“Mr. Finnigan, are you sure…”
“I’m fine,” said Jake. “But you might want to check up on Alexander Blackburn Junior.”
Before Haggerty or Trumbo could say anything, Jake left the room.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jake stepped outside the office and made his way down to the elevator, nodding to the guard as he left the Public Safety Building.
Back in the Cruiser, he felt a bit better, but kept his word and called Sam. Sam picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Service done?”
“Yep. Mom and I were just having a chat with the Reverend Crawford.”
“Can you come and get me?”
“Wait, aren’t you at home?”
“No, I went down to talk to Haggerty like I told you. I’m feeling a bit light-headed and promised him I wouldn’t drive.”
“I thought I asked you to wait. Full of that cough syrup, no doubt. What were you thinking, Jacob?”
“I thought I could get down here and back before it started affecting me.”
“I’m tying you to the bed when I get you home. You’re not leaving the house until you’re feeling one hundred per cent better. Have you forgotten your bout with Mr. Pneumonia the last time you pushed yourself too hard?”
“No, sir,” said Jake sheepishly. “Just come and get me, okay?”
“All right. I’ll bring Mom with me, and she can drive the Cruiser home, you big dope.”
“I’ll be right here.”
* * *
“And what was Jake doing out of bed?” Evelyn asked Sam.
“You know Jake, Ma. You can’t tell him anything.”
“He seems like a very headstrong lad,” said Milly Crawford, noticing something stuck to the podium for the first time. She had a habit of not standing still while delivering one of her sermons, preferring to move about. In any event, she would likely have overlooked the white three-by-five note card that was taped to the front of the podium on the altar. She popped the card off and read the message, chuffing.
“What’s that, Milly?” Evelyn asked.
“My secret admirer did leave me a card after all,” she said, holding out the card. “Though he’s not much of a speller.”
Sam caught a look at the card and blanched. Reverend Crawford caught his expression at once. “Sam, are you okay?”
“When did you get that?”
“What, this? It must have been left by the person who left me all the flowers,” she said motioning to the stargazer lilies. “I assumed Milo must have let them in,” said Reverend Crawford. “Sam, what is wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“That’s not just from anybody, Reverend Crawford. That note is from the person who killed Reed Longhoffer and Leona Weinberg.”
* * *
Jake’s trip home had been delayed, as Adam Haggerty had to question everyone involved with the note. Once home, however, he did exactly as Sam instructed and went directly to bed, where he promptly fell asleep. When he awoke several hours later, he felt surprisingly better. He sat up in bed, patting his thigh and calling for Barnaby to join him on the bed. Jake petted the dog for several moments then got up, wanting a glass of juice.
He walked downstairs and found Sam sprawled out on the couch, snoring gently. He’d forgotten to take off his glasses, which were askew, and Jake noticed several white hairs in Sam’s beard. Sam was going to be a very distinguished, handsome man into midlife and well beyond.
He crept around him and looked into what had been Jason’s room. Sam had indeed been busy. All the furniture had been pulled out of the room, save for the mattress and box spring. The walls were looking particularly dingy, even though the curtains had been removed and daylight was streaming through the window. He stepped into the room and walked to the window, looking out at the side yard, in which they still had not started any work. Leona’s death had pretty much curtailed that, neither one of them wanting to be near her house.
Who the hell is doing this? Jake thought angrily. Susan Crane was bad enough, being dumped on the ferry, but someone was targeting his town, the place he had called home for nearly a decade now. He felt personally attacked, even if he did not happen to like either person who had been murdered. Moreover, Leona Weinberg being a neighbor just put it too damn close.
Someone was out there now, he noticed abruptly. The front door was open, and a Jeep Cherokee rental was in the driveway. Jake leaned closer to the glass, realizing anyone could see him blatantly staring out at the house next door. He was wondering who it could be when the doorbell buzzed, making him jump.
He quickly cinched up his robe and headed out for the front door, Sam stirring awake on the couch.
“Wazz? Who’s there?”
“Someone is at the door, kiddo,” said Jake, going to answer the door. He pulled it open to find a tall man of about thirty-five dressed in a brown bomber jacket, and tight jeans, and biker boots. He flashed Jake a smile that indicated teeth whitening and a very good cosmetic dentist. His coal black, wavy hair was combed back, matched by an equally black beard. He took off a pair of Harley Davidson sunglasses to reveal dark brown eyes. Jake thought he detected Donna Karan’s Be Delicious cologne on him, but wouldn’t trust his nose in the present circumstances.
“Hello, I was wondering if you could help me possibly?” the man asked. He had a deep baritone voice.
“I’d like to,” said Jake.
“Pardon?”
“Smooth, Ace,” said Sam, coming up behind him as Jake turned a particularly stunning shade of crimson. “Sam O’Conner,” said Sam, offering a hand. “How can we help you, Mr…?”
“Kyle O’Brien,” the man said, shaking Sam’s hand.
“Jake Finnigan,” said Jake, recovering long enough to shake the handsome man’s hand.
“I’m Aunt Leona’s nephew,” he said. “I’ve just gotten in from San Francisco to settle her estate.”
“Come in and have a seat,” said Sam, gesturing toward the living room.
“Thank you,” said O’Brien, entering the house and crossing over to the living room. “Very nice house you have here, Mr. O’Conner, Mr. Finnigan. And a beautiful yard, too.” He sat down while Barnaby, recently appeared from upstairs, sniffed his hand and allowed himself to be petted. “I can’t imagine why Aunt Leona would find you so objectionable.”
“Ah, well,” started Jake.
“She didn’t approve of our relationship,” said Sam simply. “It seems your aunt was a little…erm…”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘bigoted,’ Mr. O’Conner,” said Kyle O’Brien. “Aunt Leona was not what you’d call open-minded. Had she known that I, her only living relative, had married a woman of Chinese descent, she might have made different arrangements for the settling of her estate, which, I might add, is considerable.”
“Ah ha,” said Jake.
Kyle O’Brien arched an eyebrow. “Not to give you the wrong impression, Mr. Finnigan, I didn’t say anything because I chose to keep my private life private, not because I was afraid of being cut out of her will. I didn’t even know I was in her will. She had never been close to my father or myself. I did come out here for a few summers when I was a kid, so she must have looked back upon them fondly,” he said, shrugging. “She was a much kinder woman back then. When her first husband died—Uncle Raymond—she really changed. She withdrew and became very religious. We thought she’d change when she met Uncle Silas—Mr. Weinberg. No such luck. He was a kind man, but a bit of a milquetoast and she bulldozed over him. She quit talking to my father and mother because she believed them to be immoral,” he shrugged. “For reasons I’m still not sure of, she kept in contact with me, one letter a week, right up until the time she died.”
“And she kept you up to speed with the events of High Street.”
Kyle O’Brien nodded. “Her reports about her new neighbors were so disturbing to me I actually ran a background check on you, Mr. O’Conner. You see
, she never would say what the nature of her complaint was, but she was so distraught I had to find out.” He shrugged again. “She was horrible, but I still saw her though my childhood eyes, I guess. I’d gently try to nudge her in my letters, but…” he finished with a shrug.
“I understand,” said Sam. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” Sam glanced at the clock on the DVD player. “Scotch?”
“I’ll take a double of Jameson’s,” said Jake.
“You’re sick,” said Sam.
“Can’t think of a better way to get rid of a cold,” said O’Brien.
“Me, either.”
“I can, Mr-Four-Shots-of-Codeine-Cough-Syrup. You get a glass of orange juice. Mr. O’Brien?”
“Kyle, please. A double shot of Jameson sounds great.”
Sam left and returned a few minutes later with a double and an orange juice, which Jake scowled at.
Kyle took a large swig of his and smiled. “Of course all I found out was that you’re a successful maritime designer with a raft of accolades and achievements. I was perplexed to say the least. When she finally got around to mentioning Mr. Finnigan, I put two and two together. I sent her a steady stream of ‘live and let live’ letters which seemed to work, but over the last month or so, she seemed to be getting more and more upset about it. I don’t think it was anything you were doing. Aunt Leona was seventy-eight and not in the best of health. The content of her letters was often erratic and disjointed. Had this not happened, I was going to come at Thanksgiving and see what exactly was going on and see if it might not be time for assisted living.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” said Jake, suddenly feeling terribly guilty for all the harsh things he’d said to Leona Weinberg. Being in failing health would have explained several things.
“I appreciate that,” Kyle said. “Though really I mourned for her long ago.”
“Have the police been able to give you any idea who they think might have…” Sam asked.
Jake looked at him, utterly astonished. What had gotten into him? He was forever telling Jake to stay out of the investigation, and here he was asking about it.
O’Brien shook his head. “No. They haven’t given me any details other than they have several ‘persons of interest’ and that it was not a random killing. I gather they really don’t have much to go on.”
“Did they tell you there has been a second murder?” asked Sam, once again making Jake’s jaw drop.
“They did mention that another member of the city council had been murdered, but stressed it might not be related to my aunt’s death. The detective mentioned my aunt and this other man were in favor of some sort of land development issue that was very unpopular with most of the population of the city.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Jake quietly.
“I assumed it was one of two people—Reed Longhoffer or Alexander Blackburn, though the police didn’t say,” said O’Brien. “Aunt Leona would often write about them. I never quite got the nature of their friendship. She seemed to actively despise both men, but at the same time considered them allies to some bigger cause.”
“Alexander Blackburn?” Sam asked.
“Junior, or the third?”
“She never said.”
Jake and Sam glanced at one another, but said nothing.
“Well, I don’t mean to take up your time,” said O’Brien, rising. “I actually just came over to see if you might know a place I could stay in town. I could stay at the house, but quite honestly the idea gave me the creeps.”
“I understand,” said Jake. “I’d try the Illahee Inn. Very nice bed and brunch in the old part of town on the water. Excellent food there as well.”
Sam headed into the kitchen for the phone book. “I’ll get the number for you.”
“I’ll be doing some improvements to the house,” said O’Brien slowly. “I can’t sell it the way it’s been…”
“Saccharinized?” Jake suggested.
“It is worse on the inside, if you can believe it. She had some valuable antiques in there, but they were all shoved in the back bedroom. The rest of the house is some pretty awful late 1970’s colonial style furniture all wrapped in plastic. I’m giving all that away and storing the other pieces until I have time to go through them properly.”
“Here’s the number,” said Sam, handing O’Brien a small slip of paper.
“As for the outside of the house, I’m having the shutters and the trim replaced. The yard has been pretty well maintained, but I’ll have a crew clean it up. The topiary in the backyard will be trimmed into just plain bushes. Those damn dwarves are all going to the landfill. I know she loved them, but no one else will. After all that is done, I’ll have the place painted. There will be quite a bit of activity over there the next few days. I’ll be giving the other neighbors a heads up so they don’t think the place is being looted.”
“After all is done, will you be placing the house on the market?” asked Jake.
“Yes. I thought of relocating up here, and am very tempted to, but I just couldn’t…live there,” he said, turning to go. He paused on the door porch. “She was the one who tore down the original house and put that sixties ranch house in there. I understand the house was much more in the flavor of this one. I’m not sure why she did it, other than it disrupted the flow of the rest of the neighborhood.” He shrugged. “It was just the kind of thing she did.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Sharon looked up at Adam, who had just hung the phone up again. “Any luck?”
“No answer.”
“What’d the patrol car say?”
“Everything looked fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. They don’t appear to be home. One of the cars is not parked in the garage, which was left open.”
“So maybe Mr. Finnigan was wrong,” said Sharon.
Adam glanced up at her from the report he was reading, but said nothing.
“You don’t think so,” said Sharon.
“I don’t know. I know we can’t go busting in there without probable cause. We’ve left messages, we’ve done our due diligence.”
“Isn’t there any other way to get a hold of him? What about Alex Blackburn? The son, I mean?”
Adam laughed. “I doubt very much that Alex has any current information on how to get in touch with his father. Very little love lost between them.”
“Have you tried?”
“Of course I have,” Adam said. “I can’t get a hold of Blackburn the Third, either.”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
Adam looked at Sharon and nodded. “Yeah, I am. I’m afraid we’re already too late.”
* * *
Jake and Sam stepped back inside the house, shutting the door tightly behind them. Jake made his way back to the couch, Sam joining him, slipping his arm comfortably around his husband.
“I feel like a bit of a bastard,” Jake said.
“I don’t know why. How were we to know? We weren’t living here to see the old Leona. Who knew she had tenderness toward kids?”
“Did you have any idea she was that old?”
“No. I mean, I knew she was up there, but she’s held up pretty well. Or had, anyway.”
“Do you feel like…I don’t know…like something is hovering over Arrow Bay?”
“Like some unseen evil? Well, there have been two murders linked to each other.”
“They haven’t, you know. Not officially. I think Haggerty thought I was off my rocker. I felt off my rocker.”
“Detective Haggerty is a very thoughtful person. And I think he likes us. Or respects us at any rate. I doubt he thinks you’re off your rocker.”
“I can’t see Emma Kennedy or Randy Burrows being the type to bump either Weinberg or Longhoffer off,” said Jake, thinking aloud.
“I can’t either, but you know how divisive things have been on the city council for the last few years. The whole Wilde Park thing brought that to a head.”
“If
you’re going to paint that with the Wilde Park brush, you’ll have to add Baldo Ludich to the list. He was really getting in Longhoffer’s face over the whole issue.”
“Baldo certainly has the strength to wrangle a wolfhound. But killing over the park?”
Jake went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with the phone book. He quickly flipped through the pages in the front until he came up with a generalized map of Arrow Bay.
“I’d say he’s got motive,” Jake said, pointing to where Ludich lived. “His house backs right up to Wilde Park. Imagine how the property value would have plunged had that SuperLoMart gone in. He’d never have been able to unload the place.”
“Okay, by that criterion, you’ve also got to add in Alex, as the Chinook is going to park very near there.”
“Ugh. I’d rather not. I still feel bad about thinking him guilty of bumping Susan Crane off last year.”
“Well, I’d cross him off for sheer lack of time. He’s been so wrapped up in the Chinook, I don’t think he’d be capable of plotting out such elaborate murders.”
“What O’Brien said about an Alex Blackburn in Leona’s letters…”
“Oh, that had to be Junior since we know he was financing the whole little scheme,” Sam replied.
“I agree. And I also agree that Alex hasn’t had the time,” said Jake, happy to leave Alex off the list. “What about along here, Chickadee Lane? It overlooks the park. There’s that one big house, yellow with the white trim. The only one that is high enough to overlook the park and out onto the water.”
“The Burd House?”
“Is it a home for swallows or something?”
“B-u-r-d, you goofball.”
“As in Marion?”
“Indeed,” said Sam. “Losing your million dollar view, downgrading property values, and editing your story without permission to give it a Republican slant when you’re a dyed-in-the-wool member of the Democratic Party sounds like motive to me.”
Sinister Justice Page 23