fifteen

I came upon DeRosa wandering the rows of neatly planted corn. In late spring, the baby stalks were barely visible but gaining traction for the long growing season ahead. The farm was impressive even to an experienced grower. With Jonathan’s direction, Charlie had built a complex irrigation system with pumps fueled by the power of the sun. Every inch of tubing and hardware was salvaged from a junk yard, giving the operation a Rube Goldberg machine appearance. I imagined DeRosa’s opinion of the Harbor House clan was shifting quickly from distrust to respect as he observed the rewards of our labor.

“You seem absorbed,” I said to DeRosa.

“I just got a message from a beat cop in Freeport.” DeRosa turned his cell phone over and held up the text for me to read.

“Holy shit. Your condo was ransacked?”

“Evidently so,” DeRosa replied, his voice tinged with disgust.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’ve worked a lot of cases. Could be retribution. The department will do a rundown of recently released felons I’ve collared.”

“But it could also be connected to Teddy.”

“I’m thinking it’s that too.”

“Did they take anything?”

“I had a two-drawer file cabinet with personal items. I’ll have to drive home today and confirm, but according to the guys there was a square spot free of dust next to my desk exactly where I kept the cabinet.”

“And the contents of the cabinet?” I asked.

“The usual,” DeRosa replied, as he turned off his cell phone. “Mortgage papers, police academy records, birth certificate, release papers from the army.”

“Sounds like someone, maybe Igor, is interested in getting to know you better,” I said.

“Or find a weak spot.” DeRosa turned his phone over a few times and then pointed to a bench with expansive views of Long Island Sound and the Sound View labs. A band of seagulls circled overhead, no doubt planning their farm-fresh meals for the next two months. Seagulls are the Freegans of the bird community, and as much as I hated the damage they caused our crops, I had to admire their ingenuity. No matter how many times we reengineered our compost bin, the seagulls always found a way in. DeRosa and I walked over to the bench. I let DeRosa lead the conversation.

“Let’s take it from the top one more time,” he sighed.

“Okay,” I agreed eager to please. “The police came to Harbor House one week ago Sunday after midnight.”

“Back up.” DeRosa rolled his hand counter clockwise. “Your brother died on Friday. The coroner timed the death between eight and nine p.m. His body was discovered by a cleaning person at eleven that night. What were you doing on Friday afternoon?”

“Cripes, Frank. I am not a suspect.”

“Poor wording. Let me rephrase.” DeRosa’s gaze was locked on the horizon. Deep in thought, I could see his mind fight to cut through the mounting clutter of the case. “Describe the days leading up to your brother’s death.”

“That’s unfair, like a trick question,” I said taking offense. “You’re asking me to relive normal only to be confronted with Teddy’s death again.”

“It’s important.” DeRosa’s eyes were still frozen in their sockets. If he didn’t blink soon, I’d have to snap my fingers.

“Give me a second. It seems like a lifetime ago.” Our lives at Harbor House were relatively fluid. No one had a smartphone or kept a calendar, and since I was not employed, my presence was never required anywhere on any specific day. Thinking in terms of dates did not come easily to me, so conditioned was I to come and go as I pleased. “I guess that Tuesday I reorganized my studio and purged a bunch of older paintings.”

DeRosa popped out of his trance. “So what I saw on Sunday is considered clean?”

“You’re just like Teddy. Disarray made his heart palpitate.”

“Why did you keep the unfinished paintings of Naomi?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Why did I keep Naomi’s portraits? I tried to think of a more suitable answer. “I think I couldn’t capture her, and it bothered me. She seemed elusive somehow.”

“You might be on to something there,” DeRosa said. “Keep going.”

“I went to the food co-op with Jonathan and Trina on both Wednesday and Thursday,” I continued. “The beginning of the growing season is a bit like a farmer’s kick-off party.”

“How about Friday?”

“I painted most of the day. In the afternoon, Charlie and I took a bike ride.”

“Did you speak with your brother during the week?”

DeRosa’s question caught me off-guard.

“I didn’t. Not once.”

DeRosa made to continue, but I interrupted him.

“That’s a problem. I usually spoke to Teddy all the time.” The revelation disturbed me. I struggled now to recapture the exact time line of events. “I called Teddy on Tuesday, but his secretary said he was busy. Same thing the next day. If I’m remembering correctly, we hadn’t spoken since the prior week.”

“Did you have a regular pattern?”

“Teddy checked in almost every day. He usually called me in the morning. Nothing big, just a quick hello. Sometimes Charlie would get on the phone too to confirm their racquetball game. The labs have an indoor court and they played regularly.” I grabbed DeRosa’s phone and dialed the house phone. Charlie picked up on the first ring.

“Detective DeRosa, how may I be of help?” Charlie mocked.

“It’s me, you halfwit. I have an important question: Did you play racquetball with Teddy the week he died?”

“Uh, no. He cancelled on me,” Charlie replied. “I won the week before, though. I bet he’s rolling over in his grave knowing I got the last point.”

I pressed the button to end the call and felt my hand go limp. DeRosa caught his phone as it slipped to the ground.

“Oh my God,” I cried. “Teddy must have known something.”

I turned to DeRosa. My body begged to cry, but my tear ducts were dehydrated. It was almost as if my internal clock for mourning had timed out, forcing me to deal with the case. I buried my head in DeRosa’s chest, my hand resting firmly on his shoulder. I felt his heart pick up speed and his chest tighten. A new fact had surfaced now, and we both knew it. Teddy was not caught unaware in his office the night of his death. He was involved in something that led to his death, and he was not oblivious to the threat, hence the canceled appointments and cut-off communication with friends and family.

DeRosa pried my hands from his body. “We’re not working fast enough,” he warned. “Forget offense, we’re not even playing solid defense.”

“You’re supposed to be the expert.”

He punched away at his phone. “I’m going to try and book a flight. I’d be more comfortable if you were with me.”

“Where to?” I asked knowing full well the Caribbean was a long shot.

“National Airport. Washington, D.C.” DeRosa spoke into the phone, dictating flight instructions to a desk officer on the other end. “Just see what you can do,” he said as he clicked off his phone and marched down the dirt path.

“I’ll call you with the details,” he yelled over his shoulder.