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Ransom in Death - Chapter 6
Posted by
Cyrex
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28 September 2012
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Depressing, desolate, disheartening, Baxter was running out of adjectives to describe the little house in Eastport, Maine that was the home of Peggy and George McKenzie.
The yard boasted barren patches of weeds, an eyesore against the manicured homes in the neighborhood. Inside the walls, furniture and carpets were beige, old and worn. There was one small screen in the living room, no other sign of entertainment in the house.
Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie had not shared sleeping quarters. His, at least had some color in the closet. He favored bright shirts and suspenders or belts with big buckles. No ties, no t-shirts, no jeans, no workboots. Not the wardrobe of a man who made his living on or around the sea.
In stark contrast, Peggy’s closet was a series of dresses with the same baggy shape in dull grays, browns, blacks. There was one navy dress with gold buttons that Baxter figured she considered her “good” dress. Something she would wear to church or some activity outside the home.
No makeup, bare essentials of soap and shampoo. No creams that women used for their face or body. No perfumes. No jewelry. Nothing to say a woman lived here.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice came from the living room. Baxter’s hand went to his weapon. He nodded to Trueheart. In full police uniform and with his open, trustworthy face, he would soothe any neighbor coming in to investigate. Baxter took a position behind the chest of drawers, ready to cover his partner’s back if necessary.
“Yes, ma’am?” Trueheart asked politely.
“Oh, there you are. I called 911 when I saw you come in. The chief told me that some New York police officers were checking out Peggy’s place. Is everything alright?”
Baxter put his weapon away and stepped through the door. “The chief told you we were here?”
“I’m with the neighborhood watch. We take care of our own,” she said proudly.
“I see, Ms?” Baxter left the name as a question.
“May I see your badges first?” came the reply.
“Detective Baxter and Office Trueheart,” Baxter pulled his badge off his belt and handed it to her. While she studied it, he studied her. Around the same age as Peggy McKenzie he guessed, and well-dressed. Her hair was shaded to a toasty brown, short and fluffy, maybe a bit young for her age but it looked good. Make-up was lightly and artfully applied.
She handed his back and took a moment to study the badge on Trueheart’s uniform. “New York City cops. Do you know that Lieutenant that reporter wrote the book about...the one they made into a movie?”
“Lieutenant Dallas?” Trueheart asked? “Yes ma’am, she’s our Lieutenant.”
“Did she send you here? Is someone dead?”
Ever since Nadine Furst’s book on the Icove case made the bestseller list, they kept running into fans of the book, Baxter thought. It usually helped with cooperation but it took time to get past the fiction and focus on the case.
“Do you know George and Peggy McKenzie?”
“Peggy...George hardly said two words, which was fine by me. Tell me it’s George and not Peggy.”
“Ma’am, if we could have your name,” Trueheart said politely.
“What? Oh, of course. I’m DeeDee...Delilah Bernard. Who is dead?”
“Where you friends with Peggy McKenzie?” Baxter asked.
DeeDee put her hand to her heart, “Oh God, not Peggy. Is George a suspect?”
“Do you have any reason to believe George McKenzie would harm his wife?” Baxter asked.
“You big city cops sure don’t like to answer questions,” DeeDee was obviously not accustomed to not getting straight answers.
“We have an ongoing investigation, Ms. Bernhard,” Baxter said. “We are limited in what we can reveal.”
DeeDee sniffed, “Well we have ongoing investigations here in Eastport, don’t we... but the Chief is always willing to tell it like it is.”
“Anything you could tell us about the McKenzie’s would be appreciated,” Trueheart said with a smile.
She considered it, weighing her outrage at being kept on the outside with the possibility of being a major player in a murder case... maybe even being in a book. And she had liked Peggy....
“Not here, I live three houses down. We can have coffee and pie and discuss it.”
DeeDee Bernard’s home might as well have been on another planet from Peggy McKenzie’s. The lawn was a lush green, despite summer heat. Flower beds surrounded the small bungalow and spread out down both sides of the walkway to the front door. Inside the hardwood floors gleamed, brightly colored pillows decorated the rich blue love seat. A recliner upholstered in a Picassoesque print added a touch of whimsy. The walls were covered in paintings. Tabletops were loaded with picture framed prints of smiling children. A large entertainment unit took up one wall.
She led them back into the kitchen. Gleaming stainless steel stove and refrigerator told Baxter that Bernard liked to create her own meals. No pre-purchased autochef choices for her. Probably anything in the AC here was home made. It made the promise of pie very encouraging.
“Sit,” DeeDee said. She pulled out three small dessert plates in bright red. Next she keyed in a few strokes in the autochef and the smell of warming blueberries filled the kitchen. “Just made the pie this morning,” she said. A few seconds later, she pulled out the pie and cut three slices. “Ice cream? I’ve got some left over that I made this weekend.”
“You made your own ice cream?” Baxter asked. Homemade pie was one thing...but homemade ice cream made this an outstanding experience.
DeeDee’s lips twitched in amusement. “You big city cops don’t get much homemade ice cream?”
“No ma’am,” Trueheart said earnestly. “We don’t usually even get real cream ice cream. Mostly synthetics.”
“Well, this may spoil you for all the rest...you sure you want it?”
“I’ll take my chances,” Baxter said. Trueheart nodded mutely in agreement.
Fresh ice cream landed on warmed blueberry pie and started melting into the blueberry juices. It would take a direct hit from a blaster, Baxter thought, to get him away from this table.
DeeDee held the two plates in front of her, “Now, is George a suspect in Peggy’s death.”
Baxter’s eyes narrowed, “You play mean, Ms. Bernard.”
“I like getting answers when I ask questions, Detective.”
Baxter sighed, “All right, but pie first.”
“Same time,” DeeDee responded. She held out the plates. Baxter took a firm grip of his and Trueheart followed suit.
Baxter looked her straight in the eye, “At this time George McKenzie is not a suspect or person of interest in the death of Peggy McKenzie. Her death appears to be accidental.”
It was a good thing the two cops had a hold of the plates or they would have crashed to the floor, as DeeDee released them in shock. She sat down, “But Dallas is homicide and you said you worked for her...”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trueheart said around a mouthful of warm pie and cold ice cream.
“Well?” she demanded.
“This is great, Ms. Bernhard,” Baxter said. “But your ice cream is melting.”
She studied him a minute, then stood and got her plate. She brought it over and started eating. Her sense of humor and fairness kicked in, “I asked the wrong question, didn’t I?”
“Yes ma’am,” Baxter agreed. He was patiently trying to capture the last of the blueberry and ice cream-soaked crust with his fork. He really wanted to lick the plate.
She ate her pie and ice cream more slowly. When all three were done, she took the dishes and rinsed them before putting them into the dish washer. “I don’t suppose I can get more information for a cup of coffee?”
“Ms. Bernhard, we really can’t give you details, but if Peggy McKenzie was your friend, I’m sure she would appreciate you helping us now,” Baxter told her. “But I wouldn’t turn down coffee.”
She programmed the autochef for coffee. It smelled good, Baxter thought...not Roarke coffee good, but good.
“Let me get a couple of things I was holding for Peggy,” DeeDee said as she set the coffee cups on the table. She left the room but returned quickly with a PPC and a stack of magazines.
“How do we do this?” she asked, taking a seat at the table again.
“Tell us about Peggy,” Trueheart said. “Tell us about your friend.”
“They moved in about four years ago. At first, I didn’t even know she was there, only saw George. About six months after they moved in, we had a big Nor’easter blow through. She came over, scared to death, asked if she could get a ride to the shelter.”
“Can’t abide timid women, but there was something about Peggy,” she sipped the coffee contemplatively. “Couldn’t put my finger on it then and can’t now. It was like something was inside her beating to get out.”
She shrugged and continued, “Her husband was out of town, he left her with no money, no credit, no transpo....bastard.”
“I don’t normally go to a shelter, lived here fifty years haven’t I? If I went to the shelter for every storm I’d spend most of my time in the shelter instead of my home...but I went that time for her, for Peggy.”
“During the hours of the storm, she talked. She’d just gotten out of the hospital. She called it “the incident.” You could almost see the quotes around the words. She didn’t remember much of her life before “the incident.” She only knew what the doctor and her husband told her.”
“Did she tell you the name of the doctor?” Baxter asked.
DeeDee sat silently, searching her memory, “I honestly don’t know. It all sounded sort of queer to me.”
She took another sip of coffee and continued, “They told her she needed to be isolated. That interaction with people would upset the balance of the treatment and she would have another incident. So George brought the groceries in and George bought her clothes and George handled all the money. Not so much as a loose credit did he leave her. He’d go off for weeks at a time. Oh, there was a well-stocked autochef but she was alone with the screen. He put a filter on it, she had like five channels she could watch, only the ones he thought appropriate.”
“If it had been me, I’d have gone mad,” DeeDee said. “More coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Baxter answered.
She gathered the cups and rinsed them, adding them to the dishwasher. She turned and leaned against the sink.
“He wouldn’t let her have a link or a computer. She was cut off completely. If it hadn’t been for the Nor’Easter, I don’t know if she would have left the house ever.”
“I went over about three weeks later, part of my neighborhood patrol, don’t you know. Someone living basically alone, people need to check up on them. They can fall or get sick. When I saw the house... well it was little more than an animal habitat like you see in the zoo. I took her right home and fed her some good home cooking... meatloaf I think.”
“I tried to get her to leave, stay with me maybe. But she was too terrified of repeating “the incident.” I thought, at first, it might be one of those wife abuse things. You read about how the men control everything what they wear, who they talk to, where they go...then I met George. I was doing my patrol and saw him drive up. I stopped and talked with him.
“I don’t think he cared enough to be abusive. She was like a pet he had to feed, water and groom. Occasionally he’d come home and pay attention to her then off again. It wasn’t like he wanted to control her, but like he needed to control the situation and she was part of the situation....does that make sense?”
Baxter and Trueheart exchanged glances, “Ms. Bernhard, I’d like you to speak with our department’s psychologist, Dr. Mira.”
“Dr. Mira?” the excitement was back in DeeDee’s voice, “The Doctor Mira in the Icove case, the one who thought Dallas was wrong?”
“We’d like to have you accompany us back to New York.”
“I’d have to find someone to take my patrol,” she started for her link.
“Ms. Bernhard,” Trueheart stopped her, “the PPC and magazines, you said you were keeping them for Mrs. McKenzie?”
“What? Oh yes, my son is mad for the latest tech so he gives me his old gadgets. I have dozens of those,” she nodded to the PPC. “I gave that one to Peggy. I’ve got a library account on all my devices, she used it to read books, get the news. Can you imagine he wouldn’t give her anything to read or let her see the news. The magazines...well they’re donated to an outreach store where I volunteer. Don’t see much print anymore but people who buy them donate them when they’re done. Don’t have the heart to tell them no one wants to buy old print...but Peggy loved them, especially the fashion magazines. She kept them here, she was afraid George would find them and destroy them.”
“OK if we take these with us?” Baxter asked.
“Of course. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” DeeDee left the room with her link, eager to begin the adventure.
Baxter pulled out his own link and contacted Dallas.
“She’s got a real line on both George and Peggy, Dallas,” he told her after explaining the situation, “I’m going to bring Mira in, Ms. Bernhard is good at picking up signals but not as strong in understanding them. I think Mira will help.”
“I’ll set up a meet for her with Mira tomorrow. We’ve got the files from multiple federal agencies that were working on the kidnapping. Right now they’re cooperating not taking over, but that could change at any time,” Dallas warned him. “It’s been added to your case file. You have a lot of reading to do.”
“Ms. Bernard will need a place to stay,” Baxter said.
He heard a muffled discussion then Dallas was back on the link, “Roarke says to take her to The Kendrick, he’ll give us the departmental rate.”
“She’s a fan of Nadine’s book,” Baxter said. “Wanted to know if we knew you.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“That we work for you. She’ll want to meet you. Might keep her cooperative”
Dallas sighed, “We’re in Washington until Monday. If she’s still in the city when I get back, I’ll make a point.”
“Might be worth a trip here. There was pie, Dallas, and homemade ice cream,” Baxter said, sending Trueheart a wicked smile.
“Damn,” more muffled conversation came over the link, “If I’m not back in time, tell her I’ll come to her and bring Roarke....provided there’s pie and ice cream.”
Working to control his laugh, Baxter added, “Bring your own coffee, hers isn’t quite up to Roarke’s standards.”
“Whose is?”
The yard boasted barren patches of weeds, an eyesore against the manicured homes in the neighborhood. Inside the walls, furniture and carpets were beige, old and worn. There was one small screen in the living room, no other sign of entertainment in the house.
Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie had not shared sleeping quarters. His, at least had some color in the closet. He favored bright shirts and suspenders or belts with big buckles. No ties, no t-shirts, no jeans, no workboots. Not the wardrobe of a man who made his living on or around the sea.
In stark contrast, Peggy’s closet was a series of dresses with the same baggy shape in dull grays, browns, blacks. There was one navy dress with gold buttons that Baxter figured she considered her “good” dress. Something she would wear to church or some activity outside the home.
No makeup, bare essentials of soap and shampoo. No creams that women used for their face or body. No perfumes. No jewelry. Nothing to say a woman lived here.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice came from the living room. Baxter’s hand went to his weapon. He nodded to Trueheart. In full police uniform and with his open, trustworthy face, he would soothe any neighbor coming in to investigate. Baxter took a position behind the chest of drawers, ready to cover his partner’s back if necessary.
“Yes, ma’am?” Trueheart asked politely.
“Oh, there you are. I called 911 when I saw you come in. The chief told me that some New York police officers were checking out Peggy’s place. Is everything alright?”
Baxter put his weapon away and stepped through the door. “The chief told you we were here?”
“I’m with the neighborhood watch. We take care of our own,” she said proudly.
“I see, Ms?” Baxter left the name as a question.
“May I see your badges first?” came the reply.
“Detective Baxter and Office Trueheart,” Baxter pulled his badge off his belt and handed it to her. While she studied it, he studied her. Around the same age as Peggy McKenzie he guessed, and well-dressed. Her hair was shaded to a toasty brown, short and fluffy, maybe a bit young for her age but it looked good. Make-up was lightly and artfully applied.
She handed his back and took a moment to study the badge on Trueheart’s uniform. “New York City cops. Do you know that Lieutenant that reporter wrote the book about...the one they made into a movie?”
“Lieutenant Dallas?” Trueheart asked? “Yes ma’am, she’s our Lieutenant.”
“Did she send you here? Is someone dead?”
Ever since Nadine Furst’s book on the Icove case made the bestseller list, they kept running into fans of the book, Baxter thought. It usually helped with cooperation but it took time to get past the fiction and focus on the case.
“Do you know George and Peggy McKenzie?”
“Peggy...George hardly said two words, which was fine by me. Tell me it’s George and not Peggy.”
“Ma’am, if we could have your name,” Trueheart said politely.
“What? Oh, of course. I’m DeeDee...Delilah Bernard. Who is dead?”
“Where you friends with Peggy McKenzie?” Baxter asked.
DeeDee put her hand to her heart, “Oh God, not Peggy. Is George a suspect?”
“Do you have any reason to believe George McKenzie would harm his wife?” Baxter asked.
“You big city cops sure don’t like to answer questions,” DeeDee was obviously not accustomed to not getting straight answers.
“We have an ongoing investigation, Ms. Bernhard,” Baxter said. “We are limited in what we can reveal.”
DeeDee sniffed, “Well we have ongoing investigations here in Eastport, don’t we... but the Chief is always willing to tell it like it is.”
“Anything you could tell us about the McKenzie’s would be appreciated,” Trueheart said with a smile.
She considered it, weighing her outrage at being kept on the outside with the possibility of being a major player in a murder case... maybe even being in a book. And she had liked Peggy....
“Not here, I live three houses down. We can have coffee and pie and discuss it.”
DeeDee Bernard’s home might as well have been on another planet from Peggy McKenzie’s. The lawn was a lush green, despite summer heat. Flower beds surrounded the small bungalow and spread out down both sides of the walkway to the front door. Inside the hardwood floors gleamed, brightly colored pillows decorated the rich blue love seat. A recliner upholstered in a Picassoesque print added a touch of whimsy. The walls were covered in paintings. Tabletops were loaded with picture framed prints of smiling children. A large entertainment unit took up one wall.
She led them back into the kitchen. Gleaming stainless steel stove and refrigerator told Baxter that Bernard liked to create her own meals. No pre-purchased autochef choices for her. Probably anything in the AC here was home made. It made the promise of pie very encouraging.
“Sit,” DeeDee said. She pulled out three small dessert plates in bright red. Next she keyed in a few strokes in the autochef and the smell of warming blueberries filled the kitchen. “Just made the pie this morning,” she said. A few seconds later, she pulled out the pie and cut three slices. “Ice cream? I’ve got some left over that I made this weekend.”
“You made your own ice cream?” Baxter asked. Homemade pie was one thing...but homemade ice cream made this an outstanding experience.
DeeDee’s lips twitched in amusement. “You big city cops don’t get much homemade ice cream?”
“No ma’am,” Trueheart said earnestly. “We don’t usually even get real cream ice cream. Mostly synthetics.”
“Well, this may spoil you for all the rest...you sure you want it?”
“I’ll take my chances,” Baxter said. Trueheart nodded mutely in agreement.
Fresh ice cream landed on warmed blueberry pie and started melting into the blueberry juices. It would take a direct hit from a blaster, Baxter thought, to get him away from this table.
DeeDee held the two plates in front of her, “Now, is George a suspect in Peggy’s death.”
Baxter’s eyes narrowed, “You play mean, Ms. Bernard.”
“I like getting answers when I ask questions, Detective.”
Baxter sighed, “All right, but pie first.”
“Same time,” DeeDee responded. She held out the plates. Baxter took a firm grip of his and Trueheart followed suit.
Baxter looked her straight in the eye, “At this time George McKenzie is not a suspect or person of interest in the death of Peggy McKenzie. Her death appears to be accidental.”
It was a good thing the two cops had a hold of the plates or they would have crashed to the floor, as DeeDee released them in shock. She sat down, “But Dallas is homicide and you said you worked for her...”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trueheart said around a mouthful of warm pie and cold ice cream.
“Well?” she demanded.
“This is great, Ms. Bernhard,” Baxter said. “But your ice cream is melting.”
She studied him a minute, then stood and got her plate. She brought it over and started eating. Her sense of humor and fairness kicked in, “I asked the wrong question, didn’t I?”
“Yes ma’am,” Baxter agreed. He was patiently trying to capture the last of the blueberry and ice cream-soaked crust with his fork. He really wanted to lick the plate.
She ate her pie and ice cream more slowly. When all three were done, she took the dishes and rinsed them before putting them into the dish washer. “I don’t suppose I can get more information for a cup of coffee?”
“Ms. Bernhard, we really can’t give you details, but if Peggy McKenzie was your friend, I’m sure she would appreciate you helping us now,” Baxter told her. “But I wouldn’t turn down coffee.”
She programmed the autochef for coffee. It smelled good, Baxter thought...not Roarke coffee good, but good.
“Let me get a couple of things I was holding for Peggy,” DeeDee said as she set the coffee cups on the table. She left the room but returned quickly with a PPC and a stack of magazines.
“How do we do this?” she asked, taking a seat at the table again.
“Tell us about Peggy,” Trueheart said. “Tell us about your friend.”
“They moved in about four years ago. At first, I didn’t even know she was there, only saw George. About six months after they moved in, we had a big Nor’easter blow through. She came over, scared to death, asked if she could get a ride to the shelter.”
“Can’t abide timid women, but there was something about Peggy,” she sipped the coffee contemplatively. “Couldn’t put my finger on it then and can’t now. It was like something was inside her beating to get out.”
She shrugged and continued, “Her husband was out of town, he left her with no money, no credit, no transpo....bastard.”
“I don’t normally go to a shelter, lived here fifty years haven’t I? If I went to the shelter for every storm I’d spend most of my time in the shelter instead of my home...but I went that time for her, for Peggy.”
“During the hours of the storm, she talked. She’d just gotten out of the hospital. She called it “the incident.” You could almost see the quotes around the words. She didn’t remember much of her life before “the incident.” She only knew what the doctor and her husband told her.”
“Did she tell you the name of the doctor?” Baxter asked.
DeeDee sat silently, searching her memory, “I honestly don’t know. It all sounded sort of queer to me.”
She took another sip of coffee and continued, “They told her she needed to be isolated. That interaction with people would upset the balance of the treatment and she would have another incident. So George brought the groceries in and George bought her clothes and George handled all the money. Not so much as a loose credit did he leave her. He’d go off for weeks at a time. Oh, there was a well-stocked autochef but she was alone with the screen. He put a filter on it, she had like five channels she could watch, only the ones he thought appropriate.”
“If it had been me, I’d have gone mad,” DeeDee said. “More coffee?”
“No, thank you.” Baxter answered.
She gathered the cups and rinsed them, adding them to the dishwasher. She turned and leaned against the sink.
“He wouldn’t let her have a link or a computer. She was cut off completely. If it hadn’t been for the Nor’Easter, I don’t know if she would have left the house ever.”
“I went over about three weeks later, part of my neighborhood patrol, don’t you know. Someone living basically alone, people need to check up on them. They can fall or get sick. When I saw the house... well it was little more than an animal habitat like you see in the zoo. I took her right home and fed her some good home cooking... meatloaf I think.”
“I tried to get her to leave, stay with me maybe. But she was too terrified of repeating “the incident.” I thought, at first, it might be one of those wife abuse things. You read about how the men control everything what they wear, who they talk to, where they go...then I met George. I was doing my patrol and saw him drive up. I stopped and talked with him.
“I don’t think he cared enough to be abusive. She was like a pet he had to feed, water and groom. Occasionally he’d come home and pay attention to her then off again. It wasn’t like he wanted to control her, but like he needed to control the situation and she was part of the situation....does that make sense?”
Baxter and Trueheart exchanged glances, “Ms. Bernhard, I’d like you to speak with our department’s psychologist, Dr. Mira.”
“Dr. Mira?” the excitement was back in DeeDee’s voice, “The Doctor Mira in the Icove case, the one who thought Dallas was wrong?”
“We’d like to have you accompany us back to New York.”
“I’d have to find someone to take my patrol,” she started for her link.
“Ms. Bernhard,” Trueheart stopped her, “the PPC and magazines, you said you were keeping them for Mrs. McKenzie?”
“What? Oh yes, my son is mad for the latest tech so he gives me his old gadgets. I have dozens of those,” she nodded to the PPC. “I gave that one to Peggy. I’ve got a library account on all my devices, she used it to read books, get the news. Can you imagine he wouldn’t give her anything to read or let her see the news. The magazines...well they’re donated to an outreach store where I volunteer. Don’t see much print anymore but people who buy them donate them when they’re done. Don’t have the heart to tell them no one wants to buy old print...but Peggy loved them, especially the fashion magazines. She kept them here, she was afraid George would find them and destroy them.”
“OK if we take these with us?” Baxter asked.
“Of course. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” DeeDee left the room with her link, eager to begin the adventure.
Baxter pulled out his own link and contacted Dallas.
“She’s got a real line on both George and Peggy, Dallas,” he told her after explaining the situation, “I’m going to bring Mira in, Ms. Bernhard is good at picking up signals but not as strong in understanding them. I think Mira will help.”
“I’ll set up a meet for her with Mira tomorrow. We’ve got the files from multiple federal agencies that were working on the kidnapping. Right now they’re cooperating not taking over, but that could change at any time,” Dallas warned him. “It’s been added to your case file. You have a lot of reading to do.”
“Ms. Bernard will need a place to stay,” Baxter said.
He heard a muffled discussion then Dallas was back on the link, “Roarke says to take her to The Kendrick, he’ll give us the departmental rate.”
“She’s a fan of Nadine’s book,” Baxter said. “Wanted to know if we knew you.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“That we work for you. She’ll want to meet you. Might keep her cooperative”
Dallas sighed, “We’re in Washington until Monday. If she’s still in the city when I get back, I’ll make a point.”
“Might be worth a trip here. There was pie, Dallas, and homemade ice cream,” Baxter said, sending Trueheart a wicked smile.
“Damn,” more muffled conversation came over the link, “If I’m not back in time, tell her I’ll come to her and bring Roarke....provided there’s pie and ice cream.”
Working to control his laugh, Baxter added, “Bring your own coffee, hers isn’t quite up to Roarke’s standards.”
“Whose is?”
