Missing Brandy (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 2)

by Susan Russo Anderson

  The runner doesn’t come. The blade stings. “You’re choking me, you damn buzzard!”

  Chapter 31

  Fina. Morning Two, Granny Liam

  I met Lorraine outside of Madeleine Liam’s townhouse, a Greek revival down the street from Brandy’s home. In a moment, a tallish woman dressed in black with a white apron answered the bell and showed us up a few steps into a parlor decorated in expensive Victorian. I smelled the must of centuries and looked around the room at the bay window fronting the quiet spring of Columbia Heights.

  Clothed in a silk moiré dress and wearing a tiara as if she were about to attend the president’s ball, Madeleine Liam sat in her wheelchair in the bay, glancing out the window and rubbing her fingers over a diamond necklace. With one arm she clutched a purse to her bosom, and when the maid reminded her that she had visitors, she shot a dazed look from me to Lorraine.

  “Something’s happened to Brandy; I can feel it. She didn’t come to see me last night, and she always does. What have you done with her?”

  Lorraine stepped forward and bent toward the old woman. “It’s been several years, Madeleine. You haven’t changed a bit. I don’t suppose you remember me, but years ago we worked on a project together at Mary, Star of the Sea.”

  Madeleine’s eyes darted around the room. It seemed as though she couldn’t remember herself, let alone a visitor. “Why would I remember you? Where have you taken her?”

  Lorraine persisted, her voice low and sweet, conspiratorial. “Lorraine McDuffy. Mary, Star of the Sea,” she repeated. “We met at the River Café, and you sat next to the cardinal. How I envied your poise.”

  Madeleine’s eyes slowed, and her face took on something of a resolving glow. Her purse slipped to the floor, forgotten, until the maid picked it up.

  “Lorraine, isn’t it? From Star of the Sea Women’s Auxiliary.” She shot a triumphant look at her maid. “You see? I never forget a face. And we raised so much money for the poor creatures at St. Nora’s. Of course I remember you. I never forget a kindred spirit. So lovely to see you again. Lovely Lorraine. Your husband was a bit of a thug, though. Police sergeant, as I recall. What are you doing here, and where’s my purse? Have you seen it?”

  The maid held out Madeleine’s bag. “Here it is, Granny Liam.”

  A withered claw reached out and grabbed it. Her eyes darted right and left.

  “Now, come here, dear, I want to tell you something, and I don’t want the others to hear.” She reached down into her dress, brought out a lace handkerchief, and dabbed her forehead. “Shhh, behind that curtain, see them moving? That bulge in the drapes? Can’t be too careful. They follow me, surround me. They’d love to catch me up and take my money.” She pointed in the direction of Trisha Liam’s townhouse. “It’s all her doing.”

  A bony hand clutched Lorraine’s arm, and Madeleine’s lips trembled with the truth as she knew it. She stretched toward Lorraine’s ear. “She’s gone. Flown the coop. Didn’t return my call. She has her own phone, you see, one of those new things. Carries it around with her. Said all her friends have one. I phoned her mother, and she said the girl’s missing, but can you blame her? She couldn’t abide a mother like that with no sense of humor.”

  “Do you have her number?”

  “Didn’t you just hear me say I called her?”

  “We don’t give the number to anyone unless they’re in the family,” Angel said.

  Lorraine shot me a look, like be quiet and let me do the talking, as if I were the sidekick and she the detective. “What can you tell us about Brandy?”

  And I swear, Granny Liam took on another mask. Her blue eyes sparkled, and she handed the purse to her maid. “Take this bag for me, Angel, there’s a dear. Now, Lorraine, I’m glad you asked about Brandy. She needs humor and truth, lots of it. She needs a mother who listens to her, who challenges her.”

  “Someone like you?”

  “Precisely. I’m so glad you’re here, dear. Trisha thinks she’s doing right by the child. Oh, she’s not all that bad a mother, but she’s humorless, misguided.” Madeleine skirted her eyes around the room. “Such a terrible hostess. Can I get you something, a cup of coffee? Tea? You look a little parched. We have some lovely cookies, don’t we, Angel, and you won’t mind fetching them, there’s a dear.”

  “No, we can’t stay,” I said.

  “How rude to interrupt. Lorraine and I were talking, weren’t we, dear?”

  “That’s my friend Fina,” Lorraine said.

  “Fina you say? I had a friend once, a Fina. Fina? My how you’ve changed.”

  I shook my head.

  “Never mind, if you’re a friend of Lorraine, you’re a friend of mine. Come closer so I can see you.” Rheumy eyes drilled into me.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Brandy’s missing. We don’t know where she is or why she’s gone away or if someone …”

  Madeleine shook her head and closed her eyes as if I had the IQ of a tree. “She’ll be back. My Brandy will be back. Got some sick notion into her head, that’s all, but she’ll get sense into her skull. Just like her father in that department. He’ll be back, too. It’s that mother you’ve got to worry about. And Mitch is no better, off on some lawyer’s convention, I expect. Never took to the law, but Himself was a defense attorney and then a judge, and his father, too, and his father before him, on down the line. The first Liam came here looking for potatoes and found the law. Lucky day when Himself discovered me. Our children are spoiled, the both of them. Caroline’s no different than Mitch. Now she’s off in London or some other place with that lover of hers.”

  “Tell us about Brandy.”

  Madeline’s eyes got that conspiratorial look. “She has secrets, that girl, and the humor of a leprechaun. You’ve got to be bright to handle her, not like you-know-who. You’ve got to be able to look the devil in the eye and know your own soul. She’s still too young for boys, but she’s perking up to it. Shudder to think where she’d be without me. I have it, you see.” Madeleine rapped on her temple. “She likes school well enough, goes to Packer, likes all her teachers but hates gym. The other day we saw her talking to a runner on the Promenade, no better than a street person.”

  I shot Lorraine a look.

  “She wasn’t alone at the time. We would have stopped it, wouldn’t we, Angel?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How many times have I told you not to call me ma’am. Maddie, that’s what all my friends call me. Tell them, Angel. My throat’s a little dry, dear, and I could use my water.”

  Angel handed Madeleine her water.

  “He was in the middle of a group of them, Brandy and her friends. They were pointing to the bridge and laughing. The sun was too bright that day, remember?”

  Angel nodded.

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “Last week, I think it was, Tuesday or Wednesday. I take Maddie out on nice days.”

  “She wheels me all around. The exercise is good for her.” Madeleine Liam straightened her sleeves. “I told Angel to wheel me over, introduce myself, but he ran off. Looked like he was asking them for something, directions or some such nonsense, the way to the bridge, as if he couldn’t see it squatting there and staring him in the face.”

  “That’s what Brandy said—he asked them for directions—don’t you remember?” Angel asked.

  “You’re right, I’d forgotten,” Madeline said. “Brandy saw us. Angel pulls me over by a bench, and we sit and watch the goings on. Well, she spied us and came over.”

  “She’s a good girl, Brandy. She loves her grandmother, you know. She gave her a big slobbery kiss right in front of her friends. She told us he’d asked them for the quickest route to the bridge.”

  “But I know his kind,” Madeline said. “He makes things up as he goes along. Told that girl a million times not to talk to strangers.”

  “But she wasn’t alone with him?” I asked.

  Both women shook their heads.

  “Can you describe
him?” Lorraine asked.

  “I think I’ve seen that runner around here before,” Angel said.

  “You’re making that up,” Madeleine Liam said.

  “Why would I?”

  “Go on. You just this second made it up.”

  “Have not,” Angel said.

  “Did too,” Granny Liam said. “Now that you mention it, I think I’ve seen him on our walks.”

  “You’re just saying that,” Angel said.

  “Am not. I tell you, I never forget a face. My brain might be a little mothy from time to time, but I never forget a face. Curly hair, pulls on his nose when he runs.”

  “There, you just made that up, Maddie Liam. How could you have seen that? Don’t go on so. These nice ladies want to help. They need the truth. They don’t need your stories. No more stories, Maddie.”

  Lorraine and I watched the tennis match for a minute. “Do you remember what he looked like?”

  “You’re trying to trip me up.”

  Lorraine shook her head.

  “Like I just told you. Long and bony, curly hair, black ringlets.”

  Angel nodded, and I wrote down everything.

  “What was he wearing?” Lorraine asked.

  “Shorts and a tee. Crinkly material—what do you call it—cotton, but has those little square holes all over it. Long sleeves, blue, matched his shorts, and he had those bright shoes they wear these days.”

  “Not the runner they were talking to, Maddie. He had on those gray running shoes with NB on the sides.”

  “How could you have seen his shoes—he was surrounded by a gaggle of girls. I swear you can make up stories with the best of them. Must get it from working for me. How long has it been? I knew some of it would rub off sooner or later. People like to hear stories, I always say, so I sling it with the best of them, that’s what Himself used to say.”

  Angel pronounced each word with deliberation. “I saw the shoes when he ran around us that one time, don’t you remember?”

  “Course I do. Quite right, dear, whatever you say.” Madeleine Liam looked at Lorraine and winked. “What did you say your name was again? My mind’s not what it used to be since the moths got hold of it. They eat brains, you know, and they’re immune to medication. Lorraine, isn’t it? See? I never forget a face.”

  “One more question. Would Brandy run away? Did she ever talk about leaving?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Madeleine Liam asked. “Get me my purse, blast it, Angel. Brandy would never leave. She has everything, discounting the mother. She’s got friends, a wonderful father, a granny who dotes on her.” Madeleine Liam, her face still huffed, hugged the bag to her chest.

  “Now, Maddie,” Lorraine began and elicited a look from the old woman, but she was listening. “We’ve been asked by Mitch to find his daughter, and we need Brandy’s phone number. He said Brandy gave it to you, but he specifically asks that you give it to us.”

  “Angel, where’s my book? This nice woman from Star of the Sea needs Brandy’s number.”

  After we left, I compared the phone number to the one Trisha gave me. It was the same. Then I felt my phone vibrate and saw the texts from Cookie.

  Chapter 32

  Fina. Morning Two, On The Promenade

  Lorraine wanted to get back to the office because she and Minnie were going to fix lunch, and she still had a pile of reading to do. So I left her, asking her to keep in touch.

  As I ran to the Promenade to meet Cookie, a black unmarked car barreled into view, screeching its tires and stopping inches from the back of a sanitation truck. Jane and Willoughby emerged. In the middle distance, I saw Cookie and a patrol officer standing next to a garbage can. When I got within earshot, I heard him saying something about picking her up at seven. Things were looking up for her, I could tell by her grin. In characteristic fashion, she tried to hide behind her mirror while, with feet splayed and head down, Jane walked toward us, Willoughby trailing a few feet behind.

  Cookie filled us in on what she’d seen outside the Liam home—a Brite messenger, Phillipa’s movements, but most interesting of all, a runner weaving in and out between Trisha Liam’s house and the Promenade.

  At her mention of a runner, I wondered if he could be the same one Madeline Liam and Angel saw talking to Brandy. My stomach did its elevator thing.

  Cookie continued. “I know he was wearing a hat when I first saw him. He overtook a group of other runners and headed toward the Promenade. Not five minutes later, I saw him rounding onto Columbia Heights again, this time minus his hat. He must have figured it was too conspicuous, and it was, one of those old-fashioned painter’s hats. That’s why I decided to start looking in the Promenade waste bins for the hat, and that’s when Clancy saw me.”

  I smelled romance in the air and fear all over Jane. Once again we’d scored, and she was coming up with nothing.

  “We’re a team,” I said to Jane. “What would you like us to do?”

  “I almost forgot,” Cookie said, tearing out three pages of her notebook. “I made these sketches of the runner, one with the painter’s hat on his head, one without.”

  As I looked at the sketches, I saw white spots before my eyes and I felt my heart pumping in frantic mode. “I’ve seen this guy, I know I have.”

  Jane grabbed Cookie’s sketch. Holding it out, she said, “Doesn’t ring any bells, but this drawing is amazing.” She spoke to Cookie. “You should be a court artist. I’ll arrange it.”

  “No, you don’t. Cookie works for me,” I said. “And we have a new employee, Lorraine McDuffy, paralegal.”

  “Lorraine, that’s Denny’s mother,” Willoughby said. “Does his dad know?”

  “I’m leaving that detail to Lorraine. She’s reading briefs of Trisha Liam’s old cases—Mitch’s too—trawling for suspects.”

  Jane showed Cookie’s sketches to Willoughby. He swore he’d seen the guy running on the bridge.

  “How could you? You’re not a runner.”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve seen him.”

  “Get copies made. I want the team canvassing the Heights, Cobble Hill, Boerum Hill, all the way down to Carroll Gardens. Hit all those tight landlords with locked wallets, the ones that slice rooms into thirds and rent them out by the month,” Jane said. “Ask them if they’ve ever seen this guy—on the street, in a deli, the supermarket, a funeral parlor. If they rent to him, they’ll tell us.”

  “And don’t forget to ask them about the van,” Cookie said.

  “Good point.”

  “We’ll plaster the sketch of this guy up and down Court Street and on telephone poles, even on the front of row houses if they’ll let us,” Willoughby said.

  “No!” I yelled. “We want this hunt low-key for now—he’s a person of interest, maybe with a van.”

  Jane nodded. “Stress that, Willoughby. And I don’t want anything leaked to the press other than we’re pursuing some credible leads from the public.” She turned to me. “I don’t want to hear the phrase ‘person of interest.’”

  “What if we find someone who knows the runner, say, a landlord who rents to him or a next-door neighbor with a key to his apartment?” Willoughby asked.

  Jane rolled her eyes. “Think, Willoughby. The usual kid gloves apply. I don’t want anything thrown out because we went searching through some runner’s apartment without a warrant. And we’re far from having probable cause.” Jane pursed her lips at me. “We spoke to the grocer’s wife, and she’s not changing her story. For the record she saw the wriggling tarpaulin on Joralemon.” She turned to Cookie. “The grocer lady told me the same thing she told you.”

  “Why didn’t she call the police when she noticed a squirming roll of cloth? I would have,” Willoughby said.

  “Really? I’m not sure it was that obvious. Besides, she was on her way to work, probably had a zillion things on her mind, you know how it is. Anyway, she didn’t think anything of it at the time. Saw two men, one with dark curly hair. She doesn’t remember w
hat the other one looked like. Both of them were struggling to shove a tarpaulin into a van. In that neighborhood with all the odd job fixit guys plastering nineteenth-century ceilings, it probably didn’t seem odd to her, like part of the normal scenery, and for all we know, it was.”

  “You’re going through footage like mad. Any pics of vans?” I asked.

  Jane nodded. “Found some frames that show an olive green van pull out of a space on Joralemon across the street and down a ways from the school about the time school starts. Funny color green for a van. It shouldn’t be too hard to find, but so far, nothing.”

  “I take it you haven’t picked up the tags.”

  Jane shook her head. “We’ve got squads looking all over Brooklyn and Lower Manhattan for an olive green van. We’ve checked footage on all bridges and tunnels leading into and out of the city, sent copies of the clip to the FBI, who by the way, have given us nothing. The van’s just vanished.”

  “Maybe it’s all cozy sitting in someone’s private garage two blocks away,” Cookie said.

  I could see fear oozing out of Jane as she nodded. “We’ll see what we pick up when we canvass the area.”

  It’s a little late, I thought, but didn’t say it. Instead, I decided to make the most of one of Jane’s softer moments. “What’s the chance of sending me a pic of the van?” I hated to beg, but in two seconds, I had the image on my cell. I thanked Cookie for making us look so good, told her good luck with whatever, cranking my head back and forth in Clancy’s direction. I excused myself and ran the sketches back to Lucy’s, where I scanned them into the computer, sending one set to my phone and another to Jane.

  “I’ve skimmed through everything you’ve given me,” Lorraine said when I asked her how she was getting on. “Haven’t read any of it yet, but after I do, I hope I’ll have more to tell you later today or tomorrow.”

  Better Lorraine than me, but she looked like she was enjoying herself. Come to think of it, reading briefs must be more fun than waiting on Robert McDuffy.