Tag Man Page 18

  “And you needed a friend like that,” Dan filled in. “Given your own situation.”

  Bryn stared at the beer before him. “Yeah,” he said almost soundlessly.

  “What happened to Paul?” Sally asked. “Weren’t you all in school together?”

  “No. He went somewhere else. I never knew why or where. No one ever talked about it.”

  “But you and Pete kept in touch,” Dan proposed.

  “Kind of. We tried. You know how it is. I’d visit him when he lived in Claremont sometimes. That’s how I met Norm.”

  “Norm doesn’t remember him.”

  “Yeah. No doubt. Pete didn’t live there long, and didn’t like Norm much anyhow. I’m the one who hit it off with Norm. After Pete left, I kept coming back just to visit.”

  “Did Norm ever meet Paul?” Sally asked impulsively.

  “I think he did, yeah,” was the surprising answer. “I don’t think he knew his name. Hell, he forgot Pete’s soon enough. But he told me once—actually, it was kind of strange … You remember when all those women were being murdered along the Connecticut River?”

  Dan felt his face flush as he leaned forward. “Yes.”

  “Well, nobody knew who was doing it, and the cops were running all over, getting nowhere. Norm and I were sitting out front of his place, just watching the world go by, when he said that he wouldn’t be surprised to hear that my buddy’s brother had done the deed, or something like that. Even then, he’d forgotten Pete’s name. But that’s who he was talking about.”

  “So he’d met Paul?” Dan sought to confirm.

  “Must’ve. And it must’ve been more than just in passing.”

  Dan looked at his daughter, who supplied the words, “So he knew Paul, after all.”

  “I guess.”

  “We need to talk to him again,” Sally said.

  “At that conversation you had with Norm,” Dan asked. “Did you follow up about Paul being the Connecticut River Valley killer?”

  Bryn shook his head. “I don’t think so. I would’ve forgotten all this if you hadn’t brought it up. It wasn’t a big thing, and I didn’t give it much thought. I just assumed they’d bumped into each other one time when Paul was visiting Pete. I mean, you meet people all the time you think might be capable of walking into a restaurant with a gun, right?”

  Dan’s memory returned to meeting Leo Metelica and his gun right after leaving a restaurant. “Right.”

  “Did Pete ever say anything like that about his brother?”

  “He might’ve. I don’t know.”

  Sally laid her hand on his forearm again, urging him on. “Bryn.”

  “What do you people want? The guy was a friend of mine.”

  “Peter or Paul?” Dan asked.

  But Bryn didn’t vary. “Pete,” he emphasized. “I told you.”

  “All right, all right,” Sally soothed him as the bartender looked over from across the room. “We’re sorry. For what it’s worth, we’ve never met Paul, either, but we think he may have done something frightening, and we want to make sure everybody’s okay.”

  “This is all pretty crazy, you know?” Bryn complained.

  “I know, and it’s not fair to put you through the wringer because you happened to know a guy once.”

  “And maybe you’re feeling a little guilty for not visiting him much now that he’s down and out,” Dan suggested, reading into Bryn’s mood.

  Huxley-Reicher looked up at him, slightly startled. “You’re right, you know? I think about him—the times we had. I didn’t have many friends.” He waved his hand around. “I sit here all day, people come and go and say hi. They’re good guys, maybe, but they don’t give a damn. I’m just the fat man at the bar. They all pat me on the back like I was a damn Saint Bernard. Not one of them knows me.”

  “But Pete did,” Sally filled in.

  He looked incredibly saddened by that. “Yeah. He did. And now it’s all inside him, and it’ll never come out.”

  This time, Dan stuck his hand out for a shake. “We’ll get out of your hair, but I want to thank you for your time, Bryn. You didn’t have to talk to us.”

  Bryn nodded silently, shook Dan’s hand without great interest, and didn’t look up as they slid out of the booth and took their leave.

  “It’s so sad,” Sally commented as they hit the sidewalk.

  But her father wasn’t listening. He was rooted in place, watching a small truck leave its parking place a short distance down the street. Its license plate was too dirty to read.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing his suddenly pale face.

  “I think that was Paul Hauser,” he said. “I know it in my gut. He was watching us.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Lisbeth Jordan saw him crossing the broad expanse of lawn—a slightly rumpled older man with a nonthreatening manner. She straightened from her gardening but didn’t get to her feet, simply resting her gloved hands on her thighs, a trowel dangling from her fingers.

  “Hi,” she greeted him. “May I help you?”

  He crouched opposite her, a row of tomato plants between them, and nodded with a smile. He had a kind face. “I hope so. My name’s Joe Gunther. I’m with the police.” He stuck out his hand. “Don’t worry about the glove. My father was a farmer.”

  Nevertheless, she removed one glove and shook his hand, enjoying the solid feel of his palm against hers—an impression mirrored by his overall appearance.

  “Is this about the break-in?” she asked. “Have you found who did it?”

  It was a reasonable question, but stated without urgency. Despite what Joe and his colleagues had learned since Lisbeth had first met Ron Klesczewski, she had no reason to know how much the stakes had grown, especially in terms of her husband’s involvement.

  “No,” he said candidly, reaching into the warm dirt and sifting it through his fingers. “I’m a woodworker, myself,” he added, watching the dark soil pouring back into the bed. “But I used to love to watch my father when he was out in the field, surrounded by his land. He reminded me of a sailor, all-knowledgeable of the currents and the weather and the movement underfoot. The land really spoke to him. He could hold a handful to his nose and decipher its contents. He even tasted it sometimes.”

  He shook his head and wiped his hands together, smiling in a slightly embarrassed way. “Sorry. Suddenly brought me back. You do all the gardening yourself?”

  “I try to. Lloyd keeps telling me to hire somebody, but I enjoy it.”

  Joe glanced around. “You’re doing very well, from what I can see. This all shows a lot of care.”

  Now it was her turn to reach out and grasp a handful of soil. Her voice was wistful. “It makes me feel like I’m doing something constructive, even if it’s a tiny thing like growing a plant.”

  Joe looked beyond her at the huge house looming like a wanna-be Tara. He took a slight chance interpreting what he thought he heard in her voice. “This can all get a little overwhelming, can’t it?”

  She followed his gaze, as if expecting the house to have inched toward her while her back was turned. “Sounds kind of stupid, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Poor little rich girl.”

  “That’s not what I’m thinking.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “You’re not like any policeman I’ve ever met.”

  He laughed. “I get that sometimes. Probably been at it too long. You met a lot of cops?”

  “No,” she conceded. “Enough. You are kind of everywhere, when you think of it. Not a day goes by when most people don’t see a police officer somewhere.” She added, laughing, “Usually when they don’t want to, of course.”

  He joined her. “You think I don’t slow down when I see a cruiser by the side of the road? We all do it.”

  Her eyes dropped then, drawn by a passing thought. “All creatures of habit, aren’t we?”

  “We create habits,” he qualified. “And make assumptions about who and what we are. Until the rug gets pulled out f
rom under us.”

  “That’s happened to you?”

  He shifted his weight and got down on his knees, as she was, so that they looked like they were praying to each other. He was enjoying her effect on him. Virtual strangers could be comforting that way, he knew, which maybe explained some of the confessional’s appeal.

  “More than once,” he allowed. “Even recently. A close friend of mine died unexpectedly. Shook me up.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice verified the truth of that. “This was a personal friend? I mean, not another police officer?”

  “No, no, although I’ve had that happen, too. This was a woman I kind of lived with. Well, not really, but we saw a lot of each other.”

  She surprised him then by reaching out and stroking the back of his hand, just once, saying, “That is so sad. You loved her. I can tell.”

  He remained still, his eyes on the middle space separating them, filled with a sudden upwelling of emotion. A bad idea, he told himself. God, what a bad idea. What the hell was he doing?

  “Can I get you something?” Lisbeth asked, getting ready to rise if necessary. “Something to drink, maybe?”

  He held up a hand. “No. I’m all set, thanks. Stupid.”

  Her voice was stronger than he was expecting. “No, it’s not.”

  He looked up at her, surprised.

  She continued. “I think what you’re feeling is the way it should always be. I envy you that, even with your loss.” She waved at the acreage around them. “I’d trade all of this for—”

  Her voice stopped momentarily before she pasted on a smile and said in a false tone, “Good Lord. Listen to me.”

  He saw an opportunity to both get back on track and show respect for her honesty. “I was listening, Mrs. Jordan. I meet a lot of people in this job, but I rarely get to really speak with them. There’s all sorts of heartbreak out there. It’s too bad we’re either too tough-minded or distracted or messed up to be more open about it. So, don’t apologize.”

  After a telling pause, she said in a near whisper, “I’m not complaining.”

  “But you’re not happy,” he suggested, slowly getting back on course.

  She frowned briefly before admitting, “Things didn’t turn out the way I thought. I suppose that’s been said before.”

  “Had you known each other long before you married?”

  “No,” she said mournfully. “It was your classic whirlwind romance.” Again, she half turned and took in the house, this time dismissively. “I didn’t come from this. My parents live in a suburban ranch in need of a new roof. Lloyd seemed like a visitor from another planet.”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Joe figured that he probably wouldn’t get a better opportunity. “What do you know about your husband, Mrs. Jordan?”

  Her expression was mournful as she corrected him. “Lisbeth. Call me Lisbeth. He calls me Liz, but I don’t like it. And I’m not Mrs. Jordan. Not in my mind, at least. Very little, to answer your question.”

  She hesitated, and he let his own silence fill the void, suspecting what might be going through her mind.

  “That night,” she finally asked, “it wasn’t just about some creepy guy breaking into houses, was it?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Lloyd,” she said simply. “He changed. I could tell something had happened.”

  “Changed how?”

  “He’s edgier, more short-tempered. He needs a lot of time alone, and to be honest, I’m happy to give it to him. He can be an angry man.”

  “Has he ever hit you?” Joe asked.

  “No.” But her answer was slow, revealing that she considered it a possibility.

  “But he hasn’t said anything.” It was more statement than question.

  “No,” she repeated.

  “Lisbeth,” he said. “I need a favor.”

  She looked into his eyes. “About Lloyd?”

  “Yes. I would like permission to bring some colleagues of mine into your house and check a few things out—maybe even in his office. When he isn’t here.”

  “I could do that?” she asked, which he found a telling question.

  “You can let us in every place that you control and can access,” he said carefully.

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  He watched her closely. Her back was straight and stiff, as if braced. Her jaw was set and her eyes were steady on his.

  “You have access to his office?” he asked pointedly.

  “He told me once that everything he owns is mine,” she said.

  “If what you say about his temper is true,” Joe counseled, “you might want to give this more thought. By helping me, you could be putting yourself in danger. I don’t want to minimize that.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she told him. “We don’t have all that much left between us anyhow. He doesn’t think I know, but I’m pretty sure he’s seeing someone else. This whole thing is just a matter of time.”

  Her back had slumped as she spoke and, by now, she once more looked like the kneeling penitent.

  * * *

  There were five in their party the following day, counting Ron, including Sam, Willy, Joe, and J. P. Tyler, who as usual had brought his oversized evidence bag.

  Ron gave Lisbeth his friendliest smile. “Hi, Lisbeth. Joe said you’d be expecting us. I’m really sorry to be bugging you again.”

  She looked at Joe and gave him a brave smile, stepping back to let them in. “I thought that might be it when Lloyd said he had to make an emergency trip to Boston.”

  Ron laughed self-consciously. “Yeah. A little sleight of hand.”

  In fact, they’d asked one of Boston’s finest to call Jordan for an interview down there. They’d even watched him drive off earlier in the day, and had assigned an officer to tail him.

  Once inside the house, Joe made introductions, making even Willy shake hands.

  At that point, after signing the carefully worded consent search form they handed her, Lisbeth told them, “I know you have your job to do. I’ve decided that since I don’t know why you’re here, I don’t want to know. I think it’ll be better that way. So, I’m just going to hang out in the kitchen and cook something and let you get on with it. If that’s all right.”

  It was. Ron and Sam had discussed that they would probably keep Lisbeth company while the rest of them checked out Lloyd’s office, but now, instead, the two of them let her be and went up to the master bedroom, to revisit Lloyd’s personal effects there.

  Willy, J.P., and Joe repaired to their primary point of interest.

  “A man’s desk is his command post,” J.P. announced as he circled Jordan’s yacht-size version. “And this guy looks like he plays the role with a vengeance.”

  After studying the surface of the chair quickly but carefully, the diminutive forensics man settled into the seat and surveyed the world before him, ignoring the laptop computer for the moment.

  “Jesus Christ, J.P.,” Willy told him, beginning to check behind the books and paintings along one wall. “What the hell? You bucking for a promotion?”

  “This is where he calls the shots,” Tyler explained. “I’m thinking that if there’s something he really cares about, I’ll be able to see it from here.”

  “Very Sherlock, Sherlock. Turn on the stupid computer—that’s where everybody keeps everything.”

  Tyler wasn’t about to be bullied. Also, while highly qualified to deconstruct computers and their contents, he remained at heart an old-fashioned man. Joe sidled up behind him and surveyed the same scene over his shoulder, studying the pattern of strewn-about paperwork. He pointed to an area to the right of the desk’s surface. “There,” he said. “What’s that? Looks different somehow.”

  “Right,” Tyler agreed, clearing the spot and running his fingertips across the polished wood surface.

  “What?” Willy asked.

  “There’s a panel designed to look like the rest of the desk,” Joe explained. “But the paperwork on to
p of it was neater than the rest—easier to move.”

  Tyler had risen and was scrutinizing the place. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “The cracks here aren’t just inscribed. They go through. It’s well done, though—beautiful craftsmanship.”

  He dropped into the knee well and pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. “I got a latch here…”

  Willy and Joe saw the panel suddenly drop an inch and slide from view under the rest of the desktop. A blank, flat TV screen rose with a gentle whirring sound and tilted to face them.

  “Cool,” Willy said. “Double-O-Seven via Neiman Marcus. What a joke.”

  There was a control panel under the screen, which J.P. studied for several minutes.

  Willy, quickly bored, began checking out the rest of the enormous desk.

  Tyler finally pressed a button that got the screen glowing. “That’s a start,” he murmured. Surfacing from the black background, a message floated up: Password.

  “Shit,” Joe said.

  “No, no,” J.P. said. “Most people make this easy. Plus, it’s only him and his wife in the house, so it could be as easy as this.” He punched in “Lisbeth.”

  The message box read, Not a Valid Password. Try again.

  “Try ‘Liz,’” Joe urged. “That’s what he calls her.”

  Tyler typed it in with the same results.

  Willy’s voice drifted up from over the far side of the desk, where he was crawling around looking for more secret compartments. “Christ. You guys are such dopes. It’s ‘Susan.’”

  J.P. and Joe exchanged looks. Jordan’s girlfriend, Joe mouthed without a sound.

  Tyler tried it and saw the screen come alive. What appeared was a series of eight small photographic rectangles.

  “I’ll be darned,” J.P. said. “He’s got a surveillance system.” He quickly worked the controls and cycled through all the screens, making each full-size, including the one showing them around the desk.

  Willy stepped in beside Joe to watch. “Hold that one,” he ordered and moved across the room to where the shot’s angle indicated the source of the camera. The other two saw his face loom enormously on the screen.

  “Ugly, Willy. Wicked ugly,” Tyler said.