P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Kneeling, she opened the cardboard flaps of the first box, then fell back with a yelp. A mouse nest made from chewed bits of paper and filled with tiny, squirming babies sat right on top. The answers she needed might have been torn into insulation. She ground her teeth while Jase used an old rag to carefully move the nest aside, trying not to worry about contracting hantavirus.

That box yielded nothing of interest. Halfway down into the second box, however, she found what she was looking for underneath a stack of old photos of stern-looking family members. Tucking those under her arm for future perusal, she lifted out sheets of paper covered with cursive handwriting that looked like it matched Seavey’s.

She carefully shuffled through them, looking for dates. She found them: June 6, 1890, June and July of the same year, all the way through August 1893. Bingo .

She held up the papers. “Let’s go.”

* * *

As they drove back to All That Jazz, Jordan forced herself to set aside Seavey’s papers and focus on the upcoming conference call.

“So JT is a good friend? Tell me about him.”

“Used to have a gold shield with the NYPD.” Jase turned onto the main drag that ran through their neighborhood. “JT left to go into security work about five years ago. My dad’s firm has used him on some large cases. Then last year, he moved to the West Coast to escape the bad weather.”

Jase parked the truck in its designated slot behind the pub and climbed out. “JT and I go way back—we grew up in the same neighborhood. I went to Harvard, and he went into the police academy.”

Jordan whistled at the dog to follow them. “I can trust him?”

“Yeah, and you can assume the information he digs up is solid.”

Jase unlocked the back door and was opening it when Ted drove into the small lot, parking next to Jase’s truck.

“Hey, Jordan,” Ted said, getting out of his car. He walked over to them, his attire as immaculate as usual. She felt decidedly grungy standing next to him.

“I’m glad I caught you, man,” he said to Jase, perfunctorily patting the dog’s head, which earned him The Look. “I have to supervise the guys while they knock down our equipment. It needs to go back to the sound studio at the house today.”

Jase held the door open wide. “Not a problem. If you need anything, Jordan and I will be in my office on a conference call.”

Jase led the way through the back of the building, past the kitchen where Kathleen was already hard at work chopping vegetables. The smells emanating from the sauté pan on the stove were enough to make Jordan’s mouth water and remind her that she hadn’t eaten since the evening before.

Jordan entered Jase’s office, curious about his work environment. The room was utilitarian, with bare walls and simple fixtures. A small table holding an espresso machine sat in the corner. Natural light came from a bank of windows up high on the wall. The desk was large and modern, and held a state-of-the-art computer, fax machine, and printer. A phone system similar to ones in most small businesses, with a larger base unit and multiple phone lines, sat next to the desk blotter.

Jase logged on to his computer and pulled up JT’s email, then called the number he’d been sent, placing the phone in speaker mode. He leaned back in his chair, propping his running shoes on the desk. Jordan chose a captain’s chair across the desk from him.

“Speak.” The gruff voice came on the line after only two rings.

“JT,” Jase said. “I’ve got Jordan Marsh with me.”

“Hi, JT.”

“Ahh, nice voice. Once this case is closed, you let me give you a call, sweetheart. I’m a lot cuter than that glorified barkeep you’ve hooked up with.”

Jase merely shook his head. “What’ve you got for us?” he asked.

“Right.” JT rustled some papers. “Okay, first off, Jordan’s assumption was correct—her husband was dead broke after the civil suits were adjudicated. Sorry, sweetheart—your granny’s inheritance was the most likely motive for his suggested reconciliation.”

“Didi Wyeth intimated as much,” Jordan replied.

“Yeah? Speaking of her, her alibi doesn’t check out. She told the cops she was at a party at some big-shot producer’s place out in Beverly Hills, but no one remembers seeing her there. Her name also never got checked off the list at the gate.”

Jordan felt the first stirrings of excitement. “Any idea where she really was?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

She turned to Jase. “You should’ve let me keep pushing her last night—I might’ve gotten the truth out of her.”

“More likely, you would’ve gotten your eyes scratched out,” Jase countered.

“I missed a fight?” JT’s voice approximated a whine. “Buddy, you gotta keep me better informed.”

Jase looked amused. “What about the other names we gave you?”

“Let’s see … Marcy Brentworth and Alice Langston check out. I pulled the court records for more names, but all the other plaintiffs who sued the dead hubby have rock-solid alibis—I couldn’t shake them. Drake’s a piece of work, though. Got divorced a couple of years back, and the ex took him to the cleaners.”

“So the case is dredging up some emotional baggage,” Jase concluded.

“Yeah, but that’s not all. I ran across a picture of Drake’s ex and just for kicks put it side by side with a current photo of Jordan from the L.A. Times . The resemblance is striking—build, hair, even eye color. And his ex won the settlement against him by claiming he cheated on her. The guy’s doing some major transference onto Jordan right about now.”

Jordan groaned. “So Drake was hoping to find the evidence he needs to believe I offed Ryland, and now someone has obligingly supplied it.”

“Yeah. Or maybe he just needs to get back at a woman for what happened to him and wants to make you miserable, who knows? But I can guarantee he isn’t working from an objective viewpoint.”

“We can use that at trial, if necessary,” Jase said. “Good work.”

“What about the supposed witnesses?” Jordan asked. “Drake claimed he has reliable witnesses to our argument the night of Ryland’s death.”

“Still working on names,” JT replied. “The LAPD is so paranoid about the high-profile nature of this case, they’ve got the documents locked down tight.”

“Can you get to them?” Jase asked.

“Do you even need to ask?” JT replied, his tone smug.

Jase looked amused. “Killing two birds with one stone, are you?”

“Hey, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Give me another hour, and I’ll shoot you an email.”

Jase’s eyebrow went up. “We interrupt something?”

“Please. Do you think I would’ve answered the phone? And I don’t do quickies—I savor.”

“Sure you do.”

“I appreciate the personal sacrifice, JT,” Jordan said, smiling.

They heard papers being shifted again. “The only other issue is your friend Carol. Per Jase’s instructions, I took a quick look at any possible connection she might have with your hubby, and something interesting turned up.”

Jordan glared at Jase. “You had him investigate my best friend?”

Jase held up a hand. “I was simply covering all bases. Let’s hear what JT has to say.”

JT cleared his throat. “About a year ago, your hubby and your best friend attended the same business conference.”

“I remember it—in San Francisco, right?” Jordan asked. “That’s hardly suspicious. We all run therapy practices, and Carol’s discipline is similar to Ryland’s.”

“I would agree, except for one thing,” JT said. “There was no hotel room registered in your friend’s name. I checked around with a few of her colleagues, and their recollection is that she stayed with a man—your husband, to be precise.”