Looking at her, Evan was mighty glad he wasn’t a chicken right then. He shrugged, as if sorry that he was unable to offer an answer to her problem.
‘Chickens will be chickens.’
‘Used to chase poor old Billy Bob all around the garden and peck him half to death.’
‘Billy Bob?’
She picked up a framed photo and handed it to Evan. He expected to see some poor hen-pecked husband being mobbed by a gang of angry chickens but instead it was a scruffy pooch.
‘He’s in the big kennel in the sky now, God bless him.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Evan said replacing the photo and wishing he’d never mentioned chickens.
‘Funny name. Is it Italian?’ she said.
‘What? Billy Bob?’
‘No. Beau Terre, stupid.’
‘Probably French.’
‘I’ve never been to France. Been to Paris, Texas.’
It was time to take control of the situation before she launched into a detailed account of her visit.
‘Are there any reasons why I can’t find the property deeds?’
‘Well, there’s a couple of reasons that could be,’ she started, in a painfully slow delivery. ‘First of all, it could be that nobody by the name of Hendricks ever bought or sold a property called Beau Terre.’
That much he could have worked out for himself. He bit back any kind of a wisecrack response, nodded and said ‘Uh-huh.’
Satisfied that she had effectively got her first point across, she continued. ‘It could also be that the purchaser—what was his name again?’
‘Hendricks.’
‘It could be that Mr Henderson never recorded the deeds.’
Evan didn’t bother correcting her. ‘Is that usual?’
‘No. Most folks notarize and record them but you don’t have to.’
Evan realized that she was waiting for some response from him.
‘Any other reasons?’
‘Could be the records haven’t been updated yet. How long ago did you say?’
‘Ten years at least.’
‘Should be done by now.’
She said it like she was just about to check on the cookies in the oven. It was completely matter-of-fact, without a hint of irony. Despite that, Evan suspected she might be wrong if her colleagues worked at the same pace as she did. Maybe he’d come back in another fifteen years or so.
‘There must be some records relating to the property. Any other way to find them?’
‘Depends if you’ve got the PIN.’
Did that mean Pain In Neck Evan wondered. I’ve certainly got one of those.
‘Sorry, I don’t even know what that is.’
Now she looked at him like he was the idiot. He was sure she was about to ask what they taught kids in school these days. Now that they’d dropped manners from the curriculum.
‘That stands for Property... Identification... Number’ she said, beaming at him at the opportunity he’d given her to display her superior knowledge.
‘Ah.’ He put on his best I have seen the light face and asked, ‘where could I get hold of one of those?’
‘I can get that for you if you like.’
She smiled almost sweetly.
Ask and you shall receive! Couldn’t we have got here a bit faster?
She put the property address into her system and came up with the number in two seconds flat. Armed with this vital new piece of information Evan headed back to his terminal, fully expecting to have the answers he needed in the next few minutes.
Once again, he was disappointed. He found the property easily enough but the only property deed listed for anything like the right time frame was a transfer listing George and Mary Saunders as the grantors and L. J. Saunders as the grantee, which had taken place twelve years previously. There was no mention of Carl Hendricks at all.
He made a note of the details and, with a heart as heavy as lead, he made his way back to the clerk’s desk and explained his latest problem to her. She looked at him with something akin to pity, clearly wondering how this poor boy managed to dress himself in the mornings. For one heart-stopping moment he thought she was about to embark on the same rigmarole all over again, but she seemed a bit sharper now.
‘It’s more than likely this Saunders sold the property to your friend Hendricks who hasn’t bothered to record it, for reasons best known to himself.’
Probably so that the tax man doesn’t get to see his ill-gotten gains, Evan thought. The clerk looked as if she was keen to take up their conversation about Hendricks’ farm from where it left off before, so he thanked her and beat a hasty retreat.
Chapter 21
HE’D HAD NO SIGNAL on his cell phone inside the recorder’s office, and when he came out, he saw he had a missed call from Guillory.
‘I’ve been doing a bit of digging into the Schneider case after what you told me,’ Guillory said, ‘and I don’t think the old man did her in.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’ve been talking to an old friend of hers who says she’s heard from her since the disappearance.’
‘But never thought to tell anyone.’
‘Apparently Barbara Schneider asked her not to. She just got in touch because they’d been such good friends and didn’t want her to worry.’
‘Do you believe her?’
‘I think so. From what she says about the husband, it’s a miracle she didn’t bury him in the backyard. Running away was the least she could do.’
A picture of Schneider concentrating hard as he made broken washing machine noises flashed into Evan’s mind and made him smile.
‘I can vouch for that. In fact, I think she might have buried him years ago but some dog dug him up again.’
‘That’s the trouble with those do-it-yourself graves.’
‘Getting back to the friend—do you think she’d talk to me?’
‘Well, she didn’t want to—’
‘Damn.’
‘—until I told her what a great guy you are and what you’re looking into. It’s amazing the doors that open for you when you’re doing something worthwhile, isn’t it?’
Evan stifled a mock yawn.
‘How will I ever repay you?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m working on that. Her name’s Virginia Doyle. Take this number down.’
***
EVAN RANG HER AS soon as he got off the phone from Guillory. After he’d introduced himself she invited him over to the house rather than discuss it over the phone. She didn’t live far from the Schneider place and was waiting for him as he drove up.
‘Detective Guillory told me about the case you’re investigating,’ she said. ‘I vaguely remember it happening, but I didn’t know any of the people involved.’ She sounded disappointed, a missed opportunity. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your only child.’
She looked across to a number of framed photographs sitting on top of a baby grand piano. There were a boy and a girl, the usual collection of graduation photographs and other family mementos. Lots of perfect dentistry on show. It would have made Jacobson swell with pride.
‘That’s why I agreed to talk to you. I wouldn’t normally talk to a private detective. I thought they only did sleazy divorce work and that sort of thing.’
Her nose turned up and the words almost caught in her throat. She made private detective sound like the lowest type of life form she was likely to come across in her happy little suburban life. Her husband was probably a junior under-manager, acting vice president at some savings and loan association. Doubtless he turned people like Evan down every day of the week. Evan felt grateful he’d been allowed to sit on the couch without some sort of protective cover being put down first.
‘There’s a top and a bottom end in most jobs,’ Evan said, wondering if Guillory had fully explained his role of repentant sinner atoning for past misdeeds. ‘Can you give me a bit of background information on Barbara?’
‘She used to come ov
er here when she couldn’t stand it at home any longer. She stayed over all the time.’
‘What was going on at home?’
She gave him her you wouldn’t believe it if I told you look and leaned in closer. He did the same.
‘Have you met her husband Max?’ Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
Evan said that he had. He chomped down hard on the smile as the mental picture reappeared.
‘Well, there you go. Do I need to say any more? He’s a horrible man and he used to beat her all the time. I think it’s because he’s German. They never got over losing the war.’
‘I noticed an accent.’
And I think I detect a whiff of xenophobia in this very room.
‘When they got married they lived with his parents in that house he still lives in.’
She made that house sound almost as bad as private detective. Clearly it was dragging the whole neighborhood down, perhaps by as much as ten to fifteen per cent.
‘His parents were German refugees and were very strict with him. When she moved in they were equally strict with her too.’
‘How so?’
‘They treated them like they were children. Didn’t like them to stay out late, that sort of thing. He was already indoctrinated and Barbara felt it wasn’t her place to say anything because it was their house after all.’
‘It doesn’t sound like an ideal start to married life.’
The mention of it took him immediately back to the start of his own and Sarah’s married life. They’d ‘christened’ every room in the house within the first day or two. He couldn’t have imagined moving in with either his or her parents. He swallowed hard. When would these memories stop ambushing him?
‘It got worse when the parents died. He lay down the law as if he owned her.’
It was clear from her tone of voice who wore the pants in the Doyle household, and it wasn’t the junior under-manager, acting vice president.
‘He isn’t a sociable man. He had no interest in going out and he didn’t want Barbara to either. But she was so full of life and she went anyway, and then when she came home he would accuse her of all kinds of horrible things and hit her.’
She looked down at her hands clasped together in her lap, as if the answer to domestic violence was hiding in the folds of her floral skirt.
‘Did you ever think that was why she disappeared? That he’d got carried away and killed her?’
‘When she first disappeared, it crossed my mind.’
‘Did you say anything to the police?’
‘I don’t remember. I think I might have done, but they obviously didn’t take any notice.’
A slight flush had spread across her cheeks and she wouldn’t meet Evan’s eyes. It was likely he’d be thrown out on his ear if he asked if it was Fukner that she’d talked to, and it didn’t really matter who it was who didn’t do anything.
‘That seems odd.’
She looked up at him now.
‘There was no history; she’d never had to go to the hospital or anything like that. She was too proud.’
‘When I spoke to her husband he said she was seeing other men. The trouble is, he’s not the most rational man I’ve ever met and I don’t know if I believe a word he says. Do you know if there’s any truth in it?’
Virginia Doyle opened her mouth to say something and closed it again. She looked down at her lap again but there were still no answers there. She was obviously happy to chat until the cows came home about the faults of Max Schneider, but saying anything against her friend was a different kettle of fish.
‘It’s crucial to my investigation,’ Evan said to get her back on track. ‘My client really needs to find out what happened to her little boy.’
He put a lot of emphasis on the little boy.
Even though she would have liked to continue with her diatribe about Max Schneider, she could see that Evan wasn’t about to let that happen.
‘She was seeing someone else just before she disappeared,’ Virginia said, nodding to herself. ‘But I don’t know who it was,’ she added a little too quickly.
He was well aware he was only going to get carefully filtered facts, but anything was a help.
‘Didn’t she tell you who it was? You were such good friends after all.’
‘She was terrified of Max. She thought the less people who knew, the better. Me included.’
The fact that her friend hadn’t seen fit to trust her completely didn’t sit well with her, that was for sure.
‘Do you think she might have run away with him?’
‘I don’t think so, but you couldn’t blame her if she did.’
‘Detective Guillory told me that you heard from Barbara after she disappeared.’
She brightened visibly.
‘Yes, she rang me about six months later. I couldn’t believe it when I heard her voice. She sounded so happy.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said she couldn’t take it any more so one day she just walked out. Took one small bag with a few clothes, got on the bus and never looked back. Good luck to her.’
‘She didn’t mention anyone else.’
‘She said she’d met someone else and was very happy.’
‘But it wasn’t clear whether she met them before or after running away?’
‘No, but I got the impression she ran away on her own and then met someone else later.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Just a feeling. Call it a woman’s intuition.’
He would have liked something a little more concrete than that, but he knew he wasn’t going to get it.
‘Do you still speak to her on a regular basis?’
The brightness faded from her face.
‘Not really. We don’t have that much in common now. I’m sorry to say that most of our friendship seems to have been based on the support I gave her dealing with Max. Once that went away, there didn’t seem to be much left.’
He could see that she was deeply hurt by her friend’s rejection and lack of confidence in her.
‘Do you have her number?’
‘I do, but I couldn’t possibly give it to you.’
He thought the amount of emphasis on the you was uncalled for. She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to open her knees a bit wider so that he could have a quick grope under her skirt.
‘She specifically asked me not to let anyone know where she is or give them her number.’
‘That’s okay. If I give you my number, would you pass it on to her and ask her to call me if she wants to.’
He stood up and walked over to the piano. He picked up one of the photographs and admired it.
‘It might help if you tell her why I want to speak to her.’
That seemed to push the right button as he’d hoped. She took his number and he left with confident promises that she would persuade Barbara Schneider to ring him. Evan didn’t share her confidence, particularly if it turned out that it was Robbie Clayton that Barbara had been seeing before she disappeared.
Would she have any interest in helping the wife of the man she’d been seeing and might have run away with? Evan doubted it.
Chapter 22
BACK AT HIS OFFICE Evan went down to see if Tom Jacobson had any more information for him.
‘I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance,’ he admitted. ‘How about you? What have you dug up?’
Evan told him about his visit to the County Recorder’s office and the dead end he’d run into with the last recorded owner listed as L. J. Saunders.
‘That’s it? No first names?’ Jacobson said.
‘No. That’s why I was hoping you’d have something from the local grapevine.’
‘I’m sure the person I have in mind will be able to clear it up for you.’ He was pensive a moment. ‘You know, there is another possible explanation you haven’t mentioned.’
‘What, like Carl Hendricks killed Saunders, buried him, and is living in hi
s house.’
Jacobson nodded.
‘In a manner of speaking, yes. What if Carl Hendricks is Saunders?’
It was so obvious; Evan couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it. He slapped the heel of his hand on his forehead.
‘You mean he changed his name. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.’
‘And he didn’t get around to notifying the recorder’s office of the change.’
‘That makes sense. You’d have to change your driving license and bank accounts and all the things you use every day, but maybe you’d forget the property deeds.’
‘Or choose to deliberately not change them.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Maybe you’ve got something to hide. Why do people change their name in the first place? It’s not just because you’re born Dick Assman. That’s a real name, by the way. He’s a gas station owner in Saskatchewan. I saw it on the Late Show years ago.’
‘No kidding! Apart from that, I suppose it’s to leave behind something you’d like to forget.’
‘That’s what I was thinking. And this just muddies the waters a bit more. A lot of people wouldn’t be bothered to look any further. Blame it on inefficient local bureaucracy.’
‘But not a super sleuth like me, eh.’
‘Exactly. There is just one thing though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’ve got to find out if it’s true.’
Evan realized that it made such perfect sense, he’d already taken it as the truth.
‘Right. I sort of got carried away there. Shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.’
The questions and possibilities were already starting to multiply in Evan’s mind. Certainly, none of them pointed to an innocent explanation.
‘I would still like some local info, Tom. The official records might tell you what happened, but I need some insight into why.’
‘Uh-huh. You realize insight can be spelled g-o-s-s-i-p.’
‘I know, but it’s still useful to have. A skilled investigator like me can separate the wheat from the chaff.’
He was almost out the door when Jacobson called him back.
The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets) Page 12