by Nero Blanc
No response greeted this remark.
“I guess I find it curious that Katie—or Paula Flynn, as Sylvia said she was later known—never made any real contact with her relatives. Even if just to show off her success.”
The priest sighed. “I’m not sure …” he began. “I’m not sure she could have done that.”
“But wouldn’t the town have been thrilled to see her?” Belle prompted. “Look at Tree Hoffmeyer. The library’s devoted an entire—”
“The Bazinnes aren’t the Hoffmeyers.” Again, a distressed intake of breath. “Miss … Belle … I know the Bazinne family doesn’t attend church—never did, in fact—but that doesn’t stop me from worrying about them pastorally … And, well … I guess you could learn what I’m going to share with you from anyone else in Taneysville …” He paused, staring at the table, staring at his hands. Not once did he glance at Belle.
“… It’s common knowledge that the older Mr. Bazinne—Jeanne’s father—was a rough man, even a cruel one. When he married, his wife’s younger sister, Katie, came to live with the newlyweds. This was in the late 1940s … No one seems clear on what necessitated that situation—only that the sisters arrived in Taneysville together. The older of the two was Rachel; I believe they’d been raised in upstate Vermont. Katie wasn’t even in her teens when they came here.
“At any rate, these are second-hand reports—although they’re pretty consistent. The common theme is that Bazinne made life hell for young Katie. Sexual abuse has been hinted at; definitely there was emotional abuse, threats, beatings that were never admitted to … It’s more than the human heart can conceive, and sometimes even imagine …”
Belle opened her mouth to speak, but didn’t. In her mind’s eye she kept seeing Jeanne Bazinne accoutered in her sexless garb, a perpetual frown creased into the lines on her weathered face.
“… At any rate,” Father Matt continued, “as soon as Katie turned sixteen, she left her sister—and Bazinne—and rented a room over Hoffmeyer’s store, then went to Boston, where she won some kind of beauty contest. The prize was a trip to Hollywood and a walk-on in a movie … and that was the beginning of Paula Flynn.”
Belle didn’t respond for a long moment. She wasn’t sure what information pertaining to the skeletal remains she’d been hoping to retrieve, but this wasn’t it. “And so Katie just left? Left her sister, Rachel, with this monster?”
Matt released a long and heavy breath. “My understanding of these situations is that they don’t generally foster collaboration between the abused; that, in fact, the opposite can hold true. Katie may have blamed Rachel for permitting the problem to exist, while Rachel blamed Katie for being … well, a temptation, a lightning rod, if you will … or just plain younger and prettier. Maybe Rachel was glad for Katie’s sake that she’d escaped. Or maybe she was simply trying to save her own hide.
“Codependency is a weird thing. Victims protect their persecutors; families are divided by twisted allegiances. Who knows? Rachel’s thought process could have been so subverted that she viewed her sister as ‘wrong’ or ‘bad,’ and her husband as ‘right’ and thereby justified in his actions.”
Belle stared at the tabletop and the scrapbooks with their depictions of healthy family life: the beaming babies on their christening days, the engaged couples holding hands, the marriage portraits, the Christmas parties and Easter egg hunts—even the funerals seemed times of love and celebration. “What happened to Rachel after Katie moved to Hollywood?”
“Jeanne was born the year after Katie left. Then came Luke … then Frank seven years after Luke. Rachel died soon after he was born.”
“So Jeanne grew up without another woman around.” Belle’s words were more reflection than question.
“It definitely wasn’t a healthy situation,” was all the priest replied. “But Jeanne won’t talk about it. Not to anyone. She never has. As I said, all this is pieced together from stories I’ve heard around the parish.”
“Is the father still living?”
“No. He passed away a good while back. Well before I got here.”
Belle shook her head. “No wonder Sylvia Meigs was so unwilling to discuss the Bazinnes.”
At that Matt’s head jerked up, his lips pinched into a tight line. “Is that what she told you? That she was unwilling?”
“She didn’t ‘tell’ me anything, but I knew she was hiding something.”
Father Matt let out a painful sigh, then bent his head so low it nearly touched the table. “It’s not Jeanne she’s unwilling to talk about. It’s Frank.”
CHAPTER 29
Rosco was sitting on the left front fender of his Jeep alongside the burnt-out shell of the former Quigley house a little after one o’clock. A stainless steel box-clipboard rested on his lap. He’d already made an extensive tour of the entire area. The ground was still damp from the thousands of gallons of water that had been pumped onto the blaze by Taneysville’s volunteer fire department. Smoke no longer rose from the blackened rubble but the sickening smell of the home’s charred remains hung in the air like a malevolent cloud. He found himself wondering how many memories of holidays and anniversaries, happy times—and sad times—had gone up in smoke on Saturday night. How many secrets did this old house hold? he wondered. How many births? How many deaths? What’s been lost forever? However he was soon jarred out of his private thoughts by the sound of Sean Reilly’s pickup truck roaring up the now muddy entry lane.
Sean parked about twenty yards from Rosco’s Jeep and turned off the engine. Sitting in the cab were two other men. All three stepped out, and with Sean in the lead, they approached the Jeep. Rosco was surprised to see how relaxed the contractor appeared. When Rosco had phoned him earlier in the morning, Sean had seemed none too pleased to drop what he was doing, pick up Nikos and Taki, and make the hour-and-a-half trip down to Taneysville from Boston.
“Good to see you again, Parker,” Sean said as he approached. He shook Rosco’s hand and cocked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the other two men. “This is Nikos and Taki. They’re my backhoe boys.”
The two men gave Sean a look that clearly said “backhoe boys” was not one of their favorite expressions. Rosco greeted them in Greek and offered his hand. They smiled broadly and introduced themselves in Greek.
“Whoa, hold on there, boys,” Sean interrupted. “Let’s everybody speak in English here, okay. It’s America, right? I gotta know what’s goin’ on.”
Nikos shrugged and said, “Sure, boss.”
“Well, Sean,” Rosco started, “like I told you on the phone, I want to get a definite fix on this property. I want to know exactly what Gordon has in mind, so that when the police and fire marshal are done here I can cut your permits without any further delays. To be honest with you I’m getting tired of driving all the way out here in my own vehicle. There’s something wrong with the heater and I’m freezing my rump off.”
“Ya need to get yourself one of these king cabs, my friend—rides like a Caddy on the inside.”
“I need the city to give me a raise first; that’s what I need.”
“You’re just in the wrong business. Hey, you want some work on this job? I can use a guy like you who speaks Greek. I’m makin’ out like a fat cat here.” Sean smiled broadly. “I spoke with Mr. Gordon a little while ago, and believe it or not, he didn’t seem all that upset about this fire. Apparently it was his wife who liked the old section of the house. Gordon’s kinda pleased he’s gettin’ a brand new home out of the deal …’Course that’s with a little help from State Farm Ins—” Sean stopped short and took a breath. “Huh. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to say that … Well, hell, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s due some insurance money, right?”
Rosco laughed. Then joked, “Yeah, what the heck, as long as he has an alibi for Saturday night, he’s in the pink.”
Sean laughed as well, but it faded quickly.
“Anyway,” Rosco continued, “that’s why I wanted your heav
y equipment operators to come with you; just so we can be real specific as to where and how you’ll need to dig once you get the green light from me.”
“Hey, I’m with you, Parker,” Sean said as he gave Rosco a semicongenial pat on the back that seemed totally devoid of sincerity. “I liked the old residence—from a historical point of view, that is. But Mr. G’s ready to throw some big bucks at this now. He’s already talking about doubling the size of the swimming pool and going with a six-car garage instead of four.”
“So you’re talking about new foundation designs, I take it? Deviating from the original plans?”
“Possibly.”
“Okay … Let’s have a look at the main house first,” Rosco said.
The four men walked over to the site. The few remaining blackened and shattered timbers had collapsed through the main flooring and now rested in the basement, looking like a giant, and very dead, black widow spider.
“Are you planning to keep this original foundation?” Rosco asked. “I’ll need to do a structural examination if you are.”
“Nah, everything goes. All new construction, according to Mr. G. No damp basements for the missus.”
Rosco turned toward the area where the new addition was to be placed: the spot where Nikos and Taki had found the skeleton. “And the six-car garage? That’s going to connect to the new construction?”
“You got it.”
“So this revised foundation’s going to be a lot bigger.”
“Not necessarily. The garage still will sit on a concrete slab—just like before, only larger than what was shown on the original plans.”
“You’re going to need to do some additional digging. Have you roughed out those plans?”
“Yeah, I got them in the truck.”
“I’d like to see them.”
“Now?”
“Uh-huh.”
Sean groaned slightly and moved off toward his truck. When he was out of earshot, Rosco addressed Nikos and Taki, in Greek:
“Don’t get upset, but I’m not the building inspector. I’m a police officer from the Newcastle homicide division. I won’t pull my badge out because my real identity isn’t information Sean needs to know. Not yet.”
The two men nodded in unison. It was obvious they appreciated being taken into the confidence of “the police.”
Still in Greek, Rosco said, “The bones you discovered here last week were those of a murder victim.”
The two men shared a glance, then Nikos answered, “We suspected as much … before we read it in the newspaper.”
“So you’ve given this some thought?”
Both nodded but said nothing.
“I’d like to hear what your ideas are. There’s been speculation that the skeleton might have been brought here from another location. Possibly only the night before. Is that consistent with the way you uncovered it?”
Again it was Nikos who spoke. “If that was the case, the person who did it would need to be very clever, and even then …” He shrugged. “No, I don’t think so. Even though the earth around the skeleton was loose, the dirt within the bones had been there for many years. The entire section of ground must have weighed eight or nine hundred pounds. A person would need to use heavy equipment to move it and place it here.”
“And where exactly was that?”
Nikos pointed into the newly dug pit that was to be the basement of the new addition. “There is no sign of where we found the bones. It rained shortly after the constable removed the body. And the fire department has made a bigger mess.” He shook his head slowly and placed his hands into the pockets of his worn blue jeans. “I learned to operate equipment like this when I was digging graves and repatriating remains on the Macedonian border … This is not an unusual experience for me. My thought is that the body was originally buried here … a long time ago. And had never been moved.”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to guess how long that might have been?”
“I believe it must have been over ten years, at least. Beyond that? Who can tell?”
A cold wind blew up from behind them, making the smell from the fire all the more pungent. All three grimaced.
“This fire was set intentionally,” Rosco continued. “In your opinions, do you think this is the type of thing Sean, or Mr. Gordon, might have set up? For insurance money, maybe?”
Neither man spoke for a moment. Taki glanced back toward Sean’s truck. He was just emerging from the cab with a roll of papers. Nikos said, “I have never met this Gordon, but I have worked with Sean for a long time. He doesn’t need to do this sort of thing. He’s an honest businessman … But then there is a lot of money to be had here … Who can say?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Sean shouted as he approached, “what’s going on here. English, boys, English. What the hell are you guys talking about?”
“Restaurants,” was Rosco’s immediate answer. “You like Greek food?”
“Me? Nah, I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”
“Believe it or not, you can get potatoes … and meat, for that matter, in a Greek restaurant.”
Sean handed his roughed-out plans to Rosco. “Nah, you can keep your foreign restaurants as far as I’m concerned. French, Chinese, Italian … Forget it. Give me a steak anytime.”
Rosco took the plans from Sean, returned to his Jeep, and spread them across the hood. The other three men followed him in silence.
“Hmmm-hmmm,” Rosco said, inspecting the blueprints, “you’re just adjusting the original drawings?” He handed Sean a pen. “Just initial the changes and I’ll run it by the zoning board. There shouldn’t be any problems with this.”
Sean took the pen and initialed the plans.
“Apparently the fire marshal is labeling this blaze arson,” Rosco said as he rolled up the blueprints.
Sean laughed. “Didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. This hick town’s been throwing up roadblocks at every turn.”
“Any ideas who it might have been?”
“Hell, anyone. I’ve been harassed by every local yokel there is. Electricians, painters, masons, carpenters …” Sean pointed to his truck. “See that big ding on the rear fender near the gas tank? That witchy babe down at the filling station did that with the nozzle. Said it was an accident, but I know better.”
“So what makes you think a fire won’t happen again? After you’ve framed the place out? Or worse yet, after you’ve done all the finish work?”
Sean’s face took on a disgusted look. “Nah, not gonna happen. Mr. Gordon’s knuckling under; told me so this morning. I’m going to have to work with these clowns, put a few of them on. Mr. G says hire the locals, I hire the locals. Like buying insurance, he said. That’s why I offered you a job; you seem to have a lot more on the ball than these other bozos.”
Behind Sean’s back, Nikos and Taki laughed silently until everyone’s attention was distracted by the sound of another pickup truck working its way up the Quigley lane. Sean groaned loudly and spit onto the wet ground.
“Problems?” Rosco said.
“Mr. Lonnie Tucker. Taneysville’s answer to law and order. What the hell does he want?”
CHAPTER 30
“I got a call from a concerned citizen,” Lonnie Tucker said, stepping from his pickup truck and giving the word “concerned” more emphasis than necessary. “This work site has been shut down until further notice. I thought I had made that clear to you, Mr. Reilly? I’m going to have to insist that you all vacate this property immediately. You’re setting yourself up for some serious fines otherwise.”
Sean raised his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, nothing would suit me better, Constable. I was called down here by the building inspector.” He cocked his head toward Rosco. “I’m only following orders from one of your own civil servants.”
Rosco stepped forward and extended his hand to Lonnie. “Bill Parker,” he said. “Sean’s right. I asked him to meet me here. Lieutenant Lever didn’t inform me that this site was still of
f limits.”
“You know Lever?” Lonnie asked.
“Well, I can’t say that I know him,” was Rosco’s quick reply. “Personally that is, but I consulted with him before I came out here.”
“And he said it was okay?”
“Look,” Sean interrupted, “me and my boys gotta be getting back up to Boston. I got work to do. I can’t be diddling around here all day.”
“So leave,” Lonnie said coolly. “We all have work to do.”
“Right.” Sean walked toward his truck with Nikos and Taki following. He started the engine, pulled alongside Rosco and Lonnie, and lowered the window. “Listen, Parker, you let me know when those changes to the plans are approved, and ‘John Law’ here decides I can bring a crew back onto the site.” He raised the window and drove off without waiting for a response.
“Sorry about that,” Rosco said after he was gone. “I wouldn’t have bothered getting Reilly down here if Lever had mentioned—”
“Forget it, Parker.” Lonnie shrugged. “I don’t mind officials from Newcastle poking around; to be honest, I can use all the help I can get. I just don’t want Reilly pulling any fast ones until we find some answers. He—or Gordon—isn’t above suspicion for arson as far as I’m concerned. Folks can collect big time on insurance—sometimes a heck of a lot more than the original structure’s worth.”
“Sean seemed to think it was a local who set the blaze.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me? What I’d love to know is what Gordon’s insurance agent thinks.”
Rosco shrugged. Depending on who Gordon’s insurer was, it could very well be the Polycrates Agency who would be hired to investigate the fire. “At any rate, you’ll be happy to learn that Sean plans to hire local craftsmen when he gets the go-ahead to return.”
Lonnie laughed. “If he can get ’em. They’re a funny lot around here. At this point they’re all as mad as wet hens; most of them wouldn’t work for Sean if their lives depended on it. Of course, that could flip-flop come spring. Anger has a way of dying out when the rent’s due.”
“Any leads as to who that skeleton might have belonged to?” Rosco asked in an offhanded manner as he tossed the architectural drawings into his Jeep.