Ornaments of Death (11 page)

*   *   *

Wes called just as I reached my car.

“You were in Ian's hotel room and you didn't call me afterward,” he said.

“Hi, Wes. I'm fine. How are you?”

“Good, good, so did you get any photos?”

“Of course not!”

He sighed, letting me know he was disappointed in me. “I have an info-bomb, but I'm all give and you're all take.”

“You know I tell you everything I can, Wes. What's your news?”

“The police have cordoned off Cable Road.”

“Why?”

“A couple walking their dog found a man's body.”

My heart stopped. I knew the street. Cable Road dead-ended at the ocean. It wasn't the kind of place anyone went in December.

“Tell me,” I whispered.

His tone softened, more kid brother than tough-nosed reporter. “I'm sorry, Josie. It's all I know. I'm en route now.”

*   *   *

While I waited for the engine to warm up, I called Ty. I got his voice mail.

“They found a man's body, Ty.” I paused, thinking of what else to add, but there was nothing. “I'll talk to you later. I love you.”

I couldn't think where to go or what to do. I felt muddled, as if I'd just awakened from a drug-induced sleep. I needed more information, but I couldn't think of how to get it. Ellis never opened up. Wes had already told me the little that he knew.

I turned on the radio to the local station, thinking maybe they'd have early details. They didn't. I listened to the host of a local politically themed talk show discuss the need to expand library hours. The host's name was Al Thornton. His guest, Cherie Hubbard, was a member of the school board.

I decided to drive to my office. I knew myself: Working always helped me cope with life's worst disappointments and losses.

I wasn't even out of the diner parking lot when Al interrupted Cherie, announcing that Wes Smith was on the phone with breaking news. I pulled into a parking spot and set the emergency brake.

Listening to Wes announce that a body had been found, I understood that in all probability Ian was dead, but somehow I couldn't process the information. I was shocked, but at the same time, I wasn't surprised. I'd been braced for bad news for days.

“Who discovered the body, Wes?” Al asked, following up on Wes's announcement with an off-the-cuff interview.

“A local couple—John and Wendy Anderson. They took their dog on a long walk because of the warm weather. If it hadn't been such a nice day, they wouldn't have turned onto Cable Road to look at the water, and who knows when the body would have been found.”

“How did he die, Wes?”

“It looks like he was hit by a car.”

“I always think hit-and-run accidents are among the most cowardly of acts. It's bad enough to hit someone—but to leave the scene. Come on.”

“I agree,” Wes said, “but to be fair, we need to stress that the police haven't yet revealed the cause of death.”

“Do we have a time of death?”

“Not yet. There are so many variables in making that determination—outside temperature, the fact that it snowed yesterday, what the person was wearing, to name a few.”

“Do you know who it is?”

I held my breath, waiting for Wes's reply. Every muscle tensed. I clutched the steering wheel as if I hoped to break it, bracing myself.

“No,” Wes said. “Not yet. A British tourist named Ian Bennington was reported missing yesterday, though.”

His reply wasn't the least bit reassuring.

“Do we know what Ian Bennington was doing in Rocky Point?”

“He was here to meet Josie Prescott, the owner of Prescott's Antiques and Auctions, who, it turns out, is a distant cousin.”

“So sad,” Al said. “If it's him—and let's repeat for our listeners who might just be turning in—we have no reason to think the corpse found today on Cable Road is Ian Bennington, the missing British tourist, but if it is, it's a real blow. He comes to connect with family and ends up dead.”

After Wes's report was finished, I sat in my car for a long time, not crying, exactly, but with tears streaming down my cheeks.

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I can't let you in,” Officer F. Meade said. “It's an active crime scene.”

I'd run into Officer Meade for years, and I'd always wondered what the
F
stood for, but I'd never asked. She didn't encourage chitchat. She was a tall ice blond, with a no-nonsense demeanor and unexpressive eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She was thin, more scrawny than willowy. I had nothing against her, but I didn't know anything in her favor either.

“I just want to take a quick look,” I said, knowing she'd refuse.

“I'm sorry, Josie.”

We stood on the Ocean Avenue side of the yellow crime scene tape that stretched across the entry to Cable Road. Ellis's SUV was parked three cars back from the intersection of Cable and Ocean, on Ocean, behind a patrol car and a CSI van. A vehicle that could be Ian's Taurus was parked at the ocean end of Cable. I couldn't see the tags. A man wearing an orange CSI safety vest over a heavy blue parka was on his hands and knees, video-recording the street where it abutted the curb, his camera barely moving. Branches from a scraggly bush hung low, nearly touching the asphalt where he was working. A white van with
ROCKY POINT MEDICAL EXAMINER'S OFFICE
stenciled on the side was parked sideways across the street, blocking most of the ocean view. I squatted to look under it and saw a mélange of legs and feet. I stood up.

“Is that where the body was found?” I asked, my eyes on the technician.

“Yes.”

I glanced around. “I don't see Chief Hunter.”

“He's here.”

“Was he able to make an identification?”

“You'll need to ask him.”

My eyes on the technician, I asked, “What's he recording?”

“I don't know.”

“I heard on the news,” I said, “that the body was found by a couple walking their dog.”

She shot a sidewise glance at me. “What else did you hear?”

“That it was Ian Bennington.”

“That's what I heard, too,” she said.

My throat closed unexpectedly; I swallowed hard to quell my spiking emotion. My chest heaved, and I shut my eyes for a moment.

“Did you know him?” she asked, her tone softer, kinder.

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry.”

We both focused on the technician.

“Can't you tell me anything?” I asked. “Ian was my cousin.”

She shook her head.

I pointed at the Taurus. “Is that Ian's car?”

“I don't know.”

I spotted black tire marks near the technician's knees and traced them backward to where they started, near where I stood. I looked back at the technician. I could see Officer Meade's face out of the corner of my eye.

“Ian was murdered, wasn't he?” I asked, aiming for a neutral, casual tone.

She nodded, one nod, unaware that I saw her reaction.

“They're considering all possibilities,” she said, revealing nothing, a trick she must have learned from Ellis.

“I ask because these tire tracks start here,” I said, pointing, “and go all the way to where the technician is working. Someone spun off Ocean going fast. Do you see how they get darker and darker, then swerve to the right, then stop altogether? The car must have sped up along Cable, only stopping when it hit Ian.”

“The technician will record everything,” Officer Meade said.

“This wasn't an accident,” I said. “This was murder.”

I dug around in my tote bag for my phone and texted Ellis:
I'm here. Can I help w/ the ID?

I kept my eyes on my phone, waiting for his reply, looking up every few seconds in case he responded in person. A minute after I hit the
SEND
button, Ellis's head appeared at the front of the van. He saw me and strode in my direction.

He was wearing an anorak open to show a navy blue blazer, gray slacks, and a pale blue shirt. His tie was blue with small gray dots. In the unforgiving daylight, his scar looked dark and glossy.

“Josie,” Ellis said, when he reached me. His eyes and voice communicated sympathy and empathy and pathos, all in that one word, my name.

“Can I see him?”

He nodded, and Officer Meade lifted the tape. I crouched to pass under it. Ellis and I walked to the rear of the van. A young man chomping gum like he wanted to kill it leaned against the doors. He wore a black parka with the medical examiner's logo embroidered on it in gold. His wispy blond hair matched his scruffy goatee. His wraparound sunglasses were so dark, I had no sense that there were eyes behind the lenses.

“Open it up,” Ellis told him. “She's a relative and can give an official ID.”

Another technician, this one older and shorter, joined him. Together, they drew out the gurney and unzipped enough of the body bag for me to see the corpse's face.

It was Ian. I stumbled on nothing and grasped Ellis's arm to steady myself. Ian's features were the same as I recalled, but his skin was blue-white.

“Do you know this man?” the older technician asked.

“Yes. That's my cousin, Ian Bennington.”

“Thank you.”

Ellis turned me around, keeping a hold on my arm.

“I'll give you her name and contact information in a minute,” he told the technician. To me, he said, “I'll walk you out.” A moment later, he asked, “Are you going to be okay to drive?”

“Yes. Thank you for letting me see him.”

“I'll be in touch later.”

“Was he murdered?”

“It's too early in the investigation to make that kind of determinations.”

“I know he was.”

Ellis didn't speak again until we reached Officer Meade. “Josie is going now.”

I patted Ellis's arm, ducked under the tape, and walked slowly to my car. I sat for a few minutes letting the reality sink in. Ian was dead. I'd never get to know him. I'd never see him again. The worst part of someone dying is that they're gone. I texted Ty the bad news.

I set off, heading to Lia's spa to keep my promise, the one we'd exchanged, to let one another know as soon as we learned something. Glancing in my rearview mirror just before I turned onto Patchogue Street, I saw Wes's shiny red Ford Focus jerk to a halt not far from where I'd parked.

*   *   *

Lia said she only had a minute, so I led her by the elbow to a corner of the reception area. She had the same pinched look I'd grown to dread seeing over the last few months. The sunniness that had bubbled to the surface at my party was long gone.

“I have bad news,” I said. “About Ian.”

“He's married and decided to go back to his wife,” she said.

“No. He's dead.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so … What happened?”

“They've just begun the investigation. Some people found his body on Cable Road. I think he was hit by a car, but that's just conjecture.”

“When?” she asked.

“I don't know.”

“But maybe as long ago as Sunday?”

“I guess. Why?”

“That would mean he didn't stand me up.”

I stared at her for several seconds, my stomach tightening, unable to think of how to respond. “That's one way of looking at it, I guess.”

“Come on, Josie. I met the guy once. How do you expect me to react?”

“Differently from this.” I walked out.

*   *   *

I drove to work. Cara stood up as I entered, her expression somber. Gretchen was on the phone, but her eyes communicated her concern. Neither Sasha nor Fred was in sight.

“You heard,” I said.

Cara nodded. “Gretchen gets breaking news tweets from the
Seacoast Star.
I'm so sorry, Josie. So very, very sorry. Ian was a fine man.”

I swallowed tears, thanked her, nodded a thank-you at Gretchen, and headed into the warehouse.

I went to Hank's area, thinking I could use a cuddle, but he was asleep in his basket, and I didn't want to disturb him. Gretchen had been busy. Hank was lying on his Christmas pillow, which had a red and green tartan plaid removable slipcover Cara had sewn for him. He had his own Christmas tree, too, a four-foot-tall artificial number adorned with whatever ornaments Gretchen thought might please him, but no tinsel to tempt him. There were several mice, a stuffed toy in the shape of a lobster, and a dozen or more birds. Closer to Christmas, she'd tuck his gifts under the tree: new felt mice, bags of his favorite kitty treats, and a catnip-infused burlap bag that he loved to roll around on. After our celebration lunch, I decided, we'd troop in here and watch Hank open his gifts.

“Sleep tight, little boy,” I whispered, and headed upstairs.

Ty had left a message saying how sorry he was to hear the news. I texted Zoë, too. Although she might already have heard from Ellis, I wanted her to know I was upset. She texted back, inviting us to dinner. I accepted, then called every number I had for Becca. She wasn't at Reynard. Her cell phone went to voice mail immediately, indicating she'd turned it off. The man who answered the phone at the Rocky Point Oceanographic Institute said Becca hadn't been in all day.

I called Ethan's cell phone and got him.

“That's really too bad,” he said after I told him what was going on, and that I was hoping to reach Becca. “I haven't seen her, though. Or heard from her. If I do—who should I have her call?”

“Me,” I said, thinking Ellis wouldn't approve.

“Will do,” he said. “The poor kid.”

We chatted for another minute about the shock of unexpected death, then ended the call.

I tried to think of something to do, but I couldn't. There was no point in contacting Ellis. At this early stage of the investigation, he wouldn't know much, and I was certain that he wouldn't tell me anything regardless. Time to get to work. I headed downstairs to resume going through the boxes we'd hauled away from the Arkin garage.