“He wasn’t home. Let me cut to the chase, okay? Isherwood lives in Islip, but he works for an energy company headquartered in Dallas. He flies out there a lot. That’s where he is now. So, see, he parked his car in long-term parking.”
A dark, cold shiver eased its way down the back of Kat’s neck. “And someone stole his license plate.”
“Bingo.”
Amateurs steal cars to commit crimes. That was messy. Stolen cars are immediately reported to the police. But if you swipe a license plate, especially a front one from some long-term garage, it could be days or weeks before the theft is reported. Even then, it is harder to spot a license plate than an entire car. With a stolen car, you can be on the lookout for a specific make and model. With a stolen license plate, especially if you’re smart enough to steal it off a car with a similar make . . .
Chaz said, “Kat?”
“We need to find out everything we can about Dana Phelps. See if we can ping her phone location. Get her recent texts.”
“This isn’t our jurisdiction. They live in Connecticut.”
The front door of Tessie’s house opened. Tessie stepped outside.
“I know,” Kat said. “Tell you what. E-mail all you got to a Detective Schwartz at the Greenwich Police Department. I’ll contact him later.”
Kat hung up the phone. What the hell was going on? She debated calling Brandon, but that seemed premature. She needed to think it through. Chaz was right—this wasn’t their case. That was clear. Plus, Kat had her own issues right now, thank you very much. She would pass it on to Joe Schwartz and leave it at that.
Tessie was making her way toward her. Kat flashed back to when she was nine years old, hiding behind the kitchen door, listening to Tessie cry about being pregnant. Tessie was one of those people who kept it all hidden with a smile. She had eight kids in twelve years in an era when husbands would sooner drink from a septic tank than change a diaper. Her children were scattered around the country now as though tossed by a giant hand. Some kept moving. Usually at least one still stayed at their childhood home. Tessie didn’t care. She didn’t like the company or dislike it. Motherhood was over for her, at least the labor-intensive part. They could stay or they could leave. She might make the occasional tuna fish sandwich for Brian or she might not. It didn’t matter to her.
“Is everything okay?” Tessie asked.
“Fine.”
Tessie looked doubtful. “Sit with me a minute?”
“Sure,” Kat said. “I’d like that.”
Tessie had always been Kat’s favorite of Mom’s friends. During Kat’s childhood, despite the chaos and exhaustion, Tessie always found time to chat with her. Kat had worried that she was yet another burden or obligation, but somewhere along the way, she realized that wasn’t the case, that Tessie enjoyed their time together. Tessie had trouble communicating with her own daughters, and Kat, of course, had the same issue with her mother. Some might call their rapport special—that Tessie should have been Kat’s mom or something like that—but more likely, it was just that they weren’t related and could both relax.
Maybe familiarity—accent on the familia—did indeed breed contempt.
Tessie’s house was a tired Tudor. It was spacious enough, but when it had housed ten, it seemed as though the walls were buckling from the onslaught. There was a fence across the driveway. Tessie opened it so they could head into the backyard, where she kept her small garden.
“Bad year again,” Tessie said, pointing toward the tomato plants. “This global warming or whatever keeps messing with my timing.”
Kat sat on the bench.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Okay, then,” Tessie said, spreading her arms. “Tell me.”
So Kat did.
“Little Willy Cozone,” Tessie said, with a shake of her head when Kat finished. “You know he’s from the neighborhood, right? Grew up on Farrington Street near the car wash.”
Kat nodded.
“My older brother, Terry, graduated from Bishop Reilly with him. Cozone was a scrawny kid. Threw up in first grade at St. Mary’s. Vomited all over the nun, right in the middle of class. Stunk up the whole room. The kids started picking on him after that. Called him Stinky or Smelly or something. Real original.” She shook her head. “You know how he stopped it?”
“Stopped what?”
“Being picked on.”
“No. How?”
“Cozone beat a kid to death when he was in fifth grade. Took a hammer to school and bashed his head in. Pried open the back of the skull with the claw part.”
Kat tried not to make a face. “I didn’t see that in the files.”
“The records were sealed, or maybe they never convicted him, I don’t know. It was kept pretty hush-hush.”
Kat just shook her head.
“When Cozone was around, well, pets used to disappear from this neighborhood, if you know what I’m saying. They’d find like a paw or something in the trash. That would be it. You know he lost his whole family to violence.”
“Yes,” Kat said. “And all this, I mean, that’s why I don’t believe my dad worked for him.”
“I don’t know one way or the other,” Tessie said.
Tessie started busying herself with the garden, retying the plants to the stakes.
“What do you know, Tessie?”
She inspected a tomato, still on the vine. It was both too small and too green. She let it go.
“You were around,” Kat said. “You knew about my father’s vanishing acts.”
“I did, yes. Your mother used to pretend it was all okay. Even to Flo and me, she’d lie.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Not specifically, no.”
“But you had some idea.”
Tessie stopped fiddling with the tomatoes and stood up straight. “I’m of two minds on this.”
“That being?”
“The obvious. It’s none of my business. It’s none of your business. And it all happened a long time ago. We should respect your mother’s wishes.”
Kat nodded. “Understandable.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s the other mind?”
Tessie sat down next to her. “When you’re young, you think you have all the answers. You’re right wing or you’re left wing and the other side is a bunch of idiots. You know. When you get a little older, though, you start to more and more see the grays. Now I understand that true idiots are the ones who are certain they have the answers. It is never that simple. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do.”
“I’m not saying there’s no such thing as right or wrong. But I’m saying what may work for some doesn’t work for others. You talked before about your mother confusing memories with illusion. But that’s okay. That’s how she survives. Some people need illusions. And some people, like you, need answers.”
Kat waited.
“You also need to weigh the hurts,” Tessie said.
“What do you mean?”
“If I tell you what I know, it is going to hurt you. A lot, probably. I love you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kat knew that Tessie, unlike Flo or even Mom, did not lean toward the melodramatic. It was not a warning to take lightly. “I can take it,” Kat said.
“I’m sure you can. Plus, I have to weigh that hurt against the dull ache you feel from always wondering, from never knowing. There’s a pain in that too.”
“A greater pain, I’d argue,” Kat said.
“And I don’t disagree.” Tessie let loose a long breath. “There is one more problem.”
“I’m listening.”
“My information. It is all based on rumors. A friend of Gary’s—you remember Gary?”
“Flo’s husband.”
“Right. So a friend of Gary’s told Gary and Gary told Flo and Flo told me. So for all I know, it’s a load of garbage.”
“But you don’t think it is,” Kat said.
“Right, I don’t think it is. I think it’s the truth.”
Tessie seemed to be bracing herself.
“It’s okay,” Kat said in the gentlest voice she could muster. “Tell me.”
“Your father had a girlfriend.”