CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The bells of the Southport Congregational Church were smooth and friendly, which struck Benny as strangely nice for a funeral morning. The gray stone church had been on Pequot Avenue in the little village next to Westport since 1875. The old road was narrow, but Benny found the perfect spot, backing his rental panel van into a little side street that offered a perfect view of the church’s front door. Inside the van, he perched his enormous frame on an upside-down five-gallon paint bucket and took photos through the tinted back window, his elbows forming a tripod on his thighs. He had done this work dozens of times at funeral homes and churches all around New York, capturing images of those paying respects to dead organized crime members. He had also jammed himself into hotel ballroom crawl spaces to photograph mob weddings. But he had never covered the funeral of a hedge fund executive. This has gotta be the geekiest funeral I ever worked.

He snapped pictures of every mourner who came to the church, including the eight whose pictures he already had on the whiteboard in the “wine room”—Nora’s new name for his basement workspace. He rested his arms when everyone was inside for the service; he would snap them all again when they came out, to be sure he didn’t miss anyone. Just then, a solitary figure walked quickly past the van and cut diagonally up the church’s sloping front lawn toward the door, removing his cap as he approached the entrance. Benny got a couple pictures of the side of the man’s head before he slipped into the church. Maybe just late, but strange that he’s wearing a baseball hat.

Benny was ready when the guy hurried out of the church before the service ended. He got one good picture as the man lifted his hand to put his cap back on, and several more as he walked directly toward Benny, retracing his route. Who the fuck comes late to a funeral and then leaves early, and in a goddamn baseball hat?

The alarm was off when Nora got back to her house, so she paused in the doorway from the garage. “Benny?” she shouted.

The sound of a reassuring Brooklyn baritone made its way up the basement stairs. “Down in the war room!”

She turned the alarm system back on and went downstairs to find him standing in front of the whiteboard. “Scared me a little,” Nora said. “The alarm was off and I thought you were out on surveillance.”

“I was,” he said, “which is why I’m here now. Saw an odd one and wanted to print some copies of his picture.”

He turned and stabbed a finger at a new photo on the whiteboard. “Who’s the dude in the hat?”

Nora squinted and took a step closer to the board. “No idea. He was at the service?”

“Yeah, slipped in late and out early. Probably went up to the balcony. Not normal behavior, eh?”

“Let me send it to Laslo at work,” Nora said. “He knows everybody who’s been around Saugatuck the last ten years.”

Benny pulled the picture off the board. “You can use this. I got others.”

Nora smiled, holding her palms up. “Seriously? Text me the picture and I’ll text it to Laslo. You know the nineties are over, right?”

“Everyone’s a comedian,” Benny said, taping the picture back to the board. Turning back to Nora, he added, “Let me text it to him myself, you being the subject of a murder investigation and all.”

Nora winced. “Yeah, that’s right. Strange and painful, but right.”

Benny sat at the little table he had moved into his war room and opened his laptop.

“What’re you doing?” Nora asked.

“The pictures are on here, off my camera’s SD card. You think I’m stuck in the nineties but there’s a reason I don’t use my phone for surveillance, despite all the bullshit about the amazing iPhone camera.”

“Yeah, I actually get that,” Nora said. “Phones can be hacked and they’re the first thing cops grab. We should know who our mystery man is soon enough. Laslo’s pretty good about answering texts.”

Benny looked up after sending the message. “How was the funeral? I should have asked when you came in. Sorry.”

“Thanks. It was sad, but also weird. She never had a family, except it turns out she had this big extended family—I’m sure you saw them from the van—two sisters and a brother and lots of nephews and nieces. They really loved her. So sad to hear the ones who spoke during the service. Evidently, she was the fun sibling and the cool aunt and she helped them in all kinds of ways—tuition, house down payments, any kind of emergency—none of which surprised me. And her mom seemed broken, honestly. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be at the funeral of one of your kids. And when somebody took that child’s life.”

Nora paused and shook her head. “The unbelievable part, of course, is that somebody in that church may have killed her, or gotten somebody to kill her.”

Benny’s phone buzzed.

“Laslo,” Benny said. “He says it’s Brad Holtzer, who had your job before you. What the hell’s he doin’ sneakin’ around?”

“That’s weird,” Nora said. “I never met him, but Helen told me his story. He was in the GC job for nine months. They worked to steal him from one of Saugatuck’s big hedge fund rivals. He was nervous about the move because he knew how many people didn’t make it long at Saugatuck before running or getting fired, so they gave him a strange clause in his contract. If he got fired for any reason in his first year, they would pay him a ten-million-dollar lump sum.”

“Holy shit,” Benny said. “And?”

“Jepson fired him after nine months. Helen thought Holtzer figured out early that he wasn’t a good fit and wouldn’t be happy long term, so he played the whole thing, working harder and harder to get under Jepson’s skin. She said she tried to warn David, but he said, ‘If that’s the kind of person he is, we definitely don’t want him, and ten million is a small price to pay for our mistake.’ ”

Benny made a whistling sound. “Whoa. Small price? We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”

“But in a sense he’s right,” Nora answered. “If you’re worth billions, ten million doesn’t seem very big, now does it?” She laughed before adding, “You and I could live forever on the money guys like Jepson lose in their couch cushions.”

“Remind me to find that couch,” Benny said, shaking his head. “And so what happened to Holtzer?—who I gotta admire a little for being a player, based on what you just told me.”

“Helen said he took his money and disappeared. She said nobody’d seen him and he wasn’t available for me to consult. So I didn’t try.”

“Well, we’re gonna consult the hell out of him now. Trackin’ him will be top of my list for tomorrow.”