D. Gilles - Colder Than Death

“It’s either the biggest coincidence of my life or it means that somebody I’ve known since I was your age killed Quilla’s Aunt not to mention a couple of others. But more importantly, he may have Quilla.”

Viper stared at me. His face serious, concerned. Angry. I looked at Oberfuolner again and imagined it without the first four letters.

F-u-o-l-n-e-r

To myself I said, “Is this the Americanized version of Fowler?”

“Tell me everything you and Quilla talked about with Nolan when you were at his house yesterday.”

“Well… uh… mainly about me wanting to get into mortician business. Then Quilla talked about some of the ideas she had about who the killer was.” He looked up at me with compassion. “She told us about how your old girlfriend might be a victim. Sorry.”

“Did she say that in front of Nolan?”

“She said everything in front of Mr. Fowler.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He just listened.”

“Then you guys left?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean…I did. Quilla stayed.”

I wanted to throw up. “Why?”

“I had to go to my job. I work for my Uncle. Petrovitch Heating and Cooling.”

“Why did Quilla stay behind?”

“Nolan wanted to talk more about some of her ideas. He was very interested and said he wanted to help.”

“Jesus.” I stood up and walked out of my office. Viper followed, saying, “Where are you going?”

“To Nolan Fowler’s.”

“I’m coming too.”

“No. Stay here. If I don’t call you in forty-five minutes call Perry Cobb and tell him to go straight to Nolan Fowler’s house. Tell him I said Nolan is the guy.”

“Got it,” said Viper. “Mr. Coltrane? Are there any bodies in here now?”

“One.”

“Is there anybody else in here? Anybody alive?”

“Just you.”

I watched him gulp. There was fear in his eyes.

“Don’t panic,” I said. “It’ll be good practice if you get into the business.”

As I sped to Nolan’s I found myself torn.

A part of me still viewed this as a terrible coincidence. I knew Nolan too long to let so little evidence make me think that he could be capable of harming anyone, let alone murdering someone. I wanted to call Perry and let him know that his Americanized list might’ve hit paydirt, but I felt that after eighteen years of working together, I owed Nolan the benefit of the doubt and the chance to explain. On the other hand, what if Nolan was involved in the killings? Or just Brandy Parker’s? Or what if he had done something to Quilla? If I confronted him what would he do to me?

I tried to figure out how to handle the situation. I couldn’t just show up at Nolan’s door and say I was in the neighborhood. I’d never even been to his house. The only reason I knew his address was from preparing his W-2 tax forms all these years. If Nolan was guilty and he saw me approaching he would have time to prepare. And if he wasn’t guilty and he let me in and I presented him with this extreme coincidence of his family’s original surname being on a grave near the mausoleum where Brandy Parker was found, how would it make him feel to know that I thought he might be a killer?

It would hurt him deeply. He had little enough human contact and I was one of the few. If he was innocent how would it affect our working relationship? And what would Lew Henderson have to say about it? Lew liked me a lot, looked at me as if I were a son, probably was going to hand over the business to me when he finally had enough. But he and Nolan went back thirty-five years. There was a history there and the loyalty that goes with three-and-a-half decades of almost daily contact. Lew would find himself in the middle. He would have to take a side and I wasn’t sure it would be me.

I decided that the best way to deal with the situation was to not confront Nolan directly. I felt that if I could obtain more evidence it might be easier. I decided that before I did anything I needed to see the family crest Viper told me about. To do this I would have to make sure that Nolan wasn’t around, assuming he was home in the first place. Maybe Viper was wrong about the spelling of the name. Maybe it wasn’t an actual family crest. Maybe it was something Nolan picked up at a flea market.

I called Nolan. I wondered if he’d be awake. The clock on the dashboard said 12:15 a.m. After the first ring he answered with an overly friendly, “Hello?” It was as if he were waiting for the call.

I hung up. I would wait until I got to his street, then call again, only this time I would pretend to be calling from the Home. I would tell him we had a body coming in and that he needed to get there right away. When he pulled out of his driveway I would make my move.

I got to Nolan’s street which was actually an unpaved, dirt and stone road without streetlights or sidewalks. It was in Dankworth’s oldest and least upscale neighhorhood. Although the houses were smallish and run down, the lots were surprisingly large with at least thirty yards separating the home from its neighbors. Nolan’s was the last one on the right. He liked to say he lived on a cul de sac, but it was really a dead end. His was a tract house, circa pre-World War II, which was almost an exact replica of the house I lived in when my mother and I came to Dankworth: a living room, dining room, kitchen and two small bedrooms on the first floor, an unfinished second floor and a basement. I knew from past conversations that Nelson was very adept at carpentry and that he’d renovated his basement and attic. As I approached Nolan’s house I observed that the front and back had several tall shade trees and that the house itself was surrounded by thick, elaborate shrubbery.

Four houses down from Nolan’s I noticed a For Sale sign in the front yard of a house that clearly had no one living in it. The seller had timer lights on in the living room and upstairs bedrooms. It would suit my purpose well. I dialed Nolan’s number again, only this time I didn’t hang up.

“Hello?” he said.

“It’s Del. Did I wake you?”

“Nah. I was watching TCM.”

“I’m gonna have to ask you to come in. Got a body on its way. Guy just called. Wants the full deal with a quickie viewing tomorrow night.”

“I’m leaving in five minutes,” he said, then hung up.

I pulled into the driveway of the house that was for sale, bringing my car up to the side entrance. I turned off the engine and lights. I had a decent view of Nolan’s place. Five minutes later, like clockwork, Nolan backed out of his driveway and motored down the dark street.

The drive to Nolan’s house took me twelve minutes, so unless he knew a shortcut I assumed it would take him the same amount of time to get to the Home. I would figure out a way of explaining why I sent him on this wild goose chase later. When his tail lights dissolved out of sight I started to pull out of the driveway, but I decided that it would be smarter to leave the car here, out of sight. I got out and walked over to Nolan’s property. Most of the surrounding houses had the lights off, so I was able to move along in the dark without any of Nolan’s neighbors noticing me.

Fortunately, Nolan left lights on in the living room and kitchen. I snuck up to the bay window in the living room and looked in. By craning my neck I could definitely see the crest with the name Oberfuolner displayed prominently.

Now what?

I suddenly began to question what I was hoping to accomplish. If Nolan was the killer and if he had Quilla, why did I think he would have her here at his home? And why would he have her? To kill her too? And if he did have her, what had he done with her? Was he holding her hostage for some reason? Had he already killed her? And where would he have hidden the body? This last question was unsettling because it forced me to remember that the killer had done a masterful job of hiding bodies, so he could dispose of Quilla just as effectively.