Razing the Dead (19 page)

I arrived in Philadelphia about three and was lucky to
find a space in the lot across from the Society. Not much was left of the workday, but I was looking forward to seeing James later.

On my way upstairs I made a detour to look for Lissa. I found her in the third-floor stacks, sitting cross-legged on the floor reading an old book, so completely absorbed that she was startled when I spoke. “Hey, Lissa. No, don't get up.” I paused by a sturdy bookshelf and listened for a moment but didn't hear any other human sounds near us. I leaned down toward her. “Listen, I found out something today from Janet. Edward Garrett kept a daybook during the Revolution, and he mentions burying two bodies on his land after the battle at Paoli.”

Lissa sat up straighter, her eyes bright. “Really? Did he say who they were?”

“Nothing like that. In fact, it's barely more than a sentence, but I think it corroborates our guess about how those bodies came to be there.”

“It's too bad that Edward Garrett didn't identify who he buried.”

I smiled. “That would've been too easy, eh? He might honestly not have known them—after all, there were soldiers from all over the place running around in that battle. Or, since they may have fought for different sides, maybe he simply didn't want trouble, and burying them was the easiest solution.” I straightened up. “I want you to check everything about Edward Garrett and the farm around the time of the Revolution, please. I'm sure you're itching to get a look at that daybook, but you probably won't have time before Wakeman wants his report.”

“I was hoping to look into the Garrett family in more depth a bit later. I'm not a genealogist, and since the land stayed in the family all along, there wasn't a lot of reason to look at all the wills or deeds.”

“Could you do that now? We may not need to give all that information to Wakeman, but I'm curious about a couple of things.” I stopped her before she could ask for particulars. “No, I don't want to give you any hints—just assemble the basic facts and give them to me tomorrow sometime. How's the rest of it coming?”

“Good, I think. You had lunch with Janet today, right?” I nodded, and she went on. “Did she find that reference to the bodies while you were there?”

“No. She told me that Ezra Garrett gave the Chester County society a big batch of family papers before he died, and they're not fully cataloged, so she's been slowly going through them and came across this. If you exhaust what we have here at the Society, you might want to take a run out there and look. Of course, all this has to be in presentable form by Friday.”

“That's barely three days!”

“I know, I know,” I replied, laughing. “Do what you can, and we'll see where that takes us.”

“Gotcha,” Lissa said. “I'll get back to you.”

With only a couple of hours of the working day left, I hesitated to start anything new. I called James to confirm our date, then took care of the messages from the day and signed a few papers that Eric had left neatly stacked on my desk for me. Then, feeling restless, I got up and wandered down the hall. I hadn't talked to Ben recently, and I felt badly about that, since he'd kind of been thrown directly into the deep end. I saw that Latoya was in her office and went over and knocked on the doorframe.

She looked up, startled. “Nell? What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see if you've been keeping an eye on Ben Hartley. You know, giving him a helping hand when he needs it.”

“I have made sure to speak with him at least daily. He does not appear to acknowledge that he might need help. I only hope that he doesn't assume that to ask for help is a sign of weakness.”

“Duly noted. He has a lot to prove, to himself at least, but he still doesn't know collections management. What do you think we need to do to modify his physical space appropriately?” There, I was asking her opinion.

“He seems to have settled into the processing room. It may be that's a better location than in the cubicle outside this office that has been used by prior registrars.”

We talked about furniture options for a few minutes, and in the end, I stood up, and said, “Why not just ask him what he wants? If he's touchy, he's going to have to get over it, here or at any other workplace.”

“A good point, Nell. We are all trying so hard to be politically correct that we miss the obvious.”

We parted ways amicably.

I didn't mean to invade Latoya's turf, but since I was close by I decided to drop in on Ben and make sure he was doing all right. I felt guilty for not thinking of what he might need. Of course, I often felt guilty that most of the staff had to make do with elderly desks and rickety chairs; and then I felt guilty because I had the nicest furniture in the building. But that was for impressing important people, not to keep me happy.

I located Ben in front of a computer in the processing room.

“Hey, Ben, how's it going?”

“All right, I guess. I'm somewhere halfway up the slope of the learning curve, maybe.”

“Don't worry. That's to be expected.”

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he said.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“You think I can find a better desk, or modify this one? It's not exactly wheelchair-friendly.”

Just what I'd feared. “I'm sorry. Tell me what you'd prefer and we'll see what we can do about getting it.”

Ben actually laughed. “Hey, don't get bent out of shape about it. If you're okay with it, though, I may know some people I can ask to help. I assume the budget is nonexistent?”

“Close to. But we'll work it out. Does that mean you're thinking about sticking around long enough to use the new-and-improved furniture?”

“Yeah, I think so. I'm enjoying it. Nice place, nice people. Why would I leave?”

“Dusty history isn't for everyone. Oh, and thanks for your insights on the Battle of Paoli. I look at that site in a whole new way now, every time I drive by it. Of course, it's always amazed me that anybody managed to conduct a battle in those days. How did the military communicate with each other on the field? And if the original plan fell apart, did all the commanders have a plan B, or did everything just fall into chaos?”

“Some of each. That particular battle is a good example. And add to the mix that any local militia that took part had precious little military training, and not necessarily with large units. The Brits really did have the advantage there—they were better organized and equipped, and they had more experience.”

“Well, I have to say it becomes a lot more real when you're standing on the spot where it took place. I'll let you get back to work. Contact whoever you want about the desk and let me know what you come up with.”

As I left I reflected that I hadn't asked him anything about the technical aspects of what he was supposed to be doing, but at least he was proving to be a true history enthusiast, and that counted for a lot.

I left the office at six thirty, assuming—correctly—that I'd run into city traffic on my way to James's neighborhood. I was lucky that it was still summer, which meant I found parking easily, since the Penn students hadn't yet returned to the nearby campus. I let myself into the building and into James's apartment to find he hadn't arrived home. That gave me time to look critically at the place—and at what it said about him. Sure, I'd spent plenty of time in it, especially over the past month, but I'd never really paid attention to it. Actually, the simplicity of the place had made the caretaking part of the job easier: I could concentrate on nursing rather than housekeeping, not that I ever gave much energy to the latter in any case. But once James was on the road to recovery, we kept colliding with each other. The space had worked for him; it did not work for the two of us.

I heard his key in the lock, and James walked in with a couple of bags that smelled wonderful. He dropped them on the kitchen counter quickly, then turned and kissed me. “I missed you.”

“Me, too,” I said. “I keep thinking of things I want to tell you. I should start keeping a list.”

He finally let me go and started pulling containers out of the bags. “I got Greek for a change. What sort of things were you thinking about? Houses or dead bodies?”

“Both, I guess. How much of the case can you talk about?”

“Depends.” He pulled plates out of a cabinet. “Wine?”

Did I plan to go back to my place later? No, I decided quickly. “Sure.”

He handed me the plates and I took them to the small round dining table while he filled two wine glasses, then joined me. “Business before pleasure?”

“The case, you mean? Let me go first. Today Scott Mason and I met with Marvin Jackson and Joe Dilworth and the other Goshen Township people. Have you talked to them?”

He shrugged, chewing, then said, “Not yet, or not personally. What did you make of them?”

I looked at him curiously. Was he fishing for something? Was there something I should have noticed? “They seemed nice enough. They said the right things about George Bowen and his death. Joe told me all about the local historic district and how it came about. What are you looking for?”

“Just between us, Nell, Marvin Jackson's bank accounts show that he's stretched very thin.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because it's possible he's been dipping into township funds to cover his personal debts. Wakeman's project would help him refill the coffers before anybody had to take notice officially at the end of the fiscal year. Bowen's discovery might have delayed things enough to make that an issue.”

“Huh.” Funny how little we know about what goes on behind the scenes in any community, large or small. “Would that give him enough of a motive for silencing George? Even if George told him about finding the bodies right away, Marvin should have known that George would talk to someone else, like the county historical society.”

“But did he?”

“Not that I know of, actually. I had lunch with Janet in West Chester today, and she said George hadn't gotten around to telling her people about it. But that's not to say he didn't tell
someone
at the township. Can you tell me anything significant about Joseph Dilworth?”

“Dilworth's been having an affair with George's wife,” James said bluntly.

I gaped at him. “How do you find out these things? And this is just scratching the surface for you guys at the FBI? You scare me.”

“Phone records, mostly. Let's not get into that. But it does mean that, while Dilworth might not have any reason to interfere with the historical aspects of this project, he might well have had a personal reason to want George out of the way.”

I tried to remember what Pat Bowen had said when I'd talked to her. “Pat hates history. Or maybe it was only how much of George's attention it consumed. Joseph isn't a burly guy—heck, Marvin is beefier—but could he and Pat together have hauled George's body to where it was found?”

“Possibly.”

“Great. So you haven't eliminated anyone? What about Scott Mason, the eager young assistant?”

“He has no alibis for the relevant time periods. Nor does Wakeman, officially, for that matter—he volunteered that he was home with his wife of thirty-five years and whichever of his eight kids are still living at home. I haven't confirmed that with any of them, but I'm inclined to believe Wakeman and leave it at that.”

“What about phone records? Did Scott and Wakeman exchange any calls at the right times?”

“Nell, we don't have enough evidence to request a subpoena for Wakeman's records. I don't supposed you ‘borrowed' Scott's phone to check his call list?” He hurried to add, “Just kidding.” He took a sip of wine. “Was there anything else?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, Janet did show me something interesting. Ezra Garrett left all his family papers to the county society before he died—I guess he wanted to be sure they stayed together and were well looked after—but Janet and her staff hadn't gotten around the cataloging them yet when all this started. They have even less staff than we do, so recently Janet took a look at them herself. She found a daybook kept by Edward Garrett—that's Ezra's Quaker ancestor who owned the farm at the time of the Revolution.”

James interrupted me. “What's a daybook?”

“Kind of a daily journal that covers administrative and financial things about running the farm. Not a personal diary, mostly business details. Anyway, there's a short entry right after the battle, where he mentions burying two bodies where they fell. What're the odds that those are the same two bodies that George found?”

“I'd say it's pretty likely. I'd hate to think there were more bodies scattered around the place—or anywhere else for that matter, but from what Ben told us about the battle, it wouldn't surprise me. I don't suppose that book mentioned who they were?”

“No. It was a very terse entry. I got the impression that Edward would rather not have mentioned it at all, but maybe he thought it was important to leave some kind of record. It does seem to be the only mention of bodies we've found so far.”

“Did Ezra know about them?”

“How am I supposed to know that? From what Janet said, he just showed up one day with several boxes full of family books and papers. Who knows if anybody in his family ever read them? Janet said no one has shown any interest in them since Ezra dropped them off—that's partially why they haven't exactly rushed to sort through the contents. Maybe some of Edward's offspring, if they were still involved in running the farm—they might have looked back to see how he had done things. Or—” I stopped myself and realized what had been percolating in the back of my consciousness, and what had prompted me to ask Lissa to look more closely at Edward Garrett and his family. “What if the family
did
know?”