Tight Lines (13 page)

Horowitz shrugged. “One of the cottages on Teal Pond belongs to her.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I see.”

“See, the New Hampshire cops, they wouldn’t have made the connection. I guess everyone closes up their places on Labor Day. Turn off the water, board up the windows, crank up the docks, bring in the boats. Nobody reported anybody of her description missing, nobody saw it happen. She’d been in the water a couple weeks before they found her. Nude, like I said. No ID.”

“So,” I said, “if they’ve had her body for a week, and if they guess she’d been in the water two weeks before they found her…”

He nodded. “Yeah. It figures she died about three weeks ago.”

“Which,” I said, “is about how long since anybody’s seen Mary Ellen.”

“Anyway,” said Horowitz, “they want to make a positive ID. That’s the first thing. I assume you can help us.”

I sighed. “I’ll have to check with Susan. Her mother. Find out who her dentist is. Or was. Are ten-year-old dental records helpful?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

I stubbed out my cigarette. “She drowned, huh?”

“They haven’t autopsied her yet. They were waiting to identify her. But the preliminary, evidently, points to that. They don’t suspect anything else, if that’s what you’re getting at. There was a capsized canoe and a dead body floating in the weeds.”

“You said she was nude?”

He nodded.

“Kind of strange, don’t you think? I mean, who goes out canoeing without any clothes on?”

“I dunno. Not me.” He shrugged. “Might’ve been one of those warm nights we had in September. Maybe she was skinny-dipping by moonlight, decided to take a turn around the lake. After Labor Day there’s nobody around to see you. Who knows?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Who knows.”

“Well, anyway,” said Horowitz, “I’m just cooperating with my counterparts up there in Concord. If you can scrape up the name of Mary Ellen Ames’s dentist, give me a call, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Sure,” I said. Already I dreaded the phone call I’d have to make. “And you’ll let me know?”

He nodded, then stood up.

I walked him to the door. “Hey, Horowitz,” I said as he pulled it open.

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Listen. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“You could’ve done this by telephone. I appreciate it.”

He waved away the sentiment. “Ah, I needed to get out of the office, that’s all.”

After Horowitz left, I went back and sat behind my desk. I lit another Winston and stared at the telephone for the length of time it took me to smoke the cigarette. Then I called Susan.

Terri answered.

“Terri? It’s Brady.”

“Oh, hi.” She hesitated. “You didn’t call me General.”

“Sorry, sir.”

She laughed quickly. “That’s all right.”

“I had fun the other night,” I said.

“Me, too.”

“Can you talk?”

“Not really.”

“Have you thought any more about next Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, okay.” I cleared my throat. “How’s Susan today?”

“Just fine,” she said. I thought I detected a false cheeriness in her tone.

“She’s standing right there, is that it?”

“That’s right.”

“Not really that good, then, huh?”

“No, not really.”

“I see.” I hesitated. “I need to talk to her. It won’t be pleasant for her. What do you think?”

“I guess so. Why?”

“The police think they’ve found Mary Ellen’s body.”

There was a pause. “Yes, I see.”

“They need dental records. I’ve got to ask Susan how to find them. It’s going to upset her.”

“Of course.” She paused. “Okay. Just a moment, please.”

I heard muffled voices. Then Susan’s voice. “Brady. What’s up?” She sounded tired.

“I talked to the police the other day,” I said. “They agreed to help us look for Mary Ellen, so—”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“I thought it would be good to get some help. Anyway, I let them borrow her picture and described her as best I could. They’d like to have her dental records on file, so I—”

“What?”

“Dental records. Just for their files.”

“Brady Coyne,” she said sharply. “You tell me the truth.”

“I am. If they’re going to—”

“Please,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, okay. They found a body. It might be her or not. Dental records will tell them.”

“Why do they think it’s Mary Ellen?”

I told her what Horowitz had told me. She didn’t interrupt. When I was done, she said, “Dr. Silver. He was her orthodontist. His office is in Concord. I assume he’s still there. Her regular dentist was Dr. Frazier. Same building in Concord.”

I wrote them down. “Thank you, Susan. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t try to keep things from me, Brady.”

“I know. I apologize.”

“I want to know.”

“Yes.”

After I disconnected from Susan, I called Horowitz’s office and gave his secretary the names of Doctors Silver and Frazier.

T
WO DAYS LATER, ON
Wednesday, I found Horowitz waiting outside my office door when I got there around eight-thirty in the morning. I lifted my eyebrows to him and he nodded.

“It’s her,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Oh, boy,” I sighed. “Come on in.”

I unlocked the door and he followed me in. I put on the coffee. We went into my office. I lit a cigarette. He sat on the sofa. I remained standing.

“So tell me,” I said.

He shrugged. “Not that much to tell. The boys in New Hampshire got the dental records and made the match. They wanted to know how to notify next of kin. I told them I’d take care of it. Figured I better talk to you first.”

“Thanks.”

“They have to investigate it.”

“I thought you said she drowned.”

He nodded. “She did. The autopsy verified it. Pretty straightforward, looks like. No unusual bruises or anything. Looks like she fell out of her canoe and drowned. But you know how it is. Unattended or accidental death, it’s a medical examiner’s case. I guess the guy up there is pretty good. Stickler for doing things right. He wants to have us talk to some people.”

“He think she might’ve been murdered?”

Horowitz flapped his hands. “I don’t really know what he thinks. What I understand, there’s no particular reason to think that. Suicide, maybe. Murder? Could be, I guess. Most likely an accident, and he just wants to eliminate the others. Murder, suicide, those’re the null hypotheses. Try to prove one of ’em. If you can’t, you’re left with an accident.”

“So who’s he want to talk to?”

“I don’t know. They’ve got no witnesses except the kids who found the body. Hoped you could give us a hand. I remember you saying she had a shrink.”

“Yes. Dr. Warren McAllister. He’s in Brookline. And there are people in the building where she lives. I haven’t talked to any of her neighbors there, but there are some security men and the superintendent of the building who could maybe help. Oh, and there’s a man, guy named Dave Finn, a cop who I ran into, said he was going to marry her. He was looking for her, too.”

“Marry her, huh?”

I nodded. “That’s what he told me.”

Horowitz had pulled a notebook out of his jacket pocket and was scribbling into it. He looked up at me. “And this Finn guy, he’s a cop?”

“A detective, yes. So he told me.”

“What about the mother?”

“Boy, I hope nobody feels they have to talk to her. She hasn’t seen Mary Ellen in about eleven years.”

“No?”

I frowned. “Well, that’s what she told me. Look, she’s dying of cancer. I mean…”

Horowitz waved his hand. “Don’t worry. This is a pretty routine thing. I don’t really know if they’re going to talk to anybody. I’m just cooperating. They wanted names, I figured you could give me some names.”

“Well, a couple others for you. Guy named Sherif Rahmanan, a professor at the Fletcher School. And another, name of Sid Raiford, works at a bookstore called Head Start Books, near Central Square.”

Horowitz wrote for a minute, then looked up and smiled. “Okay. Great. I did you a favor, and what do I get? I get you doing me one. You’re probably gonna say I owe you again now.”

“You do,” I said. “One more. Keep Susan Ames out of it, if you can. She’s next of kin. I’ll talk to her, break the news to her. She hasn’t seen her daughter in eleven years. She knows nothing. The last thing she needs is a cop—even a pleasant fellow like you—quizzing her.”

“I can’t promise,” he said. “It’s up to the ME in New Hampshire.”

“So try.”

“I’ll try. You can tell her this, anyway.”

I walked Horowitz out. Julie had arrived while we were in my office. She was sitting at her desk watching us. After he left, she said, “I don’t like the looks of this.”

I went over to the coffee machine and filled two mugs. I took them to Julie’s desk and put one in front of her. “They’ve identified Mary Ellen Ames’s body,” I told her.

“Oh, boy.”

“They figure she accidentally drowned.”

“Just a young woman.”

I nodded. “About your age.”

“And her mother…”

“Yeah,” I said, sipping my coffee. “I’ve got to tell Susan.”

Julie reached over and put her hand on my wrist. “Oh, Brady.”

For once, no flippant remark occurred to me.

I went back into my office. I sat behind my desk and lit a cigarette. I smoked and sipped my coffee and stared at my telephone. I tried it out in my head.

“Susan, I have some terrible news.”

“Susan, are you sitting down?”

“It’s about Mary Ellen, Susan.”

“Your only daughter’s dead, Susan.”

How the hell had those officers in their crisp uniforms managed to march up to front doors with news from Vietnam? They must have been professionals, especially trained for the singular task of informing parents and wives that their sons and husbands had been killed. It was their job, their livelihood. I wondered if they learned how to do it without feeling.

In the World War, I thought I remembered they used telegrams. Quick, efficient, impersonal, and painless, at least for those with the responsibility for conveying tragic news. I doubted if the recipients of those telegrams handled it any worse than those who a generation later had to answer a doorbell and see a Marine uniform standing on the doorstep.

There was no good way to do it.

I crushed my cigarette and pecked out Susan’s phone number. Terri answered.

“Thank God it’s you,” I said.

“Brady?”

“Right. Is Susan with you now?”

“No, she’s still upstairs.”

“Good. I’ve got to come see her.”

There was a long pause. “Bad news, right?”

“The worst, Terri.”

“Mary Ellen, huh?”

“Yes. She drowned.”

“Susan’s been waiting for this. I think she expected it.”

“Well, if she’s prepared, that’s good. But I’ve got to see her. I want to talk to her in person.”

“Of course. Today?”

“This morning, if you think it’s all right.”

“She’s been sleeping a lot lately. Sometimes spending most of the day in bed. I’ll make sure she’s up and around before you get here.”

“I’ll be there before noon.”

“Should I tell why her you’re coming?”

“She’ll know why.”

“Yes,” she said. “She’ll know. I’ll tell her.”

“That will be hard for you.”

She laughed ironically. “It’s what we factotums are for.”

I paused, then said, “Hey, General, sir?”

“The answer is yes.”

“Saturday?”

“Yes. If you still want to.”

“I do.”

“How about the Rusty Scupper around six?”

“Sure. I know where it is.”

“It’ll be an early night. Melissa conks out by nine.”

“That’s fine. It’ll be fun.”

“I guess we can both use a little fun, huh?”

“I guess so. Anyway, tell Susan I’ll be there around noon.”

I hung up and lit another cigarette. I stared out my window while I smoked it. Sooty clouds hung low over the city. It looked like rain, one of our New England line storms that would suck a cold front in behind it. The rain and the wind would strip the foliage from the trees, and when the storm had passed it would leave winter in its wake.

A good day for telling a mother that her daughter was dead.

By the time I pulled into Susan’s driveway, small raindrops were beginning to sprinkle my windshield. Terri answered the door. A yellow ribbon was tied up in her short black hair, and her blouse matched the ribbon. Her gray tailored slacks fit her trimly. She was quite beautiful.

I had the urge to hug her. Her body language told me not to.

I guess I was staring at her, because she said, “Is something wrong, Brady?”

“No. Sorry. You look nice, that’s all.”

“Well, shucks, thanks.” She smiled quickly and stepped back from the door. “Come on in. Susan’s in the library. I’m sure she knows why you’re here.”

I went in. “Any change in her health?”

“She has good days and bad days. In the last week or so, more bad ones. No pain, at least not that she complains of. She’s lethargic, no appetite.” She shrugged. “I’m no nurse. She’s dying. That’s all I know.”

“It can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s not. Sometimes she’s bitchy as hell. That’s on her good days. But I like her. I feel that I’m helping her. She seems to appreciate my company. It’s all I can do.”

Susan was sitting on the sofa in the big library, where the walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves crammed with old volumes. She had dressed up for the occasion. She was wearing a blue dress, stockings, and heels. Her gray hair was wound into an intricate braided crown atop her head. Her face was pale and pasty. There was a touch of gloss on her lips and liner around her eyes. She looked elegant and composed as she sat there with a magazine open on her lap.

I went over to her. “Hello, Susan.”

She smiled up at me. “Brady, you’re a dear to come out here to convey tragic news to me. I expect you’ve been rehearsing speeches to yourself. You can relax. I know why you’re here.”

I nodded. “I’m very sorry.”

She patted the sofa beside her. “Do sit with me and hold my hand.”