Jake blinked. “What’s that—”
“Nearly ten years,” Sam said.
“Were you on friendly terms with Mrs. Weinberg?”
“We spent most of the time ignoring one another,” Jake said. “It was a matter of pretending one or the other didn’t exist.”
“From what I gathered, she was not exactly popular with any of her neighbors,” said Haggerty.
“You saw her at the meeting,” Jake said. “She could be very unpleasant.”
“I gathered that. Not exactly the most open minded of individuals. She has a call record several miles long on the Jacoby family.”
“The fence dispute,” Sam said. “I remember that. She tore into poor Leanne one day nine years ago. April 27th. It rained that morning. I don’t think anyone in the neighborhood missed that one.”
“Uh…right,” said Haggerty. “Then there’s the ongoing fight with Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw over the maple trees.”
“They can be a pain—the leaves, not Al and Phyllis. And the leaves make excellent mulch. I don’t know why the old bat—”
Sam cleared his throat loudly.
“Oh, knock it off, Sam,” he said, exasperated. “Why beat about the bush? The old crone loathed us because we’re a couple of homos and made no bones about it. Everyone on High Street knows that. And I might add the feeling was mutual,” Jake said emphatically. “She was a mean-spirited old biddy with horrible taste. You saw the collection of dwarfs on the front lawn and the topiary out back. Imagine having to live with that next door for ten years. That and all those clucks of the tongue every time I stepped outside to so much as get the mail.”
“Oh, just tell the nice detective how you really feel,” said Sam, covering his eyes with his hand.
“And she was always after Barnaby. Never mind the dog is always fenced in or on a leash. If something horrible happened, it was Barnaby’s fault. When that stupid dwarf Baleful got smashed last week—”
“Bashful,” said Sam, still holding his head in his hand.
“Did she think it might have been one of her klutzy yard workers? Nope, it was the gay guy’s dog.”
“Our relationship with our neighbor was strained at best,” Sam said simply.
“Well, like I say, it seems it was with everyone on the block, except maybe the Fujiokas, but it seems they’re snow birds and aren’t around much.” He jotted a few notes down. “When did you last see Mrs. Weinberg?”
“At home, or in general?” asked Jake.
“I can’t remember,” said Sam. “I think it was—”
“Wednesday. Before the meeting. I can’t recall seeing her home after that.”
“No, me either. How long had she been…”
“Dead?” Haggerty asked. “Oh, I’d just be guessing at this point.”
“A week at least,” said Jake, grimacing. “Based on the smell, and the fact that her fingers had already bloated, meaning gases were breaking down the body. The ring on her hand looked like it had been squeezed around a Ball Park hot dog.”
“Well, that’s me off hot dogs for a while,” Sam said, looking green. “I could have done without that, thank you, Tiger.”
“You have some training in the field?” asked Haggerty, an eyebrow shooting up.
“Jake’s a writer,” Sam said. “And we’re both avid mystery fans. You name any mystery writer worth two cents in the last fifty years, we’ve probably read them,” Sam said. “Not to mention CSI, Bones…all the forensic shows…”
“Bit of an amateur sleuth then, eh?”
Jake caught a flicker in Haggerty’s eye that he took to mean he was being relegated to the “trouble” file.
“Absolutely not,” said Jake, the thought of last year’s events with Susan Crane fresh on his mind. “I leave the detecting to the detectives, er, um, detective. I have zero interest in being involved in any kind of investigation.”
“I’m confused,” Sam said. “Mrs. Weinberg died of natural causes, right? I mean, she probably sent her blood pressure through the roof after the meeting last Wednesday and gave herself a stroke or heart attack or something, right?”
“It’s possible. The autopsy will tell us more. We’ve got no reason to believe anything suspicious is going on. There were no signs of a struggle, and the house was locked when we arrived, but we treat situations like this as a crime scene until we know more,” Haggerty said absently.
“The pool,” Jake said, apropos of nothing.
Haggerty gave him a crooked grin. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve seen you down at the pool before when I’ve gone swimming. You’ve got a tattoo of a phoenix on your left shoulder.”
“You’re very observant, Mr. Finnigan.”
“To the point of being annoying,” said Sam under his breath.
“It’s not my fault. I’ve got a memory that’s nearly photographic. It’s a blessing and a curse. It’s not always fun remembering that your second grade teacher had two rather large moles that sprouted gray hair like a smoke tree in bloom.”
This time Haggerty did laugh. “Do you recall what happened on Wednesday when you last saw her?”
“My second grade teacher?”
“Mrs. Weinberg, you dope,” Sam said, shaking his head.
“Oh! Yes. Vividly,” said Jake. “She was threatening to shoot Barnaby.”
“Why?”
“She thought that he had broken one of her hideous dwarfs.”
“The aforementioned Bashful,” Haggerty said, making another note.
“Right. Then she used some derogatory words toward us,” said Jake slowly.
Haggerty looked up from his notepad. “Oh?”
“Nothing terrible, I suppose. The ‘f’ word did not rear its head, but archaic or not, the words she used would still be considered a slur.”
“Sodomite and buggerer,” Sam filled in cheerfully.
“And what did you say?”
Jake shrugged. “I told her to pipe down or I’d file a report on her with the police, that she was harassing us. Jeez, I feel bad about that now.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, if her blood pressure did do her in, I probably raised it up a few levels with that speech,” Jake said. “I may not have liked her, but certainly didn’t wish any ill will on her.” He considered. “Not any serious ill will. At least, not that wasn’t done for comic effect like a Warner Brothers cartoon. You know, anvils falling from the sky.”
“Or that something might run her over, like say an armored truck,” said Haggerty with a smile.
Jake found himself blushing under Haggerty’s direct stare. “Oh, that. I wondered if you heard me. Well, I didn’t mean that. Not really,” he said. He then shook his head. “Nope, I can’t say that honestly, Detective. Had she been run over by an armored truck at that particular moment in time, I probably wouldn’t have been too upset. She’d just spat the word ‘pervert’ at the two of us in a public forum, something I found pretty damn reprehensible. If an armored truck ran her over at that moment in time I’d have probably tipped the driver.”
“Is he always this candid?” Haggerty asked Sam.
“Jake’s incapable of lying.”
“It’s not a bad quality,” Haggerty pointed out. “Okay, so after your argument on Wednesday, that was the last time you saw her?”
“No,” Jake and Sam said at once.
“But you just said…”
“You asked when the last time we saw her at home was,” stated Sam. “We all saw her later that evening at the town meeting. I can’t remember seeing her after that.”
“Neither can I, which is weird upon reflection. I should have realized something was up over there. The crows should have been a big giveaway.”
“Crows?”
“Yeah, yesterday Jason noticed a whole flock of crows outside of the back door and window over there.”
“Murder, Jake, they’re a…murder…of…we’ll stick with flock,” said Sam.
“It was the crow
s that brought you over to her house?”
“No,” said Jake, looking over there. Six police cars were parked in front of the house, lights flashing. The coroner’s van had left, leaving a group of uniformed officers still milling about the place. Inside the kitchen came pops of light from camera flashes. “It was the smell. Sam and I were going over plans to revamp the side and backyards and well, once we got parallel to the back door at her house…” Jake shuddered.
“Yeah it was pretty pungent,” said Haggerty. “It seems Mrs. Weinberg ran cold. Her house was cranked up to seventy-eight degrees.”
“That explains why she was always yelling at the gas guy,” said Sam, shaking his head. “She constantly accused the meter reader of reading her meter wrong.”
“Say that ten times fast,” said Jake under his breath. “That’s true, though, she did. Got be a regular monthly row,” he said, something occurring to him. “Although seventy-eight degrees seems a little warm even for her.”
Haggerty looked at Jake and asked, “Meaning?”
“Well, I read this book. The Teacup Assassin. The body of this particular acid-tongued gossip columnist was stuck in a very warm room by the murderer to speed up the decay and obscure the time of death,” said Jake.
“That wasn’t The Teacup Assassin, was it? I thought that happened in Knifey Wifey?” asked Sam.
“Nope, Knifey Wifey had the actress that got pushed down the lighthouse stairs. Remember, it took like fifteen pages for the body to get to the bottom of the stairs.”
“Which you bitched about probably defying the laws of physics.”
“Right,” said Jake, thinking. “I can’t believe it took over a week for someone to miss her.”
“The actress in the lighthouse?” Haggerty asked.
“No, Leona.”
“How so?”
“Well, she was so buddy-buddy with Longhoffer, for example. It seems he would have missed her at the very least.”
“Except,” Sam pointed out, “She had a tiff with Longhoffer at the end of that meeting. Not to mention the whole staff of the Examiner has walked out.”
“I guess with writing and Jason and my mother visiting I know I didn’t even think of Mrs. Weinberg.”
“No, me either. I’ve been getting my quarterly taxes done with my accountant all week. She was about the last thing on my mind.”
“You know, that’s pretty sad,” said Jake. “Here she is dead on her floor for probably a week, and no one missed her.” He looked at Sam, then at Haggerty. “Just doesn’t seem right, does it?”
Chapter Twelve
Later, as Haggerty drove away, he had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Something wasn’t right about the death of the old woman, and he knew the autopsy results would reveal that. He’d worked too many homicide cases not to know when something was amiss. And Finnigan had been right, cranking up the heat was a way to speed decay and obscure the time of death.
He wasn’t sure what to make of those two. Sam O’Conner was about as threatening as a butterfly, and it wasn’t only his outward teddy bear-like appearance that made Haggerty draw that conclusion. O’Conner radiated a gentleness not common to many men. It made Haggerty think of how soft-spoken and kind his grandfather had been. Haggerty felt in his gut that O’Conner was very much like him in that regard.
Finnigan, he couldn’t really place. He still remembered the haunted look of horror on Finnigan’s face when he had been on the Elwha the previous year, after the body of Susan Crane had been found. Finnigan was holding something back, and Haggerty wondered what it was.
One thing he was certain about: everything Finnigan told him was the absolute truth. He was as straightforward as his husband claimed him to be. Haggerty found that refreshing, but Finnigan’s laser-like perception was a bit disconcerting.
He began to wonder more about Mr. Finnigan and Mr. O’Conner. It would probably be wise of him to check their backgrounds out thoroughly. And that of the brother, whom he would talk to later as time allowed.
Adam Haggerty didn’t feel they were responsible for their neighbor’s death, but the way Jake Finnigan had so vehemently denied any attempt to insert himself into the investigation struck him as being a bit off, particularly after his husband had told him what an avid mystery fan he was. Those types of people did put themselves in the investigation, always thinking they were smarter than the police.
Haggerty picked up his cell phone and dialed the number of his partner, Detective Sharon Trumbo. She picked up on the first ring.
“Trumbo.”
“Hi Sharon, I’m on my way back in.”
“Next time you get to go with the body,” Sharon groused. “Particularly if we’re out of body bags. Not only do I dislike not being with you when you question people, I don’t have to witness the ooze factor.”
“Sorry,” Haggerty said. “We’re not the only ones short staffed right now. After the whole Crane affair last year, the coroner’s office is still in a bit of turmoil.”
“How do you forget to order body bags? Sorry. Sorry. Forget it,” Sharon said. “What’s it look like?”
“I’m not sure at this point. Looks like the old lady was eating an apple. Possibly she choked or had a stroke or coronary. No obvious signs of foul play.”
“But…?”
“Why do you assume there’s a ‘but’?”
“You’re calling me. I’m willing to bet something about this doesn’t sit right with you. What gives?”
“I’m not sure just yet. One of the neighbors pointed out to me that the house being so warm is a classic attempt to speed decay and obfuscate the time of death.”
“Helpful neighbor. Homicidal neighbor?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. But I’d like you to run some background checks.”
“Okay. What names do you have?”
“First is an Albert Allen Crenshaw. DOB 7 January 1952. And the wife, Phyllis Benson Crenshaw, DOB 9 October 1958. Located at 99 High Street.”
“Got it. Next?”
“Jason David Finnigan. DOB 30 April,” he said, giving the year. And his brother, Jacob Allen Finnigan, 31 October, a year later. 100 High Street.”
“Okay, any others?”
“Samuel Patrick O’Conner. DOB August 2, 19—”
“Hang on,” said Sharon, fumbling with a pen.
Haggerty gave her the year and said, “Also at 100 High.”
“That last one sounds familiar.”
“It does?”
“Yes…” He heard a rustle of papers in the background. “Ah, that’s why. I was just reading about him. He was in the Examiner a week or so ago. He’s a maritime architect in charge of the new ferries they’re building at Sutherland Shipyard in town here, and he’s project manager on that old boat they’re turning into a hotel.”
Haggerty nodded to himself, remembering the article. He knew Sam O’Conner’s name had sounded familiar. “That’s right, I read that too.”
“So what, these guys live next door to the old lady?”
“Yes. Two are brothers.”
“I gathered that. What’s the relationship with O’Conner and the other two?”
“Jacob Finnigan and O’Conner are a couple.”
“Ah, got you. Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all. I just know Leona Weinberg was a Class A bigot. I can’t imagine the idea of living next to a gay couple thrilled her tremendously.”
“Living next to anyone didn’t thrill her tremendously. I have ten statements here on what a spiteful old bitch she was. If this turns out to be a homicide, it’s a miracle no one did her in sooner.”
“You think it might be a homicide?”
“I don’t know. Something wasn’t right there. I could feel it. So could the neighbor, actually.”
“The neighbors thought something was wrong?”
“Neighbor. One to be specific. Jacob Finnigan. Same one who noted the thing with the heat. I’d like to find out if we’re both ri
ght.”
* * *
“Quit staring at it,” said Jake irritably, flipping back to the Discovery Channel. Sam was perched near the living room blind, ostensibly to lower it, but he had paused, locked in thought while looking over at Leona’s.
“I can’t help it. I feel…”
“Guilty?” Jake shook his head. “You can take the boy out of the Catholic church…”
“Come on, Jake, don’t have a go at me over that again.” He lowered the blind and plunked into the couch next to Jake. Jake casually wrapped his arm around him, holding him closer.
“I’m sorry, Sam. You know I don’t normally go after religion just for the sake of it. I guess I’ve just had my share of hypocrisy this week.”
“I know. I just wish you took my spiritual beliefs a little more seriously.”
“It’s not that I don’t. I just can’t understand how you can still feel so attached to a church that wants no part of you and works very hard to exclude you. And in the past would happily have burned you alive.”
“I know, I know,” said Sam glumly. He stared at the television, where a soothing female voice was calmly describing the eruption of Mount Pelée in 1902 that had incinerated some thirty thousand people.
“Maybe you should try Evelyn’s church,” said Jake.
“Hmm?”
“Your mother’s church. I’ve heard some good things about the Reverend Crawford. Not to mention the way she stuck up for us at the meeting.”
“But they’re Unitarians.”
“Oh, clutch the pearls, Samuel,” said Jake, rolling his eyes. “And I’m surprised at you. That sounded an awful lot like something dear departed Leona Weinberg would say—would have said.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It was just a thought,” said Jake, rising to turn up the heat. “Or you can talk to Gavin about Buddhism. They’re more in line with your way of thinking anyway.”
“I’ll mull it over.”
“I’m off to bed.”
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
Jake left the room, but paused on the stairs. He stepped back down, and turned around the corner and said to Sam, “Have you thought, Sam, that maybe what you miss is the church and not the religion?”
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