Chapter 2 Ben #3
“Peter Randolph sold the window to me and then got shot. I know the cops won’t accept ghost testimony, but I’d like to see if Randolph knew his attacker,” Erik answered.
Haley set her coffee aside and then rubbed the palms of her hands together. “Okay. Let’s do this. But considering the source, I’m not going to channel the spirit, I’ll just relay what he tells me.” She paused for a few deep breaths and then opened her eyes.
“Peter Randolph, we want to solve your murder and bring the killers to justice,” Haley said. “Please appear to us.”
Another silent moment passed, and then Randolph’s ghost took shape, looking like he had when he had shown up on their doorstep. To Ben’s relief, the revenant didn’t appear bearing his death wound. Ben had seen enough head shots to last a lifetime.
“Not the window,” Haley repeated the ghost’s words.
“You were killed for another reason that isn’t related to the window you sold me?” Erik asked.
“There’s another ghost,” Haley told them. “I don’t recognize him. The second man says they want the dome. It’s priceless and powerful.”
“What dome?” Ben and Erik spoke in unison. Ben wondered if it was the same stained-glass dome that had shown up in Erik’s vision.
“From a hotel. The second man was the auctioneer, and he believes he was murdered because the killers thought he knew where it went; he didn’t. Randolph said he didn’t either,” Haley repeated their comments.
“Was the dome stolen?” Ben asked.
Haley paused. “It disappeared in the last days of the liquidation sale. The second ghost said there was a lot of chaos. So many big boxes and trucks coming and going. It was packed into several large crates, but he thinks someone must have slipped them out without showing papers.”
“Had someone bought the dome?” Erik asked.
“A single bidder paid several million dollars for it. But afterward, when they tried to track down the buyer’s information, it was all phony. They paid with a suitcase full of cash,” Haley said.
“Nothing suspicious about that at all,” Ben remarked.
“He thinks that his killer either worked for the mystery bidder or wanted to find the dome to steal it from the buyer. Randolph said his killer kept asking him where the dome was and didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t know,” Haley recounted.
“Does the auctioneer know who killed him?” Ben asked.
“He doesn’t know his name, but he saw him at the auction.”
Erik and Ben exchanged a look. Ben’s computer pinged, and he ignored it for the moment.
“Collectors have long memories, and they can be patient,” Haley repeated what Randolph’s spirit answered. “Maybe the killer has been watching him all these years and waiting for him to lead them to the dome.”
Strain showed in Haley’s face, and Ben knew she would have to release the link to the ghosts soon.
“Thank you for your help,” Haley told the ghosts. “I can help you pass over, if you want.” She listened intently to a conversation Ben couldn’t hear. Erik shook his head to let Ben know he didn’t hear the ghosts, either.
“Then go in peace. This conversation is over.” She murmured what sounded to Ben like a banishing spell.
“What did he say there at the end?” Erik asked.
“He didn’t want to pass on yet. Said he wanted to see the ‘sons of bitches who killed me’ get what was coming to them,” Haley replied.
“Guess I can’t blame him for that.” Ben brought the pot of coffee to refill their cups.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Haley said after she had another cup and looked more settled. “I’m happy to be your ghost connection whenever I can be of help.” She grinned. “I feel like I’m part of a secret club that protects the community.”
“You’re not far off,” Ben replied. “Thank you both.”
“We truly appreciate your help,” Erik added. They walked Haley and Alessia to the door and promised to get together for dinner sometime without haunted artifacts or dangerous ghosts.
“That went well,” Erik said as they returned to the kitchen.
“Do you think we traumatized Alessia?” Ben asked, only partly joking.
Erik shook his head. “Doubtful. She seems to have a good bit of experience dealing with the dark side. Her reaction and comments made me doubly glad we kept the window in the safe. I don’t think the cops are prepared for that.”
“I want to know what dome Randolph was talking about,” Ben said. “I got the feeling it could be really important.”
“More research,” Erik replied. He checked the time. “Susan will be here any minute. I’m going to sweep up the salt and get ready to open the store.”
“I’ll see if Randolph’s name comes up on my private investigator databases,” Ben replied.
While he no longer took new clients, he had found that having access to those resources came in handy, given how their past lives had followed them.
“And I’ll see if there are any reports of stolen Tiffany windows. ”
Erik nodded. “It’s off-season, so I’m not expecting to be swamped with customers.
Susan can handle them. I thought I’d sniff around on the discussion boards for museums and art investigators and see if there have been new windows found or thefts reported.
It’s a long shot, but worth it. I might even find something about a dome. ”
“Are you gonna tell Hendricks what Haley and Alessia told us?” Ben teased.
“Only if he stops being a dick.” Erik swallowed the last of his coffee. The way his throat bobbed gave Ben all kinds of X-rated thoughts, which would have to wait until later.
“He’s just doing his job,” Ben said aloud what they both knew. “He didn’t haul us into the station for a statement or try to take the window. He could have been a bigger pain.”
“I know,” Erik admitted. “Still doesn’t mean I like the attitude.”
“Think of it this way, he’s trying to save face. It’s hard to be the top dog sheriff when we bring Bratva and the Newark Mob to his doorstep.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. It could be worse,” Erik said.
“And Susan goes to bat for us behind the scenes,” Ben reminded him. “I imagine he feels ganged up on.”
“Good.” Erik poured a fresh cup of coffee. “Okay. Come get me if you need me.” He kissed Ben and headed for the store.
Ben refilled his mug and checked in with Jenny, his administrative assistant, to make sure he wasn’t needed at the office. After a quick run through email, he logged into the specialized resources available because he kept his investigator license current.
Peter Randolph was a common enough name that it took him a while to filter his search. That returned a reasonably sized list of possibilities, and Ben started working his way through them.
Television shows made private investigators look like glamorous action heroes.
The truth was, they knew how to use research tools, databases, public records, and an acute insight into human behavior to cut through lies and distractions.
It helped to be a stubborn bastard. The action part was Ben’s least favorite, since shootouts and fistfights were a good way to get killed.
Ben liked the challenge of research and approached it like a puzzle or a game.
The first hour flew by, and he filled a sheet of paper with notes as he went from site to site.
Once he had whittled down some of the possibilities, Ben intended to contact friends in the business who might have more insight.
Little by little, he’d unravel the mystery.
In the background, he heard the bell on the door downstairs as it opened and closed, and knew Susan had arrived. He figured Erik would get an earful. Susan wouldn’t betray confidences from either Erik or her son, the sheriff, but she did her best to make sure the men got along and worked together.
“How’s it going?”
Erik’s voice startled Ben, and he nearly sloshed his coffee. He glanced at the time and realized most of the morning had slipped by.
“Slow progress. The way it always goes.” Ben pointed to the monitor with his pencil. “I can’t trace the stained-glass window with Randolph’s credit card, so I’m guessing he paid cash.”
“That’s pretty normal for auctions and odd lot sales,” Erik said. “Some of those places don’t even like checks.”
Ben nodded. “That’s what I figured. I looked for the notices of sales like that in the past two weeks within a hundred-mile radius of Cape May. Hell of a lot of them, but probably fewer than in high summer.”
“And?”
“I found a sale run by Otis Jones. His whole business is auctions, estate liquidations, and closeouts. He had a long list of things that were in the sale—no pictures—and listed a stained-glass panel,” Ben said. “So, I called him.”
“Was he the right guy? Did he sell the window to Randolph?” Erik asked.
Ben nodded. “Yeah. He remembered it. Thought it was pretty, but in his words: ‘creepy as fuck.’ Got it from an estate sale of a guy out in Wildwood who died in his nineties with no family. He mentioned off-handedly that the local gossips thought the old man was a mobster.”
Erik barked a laugh. “Figures.”
“Doesn’t it? Anyhow, Jones said that Randolph spotted the window right away. Jones couldn’t confirm that it was a real Tiffany, so he couldn’t charge top dollar, but Randolph was still willing to pay two thousand dollars for it. Jones didn’t like the window, so he didn’t haggle.”
“Someone else who gives up more money to be rid of it,” Erik noted.
“Uh-huh. Plus an organized crime connection. But if someone from the old guy’s past wanted the window, why didn’t they go to the sale? Or steal it before the event even happened?” Ben replied.
“Did you get the name of the old man? Maybe we can find a connection that will make sense of this,” Erik suggested.
“I’m on it. Given the Wildwood connection, he’s more likely to be Newark Mob or Atlantic City than Bratva,” Ben said. “Be thankful for small favors.”
Ben’s computer pinged, and he leaned forward. “Got a hit on Randolph.” He scanned the information and looked up.