I've Got You Under My Skin

22

Leo Farley drove past Robert Powell’s house at a normal speed. In no way did he want to attract attention, although if he were stopped for any reason, he had his NYPD retirement ID in his wallet.

That thought made him smile. “Dad, every cop in the tristate area recognizes you; for years you were the one who talked to the media when there was a major crime.”

It was true, Leo acknowledged to himself. His boss, the then police commissioner, had preferred to be away from the glare of the media. “You do the talking, Leo,” he always said. “You’re good at it.”

On his last drive-by he had noticed that the driveway next to Powell’s had a chain across it to keep unwanted vehicles out. The shades of the mansion did not fully cover the windows, but were drawn very low. There were no cars in the driveway, and in general the entire property had an air of stillness about it that suggested the occupants of the house were away.

The name of the owner, J. J. Adams, was on the mailbox. Leo had googled and then looked him up on Facebook. It was a lucky hunch. A picture of Jonathan Adams and his wife was there, and their message to their friends was that they were in their villa in Nice and having a wonderful time. It was amazing what kind of information people volunteered, Leo thought. If he’d been a criminal, he could have used it to break into this house or worse.

Leo parked his car ten blocks away, near the railroad station, and then began to jog back to Old Farms Road. He had taken up jogging after he dropped Timmy off at school, and it was easy enough for him to get back to the place he had chosen as his observation post.

He was stopped at the corner by a squad car pulling up beside him. A veteran cop was next to the driver. “Inspector Farley, what are you doing here? I didn’t know you set foot outside your territory.”

It was a genial sergeant, whom Leo recognized as being a member of the bagpipe band that played on special occasions in Manhattan, such as the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

Leo did not believe in happenstance. His immediate question after greeting the sergeant was whether Ed Penn was still the chief of police in Salem Ridge.

“You bet he is,” the sergeant confirmed. “He’s retiring next year.”

Leo considered. He had not planned to talk to the local police, but suddenly it seemed like a good idea. “I’d like to see him,” he said.

“Well, hop in. We’ll take you to the station house.”

Five minutes later, Leo was explaining to Chief Edward Penn why he was jogging on the streets of Salem Ridge.

“You know, of course, that my son-in-law, Greg Moran, was gunned down, and that the killer told my grandson his mother and he were next.”

“I remember, Leo,” Penn told him quietly.

“Did you know my daughter is the producer of the Graduation Gala program?”

“I did. She’s an impressive woman, Leo. You must be proud.”

“Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling that this program could be trouble.”

“So do I,” Penn said crisply. “Don’t forget, I was around twenty years ago when we got the call from the housekeeper, screaming that Betsy Powell was dead. We thought it was a heart attack and called for an ambulance. Then we got there and the room was full-not just Robert Powell, but the four graduates and the housekeeper. It was a mess. And of course that meant that the crime scene was contaminated.”

“What was Powell’s reaction at that point?” Leo asked.

“White as a sheet, heart fibrillations, beyond shock. He always brought her coffee in the morning, so he was the one who found her, but I guess you read that in the papers.”

“Yes, I did,” Leo agreed, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of the station house. First the squad cars parked outside as he got out of his ride, then the sergeant’s desk, and then the hallway that he knew led to the holding cell and jail.

Leo missed being on the force in New York City. He had joined New York’s Finest as soon as he graduated from college. It was the only career he ever considered, and he had loved every minute of it.

He also knew that had he not retired, when a new police commissioner was appointed last year, he would probably have gotten the job. But none of that was important compared to preventing Blue Eyes from carrying out his threat.

Ed Penn was saying, “We gave those four girls a pretty tough grilling, but not one of them broke. I always thought that one of them did it, but it is possible that an intruder got in. That was a big party, and someone in formal clothes could have mixed with the crowd. According to the housekeeper, she had locked all the doors before she went to bed, but someone opened the one from the den onto the patio and left it open. Turns out two of the girls, Regina and Nina, had gone out there a couple of times to smoke a cigarette.”

It was everything that Leo had read. “You really think it was one of the girls who killed her?”

“They were too calm. Wouldn’t you think they’d all be more upset? Even Betsy’s daughter was mighty composed. I don’t think I saw a tear shed by any one of them either in that bedroom or the whole next week.”

“Would any one of them have had a motive?”

“Well, Betsy and her daughter, Claire, were so close that Claire drove back and forth to Vassar rather than boarding. Regina’s dad went bust and hanged himself after investing in Powell’s hedge fund. Regina was fifteen, and she found him hanging. But even her mother agreed that Powell had warned him strongly to invest only what he could afford to lose. Nina’s mother, the actress Muriel Craig, had been dating Powell, but when she was asked about it, she said they were just friends and both were seeing other people when he met Betsy. That leaves only Alison Schaefer. She was going around with Rod Kimball, the football player, and married him four months later. No motive there. As for Robert Powell, by all accounts he was broken up by her death and he’s never been linked to another woman.”

“If it wasn’t an intruder, that leaves the housekeeper,” Leo suggested.

“No motive there, either. Betsy knew her from her ushering days. Knew what a good worker she was and that she was a good cook. Betsy wasn’t comfortable with the previous housekeeper Powell had. She had been hired by Powell’s ex-wife, so there was no love lost there. Jane went from cleaning dressing rooms in the theatre to living in a three-room apartment in a mansion and commanding a pretty big salary. Betsy was always saying how much she valued her.”

“So that leaves an intruder,” Leo said.

Chief Penn’s expression became somber. “It doesn’t mean that having all of those six people together might not bring something to light. If it was one of them, that person is going to make sure she doesn’t raise any suspicion now, or that one of the others might know something that didn’t come out before. I read in the papers that Alex Buckley, the big-shot defense lawyer, is going to question all of them on camera. The idea is for each of them to convince a national audience that she isn’t guilty.”

Leo sensed that it was time for him to reveal why he was jogging in Salem Ridge some twenty miles from his home. “I’ve always thought that getting those people together to, in essence, relive that murder was a bad idea. But you know how we cops have hunches.”

“Sure I do. We’d be out of luck if we didn’t have them.”

“I have a hunch-make that a premonition-that my son-in-law’s killer, ‘Blue Eyes,’ as my grandson described him, might think that this is the perfect time for him to try to kill my daughter.”

Leo ignored the startled expression on the other man’s face. “It’s been five years. Laurie has had a lot of publicity about this program. Her picture has been in the media. On Twitter people have been giving their opinions of who might be guilty of Betsy Powell’s murder. Wouldn’t it make sense for the psychopath who killed Greg and threatened Laurie and Timmy to make his move now? Can you see the headlines if he succeeded?”

“I can. But how do you plan to prevent it, Leo?”

“Have an observation post on the grounds of the house next door. I checked, and the residents are away. I’ll watch for someone trying to sneak in over the back fence of the property. From what I’ve seen, that would be the only way an intruder would get in.”

“What if he tried to mingle with the television crew? Is that possible?”

“Laurie runs a tight ship. All the crew is on the lookout for the paparazzi. Any one of them would recognize a stranger in a minute.”

“So what happens if you see someone climbing over the fence?”

“I’m there before he gets over it.” Leo shrugged. “It’s the best I can do. No one is going to get inside the house while they’re filming there. Crew members will be guarding to make sure someone doesn’t come in and spoil a scene. They wrap up at about six o’clock, and I’ll take off. But I can’t let Laurie know I’m around her. She’d be furious. This program will either enhance her career or, if it doesn’t work, cost her her job.” Leo was quiet, then said seriously, “So, Ed, now you know why I’m jogging through your town.”

He saw a pensive look cross Penn’s face.

“Leo, we’re going to work with you. It won’t seem unusual for a squad car to drive by the Powell estate every fifteen minutes or so on both the front and back roads. His property goes to the next street. If we see a car parked anywhere around the Powell place, we’ll run the license plate. If we see anyone walking, if we don’t know him, we’ll check who he is.”

Leo’s heart surged with gratitude, and he stood up. “And of course this may all be unnecessary. My son-in-law’s murderer may be on another continent right now.”

“And he may not be,” Chief Edward Penn said. Then he rose from his chair, reached across his desk, and gripped Leo’s hand.