Tea, Anyone

by S. R. Mallery

  “Yosidywoke-shelsehstoseitsohesoiet soishstieosi?” Tony asked.

  Brooke laughed. “What in the world did you just say?”

  Tony took out the dental device. “I said, do you mean like the Five Points area in the movie, The Gangs of New York?”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say that?” Brooke smirked.

  “Very funny,” he muttered.

  Herbert sighed. “Can I go on, please?”

  Tony motioned that the instrument be put back inside his mouth.

  “Anyway, of course, no one knew anything back then forensics wise, but within the first six months, two of the O’Brien’s neighbors were found dead. People immediately suspected the two O’Brien bad boys, but with no DNA testing back then, the poor victims were simply buried in unmarked graves, and that was that.”

  Tony raised one eyebrow.

  Hah. Now he’s interested.

  “Well,” the dentist said, attacking Tony’s teeth with a tooth scaler. “Just a couple of years ago, with all kinds of DNA and ancestry testing, that family surfaced again.”

  “How?” Brooke asked.

  “Ouch!” Tony exclaimed. “Watch it, doc.”

  “What a sissy.” Brooke stuck out her tongue.

  Tony shook his head.

  “Hello? Anyone interested?” the dentist asked, continuing to scrape. “Recently, two brothers in Queens had just gotten arrested for a triple homicide, and in the processing of bringing them to trial, the prosecution found something staggering.” He stopped his work and grinned triumphantly. “Apparently, the DNA from the brothers’ bones in the modern case matched the DNA of the dug-up bones of the two O’Brien brothers living at the Five Points from years before. Wonders of modern forensics, and all that.”

  Tony put a hand on Dr. Herbert’s arm and pulled away from the scaler. “Doc, I think you’ve got rid of every living organism on my teeth.”

  Dr. Herbert shrugged as Tony went on.

  “So…you’re saying that horrific murders or evil deeds that run in families can be proven by DNA?” Tony leaned in toward the dentist. “How?”

  “It’s called Genetic Genealogy, Tony, and there are all kinds of articles on it.”

  Tony nodded. “Interesting.”

  “Lordy, lordy, a true believer––with clean teeth,” Brook said.

  Dr. Herbert nodded broadly. “Yep, Tony, hope you look into it.” Then he winked and put out his hand. “Meanwhile, that’ll be sixty-five dollars, please.”

  * *

  The pizza dinner that night was a free-for-all. Henry, Brooke, Larry, Tony, and Abby couldn’t shut up for one second as they each tried to tell everyone the facts they had unearthed. Brooke likened their words to the twelve-tone music Henry had once forced her to hear at New York City’s Lincoln Center. In both cases, there was a mix-master of chaotic noise.

  Finally, Larry placed two fingers in his mouth and blasted out a high-pitched whistle.

  Dead silence. Except for June’s questioning meow.

  “Okay. One at a time,” Larry commanded. “And raise your hand if you want to be heard.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Brooke snapped.

  “Especially you, Brooksy. Now, who wants to speak first?”

  Everyone shot up his or her hand at the exact same nanosecond.

  Sighing, Larry shook his head. Meanwhile, Abby ripped up little pieces of paper, wrote numbers on each one, crumbled them up, and mixed them together in an empty bowl.

  “Let’s do it like they do in first grade.” Abby handed out one crumbled paper ball to each person. “Let’s see who has number one.”

  Brooke held up her wrinkled paper, triumphantly. “I do, I do. I go first!” she called out.

  “See? First grade,” Abby said.

  Everyone laughed.

  “Okay. Here’s what I found,” Brooke said. “I have a document from the Sheffield Company that includes a few names and initials of their customers. Also, we’ve got an old journal page that gives out names, possible events, and now I’ve got some possible DNA proof that evil can run in families.”

  Larry raised his hand. “I’m number two. According to Henry, the Whitman family, who has a history of some pretty shady business practices, now has a lawyer––Ruth Novak’s ex-husband, by the way––who also practices some under-the-table dealings. Turns out, after Cathy and Wynnie were murdered, their dear brother, Michael, made out with millions. Almost instantly. To me, that smells.”

  Tony slowly raised his hand. “I’m next. What about Collin? Have we forgotten about him? I know he passed a polygraph, but I found out from an interview with the Whitman maids that he used to be there at their mansion all the time, in his––” He pulled out a small note paid and read his notes out loud. “His fancy suits and expensive shoes. That’s a far cry from the groundskeeper position he has now. I say he had a definite motive for murder, even if he doesn’t come from a––” He added the next two words in air-quotes, ‘evil family.’”

  Henry raised his hand halfway. “Since Larry took over my little speech…” He shot a fake dirty look at the detective. “I’m now going to add something about Michael Whitman. He not only got a large inheritance. He left their home years before. In fact, in his high school yearbook, when asked what his goal was in life, he actually wrote, ‘To leave home and my family as soon as possible.’ To me, he wasn’t so thrilled with any of them. And boy, one look at his photograph back then, and you could see the anger written all over his face.”

  After some general mutterings, everyone turned to Abby.

  “Okay, my turn,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about all of this. A lot. I keep coming back to one thing, besides the evil family, I mean. And that is, what’s the significance of the journal? How can we connect that with our modern life?”

  As everyone sat still, even Junie paused during mid fur-washing lick to gaze up at the clairvoyant.

  Brooke shot up her hand. “Ooooh-oooh! I know!”

  “She’s definitely in first grade,” Larry said.

  “Oh, shut up and listen, everyone,” Brooke snapped. “If there’s any significance between the two time periods, I’d like to get into people’s computers and find that out. Read some more emails and memos. They’re a modern version of journals, right?”

  “Exactly,” Abby said.

  “I thought you guys were already doing that,” Larry said. He watched Henry and Brooke exchange guilty looks.

  “Okay. That’s both your jobs now. Brooke, use my password for that police software.” He wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “But be careful. The second you think you might be onto something, stop. Then let me know asap, so I can get an email-type warrant.”

  He looked at Henry. “Now, Henry, do your thing with the microfiche machine for any old articles about any of these people from the 1700s.” He clapped his hands quickly, three times. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Persons of Interest

  Michael Whitman

  Collin Bothridge

  Peter Novak, Esq.

  Modern Victims

  Jane Doe

  Wynnie Whitman

  Cathy Whitman

  Ruth Novak

  People from 1700s

  Captain Goddard

  Wallace Lansbury

  Simon Leighton

  Owner of Green Dragon Tavern

  Brendan, killed by Simon and Wallace

  Samuel Adams

  Dr. James Warren

  Sheffield Company List of Clients

  Boonesbury

  Watkins

  Smithe

  A. C.

  W. L.

  M. B.

  P. W.

  S. D.

  Brooke studied the lists in front of her for a few seconds, then let the wheels in her brain rotate. With her computer and laptop both on and ready to go, she grabbed a big sip of coffee and typed in Larry’s password to his highly secret police account. Y
ou watching me, Chief Bruner?

  Ten seconds later, she was knee-deep into Larry’s database, searching for info about the Whitman girls’ younger brother, Michael. There was a fair amount on him, mostly involving his educational history. And lack of job history.

  “What a spoiled brat,” she muttered.

  Moving on, she read about Michael Whitman’s yearbook. The one Henry had talked about. After that, there was a two-year stint at a local community college, where he ended up with an associate degree in business. Big surprise there.

  Apparently, he did have a few business connections––mostly non-legit. In fact, all of them seemed to include unpaid gambling debts. “Now that’s a prince,” she said to the kitty down at her feet. June didn’t respond. She was definitely in dreamland.

  Motive? A no-brainer. His daddy’s inheritance would make him rich enough to not only pay back what he owed, but even buy out the shady guys he’d been in bed with. After she copied and pasted everything onto a “Michael Whitman” doc, she printed it out and put it into a file folder.

  Collin Bothridge was a pathetic case. In business with Joseph Whitman for quite a few years, financially, he seemed to be flying high. Bank records and credit card statements showed a man enjoying the high life. Then nothing. No more money coming in. Two years later, there was a police pick up for pandering, which was quickly and quietly dropped––with an emphasis on quick. But there was no doubt about it. His life had been destroyed.

  Motive? In spades. Resentment of Joseph Whitman was spilling out all over the place. And add in the shovel missing from his shed? But wait. Joseph was dead, so why go after his daughters and kill them? To Brooke, it didn’t quite add up. Still, she could feel her Creepy Collin moniker soften just a tiny bit.

  Next up: Peter Novak, Esq.––Ruth’s ex. Lots on him. A killer lawyer with a history of some high-profile wins––and a couple of notable losses. Seemed to be glued at the hip to the Whitman estate. And judging from his different signatures throughout the will itself, also highly involved in Joseph’s money, all of which now had gone to Michael as sole survivor.

  Motive? Maybe, besides his lawyer fee, he received a much larger chunk of change for setting up this special trust that benefitted Michael so much. She searched his bank records. Sure enough, after the inheritance panned out, he had deposited a hefty sum and put it into a separate account. Yeah, baby!

  She skimmed over the 1700s’ people, and moved on to the most recent victims, figuring Henry, at that very second, was probably checking into everything he could get his hands on about those early American guys.

  Jane Doe’s face was pretty scary. Besides the forehead hit, she had an expression of––what was it––fury? Nah, couldn’t be. But there was also something Brooke hadn’t really noticed before. It was a flat-banded silver ring with a topaz stone encased in its middle. The ring wasn’t on her finger. It was hooked through a silver chain around her neck.

  “Okay, let’s go bigger,” she muttered and triple-tapped the Zoom symbol.

  The victim’s necklace and ring filled the screen. After a couple of sharpening adjustments, she could see it better. “O & W” appeared extra clear.

  O and W, up in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.

  Where did that come from? Then she remembered. The morning of her parents’ and brother’s horrific accident, she had heard her brother’s new wife singing that old song to him after he had kissed her in their backyard.

  Tears formed fast as June suddenly jumped up onto her lap and produced lots of motorboat purrs. Stroking her, Brooke thought of how grateful she was to have this little feline in her life. Junebug, you are the queen of Comfort Cats.

  Blinking her eyes, she willed herself back to the case. Next up was Wynnie’s unrecognizable face. Wandering Wynnie, you sure wandered too far this time, didn’t you? The woman was wearing her usual gym gear and colorful gym shoes. Brooke leaned in closer to observe Wynnie’s head wound. Definitely looked like she had collided with a shovel––more than once. And whoever hit her must have been strong. But it was the note with the Naughty Girl reference that struck a chord. That was just the kind of label her own grandfather might have used. Another example of the kind of family trait that Dr. Herbert referenced?

  Cathy Whitman’s head wound didn’t look as deep, and it was obviously a single bang. Could Collin have done it? Brooke closed her eyes to envision the groundskeeper. He was a slight man. The kind that would look good in a five-thousand-dollar suit, but definitely wasn’t a tough, manual labor guy. She tried to picture him dragging the body to the desolate alley.

  And in reality, could Michael Whitman have done something like that? Nah, he’d definitely hire someone to do his dirty work. Shaking her head, she moved on. She eyed Ruth Novak’s picture and sighed. She, Henry, and Abby had just seen her, for goodness sake, and now she was another victim? Could it be her ex-husband not wanting any of his sleazy dealings in the Whitman estate to come out?

  She flashed back to a past locker room chit-chat, when talk flowed all about both Peter Novak and Collin’s history together at the Whitman house, before Peter got Collin fired. Thinking about that exchange now, there was no doubt Collin had a motive for revenge. His life had been destroyed by Novak. But why not kill the lawyer, instead of his ex-wife?

  She eyed Ruth’s photo. That striking hair and olive skin combo didn’t look so great now. She was wearing the same black hoodie she always wore. The same one they had last seen her in. Along with that oversized Gucci bag.

  Blurry-eyed, Brooke had to stop. She gently put a reluctant Junebug down into her little cat cradle, retrieved another cup of coffee, and sank down onto the sofa, her eyes burning.

  Wonder how Henry’s doing?

  * *

  Across town, Henry was more than frustrated. Roberta was there but had chosen to give preference to another person’s access to the microfiche machine for well over two hours. When Henry did come up to her finally and gently complained––in the politest way ever––she was curt.

  “Sorry, Henry, this man has reserved the machine for another hour. You’ll just have to wait. Use the computer, why don’t you?”

  I guess I should have asked her out on a date. She was obviously hurt by his lack of interest––and determined to punish him. Sighing, he opted for one of the library computers instead and logged on. At least he could get onto KnowYourAncestors.com while he waited. Not only that, there were plenty of other ancestry sites as well to explore. He could start with some of those.

  Then he remembered. Since the library did now allow some microfiche material to be copied and scanned, recently he had done so with several articles and turned them into PDF documents. Then at home, he had made up a file folder marked “Library” on his computer to check out these scanned documents whenever he got the chance. Maybe he’d come across something pertinent to this case. He sighed. Wish I could remember everything I had scanned.

  For now, his job would be to simply copy and paste more ancestry sites onto a document and email that home. Sure enough, he came across quite a few sites. He quickly created a new document, copied and pasted those sites on it then emailed that to himself. Voila. Done. He didn’t have to come to the library so much. And deal with Roberta’s feelings.

  Moving back to KnowYourAncestor.com, Wallace Lansbury was Henry’s top interest. After all, he was Captain Goddard’s first mate––and Monster Extraordinaire. If the man was as evil as the captain had documented, on top of what Abby had witnessed, he was obviously bad news. As for any connection to today’s research? Who knew?

  Soon, Henry became aware of Roberta walking back and forth behind him but said nothing. Instead, he simply shook his head, focused on his current task, and ignored her. After all, no one could ever replace his beloved wife. That was a given.

  Once inside the KnowYourAncestors.com site, he typed in Wallace’s name. Quickly, a whole slew of the man’s kin popped up on the screen. Besides his parents and grandparents, there were also his siblings,
cousins, uncles, and aunts. Simon Leighton was listed as his first cousin.

  Henry copied the page’s URL and also sent that to his own email, so he could print it out at home privately, not here, under Miss Sensitivity’s nose. Next, he began focusing on Lansbury and Leighton in earnest. To do such a horrendous deed together was bad enough, but to use the same kind of blunt instrument and cloth bag in the modern murders? A sudden shiver flitted down his arms.

  * *

  Brooke took a sip of Abby’s chamomile tea. Why not? Maybe that’d help her calm down enough to think. Eh, not so much. She went back to thinking. What connections was she missing? She stood up, stretched, and went looking for her kitty.

  Yet nothing came to mind after Brooke sat down with June, who instantly started “kneading biscuits” on her lap. She stared at the slightly crumpled journal page Abby had left behind and tried to flatten it out even more. With Junie still on her lap, she was about to give it all a rest for a while, when––

  “Boy, I’m getting as forgetful as Grandma, Junebug,” she said. “I forgot. Like Abby and I just told the gang, old journal versus new journal… equals new email.”

  Larry wouldn’t necessarily have any of them, but the Fun & Fit establishment surely would. She opened up her desk drawer and took out a small USB flash port containing her special hacker program. Basically, it was a port entry into different sites, other than just the police network.

  “Okay,” she told Junebug, “I’ll be a good girl this time. If I find out any important stuff, then I’ll tell Larry to obtain an official warrant for the gym’s site.”

  Within minutes, she was inside the Fun & Fit computer personnel files and skimming through them to get what she needed. There was a single email from the front desk’s less than helpful woman, Penelope. Ruth Novak had four pages of emails, Helen had only two listed. And lastly, Collin had several pages of emails. Brooke began to scour through them.