Page 34 of In the Bones
TWENTY-NINE
Tim
The Jefferson County Medical Examiner’s Office was on a residential street, next to a blue clapboard farmhouse. Tim had always thought the long, low brick structure, accented with dark green trim, looked more like a school than a public health facility, but maybe the builders had been aiming for inconspicuous. Out front, a flagpole clinked in the breeze. He hadn’t needed to come, could have had the conversation via phone or email, but Art had found something interesting with the body and Tim wanted to see it in person.
He located the ME at his desk, his plumy head bowed over the keyboard as he pecked out a reply with two stiff fingers.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting. Need a minute?” Tim asked.
“You’re fine,” said Art. “Perfect timing, actually.” He hit a key, and Tim heard thewhooshof an email being sent. “Come with me.”
As they walked the hall to the evidence room, Art filled Tim in. “Whoever left her in that basement might have thought removing her clothing would slow you down, but they forgot about jewelry. I found a personal possession with her remains before they were taken to Albany.”
Art retrieved a small evidence bag and handed it to Tim, who peered at the object visible through the plastic. “It’s a ring,” he said. “What am I looking at? Feathers?”
“My daughter has a necklace that’s similar, a gift from an aunt when she had her confirmation. I think,” said Art, squinting, “they might be angel wings.”
“Huh.” Tim turned the bag over in his hand. There was no engraving on the inside of the ring, no additional clues about its owner. But it was something.
“Thirty years we’ve lived up here,” said the man behind the counter. “Never locked our doors once, and damned if my wife isn’t talking about an alarm system. You believe that, Lieutenant?”
Tim opened his mouth to tell the guy he wasn’t a lieutenant, but thought better of it. Dressed in his black state police jacket, he’d stopped by the gas station to grab the paper on his way back to Alexandria Bay. The headline on the front page was an assault.
Cape Fear: Squatter strikes terror into river community; former NHL star becomes target.
“Shit,” Tim said under his breath. As far as he knew, Shana hadn’t yet briefed the media. Who the hell had leaked the news about Jenny Smith?
“You got that right,” said the clerk who took Tim’s money, shaking his graying head. Tim was sure he saw a spark of dark glee in the man’s eyes to accompany his self-satisfied chuckle. “I hope the story doesn’t go national, or the real estate business up here is gonna take a real turn.”
Tim thanked him and headed for the door, his face buried in the paper. At the mention of a Facebook post, he let out a groan. He’d seen Mikko’s neighbor take the video himself, but in the wake of the intruder’s escape he’d failed to issue a gag order, and the reporter who’d spotted the footage online had found his way to Mikko. Tim was surprised the hockey player hadn’t parlayed the tip-off into an interview. That probably meant he’d found himself a lawyer who’d advised him to clam up for now.
Cape Fear. It was too on the nose for Tim’s liking, but he had to admit the phrase was buzzy. As annoyed as he was by the knowledge that the headline would trigger an avalanche of calls, he could understand the mindset behind it. Like most river communities, Cape Vincent was tiny, fewer than three thousand year-round residents pressed up against the St. Lawrence and, on the western border, Lake Ontario. It was known for its annual French Festival, which celebrated thetown’s heritage. Never once had anything happened that would warrant a moniker like this one. With any luck, it never would again.
Once more, Tim thought about his own house back in A-Bay and tried not to picture a stranger creeping down the upstairs hall. He’d never been a paranoid person, but that had changed when Darcy arrived. On days when he felt particularly overcome, he told himself things would get better with time. Darcy was only two, still completely vulnerable. And yet, Tim couldn’t imagine the innate desire to protect her ever going away. For her birthday last month, Shana’s parents had given Darcy a hat. Fat red hearts, a pompom, and her name in bold letters across the front. It was adorable. Tim couldn’t stand the idea of her wearing it. Della and Wally Merchant meant well, but putting kids’ names on clothing made it that much easier for child snatchers to abduct them. It provided information they could use to their advantage when hunting their prey. Tim wondered if other dads felt this way, or if his distrust of the wider world was a screwy cop thing. He wondered if he’d ever find out.
With no effort to keep it crisp, Tim folded up the newspaper and headed back to the car.
Stacy Peel’s realty office was sandwiched between two residential homes, and had the flimsy, aluminum air of a do-it-yourself backyard shed. Tim knew there was a chance she wouldn’t be in, given how much time she spent showing homes, but when he passed by the window posters showcasing properties for sale, he found her working at her desk—and with twenty free minutes before her next meeting. This, Tim realized, was the woman he’d seen with Nicole at The Brig. She’d been at the party the previous night too, but if she’d noticed him, she was keeping that to herself.
“I almost fell over when I heard about the bones,” Stacy said from behind her desk. “Poor Nicole. As if a home invasion isn’t freaky enough. I honestly can’t believe there was someone buried underneath that house.”
So much for keeping the body a secret. Tim distinctly remembered Valerie telling Nicole not to share the details. He had afeeling he knew what the women had been talking about at the bar. Tim was grateful the office was currently empty.
“It’s alarming for sure,” he said. “You’ve spent time there, right? It was you who sold the property to Mr. Helle?”
“Yeah, last summer. The house had just gone on the market,” she explained. “It was dumb luck for me, that sale. The old owner passed away and I was first to show the property. There wasn’t even an open house. Mikko made an offer on the spot. I’d taken him to a few places already, but he liked that this house had river frontage and was on a dead-end road. It’s really private.”
That, thought Tim, had worked in the favor of whoever hid the victim in the cellar.
“And when exactly did he take ownership?” Tim knew the answer to that already, but he wanted to confirm it.
“Let me check.” Stacy pulled the keyboard toward her, delicate fingers sweeping across the keys. The letter “e” had been worn off completely, and many of the others were shiny from overuse. “We closed right before Labor Day weekend. Friday, September third.”
When Tim asked how much time she’d spent in the house, Stacy said, “Very little. The previous owner’s family lives overseas, so I got a key from the neighbor and did a self-guided tour. I went back to show the place to Mikko. A few hours in all, I guess?”
“Did you notice anything suspicious while you were there last year?”
Stacy pushed her keyboard aside. “Not that I remember. I was only in the basement for a few minutes, though.”
