Mrs Jones

by William Cain

  Great, I’m looking for a coat, Addie thinks. It’s probably a pretty common coat to have on. What did he say? She wore it in the morning to keep the chill from her, and light rain? Why would someone keep a coat for thirty years? That’s a long time. Then Addie thinks about her own wardrobe and realizes she’s had many, many things to wear for two decades or more. She never throws anything out, hardly ever. Ok, makes sense. How is she supposed to find a coat? That’s really farfetched. That’s out there. That’s a reach. But, but, if she can find the coat, the case is solved.

  In a few minutes, she has a meeting with the brass again. She’s really stuck. Richter can’t find the friendly woman using mugshots. She has no leads. Nothing is panning out. How is she supposed to get the “swing coat” idea across? It sounds lame. That’s a dead end, chase-your-tail kind of thing. She has nothing solid. Forget it.

  She decides to return to Juvieux and re-review the footage of his surveillance leading up to July 18th of last year.

  ◆◆◆

  After the meeting with her captain and the commissioner, which was a tough one, she heads back to her desk. The commissioner is no longer on her side, and he wants closure. He even hinted at reassigning the case, but backed off when he saw the look she gave him. And she saved another look, just for Captain Leary, for not stepping in. She has piercing, expressive green eyes, and she uses them. In retrospect, however, she agrees with him. She’s not stupid. They need to close this case. Having been royally pressured to come up with something solid, she uses her cell to call Juvieux about the video footage. When she went over it last, she was helped out by a couple of detectives. Though they were given instructions as to what to look for, Addie didn’t see all the footage herself. It was kind of a formality to review the recordings—due diligence. But now she really has to dig; everything becomes more important when you have nothing.

  Juvieux tells her he’ll have the recordings ready when she arrives. She could use the FBI internal internet resource, but that takes time to prepare for a guest, a non-agency resource. As she passes by the Desk Sergeant, she reminds him that Helen Richter is expected that afternoon. She wants her to look at Chicago and Asheville violent criminal mugs. They’ve exhausted the books they have on suspected contract killers. Comically, Helen knew a lot of them. The Desk Sergeant gives Addie the stink-eye. Nobody likes Richter. They gave her the nickname “the Pencil,” in part because she’s skinny, and in part because it makes everyone less afraid to give out stupid names to people that are a little scary. Addie gets it.

  Addie gives Helen some kudos, though. She’s keeping her word. Helen’s been showing up on time, and spending the time. Maybe she even likes it. The killer that helps the cops. Addie can’t help thinking at times that in another life they might have even been friends. And what’s even more bizarre is that she thinks Richter feels the same way. Her acerbic nature has left the building, and Addie’s actually going to miss working with her today. But she jumps into her car and drives off toward Heritage Hills.

  As she’s taking the hour drive to the Country Club in the hills, she’s giving thought to Frank. Is she wrong? Is she afraid of herself, and does she really believe the long distance romance never works? Is it just an excuse to not try? She feels the same about him that he feels about her. And it’s not just the excitement of novelty, when people begin seeing each other and it wears off and things fall apart. She knows it’s deeper than that. She thinks she fell for him the first time she saw him. How do you tell someone that? It’s crazy. They’ve talked on the phone for hours, days. And the last time they saw each other was like the first time they saw each other. And every time they speak, it’s new again. As she pulls up to the guard shack, she tells herself it’s time to revisit the story of Addie and Frank. She wishes he’d stop calling her Adelaide. Then she laughs inwardly to herself, No I don’t. I do and I don’t. Oh man, Addie. You’re tearing up. Get a grip.

  Addie walks into the surveillance home, and Juvieux rises to meet her. There are three others there, and one of them is motioning to David to a bedroom upstairs. That’s where they’ve set up the replay for Addie.

  “Addie, hi. These are our daytime agents,” Juvieux says as they turn to her and wave and nod their heads in acknowledgement. “Let’s head upstairs. That’s where we’ve set you up. It’s quiet. All of the recordings from the two weeks prior to July 18th of last year were preserved.” He remembers Addie’s reaction when he told her they didn’t have the day-of footage because they followed Battaglia to Chicago. He doesn’t want a repeat performance of that, especially in front of his men.

  She remembers also. “Thanks, David. I need to spend a few days doing this, so I’ll be back until I’ve seen it all. I really appreciate the agency helping with it. I want you to know that.”

  Her sincere gratitude throws David off a little, and one of his men raises his eyebrows. Didn’t expect that from the ice queen. Maybe she’s not so tough—but don’t let your guard down yet.

  David smiles and steps forward, heading up the stairs with Addie in tow. He gives a surprised look to his men as he disappears into the second floor room where the equipment is waiting. It’s a wide room with large windows and a deck overlooking the rear of the home. Along one wall are several pieces of hardware to search recordings, perform playback, all with restricted access to internal Agency data.

  “If you want to have me nearby when you’re working here, I usually start around seven in the morning and go until dusk. It’s a long day, but that’s what we signed on for,” David tells her.

  “Good. Can you show me how this operates?”

  “You bet. Take a seat and I’ll give you the dog and pony show.” And together, they pore over a few recordings together, after which, satisfied, she tells David she’s comfortable and on her own.

  Smiling warmly, Juvieux tells her, “Great. Two things. One, make yourself at home, there are no areas in this house that are restricted, and that includes the kitchen. Two, we sometimes go out for a light drink after the day is over. I think the boys would like you to go with us.”

  “I’m game,” she says. Nodding, Juvieux leaves, and Addie sits down, overwhelmed with the task in front of her.

  ◆◆◆

  Later that day, after having reviewed two days’ worth of recordings, they’re out having a drink and some appetizers at a favorite watering hole, the Native Kitchen and Social Club, in Swannanoa. It’s a quaint, small town east of Asheville, home to some funky homes on some funky streets, like Bee Tree Road and Watch Knob Lane. Later they’ll eat at Okie Dokie’s Smokehouse to enjoy some “swine” dining, the Appalachians standing tall in the background. Here the barbeque is top fare.

  They left the night crew to run the operation in Heritage Hills. They’re talking shop, but they can’t really divulge “information” so they speak in round terms sometimes. Addie tells the group that she’s stuck. And that today didn’t reveal anything solid. If the next four or five days are going to end like this, then the case is in danger of being refocused on a suspect that Addie herself doesn’t believe is the trigger man. But maybe she’s wrong; it’s happened before.

  “I think we’re both stuck,” Juvieux says slyly. “We have months of surveillance and we have nothing to pin to Battaglia. Without something, we’re in trouble.”

  And the night wears on, they part company, and meet up the next day. This goes for two more days, and it’s like dragging a weight. It’s hard to stay awake. Addie’s becoming despondent. Juvieux sees it. They’ve been working more closely together, talking about their cases and personal history. At times, they share a laugh. At other times, they feel sorry for each other. The other agents think it’s weird, but Addie and David are hitting it off. David’s not so certain her social skills were stunted as a child, and Addie’s not so rough as she pretends to be.

  On the fifth day, Addie’s sipping her coffee when she sees something. Camera number two’s feed is rolling, as are the other five. Camera two is aimed directly at the
front door from seventy-five yards away, near the street. A woman is standing there, looking at the house owned by Gennarro Battaglia. It’s not so odd that a woman would be there, but it is odd how long she stands there staring at the house. She has a dog with her. The dog is looking at her expectantly. The woman leaves. Addie doesn’t get a good look at her face. It’s not pointed towards the camera.

  She pulls up the next day’s recordings. It takes a while to load everything, so she heads downstairs for some lunch and finds the guys heating up a pizza and splitting some sandwiches.

  “Looks good,” she says.

  “Dig in,” David says, and they all begin to share a meal.

  David tells her, “Last night you mentioned Joey Riggoti as a suspect.”

  “Yeah, he’s a number one suspect, but the other guy, Spadaro, is being fingered by a source. Riggoti wasn’t a really bad dude. We even went out on a what you might call a date.”

  “What? Breaking the rules are you?” David says jokingly. “Anyway, Riggoti, he’s being watched, too, at times. His phone’s bugged. He didn’t do it, or order it. My opinion.”

  Addie listens and makes her mental notes. They finish their lunch and she heads back upstairs. She’s eager to see what plays out in this recording. She takes her seat and watches the playbacks. All six cameras’ recordings are in front of her. It’s a lot like the first four days, and her anticipation is giving her an ulcer. Nothing is happening. Maybe she sees Battaglia drive away in his golf cart. Maybe a window opens and closes. Maybe a car pulls out of the garage and drives away. He returns. The car returns. Addie’s about to fall asleep. She shuts her eyes for a moment.

  She opens her eyes and sees the woman. She’s doing it again. Staring at the house. She’s with her dog. She’s behind a tree. Trying not to be noticed. She’s there around thirty minutes. The dog looks up expectantly. They leave and again the camera doesn’t get a shot of her face.

  Undaunted, and really interested, and really energized, she doesn’t wait to watch the rest of the day. She pulls up the next day. She sees her again. And the next day, and she sees her again. Staring and hiding. Expectant dog. Staring woman. Tree. No face.

  “Look at the camera,” Addie pleads. Her heart is racing.

  Still, no face. Shit.

  Addie stands up and leaves the room and, standing at the top of the stairs, calls down to Juvieux, “David, can you help me with something? I have a woman on the recording but I only see a small part of her face.”

  “Be right up.” David looks over at his agent primarily tasked with recordings, “Join me?”

  Together they head upstairs. “Let’s see what you have.” Addie pulls up camera two’s feed and from behind her they see what she sees.

  David pans, “I don’t think that’s enough, Addie. If we can’t see more of her face then we can’t make an ID.” Looking over at the other agent, “What do you think?”

  “The other cameras won’t show this person any better, they’re not recording street action,” he says.

  Addie groans.

  “But they don’t have to,” he adds. “I’ve seen her before, and I’ve seen her face. From last July. It must be on a recording we don’t have any longer.”

  Addie’s reaction is excited that he saw her face, and then it sinks again with the realization that the memory would be so old and fleeting he would never remember it.

  “How can you remember something so insignificant from so long ago?” she asks.

  With this, the agent looks over at David, and David tells her, “Agent Forsyth here has a photographic memory. He’s the Mary Lou Henner of headshots.”

  Addie breaks out into the biggest smile ever recorded.

  David sees this and, spreading his hands to his sides and in front of him, tilting his head, and smiling, says,

  “We’re the FBI, baby!”

  Chapter 29 Heritage Hills

  December

  Better bread with water than cake with trouble. Russian proverb

  Agent Forsyth is accompanying Addie to the Heritage Hills Clubhouse. Juvieux is right behind them and he’s as excited as Addie. This could be big for her case, and they’re all a part of it. The agents he left at the surveillance home are in charge; they know what to do. It’s not like anything spectacular is going on anyway, and they could use the diversion. Addie called the club management and laid out her needs to see the resident identification records. At first they resisted, and Addie put on her unhappy face and might have threatened them a little. Now they’re gladly opening their doors.

  The small group doesn’t get more than two steps from their vehicles when the massive doors to the club are thrown open and the management team steps out, all smiles, and meets them. As they’re shown inside, Addie gives her, chin out, “I hate ass kissers” look to Forsyth and Juvieux, who manage a smirk as they glance at each other.

  Addie tells the club staff, after they enter the membership office, that they’re interested in looking at the identification photos of every resident in Heritage Hills. The management practically trip over each other to reach the computers and, since they really don’t know how to use the equipment, they call for their people to guide the detective to the right place. Once they reach the records and pull up the first few photographs, Addie asks the staffer to let them take over and for them to leave along with the management. Their next steps are confidential, and as they comply and leave the room, club management ingratiatingly offers to have coffee and small plates sent in. To which Addie just closes the door and Agent Forsyth takes a seat at the monitor.

  Flipping through the records pretty quickly, Addie’s worried that he’s going too fast, but Juvieux motions to her to let the agent do his job and not interrupt him. Around forty minutes in, he’s seen over eight hundred photos, and he stops.

  “This is the one,” he says, declaring victory.

  Addie steps up to the monitor and looks. She is really shocked; she’s seen this person before, a long time ago when she was canvassing the area. She’s talked to this person. Addie concentrates and puts her finger on it, “It’s Reggi Thomas,” she says out loud. Then she looks at the name underneath the picture.

  Virginia (Reggi) Eileen Thomas

  She is stunned. It’s Frank’s mom. Juvieux is staring at Addie, and Addie is staring into space, considering all the probabilities. Agent Forsyth is looking at her also, and he speaks first, “I have to look at all the remaining photographs to rule out an error, but she’s the one. See that chin and that nose, and those high cheekbones? That’s usually enough for a true positive.” He goes back to the monitor and begins scanning again.

  Addie is still in shock over this. What does it mean? Reggi Thomas is a stalker? Maybe it means nothing. Juvieux waves his hand in front of Addie’s spaced out eyes and she looks at him as he tells her, “I remember seeing this back in July, the woman walking her dog and staring at the house. Didn’t mean much to me then, but it does now. If she did this on a regular basis, then she had to see something on the day of Elsie Battaglia’s murder.”

  “You read my mind. Would it be too much to ask Agent Forsyth to re-review all the pictures again? I want to make sure,” Addie says quietly.

  David, looking at Addie’s changed nature, looks over at the agent and replies, “He’s already on it.”

  When he’s finished, he prints a copy of the picture, and then, in order to erase their activity, they reset the monitor. The agent moves the file explorer to where internet imagery is temporarily stored and erases all the images from that day also. Poof, they were never there. As they leave the clubhouse, the management there asks if they were able to help and did she get what she came for. Addie thanks them and tells them she can’t tell them anything other than thank you. They head back to the surveillance home and look at the camera two feed, comparing Reggi’s picture to the partial face profiles.

  And they’re convinced.

  Chapter 30 Reggi

  December

  I don’t lie
to people I care for, everyone else is on their own. Frank Thomas

  Reggi hears a knock at her door and leaves the kitchen to answer it, wondering who would be calling. After opening it, she’s surprised to find Detective Henson standing there, her car at the top of the driveway. She’s dressed in a heavy coat over a white shirt with her badge hanging out of the breast pocket and her holstered weapon over her shoulder, like the first time they met months ago. Reggi’s a quick study, and she knows about her and Frank. “Detective Henson. Hello! Are you here to see Frank?”

  Addie is just getting over this strange coincidence involving Reggi Thomas, and now she’s kind of put further on edge with Mrs. Thomas suggesting that Frank might be here, and not in New York, and can’t help thinking, this is getting weirder and weirder. I hope I don’t run into him. I hope I do run into him. Oh crap. After a moment of awkward silence, Reggi looks at her curiously and Addie replies, “I wasn’t exactly looking for Frank, Mrs. Thomas.”

  And now it’s Reggi’s turn to be puzzled. “Please come in. take a seat in the living room and I’ll make some tea for us. It’s no trouble.” Addie follows her into the spacious living room overlooking distant rolling hills, the trees bare of their leaves, and you can almost see forever. As Reggi turns to the kitchen to put the kettle on, she tells Addie, “Let’s be on a first-name basis. Please call me Reggi and I’ll call you Adelaide, ok?”

  “You can call me Addie,” she says, but Reggi’s walking away and she’s not sure she heard.

  When Reggi walks back into the living room with a tray of cookies and teacups, they both smile kindly at each other and Reggi sits beside her. “Not here to see Frank? He told me you wanted to take it easy,” and, pressing her hand to Addie’s, “He likes you. It may be more than that. I’m not the nosy type.”