A Body to Spare (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) (14 page)

seventeen

Once she made up
her mind about speaking with us, Jean punched a code into a box next to the security gate that allowed us to drive through and park in visitor parking. We followed Jean down a walkway, into her building, then into an elevator. Not a word was spoken by any of us the entire time. I glanced a few times at Jean but couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She just stared straight ahead, like people do when sharing an elevator with strangers.

She lived on the top floor of a three-story building. The condo development was made up of clusters of such buildings centered around a large sparkling swimming pool and green common areas. When Jean saw that Greg was in a wheelchair, her comfort level went up. Like fat middle-aged women, people in wheelchairs just bring out the trust in people. Outside of the occasional white lie, Greg and I were pretty harmless and believed in doing people good, not harm, but people really shouldn’t make that assumption when they see people like us. Really, folks, you shouldn’t. A handsome paraplegic and a woman wallowing in menopause can be just as dangerous as any thug from the inner city—maybe more so because they have the element of surprise on their side. But for now, I was glad Jean had decided to take a chance.

After seating us, Jean asked us to excuse her for a few minutes and disappeared down a hallway. The condo was laid out in what I like to describe as the roommate setup. There was a nice size living room and dining area in the middle, with a modern open-plan kitchen off to the back and a balcony with several patio chairs across the front that overlooked the pool. Two hallways branched off the common area, presumably each to a different bedroom and bath. I got up from my seat and started down the hallway Jean had not taken.

“Where are you going?” Greg asked in a hushed whisper.

“To use the bathroom,” I whispered back. I did need to pee, but I also wanted to know if Jean lived alone.

As I expected, down this hallway was another bathroom and bedroom. The bathroom was off the hallway, with the bedroom next to it. The bathroom door was open. The other door was closed. After a quick glance back toward the common area, I quietly opened the door to the bedroom.

The room was decorated with dark colors and simple furnishings. The queen-size bed was neatly made, and nothing personal covered any surface. On the wall were several framed prints of old movie posters but nothing else. There was a small desk over which hung a bulletin board. The bulletin board was empty except for a few push pins stuck here and there. The room had a masculine feel to it and felt recently abandoned. I wanted to snoop more but couldn’t, knowing I had no time. Still, I quietly eased open the closet door and peeked in. It was also empty except for a few hangers and one pair of men’s athletic shoes tucked into a corner behind the door as if forgotten. Closing the door, I took another glance around the room, then tiptoed out and eased into the bathroom and closed that door behind me. The bathroom also had an abandoned feel to it. There were hand towels on the towel rack but no other towels or shampoo or soap except for a small bottle of hand soap at the sink. Everything looked recently scrubbed. I used the facilities and washed my hands. While the water was running, I opened the few drawers, the cabinet under the sink, and the medicine cabinet.

When I returned to the living room, Jean was back and seated on the sofa. She’d changed her top from a tank to a loose tee shirt but still had her running shorts on. She’d also slipped off her running shoes but left on her socks. Just above her left ankle was a tattoo of a blue hummingbird sipping a flower. Her face and neck looked like they had been quickly scrubbed.

“Did you find the guest bathroom okay?” she asked, her face void of any emotion. She’d been upset when she led us up to her place, but now she looked fairly composed.

“Yes, thank you,” I answered, taking a seat in an easy chair next to Greg’s wheelchair. “Do you live here alone or do you have a roommate?”

“I had a roommate,” she said, still without emotion, like she’d taken the time in the back to pull herself together while she washed up. “Until a few weeks ago. He was an actor and moved to New York when he landed a part back there.”

“Are you also an actor?” I asked, even though I knew she was.

“Yes, or at least trying to be.” Her tone and face finally changed from deadpan to reveal mild frustration. “It’s not easy, but I
manage
to land enough commercial work and small parts to support myself, although I might have to advertise for another roommate soon.”

She got up, grabbed a bottle of water from her fridge, and sat back down. She didn’t offer us anything. Jean was ready to listen but not to play hostess.

“Okay, so what about my brother? How did Zach’s—” she stopped and swallowed hard, then took a drink of water before continuing. “How did his body get into the trunk of your car if you didn’t put it there? And how do you know it’s him? If you know anything about my brother, you’ll know that he went missing years ago. We’ve always presumed he’s been dead for a long time.” Jean asked the questions with a shiver and a slight tremble of her lower lip.

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Greg said. “We have no idea why someone would choose Odelia’s car as a body dump site. We’re hoping you might be able to give us some information to make the connection.”

“As for the ID,” I added, “The police did that. And he hadn’t been dead a long time, just a few days.” I watched her response and knew Greg was doing the same. Something flickered across her pretty face, and her beautifully sculpted eyebrows scrunched together, but I couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or disbelief. “Zach was killed Tuesday night,” I continued. “This past Tuesday night or very early on Wednesday.”

“Is this some kind of a joke?” she asked, each word climbing in volume as if mounting stairs. “What kind of scam are you pulling?” She hopped to her feet, her trust in us shattered, but made no move to throw us out. Was she playing a part or was this real?

“It’s not a scam,” Greg assured her. “Those calls you’re getting from the Long Beach PD will confirm what we’ve said. Andrea Fehring is the detective handling the matter.”

“Have you gotten any calls from a Gregory Shipman yet?” I asked.

She shook her head slowly. “Just those voice mails from the woman in Long Beach.”

“Gregory Shipman is FBI,” I informed her. “They’re involved in this because of your brother’s missing status. Expect to hear from him too. He’s not near as nice as Detective Fehring.”

I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. “I have a photo of his body right here if you don’t believe us.” I cued up the photo and offered her the phone, faced down so she wouldn’t see it unless she really wanted to.

Jean studied both of us for what seemed like a long time. No one moved while she pulled her thoughts together. She sat back down on the sofa with a heavy thud and shook her head, indicating she didn’t want to see the photo. “So where has Zach been all this time?” she asked. “Do you know?”

“No one knows that yet,” I answered.

“So he was one of those kidnapped kids that someone kept locked away for their personal amusement?” She shook her head slowly from side to side in disgust. “Like that Dugard girl or those three girls in Cleveland?” She took a deep breath, wrapped her arms around herself tightly as if freezing, and looked toward the balcony. “Every time I saw a story like that on the news, I’d wonder if Zach was out there, still alive, being tormented daily.” Tears started to well. “Sometimes I’d hope he’d be found. Sometimes I hoped he was dead and not living a daily nightmare.” She looked up at us. “Isn’t that awful, to wish your brother dead instead of holding out hope?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Greg replied gently, “the police said he looked to be in good shape.”

“I saw his body myself,” I said. “He didn’t look abused or neglected physically.”

Jean got up and retrieved a photo displayed on a shelf near the TV. She held it out to us. I took it. It was a hinged frame with two small photos on either side. One showed a little girl and boy, both towheads, mugging for the camera. Behind them was a lake. The other photo was of Jean and Zach in their teens wearing tennis clothing. It looked like it was taken the same day as the photo I’d seen in the newspaper talking about their victorious tennis match.

“You and Zach?” I asked, even though I knew it was. I showed it to Greg.

“Yes,” she said, taking the photo back. She sat back down and caressed the memento like an amulet. “The one of us as teens was taken after we’d won a family tennis tournament at the country club with our parents. That was just a few months before Zach disappeared. The other is my favorite photo of us when we were kids. We were on a family vacation.” She looked at the photos in her hands and said, “I always wondered what Zach would look like all grown up. He was such a good-looking kid. A lot of girls were after him at school.”

“From what I saw,” I said, “he looked a lot like that photo of you as teenagers. His hair was still blond, and he wore it long.”

“Did he have a girlfriend at the time he went missing?” Greg asked.

Jean closed her eyes as she gave the question some thought. “There was a girl he took to school dances once in a while. I think her name was Courtney or Cathy, something like that. But I don’t think they were going steady or anything.”

“If your brother was killed here in Southern California,” Greg said, “then there’s a good chance he was living here, possibly with his captors. Are you sure he never reached out to you? Especially recently?”

Her emotions changed gears as she shifted back into anger. “Don’t you think I’d remember that?”

“He might have called you under another name,” I quickly pointed out. “Have you had any odd calls lately?”

She visibly calmed at that suggestion, realizing it was a sensible one. She shook her head. “No, except for those from the Long Beach police and the occasional telemarketer. And Zach wouldn’t know about my name change or whereabouts, so how could he contact me?” Greg and I both nodded, following her logic, although I couldn’t help thinking about Marigold, but I doubted Zach would know about that.

“Why did you change your name and move?” I asked.

“I wanted a new start. After Zach disappeared, people saw me as that poor girl who had lost her brother. With my father being so well known, people wouldn’t forget about it. Every now and then someone would come forward claiming they knew something, and the whole sordid mess would be flashed across the news again. My father had offered a huge reward for any viable information, and that brought out all the nuts. It was difficult enough on my poor mother to lose Zach, but having it publicly dredged up constantly tore her apart even more.”

“I believe I read that your mother committed suicide,” I said softly. “Was that because of Zach’s disappearance?”

“Yes. Every time someone contacted the police saying they knew something, she’d get her hopes up, only to have them destroyed.” She put the photo down on the coffee table. “What you might not have read is that after Zach disappeared, Mom became an alcoholic and was addicted to sleeping pills. A couple of years after he was kidnapped, someone contacted the police saying they had seen Zach alive and well in a small town just outside Las Vegas. They wanted the reward, but when the police investigated they discovered it was a hoax. That was the last straw for my mother. Two weeks later she shot herself while hopped up on booze and pills.” Jean looked away as her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry this is so hard on you,” I said. “We don’t mean to cause you pain, but it’s important that we find out what connection Zach might have to us.”

“I understand,” Jean said. “Really, I do.” She got up and went back down the hall, returning a few seconds later with a wad of tissue in her hand.

“What about your father?” Greg asked. “When did you last see or speak with him?”

Jean wiped her eyes and nose with the tissue before speaking. “My father and I are not on good terms.”

“How recent is that development?” I asked.

She curled her lip a little at the edges, then stopped, as if she thought better of it. “My father and I have always had a difficult relationship. Mom always said it was because he and I were so alike, stubborn and bull-headed. After Zach’s disappearance, with everyone’s nerves on edge, it got worse. I stuck around because of my mother.”

“Is that when you moved to California, after your mother died?” Greg asked.

Jean shifted in her seat. I wondered if she was going to mention working for Aztec. I was dying to know what, if anything, happened there to prompt the move and whether or not she’d mention Nathan.

“I stuck it out until I graduated from college,” Jean began after she’d dried her tears. “After that, I decided I needed to start over, so I came to LA. I’d always wanted to be an actress and had taken classes in both high school and college, so why not give it a shot? If it didn’t work out, I could always get a job doing something else. Fortunately, it’s worked out enough that I don’t have to do that yet.”

“And your father was okay with that?” I asked. “It seems to me that a man like Alec Finch would want to keep his only remaining child close after everything that had happened. He could have tempted you with a plum job in one of his companies to get you to stay.”

“My father was not thrilled with my decision, but he didn’t stand in my way,” she explained. “Not that he could have. I had my savings and a nice bit of money left to me by my mother. I left for California right after my college graduation. The money allowed me to buy this place.” She gave up a thin smile. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my father, it’s how to manage money.”

“So you came straight here after college? Did you know anyone in California?” I asked. “You know, someone you stayed with while you got settled? That’s a big change for a young woman on her own.” My curiosity was really on alert now.

“No one.” She shook her head as she said it. “When I got here I rented a small efficiency apartment in Hollywood and started taking acting classes. I made some friends in the business and roomed with some of them after that. Eventually I landed a few small commercials and some small parts. When the acting work got steady, I bought this place. That was just a year ago.”