He stepped over the side rail of the porch and walked down a cobblestone pathway to the back fence. He stopped at a side door and placed his face up against the glass. Another curtain blocked his view from what probably was the kitchen. He walked to the sturdy-looking six-foot fence, placed his hands on the top, and hoisted himself up for a look. The yard was rectangular with several concrete paths traveling the length of a poorly maintained garden. Overgrowths of plants and shrubs bordered the yard, and cheap plastic furniture dotted a wooden patio by the back door. Nick lowered himself to the ground and noticed the curtains in the house next door rustle. Probably a good cue to take off.
He was walking back down the pathway toward the street when something caught his eye directly to the right. Jacobs’s mailbox was stuffed to capacity with mail. Envelopes and colorful junk mail jutted out of the garage mailbox slot like a growth of weeds. He walked over and grabbed the bulging stack. Miss Busybody would probably have a conniption when she saw that, but she would get over it. He returned to the car and placed the pile of mail under the passenger seat. At least he had something to show for the morning’s work. He slid the key into the ignition.
“Neighbors don’t know much, do they?”
The voice startled him. The man noticed and seemed to enjoy the fact. He wore a suit and tie and an arrogant grin on his face.
“Sorry,” said the stranger. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Nick Merchant, right?”
Nick nodded and said nothing. He knew immediately who the man was, or at least who he worked for. It was only a matter of time before he or Alex crossed paths with one of them.
“Tough case, eh?” commented the man. His eyes flicked to the mail by Nick’s side. “Danny Risso—General Inquiry.” He extended his hand with a smile. Nick looked at him and the hand momentarily before offering his own.
“Any luck so far?”
Nick smiled weakly. As if he would tell him. “We’re doing okay.”
Risso laughed a bit, a chuckle that grated on Nick. “Hell of a case, huh? I mean, who would’ve thought something like this would ever come out of Columbia County. Or anywhere, for that matter . . .”
“Who would’ve thought it.”
Risso stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around the street. “Kinda strange the old coot lived here, huh?”
Nick shrugged, noncommital. He had heard enough of the idle chatter. He had already broken his own rule of not speaking with the competition. He wasn’t about to sit there and have public enemy number one pick his brain for clues. He started the ignition. Risso backed away. The oafish smile was back.
“Gotta run, huh? Hey, good luck there, Nick. By the way, in case you haven’t figured it out already, you don’t have a prayer of solving it.”
Nick snapped his head to him. Their eyes locked. Risso’s grin had shrunk to a smirk. A variety of choicely worded responses filled Nick’s head, but instead he gave a smirk of his own and pulled the car into the street.
It took half an hour and two map references of the town of Cedar Hill for Alex to finally find Acacia Street. She slowed the car to a steady cruise as she strained her eyes for 978 Acacia. A dull brown ranch-style home provided the number. She made a quick U-turn and eased into a spot directly in front of the home. According to the address provided by her PI, this was the current residence of one Bonnie Schliegel.
Alex took a moment to calm herself. Nervousness was standard before meeting a key client, but this time the feeling was amplified. Bonnie was potentially the key piece to a puzzle worth twenty-two million dollars. All questions had to be asked with the utmost tact and delicacy. Alex tilted the rearview mirror and dabbed at her hair. Being well-groomed and presentable never hurt with the little old ladies.
With a determined frown, she stepped to the curb. An older-model Oldsmobile in mint condition was parked in the driveway of the home, and a well-kept bed of flowers along the front perimeter of the house shimmied in the breeze. Alex half expected to see a woman in a bonnet in the middle of it, snipping roses. She looked around. This was the kind of neighborhood she wanted for her mother—a quiet community with a police force that had trouble keeping busy.
She glanced at her watch. It was 8:30 A.M.; she could see her mother on the subway en route to work—eight hours of drudgery to earn a check that would have put her on the street years ago were it not for her daughter’s support. She closed her eyes. Ten years ago, her mother had regularly sent a portion of her minuscule weekly paycheck to help pay her daughter’s college tuition. She had wanted that degree even more than her daughter did.
She stared at Bonnie’s house and gave a determined frown. They needed to find these heirs.
She approached the front door and gathered her thoughts momentarily before pressing the bell. Instantly she could hear a hysterical little dog yapping and scratching behind the door. Several seconds passed, but there were no other signs of life. She pressed the bell again, further inciting the dog. Suddenly there was a rattling of chains and dead bolts from inside. The door opened several inches, and an old woman—her thin white hair a scraggly mess—peered out. Alex could see several chain lengths still attached to the inside of the door. They stood staring at each other momentarily before the woman spoke.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you this morning, ma’am. Are you Bonnie Schliegel?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
The door was open barely five inches. Alex reached for her business card and extended it toward the gap.
“Miss Schliegel, my name is Alex Moreno. I’m a private investigator from Albany. I was hoping—”
“One moment,” the woman said, turning abruptly to the howling little beast at her feet. Alex heard her scolding the frenzied animal as she led it away. The woman had not taken her card, so Alex put it back in her pocket.
“Now, what were you saying?” the woman asked, her face framed in the five-inch gap once again.
“Yes, ma’am, I was saying that I’m a private investigator from Albany. I’m here researching Gerald Jacobs’s family. The reason I’m visiting you is because your name was mentioned in Mr. Jacobs’s obituary and I was hoping that you might know something about him.”
Bonnie squinted. “Are you with the IRS?”
“Uh . . . no, ma’am. I’m not with anyone. I work alone.”
The woman eyed her as Alex pondered the significance of her question. Something in the eyes told Alex that there were at least a few screws rattling around upstairs.
“What do you want to know about him?” Bonnie asked, a bit harshly.
“Did you know Mr. Jacobs?”
“As well as anyone did.”
“Would you mind sitting down with me for a few minutes to answer a few questions about him?”
Alex held her breath. Bonnie looked her over warily and abruptly closed the door. Alex’s heart sank momentarily until she heard the chains being unlatched. The door swung open.
“I suppose it’s okay, but if it turns out you’re with the IRS, I’ll have nothing to say to you.”
Alex thanked her and stepped inside. Bonnie led her into a musty living room and motioned her to a chair. Several cats lounged about a worn couch, unimpressed with Alex’s appearance. Bonnie guided the annoying little dog away to another room and returned, sitting across from Alex on the sunken, hair-coated couch.
“I don’t normally let strangers in my house, but you say you’re here about Gerald. That makes you . . . interesting to me.”
Gerald, thought Alex, folding her hands in her lap. The fact that she was on a first-name basis with him was a very promising sign.
“I appreciate this.”
Bonnie lit a cigarette and held it back over her shoulder. A striped tabby leapt into her lap and curled into a ball. “What did you say your name was?”
“Alex Moreno. I know that—”
“Are you Mexican?”
“Uh, no. Spanish and American Indian.”
“American Indian, eh?
The IRS has been terrible to you people. They think they can make it all better by giving you those casinos to run. Well, thanks for nothing. They’re making more money off those places than you are. I learned all about it on 60 Minutes. . ..”
Alex nodded and folded her hands on her lap. It was clear the IRS was the enemy. Bonnie had provided her with a way to bond. “The IRS hasn’t been fair to my people at all.”
“They’re never fair,” commented Bonnie through her smoke. “Gerald had a hell of a time with them.”
“What can you tell me about Gerald, Bonnie?”
The old woman took a deep breath on her cigarette and eyed her. Her free hand scratched the lazy feline’s chin. “I have a question for you first. You said you were doing research into Gerald’s family. For who and why?”
Alex was surprised by her bluntness. She had underestimated her. Apparently Bonnie wasn’t going to give any information until she screened her guest. She was ready with her response. “I’m here on behalf of a life insurance company. It seems Mr. Jacobs had a sizable policy that’s payable to his family. The authorities and I are having difficulty locating them.”
“That’s no surprise,” replied Bonnie, with a laugh. “I think someone else in your company already called.”
Alex felt her heart pound. She knew who that someone was, and it was the last person in the world she wanted Bonnie speaking with. “Did they?”
Bonnie nodded. She got to her feet and pressed a button on an answering machine in the hallway. Alex heard the voice clearly. “Barry Lake, General Inquiry . . . Important matter to discuss . . . give me a call . . .”
“I was at the supermarket this morning,” said Bonnie. “Someone you know?”
Alex smiled to herself. You needed a little luck in the game sometimes. She was doing pretty well all of a sudden. “Yes, I know who Barry is. He’s calling about the same business I’m here for. You don’t need to bother with him.”
“Is that right?” the old woman replied sharply. “You’re sure about that?”
Alex tried to appear disinterested as she turned back to the living room. “Barry just wants to talk to you about what we’re already discussing. You can call him, but I don’t think you’ll enjoy repeating yourself.”
Bonnie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Alex held her breath momentarily, then relaxed as she heard the old woman press the reset button. Frowning, Bonnie returned to join her at the couch.
“As I was saying, Miss Schliegel, we’d like to see the money from this policy go to Gerald’s family, not the State of New York. His heirs need to know about this so they can collect.”
“I don’t think I know anything that can help you.”
“Were you friends with Gerald?”
“Friends—that’s a good word.”
“How long did you know him?”
“For about two years. I met him at the Sunday concerts in the park. We both loved classical composers. Gerald loved to play Mozart on his piano. He was an excellent pianist before he got his tic.”
“I’m sorry—his tic?”
“Yes, his hands shook and he couldn’t play like he once did. It bothered him.”
Alex nodded respectfully. The tape recorder continued to run silently in her jacket pocket. “Did he ever mention his family?”
“Not really. About a year ago, I took Gerald out for a meal, and afterward we spent some time at his home. I was playing the piano for him and we were listening to the phonograph—just having a grand time. Now, Gerald must have had a good amount of wine, because he started speaking of a sister he had, but when I asked him about her, he put an end to it. This was the only time I remember him speaking of family. He was a very private person.”
“So he never told you this sister’s name?”
“No.”
“He never told you any names or cities where the sister lived?”
“Never.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me that might be helpful?”
“Let me think for a moment.”
Alex felt her frustration growing. Hopes were riding on the old woman, but she seemed to know very little. Where was this sister?
“I think Gerald had an eye for me, actually,” continued Bonnie. “He was a sweet old man and a good friend for two years. I enjoyed his company. He was so sweet, yet strange.”
“What was strange about him?”
“He was very secretive about his life. But I think he was lonely too. I felt so awful when he died that I made the funeral arrangements. It’s a terrible thing to die alone, you know.”
Alex thought of her mother for some reason but quickly dismissed the thought. She nodded at Bonnie to continue.
“Something else odd: he said he was from England, and he did have a thick accent, but it wasn’t British. It was German. Now, how can a person be raised in England and have a thick German accent?”
“That is strange,” Alex agreed. “Did you ask him about that?”
“Yes. He said his father had lived in Austria.”
“You’ve been in his house, Bonnie. Did you ever see any family pictures or anything?”
“I never took much notice of his house, although I can tell you that it was decorated beautifully. You would be amazed at the inside of that little house. Such beautiful paintings, a grand piano, exotic rugs. He must have had money to burn.”
“Did he ever mention other friends or past employment? What did he do for a living?”
“He didn’t talk about it. He was an old man when I met him, well into his eighties and long retired. And I never saw him with anyone or heard him mention any other friends.”
Alex rubbed the back of her neck as the cold realization set in. Bonnie knew nothing. Jacobs loved classical music, had no friends, and spoke with a German accent. But it didn’t add up to a thing. She sat and thought as the little mutt barked himself hoarse from the other room.
“Were you ever in any room of his house other than his living room?”
Bonnie looked aghast. “Certainly not.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Bonnie nodded grudgingly as she stroked the cat. Alex reached down and touched one of the purring animals. The old woman had been harping on the IRS earlier. It was worth a shot.
“Did Gerald work with the government, Bonnie?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You mentioned the IRS earlier. I was just wondering.”
“No, he didn’t,” she snapped, her expression suddenly guarded again. “Why are you so concerned with this insurance policy, anyway?”
“I’ve been hired to take care of it.”
“Well, I don’t know that there’s anything more for us to discuss,” she said, grouchy now. “I’ve told you what I know. Gerald didn’t have family or friends. Enemies maybe, but no friends. Maybe you should look for them. They might be easier to find.”
Alex stared at her hard. Bonnie frowned and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The words had slipped.
“Can you tell me about Gerald’s enemies, Bonnie?”
“He was going to take care of them. He had a plan and he was going to get them good. He . . .” She stopped herself and made an exasperated sound. “I know what you’re up to, and it’s not going to work. I promised I wouldn’t tell and I won’t go back on my word.”
“Don’t you think Gerald would want you to tell me if he knew it would help his family?”
“No, I don’t think that at all. His family never bothered to visit with him. What kind of family is that?”
“Did Gerald—”
“Stop picking at it,” she snapped. “Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean I can go blabbing things around.” She tossed the cat from her lap and stood. “I don’t have anything else to say to you. I want you to go now.”
“Bonnie—”
“Do I have to call the police?”
Alex felt a spark of anger, almost lost it. She took a deep breath. Bonnie looked shaken,
even a bit frightened. Getting her more worked up might not be the wisest decision. She got to her feet and reluctantly made for the front door. She waited for Bonnie to open it for her before stepping into the morning sunlight outside. The door closed quickly behind her, and chains were rattling again. She stood momentarily before turning down the path and back to the car.
On the road, Alex tried to form some sort of picture. An immigrant glassworker from England who talked like a German. Twenty-two million dollars. A hatred for the IRS—nothing rare there. It was colorful stuff lacking significance, murkier than sludgy water. Alex would have been more concerned about her lack of headway if she hadn’t noticed the car in her rearview mirror.
She first spotted it in Albany, just a few miles from her home. She confirmed her suspicions with a series of turns. Four lefts, three rights—the gray car maintained its position two blocks behind, no closer, no farther. It looked like a single occupant.
She considered her options. She could try and lose him or she could force an encounter. She knew the smarter choice was probably the former, but after sitting through the Bonnie interview she felt more than ready for a face-off. Especially with some General Inquiry jerks.
She slowed her speed for several blocks and reduced the distance between herself and her pursuer by half a block. She continued a slow deceleration as she drove randomly through residential Albany. After several blocks of a twenty-five-mile-per-hour pace, the car abruptly took a left and disappeared down a side street.
Alex pulled over on Colonial and sat for several minutes, watching her rearview mirror. She felt mildly disappointed—a confrontation with the competitors would have been a welcome release of tensions. She put the car into gear again and continued home without incident.
Edmund Arminger leaned forward on his desk and studied his field agent carefully. Derek Hanson was an experienced agent, the recipient of several internal commendations over the past five years. Out of a pool of nearly one hundred agents operating out of Manhattan, he had been selected to retrieve the Jacobs file. It was a simple task that had suddenly gotten complicated.
The Heir Hunter Page 6