquit, they dragged themselves into Olivia’s house. Brad insisted on making dinner and cooked up some chicken for Joe and himself and made a veggie stir fry for Olivia. They devoured the food along with a bottle of white wine. Joe had perked up a little and was almost back to himself. There wasn’t much conversation, each one replaying the events that took place at the Sullivan house.

“What an awful day. I haven’t had that much excitement for years,” Joe said. “And I hope I don’t have any more excitement for many years to come.”

“We’re all exhausted,” Olivia said. “I hope Mike Sullivan pulls through.”

“He warned his family to run away,” Joe said. “Somehow he made it back to the house despite his injuries. But no one was there.”

“And the finger,” Brad said. “A warning to Sullivan? A threat?”

“The guy in the driveway,” Joe said. “What’s his connection to all this? He must be after Mike Sullivan.”

“This can’t be because Mike talked about the Siderov’s safe room,” Brad said. “Mike must have some connection to the guy from the accident. Could it be drug dealing?”

“I can’t believe that,” Joe told them. “Mike wasn’t tied up in something like drugs. I’d bet money on that. Has to be something else.”

“I’m going to call Detective Brown tomorrow,” Olivia said. “I want to be sure the Concord Police have informed him about what happened.”

“I better go check on the bookstore,” Brad said. He started to clear the dishes, but Olivia shooed him away. “You made the meal. I’ll clean up. Go ahead. Go check the store.”

“And I’m going home and going to bed,” Joe said, pushing himself up from the table.

Olivia walked them to the front door, where she gave them both a long hug. She went into the kitchen and started cleaning the dishes and pans from dinner. She barely had enough energy to finish the task.

The next morning she called the Portland State Police Department. Detective Brown was away on business, so Olivia made an appointment to see him at the end of the week.

Olivia had arranged to speak with Rodney Hannigan at his law firm in Boston’s financial district. She decided to take the train into the city and avoid the possibility of being followed on the highway. After the episode at the Sullivan house the previous day, she didn’t think she could handle any more excitement.

The brass plate on the polished wood door leading into Hannigan’s private office was engraved with “S. Rodney Hannigan.” Olivia didn’t believe that Rodney was the “S” on the cross necklace, but she wanted to observe his reaction to the questions she would pose to him to rule out any lingering trace of doubt that he could be involved in Martin’s death. Rodney ushered Olivia into his corner office, which was furnished with dark wood furniture and oriental carpets. High above the city, two walls of the office were glass, affording a spectacular view of Boston and the harbor beyond.

“S. Rodney Hannigan?” Olivia asked. “What does the “S” stand for?”

“Schroeder. My mother’s maiden name. You see why I go by Rodney.” Hannigan gestured to the sofa. “Please,” he said. He took a seat in a wing chair that was positioned next to the sofa.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Olivia said. “I just thought we should talk in person. Although, I’m not quite sure where to start. Or even what to ask.” She smiled weakly and looked down at her hands.

“Olivia,” Hannigan said. “I need to thank you once more. I can’t imagine how terrible it was for you to come upon the accident. And again, I thank you for being with Martin when he passed. It comforts me to know that he wasn’t alone. I’ll be forever grateful that you were with him.” He took a deep breath.

Olivia nodded and said, “You know that I believe that my aunt’s death is unexplained, even though the coroner said she had a heart attack. She was fit and strong. She was riding a bicycle at the time of her death…something she never did. And she had a gun in her possession…also something completely out of character.” Olivia paused. “I’m trying to connect some dots. My aunt died under unusual circumstances. Certainly Martin’s death has unusual circumstances surrounding it.” Olivia didn’t mention the tongue, but they both knew what she meant. “And Martin had my name in his wallet.” Olivia paused. “The two deaths must be linked. Have the police made any headway into the investigation?”

“No, nothing, really. They call occasionally with an update that amounts to nothing at all. I feel that the case is being moved to the back burner. They have no leads. Martin’s death will remain an unsolved homicide, I’m afraid.”

“Rodney, did you pick Martin up from the airport the night he returned from London?”

“No, I was in New York City that week working on a case. We were in meetings until around 2am on the day that Martin died. I had only been in my hotel room about an hour when the Ogunquit Police phoned me to report the terrible news. I took a cab to LaGuardia immediately and flew to Boston. I rented a car at the airport and drove to Maine.” He shook his head. “I drove like a madman, but I don’t know why. I knew Martin was already dead.”

Olivia nodded. She believed him. “What about what Martin said to me…‘red Julie’…have you thought any more of what it could mean?”

Hannigan lifted his hands from the arms of the chair and turned the palms up in a gesture indicating that he had no idea. “Red Julie…I just…I don’t have a clue. I don’t think Martin knew anyone named Julie.”

“More dead ends,” Olivia said. She wondered how she would ever figure any of this out.

They were both quiet for a minute. “Did you find any emails from Martin to my aunt? Could they have known each other?”

“There were no emails from an Aggie,” Hannigan said.

“Her full name was Magdalene Miller Whitney… but everyone called her Aggie.”

Hannigan shook his head. “Whitney? Did you tell me that? I assumed her last name was Miller…the same as yours. I wonder if I overlooked something in the emails.” He said, “Wait. Magdalene? She’s not that real estate agent?”

Olivia smiled. “No, not her. They do share the same first name, though.”

“That real estate agent contacted Martin every four months or so looking to list his house,” Hannigan said. “She’s an abrasive woman.”

“Yes, she can be very abrasive.” Olivia thought for a minute. “Martin’s secretary, Paula Adams, said that Martin was a collector.”

Hannigan looked surprised. “Yes. Yes, he was. Is that significant?”

“My aunt owned the small antique shop on the corner of Shore Road leading down to the cove,” Olivia said.

“The Olde Stuff Shoppe?” Hannigan asked, straightening up.

Olivia brightened. “Yes. That was Aggie’s shop. Had you visited it?”

“I didn’t, no. But Martin enjoyed collecting things and he stopped into the shop every now and then. He made quite a few purchases there. I didn’t know the owner’s name was Aggie.”

Olivia leaned towards Hannigan, and stood up excitedly. “They knew each other. There’s a connection between them.” Her heart was pounding. At last, they had found a link.

“Yes, it seems so,” Hannigan responded, his face looking lighter.

“They knew each other,” Olivia said almost to herself as she started pacing the room. She stood in front of the windows looking over the city, before turning back to Hannigan. “They’re connected, Rodney. Through Martin’s purchases at the shop. That’s the link between them.”

“Yes,” he nearly whispered. Hannigan’s eyes met Olivia’s. “But why are they both dead?”

Olivia moved back to the sofa and sat. She suddenly felt weak. Her throat was tight and dry.
Why are they both dead?
She wished someone else would figure it out. But there wasn’t someone else. It was like a weight pressing her into the ground. She swallowed hard.

“What could have happened…what did they know that caused them both to die within a month of each other?” Hannigan asked.

Olivia tried to focus her thoughts. “What did Martin collect?” she asked.

“He loved wooden figurines, Hummels, hand crafted antique music boxes, antique jewelry boxes. Objects from Bavaria, Austria, Switzerland.”

“Paula Adams contacted a dealer in Munich who Martin had bought collectibles from when he was there on other trips. We wanted to know if Martin went to see him when he was overseas this time. The dealer hasn’t replied yet. Paula emailed me and said that she received an automated message saying the dealer was away and would be returning in a few days,” Olivia said.

“That’s a good idea to contact the dealer,” Hannigan said. “If he saw Martin that week, maybe he can give us some additional information. Maybe he can shed some light on what Martin was doing.”

“Did Martin collect any jewelry?” Olivia asked.

“No. No jewelry. Only the things I mentioned.”

Olivia pulled the gold cross necklace from her pocket. “This is the necklace that I told you Martin had. Is it familiar to you?” she asked. Olivia watched his face.

Hannigan leaned closer and took the necklace in his hand. He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen this before. It is quite beautiful. Except for that skull in the middle.” He turned it over in his hand. “S,” he said, seeing the engraved letter on the back of the cross.

“Martin put this in my pocket at the accident scene,” Olivia said.

Hannigan’s eyes widened, questioning. “Did he? I’ve never seen it before. What was Martin doing with this? Why would he put it in your pocket?” Olivia thought Hannigan seemed sincere in his denial.

“Another question without an answer,” Olivia said.

They sat in silence for several minutes.

“Can you tell me more about Martin’s interactions with the owners of the Victorian and their attempts to purchase his house?” Olivia was clutching at anything she could think of that might help to add pieces to the puzzle.

Hannigan stiffened. “As I told you, Siderov never spoke directly with Martin. However, he had a real estate representative who hounded Martin repeatedly. You see, the Ogunquit house was in Martin’s name only. He was the sole owner. The owners of the Victorian desperately wanted to purchase the Ogunquit home. Martin loved that house, wanted to retire there, and would not consider any offers. The offers became astronomical, completely out of line with what the house was worth. Martin felt that the owners were engaged in some kind of a power play: you know, wealthy powerful man is rebuffed and then wants, at any cost, what has been denied him.”