Deadly Beloved(39)

“—the Armenian-American Hercule Poirot,” Dan finished.

“I hope not,” Gregor said.

“Dan Exter,” Jackman finished, “chief of homicide for the Heggerd town police. It says something that a place called Heggerd, Pennsylvania, needs a chief of homicide.”

“It’s not exactly that impressive,” Dan Exter said mildly. “The last murder we had out here was four years ago, and it was an assisted suicide we didn’t even prosecute in the end. Couple of old people. If you don’t like being called the Armenian-American Hercule Poirot, what do you like to be called?”

“Gregor,” Gregor said.

John Jackman rocked back on his heels. In one way, he looked out of place there. He was probably perfectly right about the way the people who lived there felt about black people, and he was so very black. In another way, though, he looked much more like he belonged there than most of the joggers. He was less tentative than they were, more sure of himself, more confident of his authority. John Jackman was a young man, but he had a lot of internal authority. Gregor had met him when he was just a rookie cop, and the quality had been evident even then.

“They’ve been holding off going around the neighborhood,” Jackman said, “because they know what a hassle it’s going to be, and I don’t blame them. Still, it’s going to have to be done.”

“I know it’s going to have to be done,” Dan Exter said patiently, “but it isn’t going to help us any and it’s going to be a problem. Let’s get the important things done first.”

“Somebody might have seen her leave,” Jackman said.

“The security guard saw her leave,” Dan Exter said. “Actually, if you ask me, from what this guy said, the woman made a point of making sure he saw her leave. In fact, from everything I’ve heard over the last few hours, she seems to have made a point of being noticed wherever she went. Did John tell you about the money?” he asked Gregor.

Gregor shook his head. “I thought there had to be money in it somewhere, but he hasn’t said anything in particular.”

“She went to a bank in Philadelphia yesterday,” Jackman said. “It was a couple of blocks from where she parked the car. She wrote out a check for fifteen thousand dollars and handed it to a teller.”

Dan Exter scratched his head. “I don’t know about you, Mr. Demarkian, but it’s my guess that a woman who lived like this in a place like this would know better than to write a check for that much money and hand it to a teller. She would have known she had to clear it with an officer of the bank. She would have known the bank would have to do some reporting—do you realize that? The Feds make the banks report any cash deposit or cash withdrawal in excess of $9999.99.”

“Drugs,” Jackman said.

“Drugs and the Internal Revenue,” Dan Exter said. “Anyway, when the news hit the airwaves last night, we got a call from the manager of the bank branch where she cashed the check—”

“She did actually cash it?” Gregor put in.

Dan Exter nodded. “According to the bank manager, she did. We haven’t really had a chance to go into it. John has one of his people interviewing the woman this morning—”

“Just to go over loose ends,” Jackman said.

“—and of course we want to know about the account and why she went to that particular branch and all the rest of that sort of thing.”

“The branch was near the parking garage?” Gregor asked.

“That’s right,” Dan Exter said.

“And the parking garage, from what I understand, is near the university,” Gregor went on.

“Exactly,” John Jackman told him.

“There might not be much of a reason for her to have chosen that particular branch,” Gregor pointed out. “The university isn’t in the worst neighborhood in Philadelphia, but it’s not in the best one either. I wouldn’t think they get middle-aged women walking in off the street wanting to cash checks for fifteen thousand dollars every day.”

“They get students who overdraw their checking accounts,” Jackman said.

“Go back to the beginning,” Gregor told him. “Patricia MacLaren Willis left here yesterday morning—when?”

“Early,” Dan Exter said. “It wasn’t even eight.”

“And then what happened?”

John Jackman shook his head. “We don’t know. Not yet. The next time we hear about her, it’s when she’s parking at that garage, about noon.”

“And making herself conspicuous?” Gregor asked.