Municipal Blondes
2
It takes a thief
DAG NEEDS INFORMATION. That amazing brain of his put together a puzzle. Angel and Simon had tattoos with part of the security key. Dag says Bradley Keane had the missing set of numbers. He asked me to go find Bradley’s body and copy down the characters on the tattoo.
I can’t handle the truth of why I went on this foolish errand tonight. Dag asked me to. That’s all I can handle and by God, I’m determined to do what he asked.
Term life insurance
I left the hospital and went to the office. An hour later, I found myself standing at the window staring out at the ferries and traffic like Dag did. When I realized what I was doing, my eyes were leaking. They’ve been doing that a lot lately. Ever since Sunday.
I started making calls. The city morgue was no help. No, they didn’t have any record of Bradley Keane. I called the hospital where Dag is and they said they could only give information to next of kin. I wondered who that could be.
Funny.
I’ve examined a ton of Bradley’s dirty little plans over the past month. I picked through his email. I looked at his bank accounts. I tracked his travel with Brenda. But I haven’t really found out much about Bradley. I wondered who his next of kin was.
I started with a quick online search and the first thing that popped up was the newspaper story that ran on Tuesday. It was a small article in the back of the paper saying that Federal agents had broken a software counterfeiting ring on Sunday. Two suspects were killed. One was Bradley Keane, 49, who was a partner in the firm Barnett, Keane, and Lamb Ltd. Senior partner Simon Barnett was reported missing and presumed dead a week ago when his plane crashed in the Caribbean. Keane is survived by his widow, Sarah Keane and two children.
Whoa! Bradley was married? He was fooling around with Muffin-Top and he was married with children, too? This guy was too disgusting for words. I did a search and was rewarded with a home phone and address, compliments of the big name in telephones out here. Then I had to determine what I would do. I didn’t have Simon’s laptop anymore but I scanned through the old one Oksamma brought in when he cased our office. An insurance policy on all executives. Perfect. I would become an insurance adjuster and pay a little visit to Mrs. Keane.
People who pretend to be other people have it a lot easier now than a few years ago. I surprised Lars once after handing him a business card for a bank that no longer exists. He hadn’t seen through my disguise as a banker. A quick search of the Internet this afternoon got me a logo for the American Insurance Company. I grabbed a photo from my private store of headshots in a conservative brunette wig, used one of my aliases, and had a professional glossy business card printing out of my inkjet in a matter of fifteen minutes.
I needed my car and that was a challenge. Sunday, I’d left it in the Condo parking garage. It was all I could do to steel myself to go back into that building. I know the Condo itself is sealed off and there isn’t any danger now that Bradley and Oksamma are dead and Brenda’s in jail, but still… It was hard to walk in there and just get in my car and drive out of the garage. And it cost me like a hundred bucks that I had to put on my credit card.
I got home okay and changed clothes into a nice conservative suit and my brunette wig. I was instantly Paula Winslow, insurance adjuster. I headed for the address in West Seattle where Bradley lived. Now, how much should the policy be for? Half a million? That sounded about right.
When I reached the house, I had to brace myself again. I clutched my folio in my hand and headed to the door, hoping my makeup was sufficient to hide the bruises on my face.
“Mrs. Keane?” I said when a matronly woman of about 50 opened the door. “I’m Paula Winslow of American Insurance Company. I don’t want to disturb you but I was handling a matter in West Seattle and though perhaps I could speed things up and spread a little comfort on this dreary afternoon. Is it convenient to talk with you for a few minutes?”
She looked me up and down like she was going to cut me a new suit. But she opened the door and let me in. She hadn’t said anything but hello and I was a little spooked by the way she just turned and walked away. She motioned to a chair and sat on the sofa in the living room.
“I suppose you’ve come about Bradley,” she said at last. I was beginning to feel like a schmuck.
“Yes,” I said, plowing on. “Since I was near, I thought I might get a couple of details from you to help expedite the insurance payout. First, let me tell you how sorry I am to hear about your husband. It must be terribly hard on you.”
“Thank you,” she said, still watching me intently. I pulled out a yellow legal pad and started writing.
“The report we have indicates the time of death as shortly before noon on Sunday. Is that correct?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“And what was the cause of death?”
“He fell through a window and was pierced by a piece of glass. That’s the word the coroner used. Pierced, like it was for earrings.” I had a vivid image in my mind of Oksamma crashing into Bradley and through the window. I wouldn’t have used the word ‘pierced.’
“So, the coroner did do an autopsy?” I asked.
“Yes. There was a rush because my husband was an organ donor. They called me and I signed the papers. I understand they harvested several organs for transplant. But because it was ruled an accidental death, there was no need to hold the body,” she said. Perhaps even Bradley’s worthless life could be redeemed by the pieces of his body transplanted into others.
“Does that mean they’ve released it to you for burial?” I asked. “Are you planning a memorial service?”
“A small one on Friday. They’ve taken him to Johnson & Sons Funeral Home. I have a card if you need it.” Bingo! I accepted the card she picked up from the coffee table. I was surprised the house in West Seattle was no more ostentatious, like Simon and Brenda’s house. You’d have to say it was pretty modest for a family of four. With the kind of money Bradley handled daily, this wasn’t much in the way of digs.
“Well, if the coroner has ruled it an accidental death, there should be nothing to hold up payment of the death benefits on our end. I’ll stop by the courthouse tomorrow and pick up a death certificate on my way to the office. I’m sure the extra cash will help keep bills met during this difficult time for you.”
“Thank you.” Again, a quiet, almost knowing stare at me. I realized she was looking at my swollen face. It was time to get out of there.
“I won’t disturb your afternoon any further, Mrs. Keane,” I said. “I trust you have everything you need at the moment. There is a storm approaching and the radio warned everyone to stay at home tonight.” I stood and made my way to the door. Speaking of a storm, the temperature had dropped five or ten degrees just since I’d been inside and I was not wearing a heavy coat. I made it almost to the door when she stopped me short.
“I’m sorry about your face, Miss Riley,” she said in that same quiet tone. I was on the defensive immediately, spinning to face her in case she attacked. She was still looking at me with the same intent stare. She continued, “I managed to get the whole story from the police. I know you were being held at that awful place he kept. I’m sorry. I understand your need to see the body and confirm it. But he’s dead Miss Riley. For all his faults, he was a good husband and father. If you can, let him rest.”
“I…” She fluttered a hand at me breaking off what I was struggling to say and then walked away. I beat a hasty retreat back to my car. I wondered if it had been Jordan who came to tell her that her husband was dead. She was spooky.
Once before I die
Getting into the funeral home was going to be another tricky task.
Our weather here has been freaky of late and the radio repeated the severe weather bulletin, encouraging people to go home early and batten down for Winter Storm Harper. Freezing rain and snow coated my windshield by the time I got to the funeral home. It was closed. I didn’t want to try an unauthorized entry while people were around who could see me, so I went into a grocery store with a restaurant attached and sat to eat soup while I watched the weather close in off the Sound. I keep a change of clothes in the car in case I’m stranded and need to walk someplace in cold or rainy weather. I decided I’d better change.
It was after eight by the time I felt it was safe to break and enter. I’d watched the place for over an hour and had seen no sign that anyone was inside. At least no one alive. I left my car in the grocery store parking lot and headed for the back of the mortuary. I saw the alarm system wires just before I got the door open. It was an antiquated system. A quick snip with a nail clipper cut the alarm off. After all, how many people are going to break into a funeral home?
It didn’t take long to find the refrigerator where Bradley was being kept. He’d already been dressed in a suit and placed in a coffin. That was going to make my job harder. I swore at the efficiencies of the coroner, the embalmer, and the aesthetician. The job would have been a lot easier if he’d been naked on a slab instead of fully dressed. He looked all too ready to sit up and defend himself. I sat across the room from him and shook for a long time. I wasn’t sure I could go through with this.
I’m not going to tell you in detail what happened. I found a pair of rubber gloves. The rest is too gross to relive. I’ll just say I found the tattoo. It was on his shoulder. A wreath with a banner woven across it. The letters were in the banner.
1SB41D1E.
I got him dressed again and put back in cold storage. I managed to get outside before I threw up. I was shaking so badly, I could hardly walk to the car. Driving was a nightmare. The streets were slippery and I had to drive slowly across the West Seattle Bridge and up to Capitol Hill. When I finally got back to my apartment, I was sick again and threw up in the toilet. I got in the shower and let the water run over me for an hour while I cried.
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