Cry From The Grave
Chapter 44
The St. Louis County Recorder of Deeds office is located in the main county government building in Clayton. The grounds take up an entire block nestled at the intersections of Carondelet Avenue, Meramec Avenue, Forsyth Boulevard, and Central Avenue. The county courthouse stood to the south across Carondelet, brooding imposingly over the circular grass knoll past which Ballack, Tori, and Crabolli raced en route to the office of their intention. They managed to secure an empty elevator and took it briskly to the fourth floor.
"You seem to be in a good mood given the fact we found nothing of consequence on the roof," said Tori.
Crabolli cared little for any mercurial shifts in Ballack's psyche and had a more practical approach. "You think this is the key? A full-court press for one item?"
"That one item is it. The answer lies here if I'm thinking right," insisted Ballack. "It would connect my entire theory."
"A theory that, to be perfectly honest, you won't share with us."
"Because I didn't want it becoming a rabbit trail."
Tori smacked her head. "Then why are we chasing it now?"
"Because," Ballack said, approaching the Recorder of Deeds' door, "it has now become the trail."
Tori opened the door and Ballack maneuvered through. Crabolli looked at her searchingly.
"Don't ask me," Tori gasped. "I've given up trying to explain him."
After displaying their IDs, they were ushered to the records room and Tori labored through a number of files in ponderous fashion.
"What time is it?" asked Ballack, perturbed there was no clock in the room.
"Two-fifteen," said Crabolli, "and we wouldn't be pressed for time if you hadn't insisted on getting lunch."
"I didn't hear you complaining when I paid for your Whopper," Ballack replied in a conciliatory tone that didn't match his sarcastic verbiage.
"They were two for four dollars," muttered Crabolli. "Hardly a sacrifice."
"Shut up," said Tori. "I've got something here." She pulled up the documentation and all three gathered around the screen.
"Jennifer Trafford. Just like Rearden told you. Married Howie Dunnigan at Salem United Methodist Church on Lindbergh. July 23, 1994."
"Rearden never lies," said Ballack. "Do you have a separate window for the divorce records?"
"One second." Tori clicked a few keys. The computer's being a little slow with all these applications open."
"What are you thinking, C.B.?" Crabolli asked after a long silence.
"That Jennifer Trafford is the epicenter of all this."
"But you said it had to be an inside job!"
"I didn't say it wasn't."
"Then why the obsession with Jennifer Trafford?"
"Don't question him, Missy," ordered Tori. "Come here."
They gazed at the screen.
"Legally separated in October of '95. Divorce finalized November the fourteenth of the following year," said Ballack. "Does it show whether she went back to her maiden name or if she kept the Dunnigan moniker?"
"Nothing in the report," said Tori. "Which is odd."
"Not if she got remarried," Ballack replied. "Let's check for marriages under either the Trafford or Dunnigan name." He saw Crabolli check her watch. "Relax, girl," he soother. "I have no intention of missing the funeral."
"Why is Hibbler's service so critical to you now?" Crabolli asked.
"Because of a six-hour time difference."
"What? Can you be a little less obscure? That's all I ask!"
"Tori!" Ballack exclaimed, ignoring Crabolli. "Check that middle initial there for Jennifer Trafford."
"That one? Why?"
"Because it didn't show up on her marriage certificate. Check it against her birth certificate, if we can find it here. I don't know why I didn't think of doing that before."
Tori clicked around with keyboard and the mouse for a couple minutes, her toes tapping with frustration at the computer's lethargy. Finally, she sat erect as her desired information appeared before her.
"Got it," said Tori. "and...oh, my word."
Once more they gathered around the screen. The words stood there in rigid order as the computer hummed softly. Outside, they heard the screech of tires and the urgent sounding of a horn as two cars must have barely avoided a collision on Forsyth. But nothing could tear their eyes away from the screen now.
"I don't believe it," Tori whispered. She checked her copy of the hospice's staff directory and personnel files, which she had brought into the building. "It's a match. What do you two make of it?"
A rush of excitement mixed with justice flooded Ballack's veins. "It means we've settled who Bowie is. Let's go back the way we came."
"I'm dialing Stu," said Tori, clicking out of the program and signing out on the computer before trailing them out of the room toward the elevator. "But first, spell it all out for us."
After displaying their IDs, they were ushered to the records room and Tori labored through a number of files in ponderous fashion.
"What time is it?" asked Ballack, perturbed there was no clock in the room.
"Two-fifteen," said Crabolli, "and we wouldn't be pressed for time if you hadn't insisted on getting lunch."
"I didn't hear you complaining when I paid for your Whopper," Ballack replied in a conciliatory tone that didn't match his sarcastic verbiage.
"They were two for four dollars," muttered Crabolli. "Hardly a sacrifice."
"Shut up," said Tori. "I've got something here." She pulled up the documentation and all three gathered around the screen.
"Jennifer Trafford. Just like Rearden told you. Married Howie Dunnigan at Salem United Methodist Church on Lindbergh. July 23, 1994."
"Rearden never lies," said Ballack. "Do you have a separate window for the divorce records?"
"One second." Tori clicked a few keys. The computer's being a little slow with all these applications open."
"What are you thinking, C.B.?" Crabolli asked after a long silence.
"That Jennifer Trafford is the epicenter of all this."
"But you said it had to be an inside job!"
"I didn't say it wasn't."
"Then why the obsession with Jennifer Trafford?"
"Don't question him, Missy," ordered Tori. "Come here."
They gazed at the screen.
"Legally separated in October of '95. Divorce finalized November the fourteenth of the following year," said Ballack. "Does it show whether she went back to her maiden name or if she kept the Dunnigan moniker?"
"Nothing in the report," said Tori. "Which is odd."
"Not if she got remarried," Ballack replied. "Let's check for marriages under either the Trafford or Dunnigan name." He saw Crabolli check her watch. "Relax, girl," he soother. "I have no intention of missing the funeral."
"Why is Hibbler's service so critical to you now?" Crabolli asked.
"Because of a six-hour time difference."
"What? Can you be a little less obscure? That's all I ask!"
"Tori!" Ballack exclaimed, ignoring Crabolli. "Check that middle initial there for Jennifer Trafford."
"That one? Why?"
"Because it didn't show up on her marriage certificate. Check it against her birth certificate, if we can find it here. I don't know why I didn't think of doing that before."
Tori clicked around with keyboard and the mouse for a couple minutes, her toes tapping with frustration at the computer's lethargy. Finally, she sat erect as her desired information appeared before her.
"Got it," said Tori. "and...oh, my word."
Once more they gathered around the screen. The words stood there in rigid order as the computer hummed softly. Outside, they heard the screech of tires and the urgent sounding of a horn as two cars must have barely avoided a collision on Forsyth. But nothing could tear their eyes away from the screen now.
"I don't believe it," Tori whispered. She checked her copy of the hospice's staff directory and personnel files, which she had brought into the building. "It's a match. What do you two make of it?"
A rush of excitement mixed with justice flooded Ballack's veins. "It means we've settled who Bowie is. Let's go back the way we came."
"I'm dialing Stu," said Tori, clicking out of the program and signing out on the computer before trailing them out of the room toward the elevator. "But first, spell it all out for us."
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