Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

“Oh, he did that.”

Kathleen smiled briefly. “And a lovely girl. God alone knows what she thought when he just vanished, Mexican, but a lovely sweet child, as devout as he was. Isn’t that how they met? In the soup kitchen, and delivering clothes during the bitter winter. They were both besotted, bless them.”

Dehan asked, “What was her name, Kathleen?”

“God forgive me, I can’t remember. Isn’t it a shame? I only met her the one time when he brought her over for dinner. But it’s that long ago, I cannot remember her name. Can you remember, Jim?”

He shook his head. “No. It was one of them Mexican, Spanish names. Maria, was it? Or Carmen…? I don’t recall.”

I asked, “Any idea how we could find her or contact her?”

Kathleen looked at me as though I were a bit slow. “Sure, won’t he have her address and telephone number upstairs?”

I smiled. “Upstairs?”

“Of course! I have all his stuff upstairs. His computer, all his papers, his diary… everything, I mean, until today…” Her face started to fold up into wet grief again. “…We had no idea if he was coming back. He might have turned up at any time, walked through the door…!”

I watched her a moment, trying to conceive what kind of hell she must be going through. I couldn’t even begin. I turned to Jim. I saw the same hell behind his eyes, but I knew from his face he was going to keep it together until we were gone, until Kathleen couldn’t see him.

I said, “We need to take his things away and examine them. Have you any objection? It will all be returned to you after the investigation.”

“We have no objection. Take what you need. Just catch the bastard who did this to our son.”

I pulled out my phone and called the 43rd. “I need a CSI team to collect evidence from the following address…” I told her where it was. Then added, “It is just papers and IT stuff. No, no body.”

When I hung up, Kathleen said, “Of course, it all depends how much was taken in the burglary.”

Dehan sat back and sighed. I tried not to look at her. “Burglary?”

“Didn’t it all happen at the same feckin’ time. They say it never rains but it pours. The very night after he never came home, didn’t we have a feckin’ break in? They went into his room, God alone knows what they expected to find up there…”

Jim shrugged. “The policeman said it was probably opportunistic, you know, broke in on the off chance.”

I stared at them both for a moment, trying to fathom the depths of human stupidity.

“It didn’t occur to you, or the cop, that his disappearance and the break in might be connected?”

They looked blank. Kathleen said, “No. Why would it?”

I smiled. “Sure, why would it? Did anything go missing from Sean’s room?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” said Jim. “He kept all his stuff very private. Nobody was allowed to touch it, but I wouldn’t have thought so. Sure, they left the computer, didn’t they? A real fancy one at that, and who’d be interested in a lot of papers? So you’re probably all right.”

I nodded and looked at Dehan. “No doubt.” I made to stand. “We won’t take up any more of your time. A van will be here shortly to bag up and take the stuff from Sean’s room. Please don’t go in there or disturb anything. We’ll keep you posted as to any developments.”

We left them holding each other at the door and climbed into the Jag. Dehan frowned at me. “You don’t want to look through his stuff before we leave?”

I shook my head. “I’m more interested in what isn’t on the computer. We’ll go over everything at our leisure back at the station, but I think we’ll find anything of interest has already been taken.” I fired up the engine. “Where to now, Dehan?”

She smiled. “Sure, isn’t it time you spoke to Father O’Neil?”

I nodded. “It sure is.”

Four

We took the I-678, crossed back over the Bronx Whitestone Bridge, and arrived at Lafayette Avenue, in Hunts Point, about twenty minutes later. The sun was slipping in the east and evening was insinuating itself into the air. I parked, climbed out of the car, and stood staring at the massive, stone temple. I was tired and in need of a beer, but I wanted to talk to Father O’Neil before Dehan and I chewed the cud over a drink.

The church was big, set back from the road in its own grounds and surrounded by trees that made it hard to distinguish the details of the building. The walls were gray stone and the roofs were sharp, red-tiled gables. They looked stark and unhappy against the fragile, early spring sky. The whole thing occupied half a block and was surrounded by a black, iron railing, maybe seven feet high.

Dehan pointed at the corner. “The entrance is on Faile Street.”

“Let’s take a look around before we go in.”

I walked east, toward the corner with Bryant. The church railing ended where it joined with the wall of a six-story brownstone apartment block. I stopped outside the door and pointed at the curb. “That’s where the dumpster was.” I looked back at the church grounds. “What is that, thirty feet from the railing?” I looked at the apartment block. It had a fire escape on either side of the building, with a CCTV camera over the arched doorway. “I’m figuring they didn’t bring it down the fire escape. This is a busy street, patrol cars are frequent in this area…” I jerked my head at the entrance. “CCTV, unlikely they brought it out the door.”

Dehan nodded and walked to the corner of Bryant. I followed her and we strolled down