Part 15 (2/2)
Jeff tightened his grip on the phone. The pants and shoes Hatch was wearing might have had paint stains, he thought.
”So this morning I waited by Charley Hatch's place until the guy who picks up the garbage came. I knew this would be the first collection since I visited him last Friday afternoon, and I thought that he might be just dumb enough to leave evidence like this in his own bin. The garbage truck finally showed up a half an hour ago. I waited for the guy to collect Charley's garbage, and then I followed him till he was off Charley's property. He was just about to throw the bags in the back of the truck. I think, as of then, we can consider the property to be legally abandoned. I asked the waste engineer, as he calls himself, to open Charley's trash bags. He opened them, and lo and behold, in the second one beneath some old sweaters and sweats.h.i.+rts, we found a pair of jeans with red spots, sneakers with red paint on the left foot, and nice little carved figures with the initials CH on the bottom. Apparently, Charley Hatch loves to do wood carvings. I've got all of these items in my office.”
At the other end of the call, at his desk in the Mendham police station, Clyde Earley smiled to himself. He did not think it necessary to inform the prosecutor that, at 4:00 A.M. today, while it was still pitch dark outside, he had returned to Charley's property and had put these items back into their original bag, with all of the old clothes that still sat in the bin awaiting today's pickup.
The plan had worked perfectly when he had retrieved the evidence in full view of a wonderfully reliable witness-Mr. Waste Engineer.
”The garbageman witnessed you opening the bag, and he knew it came from Charley's?” Jeff asked, his voice conveying the excitement Earley felt he deserved to hear.
”Absolutely,” Clyde replied. ”Like I said, he had carried the bags to the truck that was parked on the street, and it was right in front of Charley's place. I also made it a point to specifically hold up a couple of the carvings so that he could see the CH initials on them.”
”Clyde, as you know, this is a real breakthrough,” Jeff said. ”That's great police work. Where is Charley now?”
”Out landscaping somewhere.”
”We'll send the clothes to the State lab, and I'm sure that they'll match the paint on the clothes to the paint from the vandalism,” Jeff said. ”But that could take a day or two, and I'm not going to wait. I think that we have enough probable cause. I'm going to file a complaint against him for criminal mischief,and we'll pick him up. Clyde, I can't thank you enough.”
”My guess is that someone paid Charley to mess up the Old Mill Lane house, Jeff. He doesn't come through as the kind of guy who would do something like that on his own.”
”That's my guess, too.” Jeff hung up the phone and went on the intercom. ”Come in please, Anna. I've got a complaint to dictate.”
She had barely settled in the chair across from his desk when the phone rang again. ”Take a message,” Jeff said. ”I want to get this arrest warrant out ASAP.”
The call was from Clyde Earley. ”We just heard from the 911 dispatcher. A hysterical woman on Sheep Hill Drive reported that she found her landscaper, Charley Hatch, lying on the ground at the north end of her property. He was shot in the face, and she thinks he's dead.”
CHAPTER 41.
At twelve thirty on Tuesday afternoon, Henry Paley walked from his office to the Black Horse Tavern to meet Ted Cartwright who had called and insisted they have lunch together. When he arrived, he glanced around the dining room, half-expecting to see either Detective Sh.e.l.ley or Ortiz at a table there. Over the weekend, both of them had separately stopped by the office to ask again about what Georgette had said to him that last evening. They'd been particularly interested to know if he had happened to figure out what Georgette meant when Robin overheard her say, ”I'll never tell anyone that I recognized her.”
I told them both that I have no idea who she recognized, Henry thought, and they both acted as if they didn't believe me.
As usual, most of the tables were occupied, but to his relief, Henry did not see either Sh.e.l.ley or Ortiz seated at any of them. Ted Cartwright was already at a corner table. He had chosen to sit facing the wall, but his white hair made him easy to spot. He's probably halfway through his first scotch, Henry thought as he made his way across the room.
”Do you think this meeting is a good idea, Ted?” he asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
”h.e.l.lo, Henry. To answer your question, yes, I happen to think it's an excellent idea,”
Cartwright said. ”As the owner of twenty percent of the Route 24 property, you had every right to be in contact with someone interested in buying it. I could wish that you hadn't put our bonus arrangement on paper for Georgette-and then the prosecutor-to find, but there's nothing that can be done about that now.”
”You sound a lot less upset about those notes that I kept than you did the other day,” Henry commented, then realized that the waiter was standing at his side. ”A gla.s.s of Merlot, please,”
he said.
”Bring another one of these while you're at it,” Cartwright told the waiter. Then, as the man reached for his gla.s.s, he added irritably, ”I'm not finished with this one yet. Leave it alone.”
He's drinking fast even for him, Henry thought. He's not as calm as he wants me to think he is.
Cartwright looked across the table at Henry. ”I do feel somewhat better, and I'll tell you why.
I've hired a lawyer, and the reason for this lunch is not only to let people see we have nothing to hide, but to tell you you'd better hire a lawyer, too. The prosecutor's office wants to solve this case, and one approach they're going to take is to try to prove that we agreed to get rid of Georgette, and that one of us actually shot her, or hired someone else to do it.”
Henry stared at Cartwright, but said nothing until the waiter returned with the drinks. Then he took a sip of the Merlot and said reflectively, ”I had not even considered that the prosecutor would be looking at me as a possible suspect in Georgette's death. Not, to be perfectly honest, that I am burdened with grief about it. At one time I was quite fond of her, but the older Georgette got, the more set in her ways she became, as you well know. However, it simply isn't in my nature to hurt anyone. I have never even held a gun in my hand.”
”Are you practicing for your defense?” Cartwright asked. ”If so, you're wasting it on me. I know your type, Henry. You're a sneak. Were you behind what happened to the house on Old Mill Lane? It's just the sort of trick I'd expect of you.”
”Shall we order?” Henry suggested. ”I have an appointment to take some people house hunting this afternoon. It's quite interesting that Georgette's death gave our agency a shot in the arm.
We've suddenly had quite a few drop-ins who are interested in buying a home in this area.”
The two men did not speak again until the steak sandwiches they both ordered were served.
Then, in a conversational tone, Henry said, ”Ted, now that I've persuaded Georgette's nephew to sell the Route 24 property, I'd appreciate the bonus check you offered me. I believe the sum we agreed on is one hundred thousand dollars.”
Cartwright stopped the fork he was holding in midair. ”You have got to be kidding,” he said.
”No, I am not kidding. We made a deal, and I expect you to uphold your end of it.”
”The deal was that you would persuade Georgette to sell that property instead of deeding it to the state.”
”The deal was, and is, that the property is for sale. Somehow, I antic.i.p.ated that you might not wish to pay the bonus you owe me. Over the weekend I have been in touch with Georgette's nephew, Thomas Madison. I pointed out to him that while your offer was reasonable, other offers for that property have also been made over the past few years. I suggested to Tom that I go over those offers, contact the people who made them and see if they would like to begin negotiations with us.”
”You're bluffing,” Cartwright said, anger rising in his face.
”I really am not bluffing, Ted. But you are. You're scared to death that you'll be arrested for Georgette's murder. You were horseback riding near the house on Holland Road. You're a proud member of the National Rifle a.s.sociation and have a pistol permit. You had a quarrel with Georgette in this very room the night before her death. Now, shall I pursue those other interested parties in the Route 24 property, or shall I expect your check within forty-eight hours?”
Without waiting for an answer, Henry stood up. ”I really must get back to the office, Ted.
Thanks for lunch. Oh, by the way, why not satisfy my curiosity? Are you still seeing Robin, or was she only last year's diversion for you?”
CHAPTER 42.
Lorraine Smith was the woman whose hysterical 911 call about Charley Hatch had brought not only the police, but an ambulance, the medical examiner, the media, and the team from the Morris County prosecutor's office, including the prosecutor himself, Jeffrey MacKingsley.
Fifty years old and the mother of eighteen-year-old twins, Lorraine gradually regained her composure sufficiently to join the investigative team in the breakfast room of her Federal-style home on Sheep Hill Road. ”Charley got here about one o'clock,” she told Jeff, Paul Walsh, Angelo Ortiz, and Mort Sh.e.l.ley. ”He comes every Tuesday to do the lawn.”
”Did you talk to him at all?” Jeff asked.
”Today I did. Normally I might not run into him for a month at a time. I mean, he just arrives, unloads his equipment, and gets to work. In a couple of weeks he'll be, I mean, he would have been, taking out the impatiens and the other annuals and putting in the fall flowers, and normally I'd go over everything with him then. But when he's just doing the lawn, I don't necessarily talk to him.”
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