Lefebvre turned toward him. “Dr. Woolsey, let me introduce you to-”
“Yes, Irene Kelly,” he said abruptly. “My receptionist tracked me down to say you were bringing a reporter back here.”
“I suspect she said he was bringing a woman reporter back here,” I said, extending a hand.
Despite Lefebvre’s warning about his sense of humor, he smiled and shook my hand. “Yes, but she didn’t mention that he’d be bringing such a pretty one. What can I do for you, Miss Kelly?”
I inwardly cringed, but I’m fairly sure I kept my reaction to the comment on my looks to myself. I smiled back at him and said, “I’m hoping to learn whatever I can about the remains that were found in the car today. I was there when they were found, so-”
“Ahh. What a relief. I’m pleased to know Detective Lefebvre hasn’t lost all sense of what we ought to be revealing to the press.”
“Without Ms. Kelly’s help, we wouldn’t have suspected that these might be the Ducanes,” Lefebvre said.
“Detective Lefebvre hasn’t discussed anything I didn’t see for myself,” I said quickly. “I’m hoping you can tell me more.”
Woolsey smiled at me again. “We’re in the early stages of our proceedings, I’m afraid. I really have nothing definite to say about the three individuals at this point.”
“You’re sure there are three?”
“Oh yes-well, that much I can say. An adult female, an adult male, and an infant. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to speak with the detectives-”
“Just one other question,” I said. “What is the interest of the Yeager family in this matter?”
He shot an angry look at Matt Arden, who said, “Don’t blame me. She saw Mitch Yeager outside.”
Woolsey glanced uneasily at Lefebvre, then studied me for a moment before saying, “I suppose I should simply ask you to talk to Mr. Yeager himself. His visit was out of concern for his adopted son, Kyle. But I was unable to give the Yeager family any more information than I’ve given you.”
I thought about the lack of rapport between Woolsey and O’Connor, whose nickname for the coroner was Old Sheep Dip, and decided this was not the time to play hardball. One of us needed to be able to talk to him. “When will more information be available?”
“I have the Ducanes’ dental records for you,” Lefebvre said.
“In that case…” Woolsey took out a card and handed it to me. “Call my office in three hours.”
“It will take three hours to compare the X rays?”
“If the remains are those of the Ducanes, we will need time to notify the families. Now, if Detective Lefebvre will hand me those X rays, he can escort you back out of the building. And I’ll speak to you later, Miss Kelly.”
Lefebvre didn’t argue. The moment we were outside, I said, “I don’t trust him.”
“Woolsey?”
“Yes. He lied about the Yeagers.”
“What makes you think so?”
“At the press conference, your lieutenant never mentioned how many bodies were found, or whether they were those of children or adults. So how did the Yeagers know about a child’s remains being found?”
“I’ve been wondering about that myself.”
I glanced at my watch. “I’d better get back to the paper.” I took out one of my business cards and handed it to him. “I should have done this earlier. If there’s anything you can let me know…”
“Sure.” He handed me one of his own cards. “And vice versa, all right?”
“Fair is fair,” I agreed.
He started to walk away, then turned back. “Irene…”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
30
W HEN I GOT BACK TO THE PAPER, THE NEWSROOM HAD DEVELOPED ITS usual late-afternoon haze of cigarette smoke. The place was full of noise. In addition to the usual clamor of ringing phones, the snatches of heated conversations, the chatter of the Teletypes, and the shunk-shunk-shunk of electric typewriters, I could hear-and feel-the rumble of the presses. They were in the basement, but they could be heard throughout the building when they ran, beginning as a low hum and increasing to a muffled roar as their speed increased. This was also the hour when bottles started coming out of desk drawers.
O’Connor beckoned me toward his desk-one of the messiest in the newsroom. “Your friend left to interview someone about the farm property. She’s supposed to be back here any minute.” He pointed to a stack of folders filled with clippings and photos. “I’ve just come back from the morgue,” he said, referring to the archives of the Express. “This is what I found on a quick search, enough to give us a start today.”
He seemed depressed. I thought it might be the clippings themselves, since he knew the victims. That brought another thought in its wake. “Did you call Helen?” I asked.
His look of surprise was a good one-for a fake. “Helen? Why?”
“Because Lillian Linworth might need a friend over at her place this afternoon when the coroner calls.”
“Yes,” he said. “I called her. But I didn’t give her any details-”
“I didn’t think you would. And it must have been hard to keep your promise to Lefebvre.”
“It was,” he admitted.
I filled him in on what had happened at the coroner’s office. “Something weird is going on there. Yeager wouldn’t be asking about something that might affect his adopted son unless he had word that a child’s bones had been found. Even then, why would he assume the adult bodies were those of the Ducanes? I thought everyone but you believed they were lost at sea.”
O’Connor stared at me a moment.
“What’s that look for?”
“Nothing…” he said, then smiled. “I’m only thinking that you’ve asked an excellent question about Yeager. What are your guesses about who leaked the information to him?”
“The only people who could have said anything about the child’s body are the two of us, Phil Lefebvre, Matt Arden, or someone in the coroner’s office.”
“Perhaps a member of the construction crew…”
“Maybe,” I conceded. “But that’s not what my gut tells me. Not the crew, certainly not us, and not Lefebvre. And I don’t think it was Arden, either. Not unless he’s a damned fine actor.”
“Homicide detectives often are, I’ve found. It helps them in their line of work. But you’re probably right. Woolsey would be my first bet.” He reached for one of two big Rolodexes that sat on his desk near his manual typewriter-one of the few remaining manuals in the room-and turned the dial on its side until it stopped at the T’s. He thumbed through that section-I noticed that many of the cards had no names on them, only initials or notations in what was apparently some kind of code. He pulled one of these no-name cards free. The only thing on it was a lower-case “t” and a number. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, picking up his phone.
While he was making the call, I saw Lydia enter the newsroom. Her movements were tentative and seemed to become even more hesitant after she looked toward my desk and didn’t see me there. She was blushing like a teenaged girl who had just been pushed into an overcrowded boys’ locker room. I realized that she felt as if she were trespassing.
Right at that moment, more than any time before it, I was sure that I was right where I belonged.
O’Connor had hung up and was watching her, too. He waved her over. She regained her composure by the time she reached his desk.
“What did you find out about the property?” I asked her.
She pulled out her notes. “As you know, the farm was sold to the developers by the heirs of Griffin Baer. Baer died five years ago, at the age of seventy- seven.”
“He was the last one to live there?”
“Well, yes, but he hadn’t lived there since 1926. From what I could learn from one of the heirs, Baer had a house down near the shore, and most of the fighting in the family was over that property, not the farm. According to this grandson, Baer used to do nothing but work on the farm, then he sold some mineral rights for a fantastic sum and used the money to build his dream home down by the ocean. He always paid someone else to do the farming after that.”