They walked into a large lecture room. Kate wiped the board clean of some scribbles.
“Don’t forget we have the state’s forensic team on board,” said the lieutenant. “They may find some pertinent clues in the bomb. Bomb makers usually make some mistakes, which lead to their identity.”
“True, true. Good. Let’s begin.” Dutch picked up a red marker off the whiteboard and began making notes. “First of all, Kate and I were lucky when we met with Andy the Broker. He hinted at a fake appraisal. He’d just come into a large amount of money, so he was ordering all kinds of new office furniture. Seems like he’d just been paid a big wad for his work. Andy must have been working on the scheme when we arrived, and he flipped the page on the legal pad to take the information on my purchase.”
“He forgot he’d left the list on that pad and put it into Dutch’s real estate file where we found it a couple of days later,” Kate said.
“Come to think of it, he may have left the list in there on purpose,” Dutch said. “Kind of like an insurance policy in case something happened to him.” Dutch drew a diagram with notes of each clue next to it in a circle.
“We’ll never know,” Kate said. “Then Dutch’s attorney introduced him to a board member of the North Eastern Bank who asked him to visit the loan officer at the bank. He seemed to suddenly come into some extra cash,” Kate said.
“That was Paul Hanchett. Nice guy, sweet wife and two little kids,” Dutch added. “He was killed in his office after I had paid him a visit. He told me the property being developed is Valhalla by the Lake on Gennesee Road in Granmill, New Jersey.”
“Then Dutch got another request from a board member of the second bank on the list, the Stonington S&L. He’d heard about the problem at the North Eastern Bank and wanted him to check out their loan officer, Sidney Magee. Sidney gave more information to Dutch. He was shot beside his car in the parking lot. He’d taken stock certificates as collateral—from Valhalla Real Property Corp.,” Kate said as Dutch wrote it on the board. “I checked with the States of New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Delaware corporations departments. No such corporation was filed in those states.”
“Kate called the legal supply companies and found one that had issued the corporate kit and that a New Jersey attorney, Alan Bocce, ordered it. Kate called the New Jersey State Bar Association—no such lawyer.”
“It was very frustrating. The kit went to a post office box and was picked up. The box has now been cancelled.”
The lieutenant nodded.
Dutch continued, “As you know, yesterday I visited Patricia Blake at the third bank and she admitted to lending a million bucks to Valhalla. Then her car was blown up in the parking lot.”
“Great work, you two. This is such a confusing case.” The lieutenant stared at the whiteboard. “All we can do is dig a little further. Maybe find the property, which is the subject of the fake appraisal.”
“I could work on that tomorrow,” Kate volunteered. “They—whoever ‘they’ are—won’t be expecting me to show up at the bank. I’ll try Patricia Blake, if she’s back at work, to see if she has a copy of the appraisal in her file. Then I can do a search in whatever county it turns out to be to find out who the owner is.”
“Good idea.”
“Do you have the autopsy report on Paul Hanchett yet?” Dutch asked.
“Yes, I have Hanchett’s and one for the broker.” The lieutenant placed the originals in the copier and made copies. He handed them to Dutch.
“Good,” Dutch said as he examined the reports. “I’ve already seen Andy’s autopsy report. It notes that there was human skin under his fingernails. That’ll match the DNA of the killer. Aren’t you glad I reminded you to bag his hands when I came to scene?”
“We’re ecstatic,” the lieutenant said sarcastically, but he smiled anyway. “Please don’t treat us like we’re bumbling idiots.”
“My apologies,” Dutch said. “You have some good officers under your command.”
Kate smiled at him. He had a bemused look on his face. He glanced at the autopsy report about the loan officer. “The Medical Examiner concludes he was shot close up. That takes an extraordinarily gutsy person to do that.”
The policeman nodded and shuffled the contents in his file. “Oh, I forgot. Here’s the forensics report on Sidney Magee.” He passed a sheet of paper to Dutch.
Dutch read the text quickly. “According to them, the shooter was about a hundred feet away from him. They suggest the gunman was secreted in the woods across the parking lot.”
“Yeah, those guys have done an extensive investigation, including the trajectory of the bullet, size of the entrance wound, blood splatters, et cetera.”
“What about the type of weapon used?” Dutch asked.
“The gun used on the broker and Paul Hanchett are the same. They retrieved the bullets in both cases. It looks like it’s a Glock.”
“Interesting. Commonly used by law enforcement and military groups. Very reliable gun.”
“Agree. The long range shot was made by a rifle—a Springfield—favored by snipers.”
“Really. Nice weapon,” Dutch noted. “We may be able to track one of those on the Internet.”
“My guys are running that through the computer right now.” The policeman leaned back in his leather chair and rocked back and forth. “Of course, it’ll only show up if it was a legal sale.”
“Patricia Blake will need some watching too. She has a security guard, but if he runs into trouble, he’ll need some backup,” Dutch added.
“I have a man making extra rounds by her house during the evenings.”
“Not much else we can do right now,” Dutch said. He folded the reports in half and slipped them inside his jacket pocket. He and Kate left the office after recapping that Kate would attempt to secure the appraisal and do the deed searches at the appropriate county seat.
“I could do with a stiff drink,” he said, “but we’d better just go to the diner for a big fattening burger and fries with gallons of coffee.”
“I’m with you,” Kate said as she linked arms with him. “I’m starved after just TV dinners last night. I feel like I haven’t eaten for days. My stomach’s growling.”
“Tomorrow, would you go to Patricia Blake’s or the broker’s office? More than likely there’s an extra copy of the survey, and maybe the appraisal, in their files,” Dutch said. He planted a big kiss on her forehead. “Come on, kid. I’m a hungry man. In more than one way.” He grabbed her around the waist, hoisted her up, passionately nibbled on her lower lip and noisily kissed her smiling mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kate says: If your dwelling is small with little or no room to store seasonal items, don’t forget about under the bed. Many houseware stores now stock bed risers, which boost your bed up a little—enough to store boxes under your bed. Square wicker baskets are decorative if they show, otherwise purchase boxes with wheels, which will make them easier to retrieve when needed.
Patricia Blake had called in sick. Probably a nervous wreck after the past couple of days, Kate thought. No use hanging around here. Can’t see if she has a copy of the appraisal.
She drove across town to the real estate office. “Hi, Cherie,” Kate said as she closed the door behind her.
The receptionist gazed into a filing cabinet drawer. She gave a finger-wiggle hello and turned back to her work.
“Is there a salesperson in the office today?” Kate asked.
“Yep. Jack’s here. Jack!” Cherie yelled into the next room.
A short, dumpy man bounced into the foyer and stared at Kate. “What can I do for you?” he asked. His neck consisted of two rolls of fat that overflowed his tight shirt collar. The collar appeared to squeeze more fat up into his face where his chubby cheeks forced his eyes half shut. He resembled a cute piglet.
“Hi, Jack,” Kate said. “I guess you’ve heard I’m assisting Dutch, the private investigator who bought property through this office. I have to do some
research.”
“Yes, I have. What do you want from me?” He sounded annoyed, and had a look like he had a million things to attend to, and didn’t want her interrupting everything.
“Not much for you to do, but I need a copy of Valhalla at the Lake project’s appraisal and survey.” Kate kept her fingers crossed. “If you can find one.”
“I think the police department took it,” he said, looking cagey.
“No. They didn’t take it. The police department asked us if we had a copy,” Kate said forcefully.
“You can go search Andy’s desk,” he said with a catch in his breath. “He’s really missed around here.”
“I’m sure he is,” Kate said. Surely this man wasn’t going to cry?
“You want me to help you look?” Jack asked. He turned to face her.
“Sure. It’ll save time.” She followed him into the realtor’s office. It was now spotless with no piles of untidy documents and filled ashtrays. It didn’t reek of cigars either. She pulled open the desk’s file drawer and shuffled through each tab on the top of each file. Nothing.
Kate then remembered hiding secret stuff when she was a teenager, like her diary, from her mother who always searched her room as she looked for contraband. I have no idea what that woman was looking for, but she never found a thing. No drugs, no banned books—nothing. Not even her diary full of a teenager’s angst and secret loves. Remembering, she pulled the top drawers completely out of the piece of furniture. She then checked under the drawers themselves. No, not underneath.
She tugged on the bottom drawer. It wouldn’t budge. “Jack, help me pull this heavy file drawer out of here, please.”
He held his gut and grunted as he bent over and pulled on one side of the drawer while Kate tugged the other side. They placed the drawer on the floor then she kneeled down and peered into the dark space. A large envelope was taped to the back of the desk. She reached in and yanked on the envelope until it came free. She was so excited about the find her hands began to shake as she opened up the flap and took out the contents. There, in her hands, was the appraisal and folded survey of the Valhalla at the Lake community.
“Yippee,” Kate cried out. “What I did as a kid came in handy.”
Poor Jack just stared at her, not understanding what she was talking about. He shrugged.
“It’s a long story,” she said. “Help me put this back.”
They hauled the heavy drawer back into the desk. She patted the little man on the back. “Thanks, Jack. It’s been a pleasure.” She was gone before he could raise any objections to her taking items belonging to the realty company.
She scurried out of the real estate office, wiggling her fingers at the girl at the front desk. She drove straight to Dutch’s cabin where he greeted her with open arms and a passionate kiss.
“I can’t believe you found the documents on your first try,” he said, snuggling her in his arms.
She struggled free and spread the appraisal and survey out on the kitchen table. “Good. The appraisal has the deed recital clauses. Includes deed book and page in the Sussex County Registrar’s Office. I’ll have Abigail watch the store for me for the rest of the day, and I’ll drive there—Newton—and get a copy of the last deed. It’ll tell us who the old and new owners are.”
“You’re one amazing woman,” Dutch said. “Have I told you that I love you today?”
“Not even this week,” she said with a pout. She turned and held him around the waist. He was too tall for her to reach up to his neck. She snuggled her face into his shirt and sniffed. “I love the smell of your fabric softener.”
“Thanks. You’re so romantic. Would you like a sandwich before you leave for Newton?”
“Would love one.” She walked over to the refrigerator and peered inside at the contents. She took out a wrapped packaged of sliced meat. “Ooh, this honey ham looks yummy.”
They slapped their sandwiches together and munched while they chatted about the case so far. “So do you want to go with me this afternoon?”
“I believe it would be irresponsible for me to let you go that far without someone with you as protection. This is a nasty case and we haven’t said it out loud to each other, but I think, and I’m assuming you do also, that the mob or a copycat gang, is involved here.”
“I was avoiding saying it too. I didn’t want to express my fears about the perpetrators in this case.”
“So…?”
“You’re perceptive,” she said quietly. “Yes, I believe that the Mafia, the mob or whatever their name is today, are the suspects.”
“So, we’ve got to watch our steps,” he responded. “Give me your plate.” He rinsed the plates under the faucet and left them to drain. “Time to get going.”
“I’ll take the appraisal and survey with me. I don’t want to put them in your safe yet,” Kate said while she folded the documents and slid them into their envelope.
“I’ll drive. We’ll take my truck.”
“Good, I can take a nap then.”
“Jog my memory. Where am I heading?”
“Route 80 West to 206 North to Newton—Sussex County Court House,” she reminded him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kate says: Another new decorating theme is called Farmhouse Chic. To capture this look, use earthy colors of paint, and cabinets in the kitchen with open shelves. Find old chipped, painted tables and place together with modern clean-lined sofas and chairs. Decorator accessories? Use porcelain or metal roosters, pigs, paintings of cows and so on.
Kate was familiar with the road to Newton. As a student she had a part-time job in the stables at one of the farms in that area. She daydreamed while Dutch dozed. It was a pleasant drive through the hills of New Jersey. People traveling through the state usually thought that the chemical-petro plants along the New Jersey Turnpike represented the whole state. They only had to travel inland from the shore to see lovely rolling fields in the western horse farms, the majestic hills in the north where you can climb a tower at High Point and see three states from the top, and the produce farms in the southern area of the state. It wasn’t called the Garden State for no reason.
They arrived at the Court House and sought out the Deed Registrar’s Office. Kate signed in and entered the records room. She quickly found the pertinent Deed book and pages and photocopied all of the pages filed in the book. Wish these had been converted to an online file. She grunted as she lugged the heavy, large leather-bound book back onto the shelf.
On the high tables in the Registrar’s record room, Kate spread out the survey while Dutch read, quietly, the legal description off the copy of the deed. “Beginning at a point in the Northwesterly corner of said Lot fourteen…” Dutch began to read. Kate compared the survey measurements against the deed.
“It matches,” she whispered so as not to disturb the title-search officers in the room. She had a big grin on her face. She gave him a thumbs-up.
“Who are the owners?” Dutch asked. He was impatient to learn the names of the suspects as he called them.
“The new owners are Valhalla by the Lake Corp. They also had the nerve to draw around a quarter and write the corporate name within the circle as their corporate seal.”
“But there’s no such company,” he said.
“We know that, but the sellers didn’t know that. Plus it’s perfectly legal to draw around a quarter if you don’t have one or have misplaced the seal,” she told him.
He took the photocopy of the deed out of her hand. “There’s an attorney’s name, Gorney in Stonington, as witness and here are the sellers’ names and addresses nearby in Sparta. I saw Sparta on a sign near here.”
“Great. That’s good news. It’s the sellers’ attorney though.”
“Who would have sent the deed to the Registrar for filing?” Dutch asked.
“The buyers’ attorney—Valhalla’s lawyer. Probably used the Newark post office box number. Anyone can rent a box.”
“The sellers’ address is
not far from here, so let’s follow up on the clues.”
“Whoa, boy. I need more caffeine running through my veins. We’ll go to the little coffee shop down High Street for a snack,” she said. “Plus they have a phone kiosk inside, and we can look up the phone number of the sellers there.”
“Sounds easy,” Dutch said. “You’re one crazy lady.”
“Why, because I know my way around the courthouses in Joisey? I think I’ve been to every one—including the Bankruptcy Court in Newark,” she boasted.
“Let’s go,” he said. He took her hand and they walked quickly along High Street, passing the lawyers’ offices similar to all others clustered around every courthouse in the nation like chicks huddling around the mother hen.
Hanging by a piece of string on the entrance door, the bell gave out a tinny ring, making the customers look up to see who’d entered the coffee shop. They went back to their lunch when Dutch and Kate sat on round, plastic-covered stools lined up in front of the counter.
“Order me a coffee and apple pie, please,” he said. He got up to look up the sellers’ phone number in the thick telephone directory next to the public telephone. He shuffled through the dog-eared pages.
By the time the coffee and pie slices were served, Dutch was on his cell phone calling the telephone number. Kate could faintly hear him explain who he was and why he needed the information. He ended by repeating road directions to an address.
The pie and coffee boosted their energy. Back in the truck, it only took about fifteen minutes to reach the address given by the land sellers in Sparta. Dutch rang the doorbell on the faded green door of the ranch-style house. An elderly gentleman admitted them into the house and invited them into the dining room where he had several documents in a pile on the table.
“Mr. Stevens?” Dutch asked, and then introduced himself and Kate. He explained the situation—except for the murders—and sat next to the man.
Fleeced in Stonington Page 11