Razing the Dead Page 13

  “If Wakeman’s smart he’ll keep us on after this discovery, to make him look like a sensitive and responsible good citizen. But I’ll let him work through that for himself. Actually, I’d be happy if you’d do at least a little more research anyway, to try to figure out who those skeletons are and what they were doing here. Because now I want to know. That’s why we’re having lunch with the guy from the township. Feel free to ask him anything you want.”

  “Because he doesn’t work for Wakeman?” Lissa asked promptly. “I’m curious myself, about all these bodies. And I think I’ve got some ideas where to start.”

  We parked next to Joseph Dilworth’s car in front of the Salt Shaker, and he waited for us before entering the small building. Once we were inside, it was clear that it was a local place; at least three people waved or nodded at Dilworth as he made his way to a table. The waitress came over quickly, and we ordered sandwiches and iced tea.

  Dilworth rubbed his hands together and smiled. “So what can I do for you two lovely ladies?”

  “Mr. Dilworth, as you heard, Mr. Wakeman approached me to ask that the Society undertake a thorough investigation of the former Garrett property, which he now owns. Obviously things have gotten a bit more complicated over the past few days, particularly with the most recent find.” I’d had little time to think about what I wanted to know from him and what he might be able to tell me. “Tell me about your town here, and about Ezra Garrett.”

  That seemed to be enough to get him started. He proceeded to outline for us the entire history of Goshen Township since its founding some three hundred years before; referred to every building within a several-mile radius that had been standing for a couple of centuries; and pointed with justifiable pride to the small historic district that the township had established under his watch. Apparently Goshen was truly invested in its history, which I found admirable. I waited until he paused long enough to take a drink of his tea before interrupting.

  “Where does the Garrett farm fit in all this, Mr. Dilworth?” I asked

  “Hey, call me Joe. Garretts are an old family around here—they go way back. There were Garretts back when the first meeting house was set up, back right after 1700.”

  “They were Quakers?”

  “Were and are. Ezra was laid to rest in the cemetery there—right across the street.”

  I followed his gesture. I hadn’t realized that there was a cemetery there, but I knew vaguely that the Quakers preferred low, simple stones, which weren’t visible behind the stone wall that surrounded the site.

  “I met Edward Garrett briefly after the press conference. Are there other family members?”

  “He’s got an older brother, William, but he couldn’t be bothered to come. Eddie doesn’t like public events, but I’ll bet Wakeman pressured him to come, just to have a Garrett face in the pictures.” Exactly as I had thought.

  “Mr. Wakeman told me that he had arranged the purchase of the land before Ezra Garrett passed on, but he allowed the family to stay until Ezra’s death. Did everyone know about that?”

  Joe Dilworth cocked his head at me. “What’s it to you? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  I phrased my response carefully. “Mr. Dilworth—Joe—it was Mr. Wakeman who brought me into this and asked me to research the place. Because of that, I was there when George Bowen’s body was found, so I guess you could say I feel a kind of personal interest in it now. You’ve told me that the land was in the Garrett family’s hands for centuries.Why did Ezra decide to sell? How did the rest of the family feel about that?”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that. George was a good man, and he deserved better. As for what you’re asking—William Garrett didn’t want to have anything to do with dairy farming. What’s more, he knew what the land would be worth, and I’m pretty sure Wakeman cut a fair deal.”

  “What about Eddie?”

  Joe Dilworth signaled to the waitress that he wanted coffee; Lissa and I declined. He waited until the coffee arrived before answering. “Only thing Eddie ever wanted to do was raise dairy cattle. But he’s not young, and he couldn’t handle it by himself. I kind of guess Ezra overruled him, or Ezra and William together. Like I said, it was a good deal financially.”

  Poor Eddie. “What’s he doing with himself these days?” I asked.

  “I don’t think he’s settled on any one thing. He’s kind of a lost soul.”

  Belatedly, I realized that Lissa had been shut out of most of our conversation. “Lissa, I’m sorry I haven’t let you get a word in. Did you have any questions?”

  Lissa addressed Joe Dilworth directly. “I do, but I think I should meet with Mr. Dilworth at another time. If that’s all right with you?”

  “I’m always happy to meet with nice young ladies who like history. Why don’t you call my office, say, tomorrow, and we can set up a time?”

  “I’ll do that, thank you.”

  Dilworth looked at his watch again. “Shoot, I’ve got a meeting about ten minutes ago. Sorry to leave so fast, but it’s been a pleasure talking with you both. Lissa, I’ll be talking with you again. Ms. Pratt, nice to meet you.” And he was gone—leaving me with the check. At least it was fairly reasonable.

  When I’d paid, I told Lissa, “I guess we’d better head back to the city. And on the way we can talk about what we’ve learned today.”

  CHAPTER 16

  We drove into the city, making good time because it was mid-afternoon. We reviewed what we’d heard from Janet and Joe, and Lissa was already scribbling down a list of things to look up. I parked in the pay lot across from the Society, mentally planning to bill it to Wakeman. When I reached my desk, Eric handed me a sheaf of message slips. “Did you watch the news at noon?” I asked.

  “I did, on the computer. Is something funny goin’ on?”

  “Is that how it looked to you? The problem is, we’re not sure what yet. Stay tuned for further developments. Unless, of course, Mitchell Wakeman has called and told me that our services are no longer required.” I wondered if I’d be happy to hear that.

  Eric smiled. “Haven’t heard from him. You know, nobody ever told me this job would be so exciting.”

  “I wouldn’t have believed it myself, Eric.” I went into my office and sorted through the slips. A couple of calls from James. Since he’d called on my professional line, it was probably a professional question, and not urgent enough to use my cell. I called him back first.

  “Nell,” he said when he picked up.

  “James. You called?”

  “I saw the newscast. Your statement lacked a certain, uh, specificity.”

  “That was the plan. Look, I’ve got some new info for you. You want it over the phone?”

  “No, I’ll come by the Society. Half an hour?”

  “Fine.”

  I returned a couple of more calls, then went looking for Lissa. I found her in the processing room talking with Ben, and they had some documents spread out in front of them.

  “Hi, Ben,” I said. “Lissa, Agent Morrison is on his way over here to talk about what we found out today in West Chester. I think you should sit in.”

  “Yes, I want to. I told you there were some things I wanted to check, and I asked Ben about one in particular. Turns out he knows a lot more than I do, and I’m guessing it may be relevant to the two bodies at the farm. I think he should join us—it might save time.”

  The more the merrier, apparently. Crime solving by committee. “Sure. Let’s set up in the boardroom.”

  Ben rolled up a couple of the maps they had been looking at, then he and Lissa followed me to the boardroom. I kept going, so I could meet James downstairs. He was waiting in the lobby when I arrived.

  “So, have you had any irate calls from Wakeman yet?” I asked, as we walked toward the elevator.

  “Not that I’m aware of. I’ve kept Agent Cooper in the loop, so if
Wakeman reached out to him, Cooper would have shot him down. After all, Wakeman asked us in to look at Bowen’s death, but he can’t demand we drop it now that we’re in it. Finding the other two bodies grew out of that, although strictly speaking they’re not our problem. Why? Is he complaining about you? The investigation?”

  We’d reached the elevator. As the doors slid shut behind us, I said, “No, I wouldn’t say that. He seems to be on edge, but he’s not interfering. In any case, you probably won’t be surprised to hear that the two discoveries are kind of connected.”

  James smiled. “What else could I have expected?”

  We’d reached the boardroom, where Ben and Lissa were busy studying one of the maps again. They looked up when James and I arrived. “Hey, Morrison,” Ben said.

  “Hey, Ben. What’re you doing here?”

  “Lissa thought we might have something useful. If you don’t mind us sitting in? I mean, we’re not talking super-secret stuff here, are we?”

  James dropped into a chair. “Not if Wakeman keeps insisting on holding press conferences. What’ve you got, Nell?”

  “You remember that Lissa and I met with Janet Butler at the Chester County Historical Society this morning, as a courtesy to her and to keep her informed, since Wakeman’s project is in her backyard. I apologized to her that Wakeman hadn’t included her, which seems kind of rude, professionally speaking.”

  “So?” James looked impatient.

  “While I was talking with Janet, George Bowen’s wife, Pat, came in, bringing with her all the artifacts and stuff that her husband had collected over the years, saying she never wanted to see it again. Apparently she didn’t share her husband’s enthusiasm for local history. But she did say that he came home earlier in the week really excited about something he had found. Janet noticed that a couple of things still had damp soil on them, so we inferred that they were items George had found shortly before he died. It turns out that they were metal buttons that dated to the Revolutionary War, and Janet thinks they’re British. I’d put money on it that they go with those skeletons, which mean they’ve been sitting there since the seventeen hundreds.”

  “I’d guess 1777,” Ben spoke up for the first time. “Have you all heard of the Paoli Massacre? Also known as the Battle of Paoli? Because I think that’s where they came from.”

  “That’s what I wanted to check out,” Lissa said triumphantly.

  “The Paoli Massacre?” I asked Ben. “Shoot, I’ve been driving by that historical marker for years on the way to West Chester, but I don’t know the details. The Garrett farm is only a couple of miles farther down the road.”

  “You have time for the full story?” Ben asked.

  I glanced at James, who did not look relaxed. “Why don’t you give us the high points?”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “You know the Battle of the Brandywine?”

  “Uh, I know where it happened—I go by that all the time, too, when I go to the museum out that way. But I don’t know the details of the battle itself. I guess my high school history class didn’t include it.” I was not covering myself with glory as the representative for local history. “How do you happen to know so much about a local battle?” I asked.

  Ben shrugged. “I was in the military, remember? I always liked military history. So you know that the British took Philadelphia in 1777, right?”

  “Yes, that much I knew.”

  Ben settled himself more comfortably in his wheelchair. “All right, so in September of 1777, Washington’s troops faced off against British troops at the Brandywine Creek—yes, the one next to where that art museum is now.” Ben grinned at me, teasing a little. “The thinking was that the patriot troops would have an advantage, because there were limited places where the British army could ford the creek. They lost anyway and were forced to retreat. It was disastrous—Washington’s troops were outnumbered and outflanked. He lost a lot of men and eleven cannons, and opened up the way to Philadelphia. But he was also lucky—he got away with most of his army intact, and for a number of reasons the British forces didn’t press their advantage.

  “Washington was going to go toward Chester, but instead he decided to keep his army between the British and Philadelphia, and he laid out his troops in position both to block the access routes and to protect their supply centers. The next confrontation took place on September sixteenth near Malvern.”

  I was beginning to see where he was going with this. “Which is next to Paoli.”

  “Right. The American army got lucky again—it rained so hard it flooded the Schuylkill River, which kept the British troops from crossing. Could have been a major battle, if it weren’t for the nor’easter. But the downside was, all their ammunition got wet, so Washington had to go restock.”

  James was looking at his watch. “Can we fast forward here?”

  “Just setting the stage for you, pal. Don’t you want to learn something?”

  “I’d like to learn who killed George Bowen and what his death might have to do with those bodies he found.”

  “All right, all right. So Washington stationed some troops in Paoli to defend the rear, while the rest of them went to resupply. He left about fifteen hundred troops under General Anthony Wayne, who you might have heard of. Wayne was a local, so he knew the area well. But the British snuck up on their encampment in the middle of the night and attacked with sabers and bayonets. It was one of the more vicious battles of the war—there was a lot of blood shed by the Americans. In PR terms the British strategy turned out to be a mistake, because they were so brutal that public opinion rallied in the Americans’ favor. The attack was thought to be ungentlemanly, if you will, and unnecessarily cruel. Anyway, Wayne lost a lot of people, with even more seriously wounded; the British lost all of four. Then Wayne gathered his troops as best he could and fled west.”

  I finally saw the connection. “You’re saying Wayne’s men headed west along what is now the Paoli Pike? Which would’ve taken at least some of them right past the Garrett farm.”

  “Exactly. Of course, the battle was chaotic, and to this day it’s not one hundred percent certain who fought and what happened to them. Often local militia men would show up for a battle, but they wouldn’t be recorded on any official rolls—they were just fighting in their backyards. And remember, there were Loyalists in that area, so who’s to say some of them didn’t throw on a red coat and join the British?”

  “So,” James said slowly, “one could hypothesize that soldiers from both sides may have faced off on or near the Garrett farm during the retreat and died, and in the confusion nobody ever reported them as dead?”

  “It could have happened,” Ben said.

  “Would this be important now, Ben?” Lissa asked.

  “Depends on who got hold of that information—if it’s true. It would make a good human interest story—you know, enemies lying together in a common grave for centuries, a footnote to a bloody battle. Which I guess might increase pressure to do a more thorough excavation, in case there’re more bodies to be found. I mean, it would be a new story about an old event.”

  “But an excavation, if done right, would delay the development project.” I said.

  “Not my area of expertise,” Ben said quickly. “And it wouldn’t delay it forever—just slow it down a bit. If you’re thinking about how Wakeman would react, he or his people might be able to spin it to his own advantage. You know, important historic site, treasured history, that kind of line—all very open and public. Just as long as he isn’t viewed as bulldozing our sacred heritage—or building a condo over the grave.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  “You need anything else from me?” Ben asked.

  “Could you write up a brief summary for us history-challenged types?”

  “No problem,” Ben said.

  I turned to Lissa. “Lissa, you can probably guess what else we need. Would y
ou look into land records and find out who lived where back then? Who was on which side in the war? Work with Chester County if you want—I’m sure they’ve got plenty of local details. See if they have letters or family histories there. We should keep Janet in the loop. It would be great if we could identify who’s who.”

  “Absolutely. Uh, maybe this is premature, but if I find anything worthwhile and put it together, would you mind if I published it?”

  “I wouldn’t mind, but we should run it by Wakeman, as a courtesy. I don’t think he’d have any problem with it. Maybe the Society can help with publication. Great idea.”

  “I’ll get right on it. Ben, you want to show me some more of your maps? Maybe we can pin down the path of the retreat more closely.”

  “Sure. Follow me.” He wheeled his way out, followed closely by Lissa. I watched them go, and as they went down the hall, I said, “Is Ben involved with anyone?”

  “What, you’re playing matchmaker?” James said, with a laugh. “Not that I know of.”

  “Just checking.” I turned to him. “So, what do we do now?”

  “We?” He cocked an eyebrow at me.

  I assumed he wasn’t serious. “Hey, I brought you the details from the widow, didn’t I? By the way, do you need anything more from her? You may not be able to interview her anytime soon—she’s burying her husband this weekend, and the family is arriving. She seemed completely overwhelmed.”

  James thought for a moment. “Not right away. I need to know who George might have been close enough to on the township staff to tell about what he found. Any friends he might have shared this with, if he was really excited. His wife would know about either of those, but I agree—this is not the time to intrude on her with our questions. I wonder if your colleague Janet could help.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, since she knew George, she has an entrée—maybe she could go by after the funeral and thank the widow for her generous contribution of some old buttons and whatever else was in the boxes. That would get her in the door, and then she could ask some questions, like: who did George share his love of artifacts with?” James sighed. “Of course, I can’t ask her to do it any more than I can ask you. But you know as well as I do that the longer a murder goes unsolved, the less likely it ever will be solved.”