“So you think maybe it was someone else she saw driving away?”
“I take it you haven’t talked to Claudia – only to her mom.”
“Right, she was at school. I’m going to go back there now though.” She looked at her watch.
“Okay. Well look, when you talk to her please tell her to be as specific as possible. I mean what does ‘driving away from the house’ mean? Was the car in the driveway or was it parked out in the street? Did she see the man get into the car, or was he already in the car when she saw him? It would have been dusk at that time. How far away was the car, and was her view obstructed in any way? Okay?”
Lucy frowned. “Of course I’ll ask her all those things,” she said, slightly irritably.
“And try to gauge how reliable she is. Nine-year-olds vary considerably.”
“But they should have taken a formal statement from her anyway,” Lucy said sternly.
“Hey wait a minute. Don’t you go making waves with the police about what they should or shouldn’t have done. You can think it, but don’t level any criticism at them openly. We get a lot of cooperation from the police here in Boston and it would make our lives a whole lot harder if we lose that.”
“I’m only saying it to you,” she said huffily. “So you don’t think there’s anything in it then?”
“She may have seen a man driving away from the house, whatever that means. But you can bet your bottom dollar it wasn’t Bob,” I said.
“Why don’t you come with me,” she said, “so that you can ‘gauge her reliability’ yourself.” She did the finger quote thing to get back at me.
“Okay, well let’s go now, before it starts to get dark, and we can take a look at the scene of the crime.”
“The locus in quo,” Lucy said.
“Yes, that too,” I quipped.
“Did you get the report for the Kingsley case?” Lucy said as we drove over to the Alwin’s place.
“Yes, and I’ve read it too. Not much there. Train driver saw nix. People on the platform that were interviewed by the police said they saw nix, but they were probably just anxious to get home. Or maybe nobody really saw anything. These kinds of accidents happen very quickly – and unexpectedly obviously.”
“So it was an accident?”
“I don’t know the answer to that yet. The real question is ‘Is there any evidence to suggest otherwise?’ There’s another CCTV tape that the police haven’t looked at. It’s outside the station so it won’t tell us anything about the incident itself; but it might throw up something. On the other hand it might not.”
As we approached the Alwin household we could see that the house and garage next door were still sealed with police tape, so there was nothing for us there.
Claudia was a very pretty girl with black hair, a dusky complexion, and eyes that shone like diamonds. Her mother was Puerto Rican which probably had something to do with that. We sat around the kitchen table and Claudia spoke to us in a grown-up way which belied her tender age.
“Look I know what I saw,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”
“Well of course you’re not,” I said. “That’s why we’re here. We think what you saw might be very important. Let’s start at the beginning. You saw Mr. Hughes in a car, driving away from his house,” I said. “Where was the car when you first saw it?”
“It was parked in the street, across the way. Here,” she said, “I’ll show you.”
We walked over to the kitchen window together and Claudia pointed out the window.
“You see those two trees there?” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Well it was parked between them.”
I estimated the distance to be about a hundred and twenty feet or so, perhaps a little further.
“And is this where you were sitting when you saw it?”
“Yes.”
“And what kind of car was it?”
“I don’t know what make it was. It was a gray sedan.”
“And where was Mr. Hughes when you first saw him?”
“Sitting in the driver’s seat. The car was facing this way so I could see him clearly.”
“But it was a little dark, was it?” I said.
“It was getting dark. Kind of just after sunset I guess.”
“And how sure are you that it was Mr. Hughes? You don’t think it could be someone who just looked a bit like him? Or maybe a lot like him?”
“I’m a hundred percent sure. I’ve lived next door to him practically all my life for goodness sake.” She looked at Lucy and me in the kind of challenging way that only a child can.
“Was there any special reason that you noticed Mr. Hughes in his car?”
“I don’t understand what you mean. The policeman asked me when was the last time I saw Mr. Hughes and so I told him.”
“The same as you just told us?” Lucy said.
“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t think he believed me,” she added.
“Well I believe you,” Lucy said, looking daggers at me.
“Me too,” I said.
I rested my hands on my knees and leaned towards her. “Do you know that the lady doctor who examined Mr. Hughes body says he’s been dead for fifteen hours – since mid-afternoon the day before?” I said.
“I know. Mommy told me.”
“So…”
“So,” she said, folding her arms and looking up at us both as if we were clearly her intellectual inferiors, “there must be two of them. It’s obvious.”
Lucy looked at me, raised her eyebrows and shrugged slightly.
“I looked it up on the internet,” Claudia said. “They’re called doppelgangers.”
*
“Isn’t she just so cute?” Lucy said as we drove home.
“As a button,” I said. I was lost in thought.
“Doppelgangers are some kind of evil spirits, aren’t they?” Lucy said, “that take on human form and the exact appearance of someone?”
“Does the report say anything about family members or relatives?” I said.
“Mrs. Hughes’ parents lives in Florida. Mr. Hughes father is dead. His mother lives here in Boston. Her name’s Muriel. She’s in a nursing home. No siblings.”
“I think you’d better go pay Mrs. Hughes a visit,” I said.
As I lay in bed later I cast my mind back to the days when I was a student in London. University College wasn’t far from the Old Bailey, London’s Central Criminal Court. I often went there to sit in the public gallery and watch trials – it was great free entertainment. I saw several trials where identity was a key issue and I remembered that when the judge summed up the case to the jury he always told them this: “Remember, members of the jury, that even a convincing witness can be a mistaken one.”
Was this such a case, I wondered. That would be the most obvious answer. But I wasn’t hired by people to look for the most obvious answer. I was hired to investigate the case thoroughly. One thing I was sure of – it wasn’t a doppelganger; but was it possible that Bob had a twin? I couldn’t sleep so I got up and switched on the computer. I thought I already knew the answer, but I wanted to make sure. I was right. Identical twins have identical DNA.
Chapter Six
Trish
“So you see,” I said to Lucy over breakfast at her place the next morning, “if the crime was committed by an identical twin the DNA would be the same. Suppose Bob Hughes has an identical twin somewhere, that could explain the forensics and Claudia’s sighting of the man in the car – it could explain the missing watch too. It’s like that quest to find the unified theory of everything that scientists are always going on about.”
“Sounds a bit unlikely. The police report states ‘no siblings’.”
“I know, but the police report isn’t infallible. How can they be sure?”
“It’s what Mrs. Hughes − Muriel − told them. But anyway, suppose he did have an identical twin and that he
committed these murders,” Lucy said, “how would the police ever establish that? If their DNA is identical the twin could simply say it wasn’t his.”
“Their fingerprints would be different, for one thing,” I said. “I wonder how thoroughly the police have checked the fingerprints. After all, everything pointed to a domestic murder and suicide. I know the report states that Bob Hughes had no siblings, but how would the police know that for sure? I want you to get over to see Mrs. Hughes as soon as possible. If there is a twin then we need to get the forensic boys back in that house pronto.”
“Isn’t it exciting,” Lucy said. “Maybe Miss Price was right about the watch. If it’s worth that much money then it would have been tempting to take it, even if the motive for the murder wasn’t robbery.” She thought for a moment. “Suppose there is a twin, though. What would be the motive for him killing his brother and sister-in-law?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” I said. “One thing at a time.”
“So what’s on your agenda today?” Lucy said.
“I’m off to see the Kingsleys; Mike and Audrey’s children to be precise. See if there’s anything else they know that might give me some idea what I may be looking for.”
“Do you think there’s anything in it? I mean that maybe it wasn’t an accident?”
“An open mind is a detective’s best friend,” I said.
*
Mike and Audrey Kingsley lived in a turn-of-the-Century classic Victorian home in Waltham, about a forty minute drive away. It was a large single family home in an attractive neighborhood. I arrived just after eleven and was shown into the living room. Two sofas were arranged at right angles to one another and the three adult children were already seated on one of them when I walked in.
I sat down on the other one, accepted the offer of a cup of coffee, and the children introduced themselves to me. I told them I was sorry for their recent loss and they nodded non-committedly. Clare spoke first.
“I hope we’re not on a wild goose chase,” she said, “but we’re all agreed that we need to find out the truth. I think the circumstances surrounding Freddy’s death are suspicious at the very least. You should understand that we weren’t close. My brothers won’t mind me telling you that they washed their hands of Freddy years ago. That might sound an awful or insensitive thing to say at a time like this but in any case we’re determined to do the best we can to find out what happened. If someone else was responsible for Freddy’s death we want them brought to justice.”
“At first glance cases like this might seem very difficult,” I said, “particularly when there’s been a police investigation which turned up nothing other than accidental death. But if Freddy’s death is related to any kind of criminal activity then in my experience it won’t remain a secret for long. I’ve got some very reliable informants on the streets, and if Freddy was mixed up in something illegal which led to his death, I believe there’s a good chance of me finding out. Having said that though, there’s a big difference to finding something out and proving it – you have to understand that. When people are prosecuted, the prosecution has to rely on evidence, and the standard of proof they need to achieve is a high one; so I can’t promise that anyone will necessarily be brought to justice over this as you put it. But we shall see.”
“What kind of things do you think we can help with?” Tim said.
“Well first of all your father says that Freddy had a girlfriend called Trish. Do any of you know any more than that – a last name, an address, a place of work…?”
“I doubt she had a place of work,” Rob said, rolling his eyes.
“Her name’s O’Connor,” Clare said. “Trish O’Connor. True Irish descent – and it shows − a mass of red hair and an Irish brogue, in spite of living here all her life. I only met her once, but I went to the place where she and Freddy were living. Actually there were several people living there by the look of it. It was a long time ago, though, and I’ve no idea whether she still lives there or not.” She wrote down an address and handed it to me. It was in Roxbury.
“It’s a run-down apartment block. The apartment’s on the top floor. Rather dirty, mattresses on the living room floor. God knows how many people used it.”
“Do any of you have her phone number?”
They all shook their heads.
“There’s another possibility,” I said. “Your father said she’s got a record. The police or probation service may have some information about her. But I’ll check out the address that Clare has first. Even if she’s moved, there may be somebody there who can point me in the right direction. It seems to me that she’s the most likely person to know what Freddy was doing; although she may not have specific information on what he was doing on the day he was killed, and even if she does know, she might not be willing to tell me.”
“I got the feeling, last time I saw him, that he might be involved with some kind of gang, or whatever you call these kinds of people. I mean something a bit bigger, more sophisticated than he was used to.”
“What gave you that impression?”
“The car he was driving, the clothes; and an air of faux superiority that he had – almost cockiness. But he didn’t tell me anything specific.”
“I believe he told you that he owed the Costa brothers money and he’d been lying low,” I said.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I should have mentioned that. But I don’t think that could have anything to do with his death, do you? I mean they’d hardly want him dead if he owed them money.”
“It seems unlikely. I’ve managed to find out a little about the Costas’ operation. I’m told they usually lend money to drug users. Apparently their father is involved in drug supply in Boston, did you know that?”
“No, but it wouldn’t surprise me,” Clare said.
“On the investigative side I’ve got a copy of the police report. There was a CCTV tape which isn’t helpful, but I believe there’s another one that the police didn’t look at. It was outside the station. From that it should be possible to determine whether he was alone when he arrived there. I shall need a photograph of him, of course.”
“Dad’s got some for you,” she said.
I looked at each of them in turn. “Anything else that you know about that might help me?” I said. No-one said anything. “Well if you think of anything be sure to let me know. I’ve got an appointment with several of my informants now, so I’ll need to get downtown if you’ll excuse me.”
Mike Kingsley handed me several photographs of Freddy, then we said our goodbyes and I drove towards the city. I had no luck with the three stooges. Too soon, they said. Give them another couple of days. So I headed over to the address Clare had given me in Roxbury and located a run-down apartment building that had probably seen better days, but not for a long time. I knocked on the apartment door and heard mumbled voices inside.
“Yeah?” a female voice said through the door.
“I’ve come to see Trish,” I said.
“She’s not here, who are you?”
“A friend of Freddy’s,” I said.
There was a pause. “Freddy’s dead, didn’t you hear?”
“I know, that’s why I want to see Trish. Are you Trish?”
“I told you she’s not here.”
“I heard you. I’ve got some money for her,” I lied, on the spur of the moment, “can I come in?”
I heard sounds of the door being unlocked and then it opened, but only a couple of inches. There was a chain preventing it opening any further.
“You want me to give it to her mister?” she said.
“No, I have to give it to her myself. Can you tell me where she is?”
“I dunno. She split when she heard about Freddy.”
“If you don’t know where she is how were you planning to give her the money?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did she take her stuff with her?” I asked.
“N
o, why?”
“Because I want to know if she’s coming back.”
The door closed. The conversation was over. I had missed Trish O’Connor by just a few days. She’d lived there until she learnt about Freddy Kingsley’s death and then had hurriedly moved out and left no forwarding address. Or at least that’s what I’d been told, but I had no idea whether it was the truth. She might still be there for all I knew. It wasn’t the woman who’d opened the door though, not unless she dyed her hair.
Even if she was still there, or if her friends knew where she was, she obviously wasn’t going to talk to me, so I guess it didn’t really matter if she was there or not. Except that if she really had split when she learned about Freddy’s death, and hadn’t taken anything with her, it could signal a significant breakthrough. It would probably mean that she was frightened of something or somebody. And the something or somebody she was frightened of was probably linked to Freddy’s death. For the first time I thought that maybe I was on to something. Whether I could nail that something down was another matter. Suddenly the whereabouts of Trish O’Connor had taken on a new significance.
I called Tony Scipio who, together with his wife, handled most of my surveillance work. “Hey Tony, I’ve got a job for you. Not the usual – I need you to keep an eye on an apartment block in Roxbury. Are you free?”
“I’m on a surveillance job at the moment, boss. One of yours, didn’t Brenda tell you?”
“Sorry, she doesn’t always remember to keep me up to date on these things. How about June?”
“She’s free. How about I call her and get her to take over this job and then I’ll meet you.”
“Okay? How long will you need?”
“An hour. Sooner if I can.”
“I’ll wait.” I gave him the address and looked around to find somewhere in sight of the apartment building to drink a coffee. I was out of luck. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to know if I’d been told the truth. If Trish was in the apartment then sooner or later she’d have to make an appearance. If she knew someone was looking for her she might decide to leave. While I was waiting I realized I only had a vague description of her. An Irish redhead about thirty years old. I needed to get a picture of her, but there was no time for that now.
I Spy - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Six: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Suspense & Thriller Stories - A Murder Mystery & Suspense Thriller Page 4