A Body to Spare (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) (15 page)

“No family other than your dad?” I asked. I knew from Marigold that Jean had no kin on her father’s side, but I had not pulled a report on her mother.

“No one,” she said. “It was perfect for starting over. No loose ends. No people I’d miss seeing at Christmas or Thanksgiving.” She was trying to put a positive spin on it, but her voice was coated with sadness. She gave me a small hopeful smile. “But I do hope to have my own family one day.”

“Why the name Utley?” Greg asked while I mused over her information. “What’s the significance? Is it an old family name?”

She shook her head. “It has no connection with my family. When I was a little girl there was a librarian in our town named Jean Utley. She was always so nice to me. She said we had a special connection because we were both named Jean. When I was thinking of names to use, that one came to mind.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” I said to her. “Does she know that?”

“She passed away when I was in college. Some type of cancer, I think.”

I got up. “I guess we’ve kept you long enough, but I have one more question to ask. What about Zach’s friends? Do you know if any of them relocated to California after high school or college?”

She thought a minute. “I don’t think so. He was very close to a couple of guys. They were inseparable since grade school. One was killed in an accident shortly after Zach disappeared, I remember that; I don’t know what happened to the others. I dated the cousin of one of them but lost touch with everyone after I moved away.” She paused, then said, “I preferred it that way.”

“Do you know where your father is now?” Greg asked as we moved toward her front door. “I think the police are waiting to talk to him before they release the news about your brother’s death to the media. They need to notify family first.”

She opened the door for us. As cooperative as she’d been, she looked eager to be rid of us now. Then again, if she didn’t know anything about Zach being alive until recently, she’d just been dealt quite a big blow.

“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t keep track of my father’s comings and goings. I haven’t spoken to him since I left home after college.”

“You haven’t?” I asked with surprise. Worried that she would pick up that I might know something I wasn’t disclosing, I quickly tacked on, “That’s a long time, like four or five years? Especially since the two of you are all you have?”

She shrugged it off. “I wasn’t willing to live the life he wanted, so we went our separate ways. Believe me, I don’t think he’s suffering much because of it. He’s too busy being a big shot.”

“I’m sure your father will want to reunite with you over the loss of your brother,” Greg said, “if for no other reason than damage control. The media is going to be particularly bothersome. A kid missing for a lot of years and now found dead is big news, especially the kid of a famous financier.”

“Listen,” Jean said, her face turning worried. “I do not want my name connected to this. I don’t want to go back to being the daughter of Alec Finch or the sister of poor Zach Finch. I have a new life, and I want to keep it clear of this mess. Understand?”

“That’s not up to us,” Greg told her. He glanced at me. “Odelia and I won’t say anything about you. I can promise you that.” I nodded in agreement. “But we have no control over the police or the media.”

“Nor,” I added, “are we interested in having our names connected to this. When the news hits the fan, my name as the finder of the body is going to go public. That’s one of the reasons we’re tracking this down on our own. We want to minimize our exposure as much as possible by uncovering as much as we can about what happened to Zach as quickly as possible.”

Before leaving, I pulled out one of my T&T business cards and handed it to her. I jotted my cell phone number on the back. “Please call me if you think of anything that might be helpful in figuring out why Zach’s body was left in my car. There has to be a connection. Things like this just don’t happen randomly.”

We thanked her for her time and made our way down the elevator and back across the common area toward the visitor parking lot.

“What do you think?” Greg asked, stopping by the far end of the pool area.

“I’m not sure what to think,” I answered honestly as I glanced up at Jean’s balcony. “She seemed genuinely shocked by the news of Zach’s death, but I’m not sure she was surprised to learn he had only just died.”

“You think she knew he was alive all along?”

“I think it’s a good possibility,” I said. “It was difficult to tell which emotions were real and which were acting. But I do think she knows more than she told us. It was like a mix of truth and lies, and we need to figure out which is which.”

“I think the stuff about her father is true,” Greg said. “I’m betting they have been estranged a long time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I think that part is true too. There were several discrepancies in what Jean said about her life compared to the Marigold report I pulled on her.” I placed a hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Let’s talk about them on the way home, honey.”

We started again for the van, but as soon as we saw it, we stopped short. We had company. Leaning against our vehicle with his arms crossed was Gregory Shipman of the FBI, and he did not look happy.

eighteen

Shipman pushed off from
the van and stood straight as an arrow, his hands at his sides. He wore shades and a dark blue suit with the jacket buttoned. His chin was tilted up. He looked down his nose at us as we approached, like some ill-pleased despot.

“Imagine running into you two here,” Shipman said when we reached him.

“Are you following us?” I asked.

He didn’t answer but asked us a question instead. “So what can you tell me about Jean Finch Utley?”

“Who?” I asked back.

Next to me, Greg took my hand and squeezed it. “I think we need to cooperate, sweetheart.”

“Listen to your husband,” Shipman said. “He’s talking sense.”

“Well, he’s not the one under suspicion here, is he?” I snapped as I stared into the inky darkness of Shipman’s glasses.

Shipman lowered his chin and gave me a superior smile that made me want to smack him. “In my book, everyone’s a suspect, Odelia, even your mother.”

“You leave my mother out of this.” I’d become an angry snapping turtle. If Shipman wasn’t careful, I might just snap off his nose. Greg squeezed my hand in warning.

“We just asked Ms. Utley some questions,” Greg told him. “Probably the same questions you’ll ask her.”

“I doubt it.” Shipman removed his glasses and looked at both of us several times, studying our faces. He finally settled his suspicious peepers on Greg, probably thinking he was the more reasonable of the two of us. He was right.

“Jean Utley claims she didn’t know her brother was still alive and in California,” Greg told him. “She also said she and her father had a falling out when she moved to California and changed her name.”

“She told us,” I chimed in, “that she hasn’t spoken to her father since then.”

“Do you believe her?” Shipman asked.

Greg and I looked at each other, silently comparing thoughts. I gave him a slight nod, letting him know I was onboard with telling Shipman what we knew. “I don’t know,” Greg answered. “There were some discrepancies in her answers.”

“Like what exactly?” Shipman asked, his ears pricked with curiosity as he listened.

“She claims,” I said, “that she moved here right after graduating from college, but I don’t think that’s true. She worked for one of her father’s companies after college—Aztec was the name of it. It’s located in Chicago. She was there maybe a year or so, then moved to California. That’s when she changed her last name to Utley.”

“Tell me,” Shipman asked, obviously pointing the inquiry at my husband instead of me, even though I’d just given him the information, “how did you two find Jean if you didn’t already know her?”

“Name changes are public record,” Greg answered, parroting my explanation to Jean, “and Odelia is a paralegal with a lot of research options at her fingertips.”

Shipman turned his eyes once again on me. “Even employment records?”

In response, I shrugged. I wasn’t about to tell Shipman about Marigold. “The question is,” I asked instead, “how did you get inside the security gate? We were invited in.”

“You have your ways. I have mine,” was all he said. He put his sunglasses back on. “Look, you two, I know you have a bad habit of sticking your noses where they don’t belong, but this is not one of those times. The more you get involved, the more the agency is going to think you had something to do with Zach Finch’s murder. Maybe Greg here put the body in the trunk and forgot to tell you.”

“That’s absurd,” Greg said, taking his turn at being a snapping turtle.

“You may be in a chair, Greg, but it’s easy to see you’re a pretty strong guy. Or maybe, Odelia, you didn’t realize the trunk would be opened by the car wash people.” Shipman said, turning his covered eyes my way.

“I go there all the time,” I told him, sticking my chin out in defiance. “Of course I’d know they would open the trunk.”

“Frankly,” Shipman said, turning his shaded eyes toward the building housing Jean Utley, “I’m thinking one of your crime buddies did it, thinking the corpse would be safe there for a few days until they could dispose of it properly. My money is on Elaine Powers; I believe you call her Mother. Maybe Ms. Utley put a hit out on her brother through Mother’s crew, and Mother thought it would be safe to leave the body with her goody two-shoes pal Odelia for the time being. If you hadn’t gone to the car wash and popped the trunk, I’ll bet that body would have disappeared as magically as it appeared, without you knowing a thing.”

“I don’t think Elaine did this,” I told him with conviction.

“Have you spoken to her about it?” Shipman asked.

“No, I haven’t,” I answered truthfully. “I have no idea where she is or how to reach her. She just sort of pops up unexpectedly from time to time. You know, like a pimple. And we’re not friends.” Okay, a little fib, but honestly I didn’t know if that cryptic ad would produce Elaine or not.

“She’s telling the truth, Special Agent Shipman,” Greg told him as he edged his chair closer to him. “Elaine Powers is not someone we have over to dinner.”

“But you do have Willie Proctor over for dinner?” he asked with sarcasm.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree there,” Greg said, giving his voice a sharp edge. “It’s true, we have come to know some unusual people in our travels, but we don’t harbor or hide them. Watch us all you want. You’re going to find nothing.” Greg took my arm and edged closer to the van. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my wife and I would like to leave.” Greg aimed the key fob at the van and unlocked it, the audible click of the lock’s release underlining his words.

Shipman moved and opened the passenger-side door for me with exaggerated gallantry. Greg went around the back of the van to the driver’s side. By the time he’d gotten his butt into the van and stored his wheelchair, I was still standing on the pavement having a staring contest with Shipman. He looked into my eyes. I looked into two black holes of expensive sun protection. “Get in, Odelia,” Shipman finally said with a low chuckle. “I’m not going to bite or even slam your fingers in the door.” He laughed again. “We have other ways to make people talk.”

Once I was settled inside and buckled up, Shipman shut the door. Greg lowered the window on my side. “Special Agent,” he said, leaning slightly across me, “if we find out anything else important, we’ll let either you or Detective Fehring know. We’re as eager for this to be over as you are, if not more.”

Shipman was about to say something when we heard an ear- piercing scream followed by loud shouts. It was coming from the pool area. There was another sharp shriek, louder and longer than the first. Shipman took off at a run in the direction of the hysteria. I piled out of the van and ran around the other side to help Greg get out of the van faster by grabbing his chair and setting it up so he could just swing his butt into it. Together we made our way back down the path toward Jean’s building. When in a hurry, Greg can propel his wheelchair at a pretty good clip. My stumpy legs and fat ass had trouble keeping up with him.

A small crowd of people had gathered by the pool in a circle. They were eerily silent except for two women who were weeping. One was older. She was seated on a bench, clinging to a toy poodle for dear life while others tried to comfort her. “I saw it. I saw it all,” the old woman was saying while her dog peddled its tiny legs like an egg beater to get down. “I was walking Cedric and saw her fall,” she whimpered to those around her. “It was horrible!” She broke into sobs and buried her face into the dog’s fur.

Greg and I made our way to a small break in the circle. I poked my head between two young men, then wedged my way in to make enough room for Greg to see between me and the man to my right. In the center was Gregory Shipman. He was giving orders on his phone while squatting next to the partially clothed body of a woman facedown on the concrete apron of the pool. There was no way she was alive. Her body was contorted, splayed like a rag doll tossed to the floor by an angry child. Her head, with its long blond hair secured by a barrette, was surrounded by a pool of blood. She was barefoot and wore nothing but a short terry cloth robe.

I didn’t have to see the face to know it was Jean Utley. On the dead woman’s left ankle was the tattoo of a blue hummingbird.

“I really don’t want to seem callous in light of what has happened to Jean and her brother,” I said to Greg as I climbed into the van next to him and buckled up, “but I am so over being questioned by the police.”

Greg glanced over at me after he backed the van out of the visitor parking at Jean’s condo and headed for the exit. “Does that go for the FBI too?”

“It goes double for the FBI.” I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and checked for messages. It had rung a few times while we were being questioned, but they wouldn’t allow me to answer or even look at it while being interrogated. “I know they’re doing their job and I want to get to the bottom of what’s going on just as much as they do, but why do they have to keep asking the same questions over and over and over like a broken record?”

“They did the same to me, sweetheart. I think it’s their way of checking for discrepancies and slip-ups. They want to make sure what we tell them is the truth.”

“But did you get asked if we said anything to Jean to make her jump?” That particular question, posed to me by Shipman, almost sent me for the man’s throat, except that I remembered he carried a gun. “The very idea that we would even try to do that is ridiculous.”

In spite of the severity of the situation, Greg chuckled. “Yes, I got asked a similar question by another agent.”

Studio City is not an actual city but an area in the humongous city of Los Angeles. Units from the Los Angeles Police Department had swarmed the condo complex, along with agents from the local FBI office called by Shipman. While waiting in the community room of the complex to be questioned, I’d overheard Shipman saying to one of the LAPD officers that Jean’s death was part of an ongoing FBI investigation and therefore they would have jurisdiction and be in charge of the matter. The LA cop did not look pleased, but a call into his office caused him to back down and cooperate.

There were three calls I’d missed during the couple of hours we were tied up with questioning. One was from Clark. I listened to the voice mail he left and reported to Greg. “Clark just left a voice mail saying he’s in the town where Zach grew up and is trying to find Chris Cook. Cook’s office is shut for the weekend, and no one seems to be home at his residence. Clark will check back in later.” I called Clark’s phone but only got voice mail. I left him a message bringing him up to speed with Jean’s death.

The next call and voice mail was from Andrea Fehring. I put it on speaker and played it for Greg.

“I just heard what happened in Studio City,” Andrea said in her message in a tone so sharp it nearly sliced my inner ear. “As soon as you’re done there, you’re to come straight to my office. You hear? No detours. No wild goose chases. Straight to the Long Beach PD. That’s an order!”

“Should I tell her we’re on our way?” I asked Greg.

We’d just turned onto the freeway and were starting our long freeway journey back to that neck of the woods. At least the Long Beach Police Department was close to home.

“Yeah,” Greg said, “but before we get there, let’s stop at Gino’s and pick up some sandwiches for lunch. It’s right by the station. Knowing the police and their long-winded questioning, we’ll need to come stocked with provisions for the long haul.” He checked the clock on the dashboard. “It’s already well after one. Better yet, call her back and see if we can pick up something for her. It couldn’t hurt in the brownie points department.”

“Sounds good,” I agreed. “Even though I don’t have an appetite after seeing Jean’s brains splashed on the pavement just moments after seeing her alive.”

“Me either.” Greg reached over and gave my knee a comforting pat. “But better to be prepared just in case. I don’t think Andrea is calling us in for a short, casual chat.”

I nodded in agreement as I texted Andrea back that we had just left Studio City and were heading her way. I asked her if she wanted something from Gino’s, knowing that almost anyone who lived or worked in Long Beach would know that menu by heart. A message quickly arrived saying to forget the food and get in there. I read it to Greg.

“Ha! There’s no way I’m showing up there without my lunch,” he said in response. “Let her stop me.”

The final call was from my mother and had come in just before we were released by Shipman. She left a short, simple message, which I also played on speaker: “Call me. Urgent.”

“She doesn’t sound upset or worried,” Greg noted.

“No,” I agreed. “I wonder what that’s about and if it can wait until after we see Andrea.” Before he could answer, I called Mom, thinking I’d tell her we’d be there after we saw Fehring. She answered on the first ring. “Mom, it’s me,” I said as soon as she said hello. “Greg and I had an errand this morning. We’re on the freeway heading back now. What’s so urgent? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said calmly. “It’s just that a friend of yours stopped by, and I think you should come to my place as soon as possible.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t think of who might have visited Mom, but she did seem genuinely delighted. “Who is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” Mom said.

I sighed. “Mom, Andrea Fehring is demanding our presence at the Long Beach Police Department ASAP. That’s where we’re heading now. Can this mystery person wait or come back later?”

Mom hesitated. “I don’t think she can. You need to come here first. Tell Detective Fehring you’ll meet her later. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

I remembered Andrea’s tone and doubted seriously that she would tolerate any holdup. “She was pretty adamant that Greg and I meet her now,” I said. “Something very serious has happened, Mom. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. But for now there’s no way we can stop by your place before we go to Long Beach.”

I could hear Mom relaying my words to whoever was there. I racked my brain but couldn’t think of who it could be. I raised my brows in question at Greg, but he only shrugged. Who did we know who would stop by Mom’s if they didn’t find us home? Who besides our closest friends even knew where Mom lived? I thought about Willie, but Mom did say it was a woman.