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  “Are the police coming by?” asked Zeke.

  “I invited them to meet with us, but Detective Harrison declined. He said they need to stay focused on the case while it’s still fresh, before too much time goes by...”

  “You told him about us, though,” said Zeke. “About our parallel investigation?”

  “I did. He didn’t seem very excited about it, but I mentioned Clive’s name, and after checking him out he said it was OK. Reluctantly.”

  “I know this is very close to home, Oscar, but we need the details of what happened. Everything you know,” said Zeke. Kimmy had her iPad out and was taking notes.

  “Ok, I can do that, Zeke. The police were here earlier and talked with George and Carol and me. I made some notes about the times and places here.” Oscar picked up a yellow legal pad from the kitchen counter. “This really sucks,” he added.

  * * *

  “So most of what they have is from the crime scene,” said Oscar. “The dumpster was a larger one, the kind with two big doors on the top. It belongs to the retail stores that share it. It’s behind the ‘Chicos’ store in a parking lot in Suburban Square. They didn’t give me specifics, like how the bodies were arranged or where they were inside the dumpster, but the cops should share some of that, right?”

  Clive nodded. “No need for you to go through all that, Oscar. We’ll visit with the police and get the rest of the details. What else did the police tell you?” Clive didn’t mention his copy of the murder book, Zeke noticed.

  “They were here with George and Carol and me, and they wanted to know if either of the kids had any enemies or if anyone had threatened them. If we knew about anything that might have caused this...”

  “Did you tell them that Susie had been missing?” asked Zeke.

  “No, it didn’t seem like a big deal. And we got her back, so I didn’t want to drag George and Carol through all that again. George already has hospice on his speed dial,” said Oscar. “Besides, it turned out that she was just staying with friends, right?”

  “Sure,” said Zeke. “What about the tattoo?”

  “Yeah, they don’t know about that. It didn’t come up.” Then, sardonically he said, “I guess the medical examiner will come across it pretty soon, though.”

  “You want us to find out what really happened,” Zeke said. “Not just those responsible, but their motives. You want to be sure they pay for what they did.”

  “Damn right,” said Oscar. “The cops are in it and the family’s in it, now. We need you to figure this out and make sure we get it right.”

  * * *

  “During the time I spent up here last week tracking Susie down, I ran into some pretty strange characters,” said Zeke. He and Kimmy were sitting at a table in a restaurant named Local, located on the Main Line in Ardmore. Zeke had a view of the front door, and Kimmy was able to survey the bar back toward the kitchen area and the rear of the place. They were drinking coffee and making a plan. Clive was already on his way back to Washington.

  “Stranger than in DC?” asked Kimmy, absently. She was working on a list of names with each person’s relationship to the dead kids.

  “Well, ‘strange’ is relative, I suppose,” said Zeke. “But in their own way, yes.”

  “You spoke with a half dozen people when you were looking for Susie,” said Kimmy, looking at the list. “A couple of teachers, parents, friend and friend’s parent, the boyfriend...”

  “Who’s dead now.”

  “Right,” said Kimmy, glancing around the restaurant, then back at the list. “And the little sister, and Seth’s older sister.”

  “There were a lot of people I didn’t interview, too,” said Zeke. “Found the girl and stopped looking.”

  “Well, sure,” said Kimmy. “But now, Oscar wants us to take a look and see who was involved in this and why.”

  “Oscar’s motivations scare me a little bit,” said Zeke. “What do you think he’ll do when we find the killer?”

  “Don’t need to know,” said Kimmy. “Probably don’t want to know, either.”

  The waitress arrived with a flourish and set two plates on the table. Kimmy had ordered Gnocchi with sun dried tomato walnut pesto and Zeke had ordered the Diver Scallops. “Bon appetit,” the waitress said, with no French accent. Kimmy put down her iPad and went to work on the plate in front of her.

  Zeke sipped his coffee. “When I got back to Florida, I was actually thinking about the rest of the people, the ones I hadn’t met, and their influence on this whole situation. At that point it was about Susie disappearing.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Kimmy. “Everybody has some sort of influence, some pressure on everyone else they know or meet. So the trajectory of any one person’s life is a combination of those influences...and the value that person puts on the source of each influence.”

  Zeke ate a scallop. “They call these ‘Diver Scallops’ because they’re actually harvested by hand by scuba divers.”

  “Does it make them taste any better?” asked Kimmy.

  “Nope. It’s just better for the environment than dredging them from the ocean floor with nets,” said Zeke. He was getting used to Kimmy’s occasional ethereal perspectives and was becoming more adept at changing the subject to avoid awkward discussions.

  “So, with what you know, who would have had the most influence on Susie Lopper?” asked Kimmy.

  “Good. Well, certainly her mom and dad, although it appears that she was trying to move away from that relationship,” said Zeke.

  “Sure, there was a lot of pain there, with her dad’s sickness,” said Kimmy. “Who else?”

  “The teachers probably have the least influence,” said Zeke.

  “What about Seth and his parents?” Kimmy asked. “You never talked with them, did you?”

  “No. I think Seth probably had a good amount of influence over Will. Maybe a little less over Susie. But we should find out.”

  “And Carrie McCarthy?” asked Kimmy. “This Gnocchi is excellent!”

  “Carrie? Yes, she strikes me as having had a strong influence on Susie. But remember, I never actually met Susie. I missed her by less than thirty minutes at Amy’s house.”

  “You told Oscar where she was, and he sent someone to round her up?” Kimmy asked.

  “Yep. Once he knew where she was, that she was alright, he felt that getting her home wasn’t much of an issue,” said Zeke. “Consequently, I’m working in the dark here. I don’t have any firsthand knowledge of her personality or her thought process.”

  “Well, we need to start somewhere,” said Kimmy. “You’ve talked with Carrie. Let’s visit with Seth tomorrow. He’s the fourth in this quartet.”

  Chapter 17

  Zeke exited the elevator on the twenty-third floor of the Philadelphia office building and walked to the receptionist’s desk. He noticed that there were no office doors, indicating that the firm occupied the entire floor of the building. The sign on the wall behind the fifty-something, blonde receptionist read, “Penn Acquisitions,” and under that, in smaller letters, “Real Estate Investment Trust.” There was an unfamiliar abstract logo next to the company name.

  “Good morning,” Zeke said. “I have an appointment with Roger Gordon.” He smiled a disarming smile.

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Traynor. Mr. Gordon is expecting you. I’ll tell him that you’re here,” she said rather formally.

  The name plate on her desk said, “Patricia Reiner.” Not Pat or Patty, he thought.

  “Thank you, Patricia.” He walked to the small waiting area and sat in a comfortable leather club chair. A few minutes later, he was ushered into Roger Gordon’s office.

  “Good morning,” said Roger with his right hand extended, walking from behind his desk toward Zeke. He was a short, balding man who looked like he was carrying thirty or forty extra pounds, mostly around his midsection. His suit coat was carefully cut to conceal the excess. It was navy with a light gray stripe.

  They shook hands. “Call me Rog
er,” he said. “This is all so tragic.” He paused an appropriate moment, seemingly introspective, and then shook his head and went and sat behind his desk. “I mean, who would murder a couple of high school kids?”

  “It’s tragic on several levels,” said Zeke. “I agree.”

  “Well, the local FBI office called and asked me to meet with you. Are you with the FBI?”

  “I’m a consultant to the FBI,” said Zeke.

  “Like on TV?” asked Roger Gordon.

  “Sure. Just like that,” said Zeke.

  “So, how can I help?” asked Roger. Zeke sat in the low chair in front of Roger’s massive desk. Roger seemed to look down at him across the desk.

  Probably designed by some ergonomic furniture designer to give him an advantage in negotiations, Zeke thought. He smiled.

  “As you know, I’m here about Will Burns and Susie Lopper,” said Zeke. “Your son was a pretty close friend of Will’s, I think.”

  “Yes, he was,” said Roger. “Seth is pretty broken up about all this, I can tell you.”

  “No doubt,” said Zeke. “I’m looking at what you might call ‘deep background,’ the motivations and dynamics that preceded the killings.”

  “OK, so you’re a psychologist?” asked Roger, still trying to pigeonhole Zeke.

  “Of a sort. I’m actually involved in counterintelligence, which includes psychology.”

  “I see,” said Roger. “What can we do to help?”

  “Well, I’d like to talk with Seth about what was happening the week before the murders, but since he’s just recently turned eighteen and lives at home, I came to you first,” said Zeke.

  “Well, sure, I guess we can do that. We want to help the FBI. I’ll need to be present when you meet with him. Should I invite his attorney, too?” asked Roger.

  “He has his own attorney?” asked Zeke. “Has he been in legal trouble?” Zeke had seen a copy of the boy’s criminal record, and he knew the answer.

  “Umm, well, not really. He’s made some choices that I think he’d...well, do differently now. But that’s how kids learn, right?”

  Zeke looked at Roger Gordon. “Can we meet with you and Seth, say at lunchtime today? I can come back.”

  He saw Roger hesitate, start to say ‘No.’

  “Or you can come down to FBI Headquarters. It’s only a few blocks from here, on Arch Street.”

  Roger paused. “No, let’s do it here,” he said after a moment. “I’ll reserve a conference room for us, say 12:30 this afternoon?”

  “I’ll see you then,” said Zeke.

  * * *

  With a couple hours to spare, Zeke left Roger’s office building and crossed Walnut Street and entered Washington Square. It was a pleasant June day and there was a crispness to the air. In the park, a few people were sitting on benches or wandering on the paths, enjoying one of the early days of summer. Fountains flowed and children played in the park. The air smelled fresh to Zeke, despite the morning traffic.

  Kimmy was waiting in the park when Zeke arrived. They walked over to a street vendor and Zeke bought a cup of coffee. Then they wandered for a few minutes until they found an empty bench under a red maple tree.

  “You don’t dress up very often,” Kimmy commented. “It looks good on you.

  Zeke was wearing a blue pinpoint oxford shirt with a button down collar and a pair of dark beige slacks. His jacket, a sports coat, matched the color of the pants. His shoes were tan Williams Plain Toed Derbys.

  “Coming to downtown Philly to visit the rich boys, I figured I’d need to fit in,” said Zeke. “At least somewhat.”

  “You could be an insurance salesman,” she continued, “or a stock broker.”

  Zeke looked at her. Kimmy had gotten up and was reaching for a low limb on the tree. She plucked a leaf and examined it, then sat back down on the bench, as usual full of nervous energy.

  “Do you see it?” she asked.

  “We have a tail,” said Zeke, smiling at Kimmy as if he’d just said something funny. “Across the pathway, sitting on the concrete bench.”

  “Kimmy laughed and smiled back at him, and said, “A woman, alone, mid-twenties, gray skirt, white blouse and brown hair?”

  “She sat down a few minutes ago,” said Zeke. “She’s looked everywhere except at us. No kids, no pets and it’s about 11:00 AM, probably too late for a work break and too early for lunch.”

  Most of the people enjoying the park were mothers or nannies with young children. Many were pushing strollers, and some were chatting together while the children played on the grass or in the open areas. There were a few people walking small dogs, and two businessmen in suits who seemed in a hurry to get somewhere, walking and talking as they went.

  “Think she’s alone?” asked Kimmy.

  “Probably. There’s no play for her here, in the park,” said Zeke.

  “Just watching us, then?”

  “She must have been alerted. Someone in Roger Gordon’s office...or Roger himself.”

  “Did she follow me from the office building?” asked Zeke.

  “No, after that, she showed up while we were already here in the park,” she continued.

  “I don’t recognize her,” Zeke said. “She had to get my description from someone. There could have been a camera in the office.”

  “Probably was,” said Kimmy.

  “Well, let’s see what she wants,” said Zeke.

  Chapter 18

  Zeke approached the woman with a wide smile and a measure of mirth in his eyes.

  “Are you Nancy Fields?” he asked her.

  She looked up at him, startled. “I’m sorry?” she said.

  “Nancy Fields, right?” he repeated. “From the Atkinson, Russell law firm? Junior Partner?”

  “Well, no,” she said. She looked uncomfortable. She’s an amateur, thought Zeke. “Oh, this is awkward,” said Zeke, looking away. He spotted Kimmy standing near their bench, watching.

  He paused for a moment, as if trying to remember something. “I’m sure we met at an office party or some sort of function,” he said, still friendly. “Maybe last Christmas season? What’s your name?”

  “Oh, well I’m Mary,” she said, hesitantly.

  He reached out and shook her hand. “Maybe it was at the Penn Acquisitions party,” he said, holding her gaze.

  Her throat reddened above her white blouse.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he said. “You were with Roger Gordon. I remember now. So it’s Mary who?”

  Zeke watched the color climb up her face.

  “I don’t think I know you.” She rallied to take back some momentum.

  “But you do work for Penn Acquisitions, don’t you, Mary?” Zeke pushed a bit.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable talking with you. I don’t know you.” She looked around, as if for help.

  Zeke smiled and said, “Suit yourself,” and wandered back to the bench Kimmy was now sitting on.

  “We sent a message,” he said.

  “You think she was sent to keep an eye on us?” asked Kimmy.

  “Probably to monitor our activities before the 12:30 meeting,” said Zeke. “It could mean that we’re getting closer to something than someone wants.”

  * * *

  At 12:20 PM, Zeke and Kimmy rode the elevator back up to the twenty-third floor of the Penn Acquisitions office building, and checked in at the reception desk. Patricia was gone, most likely for lunch, but Roberta had replaced her according to the new name plate.

  “Hello,” said Zeke again. “We have an appointment with Roger Gordon.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Roberta, a bit less formally than Patricia had. “We’re setting up the small conference room for you. I’ll tell Mr. Gordon you’re here.”

  Zeke and Kimmy moved to the waiting area as the receptionist dialed a number and spoke quietly into the handset.

  Two minutes later, Roger Gordon came down the hall with another man, taller and leaner, but also wearing a suit.
/>   “Mr. Traynor, come in,” said Gordon. “We’re just about ready for you.”

  “Sure, thanks. This is my associate,” Zeke said, introducing Kimmy.

  Introductions were made in the waiting area. The taller man was named Arnie Fletcher, and he was an attorney.

  “I know you understand,” said Roger in a half apologetic voice. “With the death of Will and that girl and all, the police have already stopped by to talk with Seth. We just want to be sure that everything is done, uh, appropriately.” He looked at Fletcher for help.

  “Yes, we met with the police yesterday and Seth told them what he knows. I’m not sure what else we have to share with the FBI...”

  “Are you a criminal lawyer, Arnie?” asked Zeke.

  “Oh, uh, no, not really. Real estate, mostly,” said Arnie Fletcher.

  “Ever been in a criminal trial?” asked Zeke.

  “Er, no, actually, but I don’t know what that has to do...”

  “So your role here as corporate counsel is...what?” said Zeke, looking directly at the attorney. He waited for a response.

  “Advisory, I suppose,” said the attorney. “And Roger asked me to sit in to be sure that the questions were appropriate, you know, proper tone and all. Seth just turned eighteen, and...”

  “So he’s not a minor,” said Zeke, quickly, interrupting the flow of the conversation.

  “No, he’s not. But neither is he involved in this situation,” said Roger, jumping back into the discussion as his attorney lost ground.

  “You’re welcome to sit in, but this is part of an FBI investigation, and if this session isn’t productive, I suspect the next interview will take place at the FBI offices,” said Zeke.

  Roger paled a little bit, and said, “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” He turned and led them to the conference room.

  * * *

  Inside the small room, a young man with black, bushy hair wearing OP sunglasses was standing at the window drinking a Red Bull energy drink. He looked as if he had just gotten out of bed, his hair and clothes were unkempt and messy. His right arm was covered in tattoos. He was wearing cargo shorts, a wrinkled t-shirt and blue Air Jordan tennis shoes. A hundred eighty dollars a pair, thought Zeke.