Living with the Dead
Page 29
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Finn asked the officers currently on stakeout duty to follow up. Twenty minutes later, one called back to report that there were no kids in apartment 304. The super didn't recognize the description and he swore he knew every boy in his building, because you had to keep an eye on kids that age...
So Finn had one teenage boy, nicely dressed, well mannered and well spoken, skilled in lying and picking locks. An odd combination. What did it have to do with his case? An unrelated crime of opportunity? Stealing Portia Kane memorabilia to sell on eBay?
Next came what seemed a bit of luck. The lab had managed to raise the serial number on that gun. It was registered to a private citizen – an eighty-six-year-old great grandmother, who'd reported it stolen two months ago. The gun had likely passed through several hands before killing Kane, the silencer added by one of them. Some one would follow up, but Finn suspected another dead end.
The Philly police had also struck out with Peltier's parents. They were outraged that their daughter was wanted for questioning in a murder. These folks also knew the law. They refused a search without a warrant, and they phoned their lawyer. Though they didn't have the right to insist she be present for questioning, they stalled until she arrived.
Regarding their daughter, they hadn't spoken to her in four days. The police were welcome to review their home and cell phone records. They also provided her address in L.A., her home and cell number, though they must have known the L.A. cops already had all this – trying to look helpful while not revealing anything that was.
As for the friend Finn was seeking, their daughter was twenty-eight years old. They no longer monitored her friends and didn't know most of them. One detective had taken advantage of a bathroom break to scout the main rooms. In the living room, he'd found a hanging photo of two teenage girls. One matched the description Finn had been given. The other was Robyn Peltier.
When confronted, Peltier's mother claimed it was a friend from Robyn's teen years and she couldn't recall the girl's name. The father, though, blew up at the intrusion, ended the questioning and sent the detectives on their way.
They were lying about the friend.
Finn knew there was an easy way to get his answer. He had a source who was certain to know exactly who Robyn Peltier's friend was. But that source had slipped away the moment Finn got on the phone with the Philly detectives.
Finn still hadn't decided what to do about Damon. The cop in him said to cut the guy loose. No matter what special skills Damon could bring to the investigation, the husband of the main suspect was not partner material. But Finn couldn't help thinking that it wasn't a coincidence that he'd gotten this case, the one detective who could speak to the dead.
Finn believed in God. His mother would have nailed his hide to the back shed if he hadn't. In his family, faith was never a question. What was faith in God if not the belief that the soul existed beyond this life, which his family knew with certainty to be true?
There were those who thought such powers came from the devil. His family dismissed that nonsense the way philosophers scoffed at those who saw an eclipse as a sign the world was being devoured by dragons. God granted some people the skills to become doctors to help the living. God had given their family the power to help the dead. It wasn't always conducive to a peaceful life, but no worse than a family doctor, called out on an emergency at 3 a.m.
Since moving to Los Angeles, though, Finn had stopped attending church. He didn't much see the point. Where he came from, the church was the heart of the community. Here, if there was a community, he hadn't found it. Not one he fit into, anyway.
And, Finn had to admit, his faith wasn't what it used to be – he'd seen too much here, spent too many nights sitting up alone wondering what he was doing so far from home, whether it was making any difference, why he'd given himself over to this empty life if he wasn't sure it did make a difference...
And when he had been questioning that faith, Damon showed up. The first ghost who'd ever come back, let alone stuck around. And he needed Finn's help. Maybe it was coincidence, but Finn couldn't bring himself to tell Damon to get lost. And when he had a way to test him – demand to know the name of his wife's friend – he couldn't bring himself to do that either. Trust didn't come from forcing a man's hand. Damon had to earn it and, if he didn't, Finn had to let him go.
Two hours later, Finn was outside Peltier's apartment door. The super was supposed to follow him up, but had been waylaid by a tenant.
"What are you hoping to find?" Damon kept his voice neutral, but Finn could tell it was a struggle. He wanted to tell Finn he was wasting his time, that he should be looking for real suspects.
"I need to find her, " Finn said. "That's the easiest way to clear her – "
A door clicked down the hall. A woman stepped out. Noticing Finn, she glanced behind him, as if trying to see who he'd been talking to. Finn returned his cell phone to his pocket. She nodded and smiled as she passed.
"Smart move," Damon said. "You're getting better at this."
The elevator doors opened and off stepped the super, with an irate tenant in tow.
"That drain isn't going to fix itself," the bearded man bellowed.
"I will fix it. But first I need to let this policeman into an apartment."
The tenant peered at Finn, nose wrinkling as if he'd caught a whiff of sulfur water. He wheeled on the super, who was unlocking the door. "You'd better not be letting anyone into our apartments without a warrant – "
Finn held up the warrant. The man snatched it.
"An investigation into the death of that Portia Kane?" he said, voice rising. "She was murdered, wasn't she?" He jabbed a bony finger at the super. "If there's been a murder, you'd damned well better tell us."
Finn plucked the warrant from his fingers, pushed open the door and sidestepped through. The super's hand shot up, telling Finn to wait.
"I know my way around." Finn pushed past the super's outstretched hand. "You take care of this."
He slid in before the super could stop him. Damon walked to the win dow and looked out. Finn started to search.
The voices in the hall faded, presumably as the super gave in and went to check the drain.
"I don't know where she is," Damon said after a minute, still looking out the window. "I know that's what you're wondering and I wish I did know, because you're right. She needs to come forward and get this cleared up."
So Finn had one teenage boy, nicely dressed, well mannered and well spoken, skilled in lying and picking locks. An odd combination. What did it have to do with his case? An unrelated crime of opportunity? Stealing Portia Kane memorabilia to sell on eBay?
Next came what seemed a bit of luck. The lab had managed to raise the serial number on that gun. It was registered to a private citizen – an eighty-six-year-old great grandmother, who'd reported it stolen two months ago. The gun had likely passed through several hands before killing Kane, the silencer added by one of them. Some one would follow up, but Finn suspected another dead end.
The Philly police had also struck out with Peltier's parents. They were outraged that their daughter was wanted for questioning in a murder. These folks also knew the law. They refused a search without a warrant, and they phoned their lawyer. Though they didn't have the right to insist she be present for questioning, they stalled until she arrived.
Regarding their daughter, they hadn't spoken to her in four days. The police were welcome to review their home and cell phone records. They also provided her address in L.A., her home and cell number, though they must have known the L.A. cops already had all this – trying to look helpful while not revealing anything that was.
As for the friend Finn was seeking, their daughter was twenty-eight years old. They no longer monitored her friends and didn't know most of them. One detective had taken advantage of a bathroom break to scout the main rooms. In the living room, he'd found a hanging photo of two teenage girls. One matched the description Finn had been given. The other was Robyn Peltier.
When confronted, Peltier's mother claimed it was a friend from Robyn's teen years and she couldn't recall the girl's name. The father, though, blew up at the intrusion, ended the questioning and sent the detectives on their way.
They were lying about the friend.
Finn knew there was an easy way to get his answer. He had a source who was certain to know exactly who Robyn Peltier's friend was. But that source had slipped away the moment Finn got on the phone with the Philly detectives.
Finn still hadn't decided what to do about Damon. The cop in him said to cut the guy loose. No matter what special skills Damon could bring to the investigation, the husband of the main suspect was not partner material. But Finn couldn't help thinking that it wasn't a coincidence that he'd gotten this case, the one detective who could speak to the dead.
Finn believed in God. His mother would have nailed his hide to the back shed if he hadn't. In his family, faith was never a question. What was faith in God if not the belief that the soul existed beyond this life, which his family knew with certainty to be true?
There were those who thought such powers came from the devil. His family dismissed that nonsense the way philosophers scoffed at those who saw an eclipse as a sign the world was being devoured by dragons. God granted some people the skills to become doctors to help the living. God had given their family the power to help the dead. It wasn't always conducive to a peaceful life, but no worse than a family doctor, called out on an emergency at 3 a.m.
Since moving to Los Angeles, though, Finn had stopped attending church. He didn't much see the point. Where he came from, the church was the heart of the community. Here, if there was a community, he hadn't found it. Not one he fit into, anyway.
And, Finn had to admit, his faith wasn't what it used to be – he'd seen too much here, spent too many nights sitting up alone wondering what he was doing so far from home, whether it was making any difference, why he'd given himself over to this empty life if he wasn't sure it did make a difference...
And when he had been questioning that faith, Damon showed up. The first ghost who'd ever come back, let alone stuck around. And he needed Finn's help. Maybe it was coincidence, but Finn couldn't bring himself to tell Damon to get lost. And when he had a way to test him – demand to know the name of his wife's friend – he couldn't bring himself to do that either. Trust didn't come from forcing a man's hand. Damon had to earn it and, if he didn't, Finn had to let him go.
Two hours later, Finn was outside Peltier's apartment door. The super was supposed to follow him up, but had been waylaid by a tenant.
"What are you hoping to find?" Damon kept his voice neutral, but Finn could tell it was a struggle. He wanted to tell Finn he was wasting his time, that he should be looking for real suspects.
"I need to find her, " Finn said. "That's the easiest way to clear her – "
A door clicked down the hall. A woman stepped out. Noticing Finn, she glanced behind him, as if trying to see who he'd been talking to. Finn returned his cell phone to his pocket. She nodded and smiled as she passed.
"Smart move," Damon said. "You're getting better at this."
The elevator doors opened and off stepped the super, with an irate tenant in tow.
"That drain isn't going to fix itself," the bearded man bellowed.
"I will fix it. But first I need to let this policeman into an apartment."
The tenant peered at Finn, nose wrinkling as if he'd caught a whiff of sulfur water. He wheeled on the super, who was unlocking the door. "You'd better not be letting anyone into our apartments without a warrant – "
Finn held up the warrant. The man snatched it.
"An investigation into the death of that Portia Kane?" he said, voice rising. "She was murdered, wasn't she?" He jabbed a bony finger at the super. "If there's been a murder, you'd damned well better tell us."
Finn plucked the warrant from his fingers, pushed open the door and sidestepped through. The super's hand shot up, telling Finn to wait.
"I know my way around." Finn pushed past the super's outstretched hand. "You take care of this."
He slid in before the super could stop him. Damon walked to the win dow and looked out. Finn started to search.
The voices in the hall faded, presumably as the super gave in and went to check the drain.
"I don't know where she is," Damon said after a minute, still looking out the window. "I know that's what you're wondering and I wish I did know, because you're right. She needs to come forward and get this cleared up."
