The Forgotten

CHAPTER 16

Puller got the name of the medical examiner, Louise Timmins, from Carl Brown, and then left Bailey’s Funeral Home. As soon as he stepped outside the heat and humidity hit him like a DU round from an Abrams tank. After the frigid interior of the funeral home it was quite a shock. He took a breath, shrugged it off, and kept moving.

He had a number of leads to run down. First, the medical examiner, where he hoped he could get a copy of the final autopsy report. Second, he had to try to track down whether his aunt had a lawyer and whether there was a last will and testament. And he had to talk to her neighbors, in particular the one who had identified her body. The neighbors in fact might know the name of Betsy’s lawyer, if she had one. And the methodical way his aunt had led her life told Puller that she probably did.

He put the address of the medical examiner into his GPS and found it would take him past his aunt’s house. He put the Corvette in gear and drove off. He liked the way the car rode, although getting his tall body in and out of the low-slung vehicle was proving to be more difficult than he had thought.

Maybe I’m just getting old.

Twenty minutes later he pulled the car to a stop at the curb across from Betsy’s house. He took a few moments to look up and down the street for Hooper and Landry lurking but saw no sign of them. He unwound his long legs and got out. As he did so he saw a short, big-bellied man walk by on the other side of the street. He had a tiny dog on a long leash. It looked like a round ball of flesh with fuzzy cowlicks all over, riding on twigs masquerading as legs.

When the man headed to the house next door to Betsy’s, Puller hurried across the street and caught up to him as he was putting his key in the lock.

The man turned and looked startled. Puller could understand that, but there was something more in the man’s features.

Real fear.

Well, Puller was a big guy and a stranger and he had busted in on the man’s personal space. But Puller thought he knew why the guy seemed to be shivering in ninety-plus-degree heat.

He was the one who called the cops on me.

Puller whipped out his cred pack and showed his ID card and badge. “I’m with the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division,” he said, and the man immediately stopped shaking. “My aunt was Betsy Simon. I was told of her death and came down to check into things.”

The man’s face showed his full level of relief. “Oh my goodness. Then you’re John Puller Jr. She talked about you all the time. Called you Little Johnny. Pretty ironic considering your size.”

The innocuous comments deepened the guilt Puller was still feeling. “That’s right. Her death was quite a shock.”

“It was to me too. I found her body. It really was awful.” He looked down at the dog that sat quietly next to its master. “This is Sadie. Sadie, say hello to Mr. Puller.”

Sadie gave a little yap and lifted her right paw.

Puller smiled, bent down, and shook it.

“I’m Stanley Fitzsimmons,” said the man. “But my friends call me Cookie.”

“Why’s that?”

“I used to be in the bakery business. Desserts specifically.” He pointed to his belly. “And as you can see, I sampled everything I made. Would you like to come in? It’s the hottest part of the day and neither Sadie nor I are really heat people. I only had her out because she had to use the bathroom and I needed a bit of exercise too.”

“If you’re not a heat person, why move to Florida? I’m assuming you came from somewhere else.”

“I did. Michigan, Upper Peninsula. After fifty years of nine-foot snowdrifts and half of each year spent seemingly in darkness and with temperatures in the teens, I’m less of a cold person than I am a heat person. And the spring, fall, and winter are spectacular here. Three out of four ain’t bad. I’ve got some fresh lemonade. I have my own lemon tree. And I can answer any questions you might have.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”