Mourning Dove

by Donna Simmons

  “He calls himself Matthew Farrell. When I gave his name to your office over the phone this afternoon, they said they never heard of him.”

  “He could be with another agency. I’ll check him out when I get back to my office.” Ron watched him add the name to the notes he’d taken throughout the interview. “Tell me what it is you think your son found. If I can link that to this break-in you will have the full investigative power of the Bureau behind you.”

  Ron took a deep breath then let it out. “Finally, someone I can trust.”

  ***

  Later that night Matthew Farrell was driving north on the Jersey turnpike when he answered his cell phone. “What’ve you got for me, Jordie?”

  “I got there ten minutes before the guy showed. I used my telephoto lens and got several shots of him leaving his car and meeting Mr. Stafford at the door. I got the make, model and license plate of his car, too. It’s a Maine plate.”

  “It wasn’t a government plate?”

  “No way, not with a loon on it.”

  “How long was he in there?”

  “Almost an hour, he left by the front door. I got shots of that, too. Hey, Mr. Farrell, I thought the place was bugged?”

  “Somebody took mine out. Did you see Ron in the doorway when the guy left?”

  “Yup, he’s okay. He looked pretty chummy with the guy. I know Mr. Stafford wouldn’t be on the other side of this thing.”

  “I think he’s just been snowed, Jordie. He probably bought into this guy’s lies. You didn’t follow the guy out, did you?”

  After a moment of silence he asked, “Jordie, you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. I know you told me not to but tailing him was easy. I was careful though, stayed several cars back. He drove around Portsmouth going around in circles. I think he was just looking for a tail. But he never spotted me.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because he went home, you want the address?”

  ***

  The knot in Sara’s stomach wasn’t going away. Laying in bed watching her bedroom clock march its way through the night was not going to make a difference. Now it was two o’clock in the morning and she knew she was going to throw up. Oh please, please, please stay down there. Aw shit!

  Down the hall, left turn, slide through the bathroom and flip up the lid, a half second too late. She vomited until nothing was left inside and her legs felt like overstretched rubber bands quivering beneath her.

  By the time she’d cleaned up the mess it was three o’clock and her stomach had finally eased its torment enough to realize she hasn’t gotten a call all night, not from Ron, not from Matthew. Well, Mom always said no news was good news, if she could only believe that. She was going to chew both of them out when the sun rose. God, she was tired.

  CHAPTER 33

  Sara reached over and shut off the alarm. It was still ringing. She tried again. It was pounding through her head. It was the doorbell. The clock showed a red digital 9:30. She pushed her arms through the sleeves of her robe and walked down the hall to the front door.

  “Sara, you look like crap.”

  “Cass, thank you for your astute observation. Why aren’t you at school?”

  “Water main break, why aren’t you at work?”

  “Stomach flu or food poisoning, depending on whether or not you’re sick, too.”

  “I’m fine, but obviously you aren’t. What can I do for you?”

  “Not a whole hell of a lot unless you have a new stomach I can rent. I need to call the office before they think I jumped ship.”

  “I’ll make you some tea and toast. You make the call.”

  “If this is the flu, maybe you should get as far away from me as you can.”

  Cass turned at Sara’s bedroom door. “Remember when we shared chicken pox in college? And you wouldn’t leave my side? I’m staying. Make your call and climb back into bed.”

  Ten minutes later, Cass stretched out in a chair beside Sara’s bed, Sara nibbling toast, Cass sipping tea. “You are the only one I know who would willingly sacrifice herself on the altar of influenza.”

  “Just remember to return the favor in four days when I too am the color of gray chalk.”

  “What’s happening out front? Looks like a red flashing light on my wall.”

  Cass stood up and peeked through the blinds. “This doesn’t look good. An ambulance and a police cruiser just pulled in next door.”

  “The Obermeyer’s?”

  “Bingo. I’ll go over and see if there’s anything I can do?” Cass said.

  “Ruth said he wasn’t well when she brought the cake over. I want a full report, but wash your hands first just in case this is the flu.”

  Most of the toast was back on the plate; Sara’s stomach muscles ached. Eyes closed, almost asleep, her cell chimed. “Hello.”

  “Sara, you sound awful.”

  “Matthew, you are the second one today to point that out. Why not run a headline in the Portland paper.”

  “Grumpy, too.”

  “You were supposed to call me back last night!”

  “I chose not to disturb your sleep.”

  “You wouldn’t have. I didn’t get any.”

  “I’m sorry, love, because of me?”

  “No, I caught a bug.”

  “I’m calling to give you a follow up on last night. I take it you aren’t at work. Are you up to this?”

  “What happened with the FBI?”

  “I’m not sure the bureau was involved, but someone came to Ron’s house and spent an hour. I couldn’t, as you say, beam myself from DC to New Hampshire, but I had someone I trust do some surveillance for me. Did Ron call you afterward?”

  “No, and that’s probably not a good thing. It means he’s sure he was right to go around you and now he plans to make me sweat out my curiosity.”

  “Listen, where are you exactly?”

  “I’m in bed with a cup of tea and a piece of toast benevolently fixed by Cass who got a free holiday because of a plumbing problem at work.”

  “Is she there listening to this?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I want to make sure you’re alone when I tell you this. She doesn’t need to know at the moment.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “The man who came to see Ron last night is the same guy with the umbrella in Chicago, Alfred Carmody.”

  “But that’s impossible. The man…”

  “My surveillance guy followed him when he left. He had Maine plates on his car, not government plates. Are you still with me?”

  “Go on.”

  “You know where he followed him to?”

  “Tell me.”

  “To your next door neighbor’s house, he didn’t park on the street or in the driveway. He drove all the way into the garage, closed the garage door, and turned off the lights. Sara, how much do you know about your neighbors?”

  She was up and looking through the blinds watching the emergency crew load a body into the back of the ambulance. Cass, with her arm wrapped around Ruth’s shoulders, helped their elderly neighbor into the ambulance beside the body.

  “Matthew, I can tell you the man who lives next door died this morning.”

  ***

  “What happened?” Sara asked Cass while trying to stuff her shaky legs into a pair of black slacks.

  “You saw?”

  “Through the blinds, someone needs to be with Ruth.” A dozen different memories of Sara’s grandmother preparing for her grandfather’s burial ran through her mind. “What killed him? Did Ruth call her rabbi?”

  “Sara, slow down and sit. You’re not in any condition to go out. Climb back into bed.”

  “You said she’s alone, except for Oscar. She needs someone now.”

  “I’ll go. What does she need?”

  “Do you have the keys to her house?”

  “I’m driving her car to the funeral home. I’ll stay with her there until someone else comes. If she called
a rabbi, will he come to the funeral home?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. He’ll take care of everything, but someone needs to sit with Oscar’s body. She’ll probably have the service this evening or tomorrow morning at the latest. It’s Jewish tradition not to wait. How did he die? Does she know?”

  “She said something about a stroke. She called their doctor and he confirmed over the phone to the police that Oscar was his patient and not in very good shape, a bunch of medical jargon I don’t understand. It was enough for the police to give permission for his body to be moved to the funeral home.”

  “I’m going with you. Ruth needs his prayer shawl. Things have to be done at the house.”

  “I can do that, Sara. Just tell me.”

  “Come with me, but I have to do it. I’m the only one between us with Jewish blood in my veins.”

  Minutes later they were walking through Ruth’s front door. The couch and an overstuffed chair had been moved to the middle of the room. In the front bedroom, Sara looked for a cloth to cover the mirror on the dresser.

  “Find me a couple of sheets and a pillow case, Cass, dark colors if we have a choice. We need to cover the mirrors.” Sara looked into their closet, and then searched the drawers of a man-sized chest. Second drawer down was the shawl she needed and a copy of the Torah. She reached for the electric cord to disconnect the clock.

  “Sara, I put a pillow case over the bathroom mirror. I hope that’s all right?”

  She nodded; stripping the bed brought her back to her grandmother’s death when this job fell to her and Carl’s death when she wasn’t permitted in his apartment, blockaded with police tape.

  Cass handed her a second set of sheets and they remade the bed in silence. Sara flipped the top sheet in the air and knocked a picture frame to the floor. Bending down she picked up a large gauze pad and the picture, it was a portrait of Oscar and Ruth taken at another time. Sitting down on the edge of the half-made bed, Sara stared at the five by seven in her hands. The neighbor she never met and the old man from Chicago were the same man. “Omigod! He wasn’t ill. He was a spy!”

  “What did you say, Sara?”

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. Now she was going to lie to her best friend for the first time ever. “He reminded me of someone else. It’s so very sad. Let’s get this finished.” Sara gently placed the photo back on the night stand, face down. Looking around the room, she nodded at its completeness and spread the spare sheet across the dresser mirror. Cass gathered the rest of the disposable debris from the emergency crew and Sara slid the gauze pad into the trash bag. Back in Ruth’s living room, she reached into the cabinet of a grandfather clock and stopped the pendulum.

  “I’ll be right back, Cass. I need to check the other two bedrooms for clocks and mirrors.” In a small den Sara tried the desk and filing cabinet. Both were locked as she suspected. No mirrors, one clock to stop. In the closet were two black storage boxes the size of foot stools, not cardboard, but heavy metal of some kind. They were sealed with an old fashioned lock. In the spare bedroom on the wall above a small dresser where a mirror should have been was a picture of a solemn young man dressed in black with a kippah on his head. It was an old picture in a plain wooden frame hanging from a single wire – Oscar maybe? She turned it to face the wall and found an aging yellow envelope tucked into the frame. She probably shouldn’t, but she needed answers. She slipped the envelope into her slacks pocket, turned the picture back, and draped the dresser scarf over the image.

  They moved the couch and chair back into the indentations of their permanent place on the carpet and shut the door on a secret life of the neighbor Sara never knew.

  ***

  Sara picked up before the first ring; it was like telepathy.

  “Matthew, I was just about to call you. Where are you?”

  “I'm on my way north. Do you know any more about your neighbor?”

  “Are you sure about this man who talked to Ron?”

  “I wouldn’t have said so if I wasn’t. Tell me what you know.”

  “They’re Jewish, from Israel. They spent their teen years in concentration camps.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Cass can ferret out more information in a casual cup of tea than anyone I know.”

  “She’d make a good spy.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why?”

  “You know what else, Matthew? Oscar Obermeyer was also Alfred Carmody. I told you his accent was forced in Chicago.”

  “You said you never met him. Did you see his body?”

  “Just the body bag, but I saw a picture of the Obermeyers on the nightstand beside their bed. Cass saw it, too. Add the beard from Chicago, a gabardine suit, and the pointed umbrella and you have Carmody.”

  “I don’t want to know how you managed to get into their bedroom. Did you happen to catch the number on their license plate?”

  “Maine plates with a loon. That’s all I got before Cass drove out of my view.”

  “Cass was driving their car? This is beginning to sound like Alice and the rabbit hole.”

  “Ruth rode in the ambulance to the funeral home. Cass followed in their car.”

  “Do me a favor, Sara. Drive to the funeral home and bring Cass back.”

  “And, check the license plate in the process?”

  “Good girl. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. I was thinking of going back to work as soon as I know the funeral arrangements. I guess I’ll go rescue Cass and head to Portland before my stomach changes its mind. Are you coming here?”

  “I’ve got some things to check out, first. Did you hear from Ron?”

  “I was about to call him when you called me.”

  “Don’t. Let him sit in silence for a while.”

  “I like your way of thinking.”

  “It’s not that. The less he knows the safer he’ll be.” And the less he’ll give away, Matthew thought.

  ***

  “Afternoon, Jimmy.” Sara joined the stocky new fitness manager in the elevator. “I didn’t expect to see you here, is the club closed already?”

  “Between three and four is the only time I can take lunch. You don’t look so good, Ms. Stafford. Maybe you should go home.” The concern in his blue eyes was at odds with the dimple of his smile.

  “I was riding out a touch of stomach flu, this morning, but I’m okay now.”

  “If you come up to the club on your dinner break, I’ll make you a protein drink. It’ll be easier on the tummy than solid food.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me, but I’ll pass this time. I really don’t have the time to spare today.”

  “For you, Ms. Stafford, I’ll bring it down. Don’t tell anyone; they’ll all want door to door service.”

  “Thanks Jimmy. I won’t say a word.” The elevator door opened on six and Sara stepped out. Nice kid, always thinking ahead, and Sara suspected, cultivating favors. Something seemed to be lurking under the surface in Jimmy, though. What was she thinking? She was chasing monsters in every person she saw. That was what she got for hanging around a government agent.

  Just inside the financial office door, chaos reigned. A snow storm of paper covered the floor. Steve and Louise appeared to be spreading the pile. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Oh, Sara! Give us a collective heart attack, why don’t you.” This from Louise, who had two pens and a pencil stuck in her fly-away hair.

  “A meeting, lost file, last week’s stats,” she added with an armful of paper clutched in her hands.

  “Minor collision, chief,” Steve added rising from the paper pile on the floor. “We thought you were out with the flu?”

  “Just a little stomach bug, it seems to be better now. I have last week’s stats in my computer. I’ll get them.”

  ***

  Wednesday morning at the Jewish cemetery, Sara and Cass stood together, shivering. “I don’t know how she’s holding up, Sara. She refused to leave him all night. Sh
e tells me her rabbi didn’t get there ‘til this morning. What’s the big deal with that?”

  “Cass, there are rituals. Reform Jews are a little more relaxed but there is still the process of laying him to rest.”

  “But in Portsmouth? With an Israeli Flag on his coffin?”

  “She told me they’re citizens of Israel.”

  A winter wind whipped down from the hill behind the cemetery, beyond the black wrought iron fence. A deep shiver ran through Sara.

  Cass turned. “How are you holding up?”

  “Damn bug came back again last night. I can’t seem to get warm this morning.”

  “I told you not to go in to work. What are you looking at?”

  “The man in the black suit on the hill, just beyond the gathering.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “He looks like my boss.”

  “Can’t be, why would he be here? And while I’m asking, shouldn’t we be in there with Ruth?”

  “It’s getting damn cold out here, Cass. Go be my mole while I go back to the car for my scarf and gloves.”

  “You’ve been hanging around the British agent too long.”

  “Scoot, I want a full report.”

  Cass threaded her way through tombstones with the Star of David engraved on them, shuffling through an autumn leaf blanket.

  Returning to the cemetery gate, Sara watched Jonathon crouch beside the widow, whispering something she hoped Cass was close enough to hear. He stood and began walking down the hill. The ceremony hadn’t even begun and he was walking away. It took him another couple of yards to recognize Sara, change directions, and come toward her.

  “Sara,” he said with a nod.

  “I didn’t know you were acquainted,” She tilted her head to the naked hole up the hill.

  “I didn’t know you were either, small world.”

  He left with a fatherly touch on her shoulder. The wind was fierce; she huddled inside her coat watching the ten people at the grave site, four of them professionals from the funeral home and the cemetery crew waiting to finish their jobs. Ruth started to cave into Cass’s arms and Sara moved quickly through the gate and up the hill. The rabbi finished his prayer as Sara attached herself to Ruth’s other side.