Kathy Reichs: Cross bones

Though mystified and somewhat daunted by the prospect, Ryan embraced the product of his past and made some decisions about his future. Last Christmas he’d committed to long-distance parenting. That same week he’d asked me to be his roomie.

Whoa, bucko. I gave that plan a veto.

Though I still bunk with my feline compadre, Birdie, Ryan and I are dancing around a preliminary draft of a working arrangement.

So far the dance has been good.

And strictly home turf. We keep it to ourselves.

“How’s it going, cupcake?” Ryan asked, coming through the door.

“Good.” I added a fragment to those drying on the corkboard.

“That the chimney stiff?” Ryan was eyeing the box holding Charles Bellemare.

“Happy trails for the Cowboy,” I said.

“Guy take a hit?”

I shook my head. “Looks like he leaned to when he should have leaned fro. No idea why he was sitting on a chimney ledge.” I stripped off my gloves and squeezed soap onto my hands. “Who’s the blond guy downstairs?”

“Birch. He’ll be working Ferris with me.”

“New partner?”

Ryan shook his head. “Loan-over. You think Ferris offed himself?”

I turned and shot Ryan a you-know-better-than-that look.

Ryan gave me an expression of choirboy innocence. “Not trying to rush you.”

Yanking paper towels from the holder, I said, “Tell me about him.”

Ryan nudged Bellemare aside and rested one haunch on my worktable.

“Family’s Orthodox.”

“Really?” Mock surprise.

“The Fab Four were here to ensure a kosher autopsy.”

“Who were they?” I wadded and tossed the paper towels.

“Rabbi, members of the temple, one brother. You want names?”

I shook my head.

“Ferris was a bit more secular than his kin. Operated an import business from a warehouse out near Mirabel airport. Told the wife he’d be out of town on Thursday and Friday. According to…” Ryan pulled out and glanced at a spiral pad.

“Miriam,” I supplied.

“Right.” Ryan gave me an odd look. “According to Miriam, Ferris was trying to expand the business. He called around four on Wednesday, said he was heading out, and that he’d be back late on Friday. When he didn’t arrive by sundown, Miriam figured he’d been delayed and preferred not to drive on the Sabbath.”

“Had that happened before?

Ryan nodded. “Ferris wasn’t in the habit of phoning home. When he hadn’t shown up Saturday night, Miriam started working the speed dial. No one in the family had seen him. Neither had his secretary. Miriam didn’t know which accounts he was planning to hit, so she decided to sit tight. Sunday morning she checked the warehouse. Sunday afternoon she filed a missing person report. Cops said they’d investigate if hubby hadn’t surfaced by Monday morning.”

“Grown man extending his business trip?”

Ryan shrugged one shoulder. “Happens.”

“Ferris never left Montreal?”

“LaManche thinks he died not long after his call to Miriam.”

“Miriam’s story checks out?”

“So far.”

“The body was found in a closet?”

Ryan nodded. “Blood and brains all over the walls.”

“What kind of closet?”

“Small storage space off an upstairs office.”

“Why would cats be in there with him?”

“The door’s outfitted with one of those little two-way flaps. Ferris kept food and litter in there.”

“He gathered the cats to shoot himself?”

“Maybe they were in there when he took the bullet, maybe they slipped in later. Ferris may have died sitting on a stool, then tumbled off. Somehow his feet ended up jamming the kitty door.”

I thought about that.

“Miriam didn’t check the closet when she visited on Sunday?”

“No.”

“She didn’t hear scratching or meowing?”

“The missus isnot a cat lover. That’s why Ferris kept them at work.”

“She didn’t notice any odor?”

“Apparently Ferris wasn’t real fastidious about feline toilette. Miriam said if she’d smelled anything she’d have figured it was Kitty Litter.”

“She didn’t find the building overly warm?”

“Nope. But if a cat brushed the thermostat after her visit, Ferris would still have been cooking from Sunday till Tuesday.”

“Did Ferris have other employees besides the secretary?”

“Nope.” Ryan consulted the notes in his spiral. “Courtney Purviance. Miriam calls her a secretary. Purviance prefers the term ‘associate.’”

“Is the wife downgrading, or the help upgrading?”

“More likely the former. Appears Purviance played a pretty big role in running the business.”

“Where was Purviance on Wednesday?”

“Left early. Bad sinuses.”

“Why didn’t Purviance find Ferris on Monday?”

“Monday was some kind of Jewish holiday. Purviance took the day off to plant trees.”

“Tu B’Shvat.”

“Et tu, Brute.”

“The festival of trees. Was anything missing?”

“Purviance insists there’s nothing in the place worth stealing. Computer’s old. Radio’s older. Inventory’s not valuable. But she’s checking.”

“How long has she worked for Ferris?”

“Since ninety-eight.”

“Anything suspicious in Ferris’s background? Known associates? Enemies? Gambling debts? Jilted girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Ryan shook his head.

“Anything to suggest he was suicidal?”

“I’m digging, but so far zip. Stable marriage. Took the little woman to Boca in January. Business wasn’t blazing, but it was producing a steady living. Especially since Purviance hired on, a fact she’s not hesitant to mention. According to the family, there were no signs of depression, but Purviance thought he’d been unusually moody in recent weeks.”

I remembered Kessler and slipped the photo from the pocket of my lab coat.

“A gift from one of the Fab Four.” I held it out. “He thinks it’s the reason Ferris is dead.”

“Meaning?”

“He thinks it’s the reason Ferris is dead.”

“You can be a real pain in the ass, Brennan.”

“I work at it.”

Ryan studied the photo.

“Which of the Fab Four?”

“Kessler.”

Floating a brow, Ryan laid down the photo and flipped a page in his spiral.

“You sure?”

“That’s the name he gave me.”

When Ryan looked up the brow had settled.

“No one named Kessler was cleared for that autopsy.”

“I’M CERTAINKESSLER’S THE NAME HE GAVE.”

“He was an authorized observer?”

“As opposed to one of the multitudes of Hasidim who haunt these halls?”

Ryan ignored my sarcasm.

“Did Kessler say that’s why he was here?”

“No.” For some reason Ryan’s questions were irking me.

“You’d seen Kessler earlier in the autopsy room?”

“I-”

I’d been distressed over Miriam and Dora Ferris, then distracted by Pelletier’s call. Kessler had glasses, a beard, and a black suit. My mind had settled for a cultural stereotype.

I wasn’t irked at Ryan. I was irked at myself.

“I just assumed.”

“Let’s take it from the top.”

I told Ryan about the incident in the downstairs corridor.

“So Kessler was in the hall when you left the family room.”

“Yes.”

“Did you see where he came from?”

“No.”

“Where he went?”

“I thought he was going to join Dora and Miriam.”

“Did you actually see him enter the family room?”

“I was speaking to Pelletier.” It came out sharper than I intended.

“Don’t be defensive.”

“That was not defensive,” I said defensively, and did a two-handed pull to unsnap my lab coat. “That was enlargement of detail.”