Shattered Mirror (Eve Duncan #23)(56)
*
After more than three hours of going through backlog requests and isolating the ones from private individuals and funeral homes, they had two that they considered possibilities.
Joe tossed the first one aside. “Only one request to you. No drive. No obsession.” He held up the second file. “Six requests. The money escalating with every offer. The first two offers were made by George Phillips Funeral Home in Syracuse, New York, a request to do facial reconstruction on one of their clients who’d suffered a mishap at a construction site. An explosion had made it very necessary before they could possibly have an open casket. However, they refused to send you photos.”
“Because explosions make reconstruction virtually impossible,” she said grimly. “Bone, muscle, and flesh go everywhere. It was doubtful that even an experienced forensic crew would have been able to retrieve the necessary pieces. As you see, I did refer them to the best person in upstate New York to make a try at it. But it would have taken entirely too much of my time. But I remember that they kept sending me requests. After the fourth one, I didn’t open the envelopes any longer.”
“And you didn’t reach out,” Joe said softly.
“You’re thinking this was the job Norwalk was talking about,” Eve said. “You believe it might have been his twin?”
“We should explore the possibility.” He looked at the date. “Five months ago. That would have given him ample time to put his grand plan together and start integrating the pieces.” He tapped the file. “And place you squarely in the crosshairs.”
“We could be wrong.”
“Absolutely. That’s why George Phillips Funeral Home is going to receive a call from me as soon as it gets daylight.” He looked out the window. “Which won’t be too long. Well, maybe I’ll wait until after nine.” He pulled her to her feet. “In the meantime, we go back to bed and get a little sleep. Okay?”
She nodded. “But it could be Norwalk, Joe. It kind of fits together. It does make sense.”
“It could be.” He pushed her gently down the hall. “And that face they were so desperate for you to reconstruct could be Sean Norwalk. But right now, it’s all supposition. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
GWINNETT SQUARE ATLANTA, GEORGIA
It was almost amusing, Norwalk thought as he drove through the crowded intersection. One telephone call, but he knew it had sparked an explosion of activity in that pretty house on the lake.
And in Kaskov’s armed fortress near that bayou in Louisiana. He’d not been able to tap the phones at the lake cottage due to Quinn’s interference, but he’d made preparations for Kaskov. Lucky. He hadn’t counted on Eve Duncan’s calling on Kaskov for help. That had not been amusing at all. He had counted on a certain amount of time to enjoy her frustration and fear before he struck hard and deep.
Oh well, he could make adjustments. He gazed around the pleasant little square with its shops and restaurants. It reminded him of one of the squares in Belfast where he’d grown up. They’d rebuilt the square in the last few years, but it wasn’t the same. It had only warehouse stores now instead of the intimate shops that had been there before.
But he remembered them every time he drove through Belfast. He hadn’t seen how Sean could have wanted to lose touch with that glorious time in their lives.
Adjustments. Always adjustments.
He might have to move faster, but it would not be any less exciting or satisfying.
He pulled over to the curb and took out his notebook. Fast, but thorough and detailed. He began to make a list as he waited …
You see, Sean? You were always too impatient. That’s what I tried to teach you. This is the way to do it.
*
“George Phillips was killed in an automobile accident four months ago,” Joe told Eve after he’d hung up. “His brakes failed, and he went over a cliff. Convenient.”
“Another loose end tied.” She shivered. “But it might prove that we’re going in the right direction. Were there any records about this ‘client’?”
“No paperwork. The funeral home was taken over by his nephew, Matthew Dalks, who was his assistant before his death. Dalks says he remembers his uncle talking about the job, but he never met the client. He only knows that the client’s name was Bellings and that his uncle wanted to be through with dealing with him. He said the guy was nuts and wouldn’t take no for an answer. His uncle had examined the remains himself and told him there was no way they could be restored. The client said that Eve Duncan could do it, and it was his uncle’s job to hire her and make her do the reconstruction.” He looked at Eve. “Obsessive. Nuts. We’re definitely on the right track.”
“Yes.” She was frowning. “Did he know where the body came from? What construction site? What city?”
“Bellings arranged for the transport of the remains. He said the accident took place at a construction company near the Canadian border. He told Phillips the local coroner in Buffalo had released the body to him, and he’d arranged for a refrigerated coffin for transport.”
“Buffalo?”
Joe shook his head. “I’ll check, but I’ll bet it wasn’t Buffalo. Phillips had been in the business a long time and was familiar with where to obtain refrigerated containers. The plaque on the coffin indicated it was sold primarily in southern Connecticut or Queens, New York. Both of them very far from Buffalo. That’s why Phillips was eager to walk away from the job in spite of the fat fee. He didn’t want to become involved in anything definitely illegal. Shady, he’d accept, but he just wanted to get rid of those remains and forget Bellings existed.”