When I returned to the living room, Jean was back and seated on the sofa. She’d changed her top from a tank to a loose tee shirt but still had her running shorts on. She’d also slipped off her running shoes but left on her socks. Just above her left ankle was a tattoo of a blue hummingbird sipping a flower. Her face and neck looked like they had been quickly scrubbed.
“Did you find the guest bathroom okay?” she asked, her face void of any emotion. She’d been upset when she led us up to her place, but now she looked fairly composed.
“Yes, thank you,” I answered, taking a seat in an easy chair next to Greg’s wheelchair. “Do you live here alone or do you have a roommate?”
“I had a roommate,” she said, still without emotion, like she’d taken the time in the back to pull herself together while she washed up. “Until a few weeks ago. He was an actor and moved to New York when he landed a part back there.”
“Are you also an actor?” I asked, even though I knew she was.
“Yes, or at least trying to be.” Her tone and face finally changed from deadpan to reveal mild frustration. “It’s not easy, but I manage to land enough commercial work and small parts to support myself, although I might have to advertise for another roommate soon.”
She got up, grabbed a bottle of water from her fridge, and sat back down. She didn’t offer us anything. Jean was ready to listen but not to play hostess.
“Okay, so what about my brother? How did Zach’s—” she stopped and swallowed hard, then took a drink of water before continuing. “How did his body get into the trunk of your car if you didn’t put it there? And how do you know it’s him? If you know anything about my brother, you’ll know that he went missing years ago. We’ve always presumed he’s been dead for a long time.” Jean asked the questions with a shiver and a slight tremble of her lower lip.
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Greg said. “We have no idea why someone would choose Odelia’s car as a body dump site. We’re hoping you might be able to give us some information to make the connection.”
“As for the ID,” I added, “The police did that. And he hadn’t been dead a long time, just a few days.” I watched her response and knew Greg was doing the same. Something flickered across her pretty face, and her beautifully sculpted eyebrows scrunched together, but I couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or disbelief. “Zach was killed Tuesday night,” I continued. “This past Tuesday night or very early on Wednesday.”
“Is this some kind of a joke?” she asked, each word climbing in volume as if mounting stairs. “What kind of scam are you pulling?” She hopped to her feet, her trust in us shattered, but made no move to throw us out. Was she playing a part or was this real?
“It’s not a scam,” Greg assured her. “Those calls you’re getting from the Long Beach PD will confirm what we’ve said. Andrea Fehring is the detective handling the matter.”
“Have you gotten any calls from a Gregory Shipman yet?” I asked.
She shook her head slowly. “Just those voice mails from the woman in Long Beach.”
“Gregory Shipman is FBI,” I informed her. “They’re involved in this because of your brother’s missing status. Expect to hear from him too. He’s not near as nice as Detective Fehring.”
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. “I have a photo of his body right here if you don’t believe us.” I cued up the photo and offered her the phone, faced down so she wouldn’t see it unless she really wanted to.
Jean studied both of us for what seemed like a long time. No one moved while she pulled her thoughts together. She sat back down on the sofa with a heavy thud and shook her head, indicating she didn’t want to see the photo. “So where has Zach been all this time?” she asked. “Do you know?”
“No one knows that yet,” I answered.
“So he was one of those kidnapped kids that someone kept locked away for their personal amusement?” She shook her head slowly from side to side in disgust. “Like that Dugard girl or those three girls in Cleveland?” She took a deep breath, wrapped her arms around herself tightly as if freezing, and looked toward the balcony. “Every time I saw a story like that on the news, I’d wonder if Zach was out there, still alive, being tormented daily.” Tears started to well. “Sometimes I’d hope he’d be found. Sometimes I hoped he was dead and not living a daily nightmare.” She looked up at us. “Isn’t that awful, to wish your brother dead instead of holding out hope?”
“If it’s any consolation,” Greg replied gently, “the police said he looked to be in good shape.”
“I saw his body myself,” I said. “He didn’t look abused or neglected physically.”
Jean got up and retrieved a photo displayed on a shelf near the TV. She held it out to us. I took it. It was a hinged frame with two small photos on either side. One showed a little girl and boy, both towheads, mugging for the camera. Behind them was a lake. The other photo was of Jean and Zach in their teens wearing tennis clothing. It looked like it was taken the same day as the photo I’d seen in the newspaper talking about their victorious tennis match.
“You and Zach?” I asked, even though I knew it was. I showed it to Greg.
“Yes,” she said, taking the photo back. She sat back down and caressed the memento like an amulet. “The one of us as teens was taken after we’d won a family tennis tournament at the country club with our parents. That was just a few months before Zach disappeared. The other is my favorite photo of us when we were kids. We were on a family vacation.” She looked at the photos in her hands and said, “I always wondered what Zach would look like all grown up. He was such a good-looking kid. A lot of girls were after him at school.”
“From what I saw,” I said, “he looked a lot like that photo of you as teenagers. His hair was still blond, and he wore it long.”
“Did he have a girlfriend at the time he went missing?” Greg asked.
Jean closed her eyes as she gave the question some thought. “There was a girl he took to school dances once in a while. I think her name was Courtney or Cathy, something like that. But I don’t think they were going steady or anything.”
“If your brother was killed here in Southern California,” Greg said, “then there’s a good chance he was living here, possibly with his captors. Are you sure he never reached out to you? Especially recently?”
Her emotions changed gears as she shifted back into anger. “Don’t you think I’d remember that?”
“He might have called you under another name,” I quickly pointed out. “Have you had any odd calls lately?”
She visibly calmed at that suggestion, realizing it was a sensible one. She shook her head. “No, except for those from the Long Beach police and the occasional telemarketer. And Zach wouldn’t know about my name change or whereabouts, so how could he contact me?” Greg and I both nodded, following her logic, although I couldn’t help thinking about Marigold, but I doubted Zach would know about that.
“Why did you change your name and move?” I asked.
“I wanted a new start. After Zach disappeared, people saw me as that poor girl who had lost her brother. With my father being so well known, people wouldn’t forget about it. Every now and then someone would come forward claiming they knew something, and the whole sordid mess would be flashed across the news again. My father had offered a huge reward for any viable information, and that brought out all the nuts. It was difficult enough on my poor mother to lose Zach, but having it publicly dredged up constantly tore her apart even more.”
“I believe I read that your mother committed suicide,” I said softly. “Was that because of Zach’s disappearance?”
“Yes. Every time someone contacted the police saying they knew something, she’d get her hopes up, only to have them destroyed.” She put the photo down on the coffee table. “What you might not have read is that after Zach disappeared, Mom became an alcoholic and was addicted to sleeping pills. A couple of years after he was kidnapped, someone contacted the police saying they had see
n Zach alive and well in a small town just outside Las Vegas. They wanted the reward, but when the police investigated they discovered it was a hoax. That was the last straw for my mother. Two weeks later she shot herself while hopped up on booze and pills.” Jean looked away as her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry this is so hard on you,” I said. “We don’t mean to cause you pain, but it’s important that we find out what connection Zach might have to us.”
“I understand,” Jean said. “Really, I do.” She got up and went back down the hall, returning a few seconds later with a wad of tissue in her hand.
“What about your father?” Greg asked. “When did you last see or speak with him?”
Jean wiped her eyes and nose with the tissue before speaking. “My father and I are not on good terms.”
“How recent is that development?” I asked.
She curled her lip a little at the edges, then stopped, as if she thought better of it. “My father and I have always had a difficult relationship. Mom always said it was because he and I were so alike, stubborn and bull-headed. After Zach’s disappearance, with everyone’s nerves on edge, it got worse. I stuck around because of my mother.”
“Is that when you moved to California, after your mother died?” Greg asked.
Jean shifted in her seat. I wondered if she was going to mention working for Aztec. I was dying to know what, if anything, happened there to prompt the move and whether or not she’d mention Nathan.
“I stuck it out until I graduated from college,” Jean began after she’d dried her tears. “After that, I decided I needed to start over, so I came to LA. I’d always wanted to be an actress and had taken classes in both high school and college, so why not give it a shot? If it didn’t work out, I could always get a job doing something else. Fortunately, it’s worked out enough that I don’t have to do that yet.”
“And your father was okay with that?” I asked. “It seems to me that a man like Alec Finch would want to keep his only remaining child close after everything that had happened. He could have tempted you with a plum job in one of his companies to get you to stay.”
“My father was not thrilled with my decision, but he didn’t stand in my way,” she explained. “Not that he could have. I had my savings and a nice bit of money left to me by my mother. I left for California right after my college graduation. The money allowed me to buy this place.” She gave up a thin smile. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my father, it’s how to manage money.”
“So you came straight here after college? Did you know anyone in California?” I asked. “You know, someone you stayed with while you got settled? That’s a big change for a young woman on her own.” My curiosity was really on alert now.
“No one.” She shook her head as she said it. “When I got here I rented a small efficiency apartment in Hollywood and started taking acting classes. I made some friends in the business and roomed with some of them after that. Eventually I landed a few small commercials and some small parts. When the acting work got steady, I bought this place. That was just a year ago.”
“No family other than your dad?” I asked. I knew from Marigold that Jean had no kin on her father’s side, but I had not pulled a report on her mother.
“No one,” she said. “It was perfect for starting over. No loose ends. No people I’d miss seeing at Christmas or Thanksgiving.” She was trying to put a positive spin on it, but her voice was coated with sadness. She gave me a small hopeful smile. “But I do hope to have my own family one day.”
“Why the name Utley?” Greg asked while I mused over her information. “What’s the significance? Is it an old family name?”
She shook her head. “It has no connection with my family. When I was a little girl there was a librarian in our town named Jean Utley. She was always so nice to me. She said we had a special connection because we were both named Jean. When I was thinking of names to use, that one came to mind.”
“That’s a lovely thought,” I said to her. “Does she know that?”
“She passed away when I was in college. Some type of cancer, I think.”
I got up. “I guess we’ve kept you long enough, but I have one more question to ask. What about Zach’s friends? Do you know if any of them relocated to California after high school or college?”
She thought a minute. “I don’t think so. He was very close to a couple of guys. They were inseparable since grade school. One was killed in an accident shortly after Zach disappeared, I remember that; I don’t know what happened to the others. I dated the cousin of one of them but lost touch with everyone after I moved away.” She paused, then said, “I preferred it that way.”
“Do you know where your father is now?” Greg asked as we moved toward her front door. “I think the police are waiting to talk to him before they release the news about your brother’s death to the media. They need to notify family first.”
She opened the door for us. As cooperative as she’d been, she looked eager to be rid of us now. Then again, if she didn’t know anything about Zach being alive until recently, she’d just been dealt quite a big blow.
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t keep track of my father’s comings and goings. I haven’t spoken to him since I left home after college.”
“You haven’t?” I asked with surprise. Worried that she would pick up that I might know something I wasn’t disclosing, I quickly tacked on, “That’s a long time, like four or five years? Especially since the two of you are all you have?”
She shrugged it off. “I wasn’t willing to live the life he wanted, so we went our separate ways. Believe me, I don’t think he’s suffering much because of it. He’s too busy being a big shot.”
“I’m sure your father will want to reunite with you over the loss of your brother,” Greg said, “if for no other reason than damage control. The media is going to be particularly bothersome. A kid missing for a lot of years and now found dead is big news, especially the kid of a famous financier.”
“Listen,” Jean said, her face turning worried. “I do not want my name connected to this. I don’t want to go back to being the daughter of Alec Finch or the sister of poor Zach Finch. I have a new life, and I want to keep it clear of this mess. Understand?”
“That’s not up to us,” Greg told her. He glanced at me. “Odelia and I won’t say anything about you. I can promise you that.” I nodded in agreement. “But we have no control over the police or the media.”
“Nor,” I added, “are we interested in having our names connected to this. When the news hits the fan, my name as the finder of the body is going to go public. That’s one of the reasons we’re tracking this down on our own. We want to minimize our exposure as much as possible by uncovering as much as we can about what happened to Zach as quickly as possible.”
Before leaving, I pulled out one of my T&T business cards and handed it to her. I jotted my cell phone number on the back. “Please call me if you think of anything that might be helpful in figuring out why Zach’s body was left in my car. There has to be a connection. Things like this just don’t happen randomly.”
We thanked her for her time and made our way down the elevator and back across the common area toward the visitor parking lot.
“What do you think?” Greg asked, stopping by the far end of the pool area.
“I’m not sure what to think,” I answered honestly as I glanced up at Jean’s balcony. “She seemed genuinely shocked by the news of Zach’s death, but I’m not sure she was surprised to learn he had only just died.”
“You think she knew he was alive all along?”
“I think it’s a good possibility,” I said. “It was difficult to tell which emotions were real and which were acting. But I do think she knows more than she told us. It was like a mix of truth and lies, and we need to figure out which is which.”
“I think the stuff about her father is true,” Greg said. “I’m betting they have been estranged a long time.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I think that part is true too. There were several discrepancies in what Jean said about her life compared to the Marigold report I pulled on her.” I placed a hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Let’s talk about them on the way home, honey.”
We started again for the van, but as soon as we saw it, we stopped short. We had company. Leaning against our vehicle with his arms crossed was Gregory Shipman of the FBI, and he did not look happy.
eighteen
Shipman pushed off from the van and stood straight as an arrow, his hands at his sides. He wore shades and a dark blue suit with the jacket buttoned. His chin was tilted up. He looked down his nose at us as we approached, like some ill-pleased despot.
“Imagine running into you two here,” Shipman said when we reached him.
“Are you following us?” I asked.
He didn’t answer but asked us a question instead. “So what can you tell me about Jean Finch Utley?”
“Who?” I asked back.
Next to me, Greg took my hand and squeezed it. “I think we need to cooperate, sweetheart.”
“Listen to your husband,” Shipman said. “He’s talking sense.”
“Well, he’s not the one under suspicion here, is he?” I snapped as I stared into the inky darkness of Shipman’s glasses.
Shipman lowered his chin and gave me a superior smile that made me want to smack him. “In my book, everyone’s a suspect, Odelia, even your mother.”
“You leave my mother out of this.” I’d become an angry snapping turtle. If Shipman wasn’t careful, I might just snap off his nose. Greg squeezed my hand in warning.
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