Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

  Kuntz had fished out his cell phone. He was using his thumb to punch out a number. His other thick and bent fingers were not equal to the task. Lilly heard him ask, “You got a listing for Stride? He spelled it out for her. He said, “Yeah, that’s right.” A recording came on. He slapped Toomey’s shoulder. Excitedly, he hissed, “Damn, it’s her.”

  Toomey looked at him through the rear view mirror. He said, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  Kuntz said, “Write this down.” He recited the number he’d been given.

  Lilly jotted it at the top of the photo. “She said Elizabeth Stride? There’s actually a listing for Elizabeth Stride?”

  “E. Stride,” said Kuntz. “It’s listed with an initial. Which means it’s a woman or they’d give the whole name. I never understood why so many women do that. I mean, who the hell would it fool?”

  “Wait a minute,” said Lilly. He was trying to remember. The CIA files. They had Strides from all over. And one of them did live in South Carolina. Was it Hilton Head? Maybe. He hadn’t paid much attention. He’d skipped over it because the photo in that file couldn’t possibly have been the real Stride.

  Lilly said, “That’s not her. That’s a different one. Trust me.”

  Kuntz bridled. He said, “What? I have to be wrong? Clew didn’t write ‘Hilton Head Island’ for nothing. I come up with this and you blow me off?”

  Toomey agreed. He said, “We should check it out.”

  “It’s coming back to me,” said Lilly. “This one’s old. Really old.” He told them how he’d been all though this for Bourne and had spent hours at a CIA computer.

  “Say you’re right,” said Toomey. “She could still be a relative.”

  “Sure she could,” said Kuntz eagerly. “Like her aunt. Her grandmother.”

  Toomey said, “Think about it. This could make a lot of sense. Stride’s grandmother, say, already lives on this island. Same name, which could be very convenient. Stride comes and moves in. It could be perfect for her. Who would look for two of her at one address?”

  Lilly rubbed his chin. He said, “Yeah, that could be. Did you guys bring your Orioles jackets and ski masks?”

  “We dumped those,” said Kuntz. “I brought stocking masks for all of us.” He pulled a wad of cut-up nylons from his pocket. He gave one each to Lilly and Toomey. He said, “I got duct tape, a tarp and this drawstring bag. The bag’s to go over her head if we get her. The tarp’s to either wrap her or cover her.”

  “Whatever keeps her quiet,” said Lilly.

  “Better than those, Bourne’s doc gave me a needle. Pheno…pheno…”

  “Phenobarbital, sounds like.”

  “Except I never gave a shot. You guys know how to do that?”

  “Let’s worry about that when we find her,” said Lilly. He was silent for a moment. “Hey, Kuntz?”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “That Einstein crack before. I’m just in a bad mood. It would be nice if something went right for a change.”

  “Forget it,” said Kuntz. “No hard feelings. And it will. I’m getting good vibes about this.”

  Toomey gestured toward the dash. He said, “We’re low on gas. We ought to fill up before we get there.”

  Lilly nodded. “Pull in the next station we hit. I’ll look in their phone book for this E. Stride’s address. I’ll also get us a street map.”

  Toomey asked, “While we’re stopped, should we check in with Bourne?”

  Lilly shook his head. “Let’s see what we got first. If this isn’t her, we’d just get more shit. If it’s her, I’m the one who’ll give shit.”

  Nadia Halaby had looked at her watch. Almost ten after eight and no sign of Elizabeth. They’d had made a date for the four of them to play doubles and they only had the court for an hour. Aisha and Jasmine had already warmed up. They were banging the ball back and forth.

  She’d had called Elizabeth’s house on her cell phone. No answer. She got the machine. She thought that Elizabeth might be on her way, but Elizabeth still hadn’t shown. Jasmine had said, “She had a date last night. She could have overslept. She went out with this contractor, Gary, again. Hey, maybe he finally got lucky.”

  “Nice talk in front of Aisha,” she’d scolded.

  Never mind, thought Nadia. Too late to find a fourth. We’ll play some round-robin until she shows up. If she doesn’t, we’ll drive over there and make her fix us breakfast. And she secretly hoped that Jasmine was right. She wouldn’t mind catching her with Gary.

  The address for E. Stride was 30 Marsh Drive. The map showed that the house was in Sea Pines Plantation, a gated community on the island’s south end. Toomey had asked, “How do we get in?” Lilly pointed. He said, “Look at the sign.”

  The sign said, “Visitors: Day Pass $5.00.” Toomey smiled. He said, “That’s to keep out the riff-raff, I guess. I mean, what burglar would blow five whole dollars just to clean out a few of these houses?”

  Lilly said, “Yeah, but if you’re spotted, you’re stuck. These two gates are the only way out.”

  Kuntz had the map. He said, “Maybe three miles. Straight ahead, then bear right on Plantation Drive. Marsh Drive is just past the golf course.”

  They found the house. They did two slow passes. Not a big house, one story, set well back from the road. Good sized lot, an acre or more, lots of trees. It had a circular driveway cutting in from two sides. Venetian blinds on the windows, but none of them were drawn. The front entrance was a fancy wooden door with beveled glass. The house had no garage; just a carport on one end. They saw that the carport was empty. They saw an untouched, rolled-up newspaper at the foot of the driveway. They could see no lights on inside.

  Toomey said, “Looks like nobody’s home. I guess they could have gone out on some errand except wouldn’t they have picked up that paper?”

  “They?” asked Lilly. “Who’s they?”

  “Grandma, remember? Her and Grandma. That’s the theory.”

  “Well, as far as the paper, it could have just come. But you’re right. One of them could still be home.”

  “So what now?” asked Toomey. “We sit and wait for who shows up? Three men in a van might look funny around here. They do have a security patrol.”

  A neighbor’s house two doors up was being remodeled. Lilly saw a dumpster and a portable toilet. Lilly said, “Park it there. It’ll look like we work there. Leave the keys in the ignition. And then we’ll go knock.”

  “We go knock?” asked Toomey. “That’s it? That’s your plan?”

  Lilly said, “Enough talking. Let’s go.”

  Lilly had decided to send Kuntz to the door. Neighborhoods like this one always have people knocking to ask if there are any odd jobs to be done. Fix your roof, mow your lawn, and, especially with contractors, drumming up business from the neighbors. And Kuntz looked like someone who worked with his hands. Lilly and Toomey would wait out of sight until Kuntz had pushed his way in.

  But no answer. No one home. No old woman either. Kuntz tried the front door. It was open. He waved the others forward. Toomey whispered to Lilly, “You go left, I’ll go right.” They both kept their hands on their weapons. He told Kuntz, “You stay by the door. Watch the street.”

  He and Lilly did a quick check of the rooms. Lilly had gone through the den toward the kitchen. Toomey’s side had the bedrooms; there were three in all, but the middle one was used as an office. It had a computer, some bookshelves and an oak table desk. Pretty basic, clean and neat. The computer’s hard drive should be worth taking with them. People put their whole lives on their hard drives.

  He looked in the master bedroom. The bed was made. Unslept-in, perhaps, but just as likely made early. He checked the closets, the clothing. It was all of one size. He saw none that had the look of an old woman’s clothing. He went into the bathroom to check the cosmetics. He saw nothing suggesting an old woman there either. It was all the sort of stuff that his ex-wife might use and she was about the same age as Stride. And the stuff w
as all there. Her toothbrush, hair brushes, deodorant, a hair dryer. They were the sort of things that a woman would take with her if she had packed up and gone elsewhere. She’d be coming back sooner or later.

  The second bathroom had only a few basic necessities. It was strictly a guest bathroom. No regular use. Nor did the second bedroom show any sign that anyone slept there on a regular basis. Closets used for storage of seasonal clothing. Same size, same sort of taste as the others. Whoever lived here, he decided, lived here alone. She was tallish, fairly young, a size ten. He was reasonably sure that they’d hit paydirt.

  One other clue was the way the house was furnished. Nice things, a few antiques, lots of decorative touches, but nothing that he would have called personal. No framed family photos, for example. The den was an especially comfortable room. It had a TV, more bookshelves, a wood-burning fireplace and a pair of plush leather lounge chairs. On the end table next to one of those chairs were a book and an unfinished glass of wine.

  The book was open, inverted, to where she’d left off. He checked the title. A romance book. That surprised him a little. This woman cuts throats, but she reads bodice-rippers. She must not be getting laid very much. And that half-full wine glass bothered him some. Unless she was a lush and was at it this morning, she might have been gone since last night. And maybe in a hurry. Just the clothes on her back. Not even taking time to lock up.

  Toomey heard a woman’s voice. It was coming from the kitchen. He realized that he was hearing an answering machine. Chester Lilly was checking her messages. The woman’s voice had said, “Pick up if you’re there.” Then a click. Stride must have picked up.

  Toomey called to Chester, “What time was that left?”

  “Eleven last night. Wait a second. There’s one more.”

  Another woman’s voice. It said, “I hope you’re on your way.” It said, “We only have this court until ten.”

  Toomey asked Lilly, “When was that one?”

  “This morning,” said Lilly. “Half an hour ago. It sounds like she’s out playing tennis and that’s good. It gives us some time to get organized.”

  Yeah, maybe, thought Toomey. But did she ever get there? He was about to start looking for her tennis racquet when Lilly called again from the kitchen. He said, “Hey, get in here. Here she is.”

  Toomey heard no alarm in Lilly’s voice. The tone was more one of discovery. Toomey asked, “She’s where? What are you talking about?”

  “Right here. We found pictures. Come look.”

  He proceeded to the kitchen where he found Kuntz and Lilly. Kuntz had found a red and yellow Photomat envelope. Lilly opened it and was sorting through its contents. Lilly said to Toomey, “They were right here on the counter. It looks like she just got them developed.”

  “A party,” said Kuntz. “It looks like a birthday party. This kid in the middle, I bet. See the presents?”

  Toomey saw that the shot had been taken in the living room. A young girl, very pretty, had been opening gifts. Sitting on the couch. Discarded wrappings at her feet. A smiling black woman on the couch at her side was admiring what must have been one of the gifts, a techy-looking new tennis racquet.

  Toomey said to Kuntz, “What are you doing in here? Did I tell you to watch the front door?”

  “I came in to get some water. I was thirsty.”

  “Get back to the door. Don’t take your eyes off that street.”

  “It was me who found the pictures. You might not have found them.”

  “And for that you get a prize. We’ll make a stop at Baskin-Robbins. Right now, though, get back to the door.”

  Lilly watched him go. He said to Toomey, “Look at this.”

  In his left hand he was holding that old photo of Stride. His right hand held a snapshot with three females in it. The kid, a black woman, and a darkish white woman. The white woman, lean and fit, was the taller of the three. Lilly said, “This one’s got to be Stride.”

  Toomey looked. Same dark hair. About the right height. Same age, more or less, but it was hard to be sure. He said, “We have Stride in profile. Do you have this one in profile?”

  Lilly sorted through the snapshots. “Maybe this one.”

  He handed Toomey a shot of the two adult women. They were caught in conversation sitting at the dinner table. Their faces were turned toward each other. But the white one had a hand up; she was gesturing as she spoke. Her hand obscured a part of her jaw. Toomey compared it to the printed-out copy. He said, “I wish she was smiling. Stride is smiling on ours. And see there?” He pointed. “Stride has a dimple. In the snapshot, her hand blocks the dimple.”

  “It’s Stride,” said Lilly. “Who else would she be?”

  Toomey said, “You know what’s missing? It’s whoever took these pictures. And look at that table. It’s set for four people. That fourth one’s not in any of these pictures.”

  “Let me see,” said Lilly. He leafed through the rest of them. “Not in these,” he said, “but the white one is Stride.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” said Toomey. “So who was the fourth?”

  “I don’t know. Could be anyone. It could be a guy. It’s whoever brought a camera along.”

  Toomey said, “Wait a second. Let’s go look at that table.”

  He led Lilly from the kitchen and into the dining room. Straight ahead were the sliding glass doors to the porch. He saw the porch table where, according to the snapshots, the birthday dinner took place.

  He said to Lilly, “Let me see those again.” By looking at the snapshots and the background behind them, he was able to tell where each one had been sitting. The dark-haired one had sat farthest out facing the sliding glass doors. The black woman had to have been on the left, judging from the way they’d been photographed. The girl was on the right in a couple of the shots. The nearest chair was empty in all of them.

  Toomey asked, “If you’re the hostess, where do you sit?”

  Lilly shrugged. “At the head of the table?”

  “This table’s round, but that’s not the point. When you’re serving people dinner, you sit nearest the kitchen.” He held up a snapshot. “Look where Stride is sitting.”

  Lilly looked. He shrugged again. He said, “This proves…what?”

  “I don’t know. This just bothers me. That might not be Stride. The one with the camera could have been Stride. It’s her house; she’s hostess, it makes sense.”

  Lilly said, “Listen, Sherlock…” But he didn’t finish. Kuntz had come rushing back from the door. Kuntz told Lilly, “Same three. They just pulled up outside.” Kuntz was stretching out his stocking mask as he spoke.

  Lilly patted his pockets. He found his own. He said, “There’s a laundry room just off the kitchen. Let’s get in there. They’re not here to do laundry.”

  Nadia had swung into Elizabeth’s driveway. Jasmine and Aisha were in the car with her, all three still in tennis attire. They saw that Elizabeth’s car wasn’t there.

  Nadia said, “She must have left pretty early. Her newspaper’s still in the driveway.”

  Aisha said, “Well, we’re here. Let’s leave her a note.”

  “Not a nice one,” said Jasmine. “Not after a no-show.”

  “You know, she could have been in an accident,” said Aisha. “And it’s not as if she’s ever done this before.”

  Nadia shook her head. “I bet she simply forgot.”

  “So let’s remind her,” said Jasmine as she opened her door. “Anyway, I have to use the bathroom.”

  Lilly listened as the front door opened and closed. He whispered to Kuntz, “Which one of them was driving?”

  Kuntz answered, “The dark-haired one. Stride.”

  “Shit,” he said quietly. “That means it’s her car. I was hoping that the other two just dropped her off.”

  They heard multiple footsteps, more than one voice. They seemed to be coming toward the kitchen.

  Toomey said, “So they’re either going to hang out here for a while, or

&nbs
p; Stride will be going out with them again. I say we wait.”

  Lilly asked, “For what? She’s right here.”

  “For her to be alone. Let’s do this quietly, okay? If we wait, the other two won’t know where she’s gone. We’ll have her back up at Bourne’s before they miss her.”

  The loud flushing of a toilet startled the three. Someone had used the half bath off the kitchen. There was only a thin wall between them. A woman’s voice from the kitchen asked, “Jasmine? You ready?”

  “One sec,” came the voice from the bathroom.

  Toomey mouthed the word, “Chill.” He added, “Wait.”

  Jasmine wasn’t sure, but she thought she’d heard movement. Something hadn’t felt right even when she sat down, but the sound had come just as she flushed. Could be mice, she decided. Maybe vibrating pipes.

  She rinsed her hands and stepped out into the kitchen. She saw that Nadia had left a note on the counter. It said simply, “Where were you?” signed “Nadia.” Aisha had added, “New racquet felt great. I missed you. Let’s play soon.” She signed it with a cartoon smiley face.

  Nadia was waiting at the front door. Aisha had already gone out. Jasmine still hadn’t shaken that uneasy feeling. She said softly, “Go ahead. I want to sign that note myself.”

  Nadia turned toward her car. Jasmine closed the door behind her. Through the door’s beveled glass, she saw that Nadia had stopped, confused by the shutting of the door. She raised a hand as if to say, “Go ahead. It’s all right.” Walking silently, she moved back toward the kitchen.

  She heard a soft squeak as if a doorknob had been turned and she thought she heard the scuffing of a shoe. Her eye fell on the assortment of carving and steak knives that Elizabeth kept on her counter. She reached and quietly drew the largest of them and lowered it to her thigh. She backed off to entranceway of the kitchen where Elizabeth’s telephone hung on the wall. She took the phone from its cradle, pressed a button, got a dial tone. She asked loudly, “Is someone in there?”

  There was no answer. No more sounds.

  She said, “Well, guess what? I’m not going to come look. What I’m going to do is hit 911 and let the police come and look.”