The night turned out to be significantly worse than Alex Oliva expected.
He’d dressed in a suit and tie for one of the seemingly never-ending series of charity dinners he was forced to attend. This one was not going to be as bad as most because he wasn’t being called on to give a speech.
All he had to lend to the event was his presence and his willingness to shake a lot of hands, but his seat on the dais unfortunately meant that there would be no quick getaway. So he was resigned to a night of smiling, working the room, and, he hoped, being out of there by ten o’clock. It would be relatively miserable but was part of the process, and he was used to it.
None of that happened. Alex left his house through the back door and was shot in the back as he reached the garage. The bullet was perfectly placed, passing through his heart as it went through his body.
If Alex felt any surprise or pain, it was momentary. His killer picked up his body and carried it off, to be left at a place of his choosing. The entire operation took less than two minutes.
But one thing was for sure … there would be an empty seat on the dais.
Edna is getting married! Edna is getting married!
I don’t want to seem too gleeful about this, so let me rephrase it.
Edna is getting married … hmmm, that’s nice.
First, a little background on Edna and me. I’m a defense attorney, and I have employed Edna for more than twenty years. She has been my self-described secretary, executive assistant, and office manager. Her job hasn’t changed, but the titles she has given herself have evolved along with workplace conventions.
Most significantly, her job has remained consistent in one specific aspect: she does absolutely no work. She avoids it like the plague, though until recently she was willing to make the effort to cash her checks. She finally set up direct deposit, just to make the whole thing less exhausting.
Of course, if someone is intent on not working, I’m a pretty good lawyer to not work for. I am in semi-retirement due to significant wealth and significant laziness. I have to be dragged kicking and screaming into a case. Once I take on a client, it’s Edna who does the kicking and screaming.
The guy she is marrying is David Divine, who I’ve met tonight for the first time. Edna has brought him over to our place for coffee; she said that it was important to her that he meet me and my wife, Laurie Collins. Our son, Ricky, is not home tonight; he has a sleepover at his friend Will Rubenstein’s house. They seem to have sleepovers pretty much every nonschool night. Half the time Will’s family is the host, as they are tonight, and the other half we get the honor.
David owns twelve Taco Bell restaurants spread throughout the Northeast, though he’s just mentioned that he’s planning to sell them and retire. I would estimate that he and Edna are both in their mid-to-late sixties, and David says that they want to travel a lot … to “see the world.”
My assumption, though it hasn’t been mentioned, is that Edna is going to retire as well. She’ll have no financial reason to work, and it’s not like she loves her job. It’s not even like she does her job.
It’s been a relatively pleasant evening so far, though it’s becoming a long one. I’m starting on my fourth cup of coffee, and I don’t particularly like the stuff. Laurie and I have been making eye contact for about twenty minutes. My eyes have been saying, When are they going to leave? Her eyes have responded with Be nice, Andy. My eyes haven’t come up with a good comeback to that.
Making matters worse is the insufferable Christmas music that has been on in the house for the entire evening. We’re just approaching Thanksgiving, but that is well within the four-month marathon that Laurie considers Christmas. It is making me wish I took cyanide in my coffee.
Our dogs are starting to stir; since they haven’t had any coffee, they’ve been asleep this whole time. But their awakening can give me an out.
We have three dogs. Tara is the greatest golden retriever the world has ever known, Sebastian is the laziest basset hound on the planet, and Hunter, the pug, is the newcomer in the group and still feeling his way. For now he’s content to emulate and idolize Tara, which makes him one smart pug.
“Looks like they are ready for their nighttime walk,” I say. “I always walk them just before bed.”
“Where do you take them?” David asks.
“Eastside Park.”
“I’d love to go along.”
“Super,” I lie. Eastside Park is fairly close by; I should have said Central Park or Yellowstone National. Maybe David would have been less anxious to make the trek.
So we set out; I hold the leashes for Tara and Hunter, while he takes Sebastian’s. It’s cold out, and we had a somewhat unseasonable nine-inch snowfall last night, which makes it feel like the dead of winter.
I’m going to shorten our normal walk, both because of the weather and because as long as we are out, David and Edna are obviously not going home. We head for Eastside Park, but rather than go deep into the park, we’ll just go a short way in and then turn around.
The sidewalks are well shoveled, which makes the walk easy, although Tara likes to walk along the side, in the snow. Hunter, ever loyal to his friend, does the same, and although the depth of the snow makes it hard for him, he soldiers on. Sebastian characteristically takes the easier path; if there were a moving walkway, or an Uber, Sebastian would take one of them.
We haven’t talked too much so far, just about the weather and yesterday’s snowfall. I finally decide to confront the elephant in the park.
“So I guess Edna will be retiring? I’m really going to miss her.”
“Retire?” He laughs. “Not a chance. She loves her job; what would she do every day?”
“I’ve wondered that myself. I just assumed she’d be leaving, since you both said how much you want to travel and see the world.”
He nods. “And we do; in fact, we’ve already booked a Baltic cruise. Edna said that she has months of vacation time accrued. Said she hasn’t taken a vacation in years.”
I’m at a loss for words; an unusual occurrence for me. Finally I come up with a few. “Yeah, she’s a workaholic, that Edna. We try to get her to take it easy, but she won’t hear of it.”
The road leading into the park is plowed pretty well, and we walk for about a hundred yards. As we’re about to turn around, Tara gets excited about something. This is not an unusual occurrence; it happens every time she spots a squirrel, and the park is filled with squirrels.
Because it’s late and no one else is around, I drop the leash so she can chase the squirrel, even though I haven’t actually seen it. I have no concern that she will catch it; they haven’t invented the squirrel that Tara could catch.
Hunter also wants to run off after her, but I hold on to his leash. We haven’t had him that long, and I don’t fully trust him to come back.
In Tara I trust.
I’m surprised to see that Tara runs about thirty feet into the deep snow and stops. She starts digging in the snow; I sure as hell hope no wounded squirrel is lying there. I hand Hunter’s leash to David and run through the snow to investigate.
There’s a decent amount of moonlight, but I still can’t see what Tara must see, or more likely smell.
David comes up behind me with the two dogs. “What did she find?”
“I’m not sure.”
David takes out his phone and activates its flashlight. As he does, Tara pulls back, almost as if she is surprised by her own discovery.
David shines the flashlight on the hole Tara has dug, and what it reveals leaves us all stunned. It even causes David to let out a small scream.
It’s a human hand.
My first call is to Pete Stanton.
Pete, the captain in charge of Paterson PD Homicide, is also a close friend, a sports-watching and beer-drinking buddy. I call him rather than 911 because I know from experience that David and I are going to be stuck here for a long time.
If I call 911, as I’m sure I’m supposed to, they’ll send out officers, who will then just turn around and call Homicide. This skips that step.
So far all I’ve seen is the hand sticking out of the snow, so I have no insight as to what the hell is going on. But even though I called Pete, it seems more likely than not that it is not a murder. My guess would be someone walking in the park had a heart attack and collapsed and got snowed on.
My second call is to Laurie, and she and Edna are going to come right over and get the dogs. Even in a best case, David and I are going to be here for a good while, giving our statements and describing how we found the body. Of course, that is assuming the hand is attached to a body.
The first to arrive are three police cars, each containing two officers. David and I and the dogs have moved well back from the scene, so as not to contaminate any possible evidence. I tell the officers where the discovery was made. Two of them go over there, and the others stay with us, a possible sign of lack of trust.
Laurie and Edna arrive, which increases the trust, since Laurie knows two of the cops from back in the days when she was on the force. After talking to them for a few minutes, she and Edna take the dogs and head home.
Nobody is telling us anything, but the place is certainly starting to look like a crime scene. Other cops arrive, including some who I recognize as homicide detectives. Forensics is also there, doing what forensics does, and a coroner’s van shows up as well.
About fifteen minutes later Pete arrives, followed by another five squad cars. They are treating this as a major event; this isn’t feeling like a heart attack victim who got snowed on.
Pete consults with his detectives, then comes over to me. “You seem to attract dead bodies,” he says, a reference to the number of murder cases I’ve handled. As I said, Pete and I are close friends, but I can’t remember the last nice thing we said to each other.
“It’s not me. People tend to commit murders in Paterson because they know you’ll never catch them. You can’t blame them; you’re a walking ‘stay out of jail free’ card.”
He ignores that. “So you two were just out for a stroll in the snow?”
“We were walking the dogs.”
He nods. “That I believe.”
“Tara started digging where the body was. So if you see paw prints, don’t think of it as a clue and start arresting golden retrievers.”
“Officers will get your statements and then you can leave.”
“Is it a murder?”
He hesitates, then nods. “Unless he accidentally shot himself in the back.”
“Who’s the victim?”
“I don’t think I’m going to share that with you at this point. Did Tara dig up any clues I should be aware of?”
“No, but if you want to borrow her for a few days, you can. She’d have a better chance of solving this than you would.”
“Great talking to you.”
I’m not quite ready to let Pete go. “Was the guy killed here? Because I didn’t see much blood.”
“When we finish the investigation, you’ll be the first person we brief on it. Now, any other questions? Because my only real goal here is to satisfy your curiosity.”
“No, you can go play detective.”
We give our statements and head home. David seems shaken by what has transpired. “Except for my father, that’s the first dead body I’ve ever seen.”
“All you saw was the hand.”
“That was plenty.”
We get home and it’s another half hour and two cups of coffee before they finally leave. It is a night that they will not soon forget. I won’t either.
Laurie, ex-cop and investigator that she is, asks me a bunch of questions about the murder, few of which I can answer.
When we’re getting into bed, Laurie says, “By the way, Edna told me that she is going to continue to work.”
“Continue?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately I do.”
“But she’s going to travel. Can she do that and fulfill her responsibilities?
“Sure. She has direct deposit.”
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