Consulting Detective Page 4

  “The congregation hasn’t had a chance to discuss it yet, Abe,” Schliebaum said to Cohen with a frown. “They might vote to stay.”

  “You got your way last time, Sam,” Cohen replied, “but I don’t think you’ll be able to sway people this time.”

  Before the argument escalated further, Mihdí asked Cohen, “Did you say that you have already gotten an offer on the building?”

  Before Cohen could answer, Schliebaum piped up, “Yes, when we discussed the possibility of selling the building last year, Charlie Richardson offered us a decent price for it. He’s in real estate, with an office just around the corner; it practically backs up to the synagogue, in fact.”

  “Sounds like someone I should talk to,” Mihdí said. “If his office is that close to the synagogue, he may know something about the rabbi’s death or even have seen something.”

  Mihdí got the address of Richardson’s office from Abe Cohen. He started to leave when Sam Schliebaum called him back.

  “Richardson’s office is on the block behind us, Detective,” he said. “It’ll be faster if you go out the back door. I’m parked in back, off the alley.” He walked Mihdí through the office area to the back door and showed him out. “I’m using the space we have back here, which is usually reserved for the rabbi. Jacob mostly walks . . . walked to work, so I have used that spot pretty often.” Schliebaum pointed Mihdí through the alley to where Richardson’s office was.

  The detective walked through the alley to the next street over, where he easily found the office of Richardson Real Estate and Development. The entrance to Richardson’s office opened on a long stairway leading up from the street. Mihdí went up and told the receptionist who he was and was ushered into Richardson’s office a moment later. Richardson, who looked to be in his late fifties, wore a light green shirt with enough buttons undone to show a white t-shirt underneath. A navy blue blazer hung on a coat tree in the corner of the room. The man was balding but still had enough hair to comb over the bare patches. He stood up and offered his hand to Mihdí as the detective entered.

  “I assume you’re here about that rabbi’s murder, Detective Montgomery,” Richardson said after offering Mihdí a seat.

  “That’s right,” Mihdí confirmed. “Did you happen to see or hear anything that might be related to the rabbi’s murder in the synagogue?”

  “I can tell you absolutely that I saw nothing at all. I came into the office on Tuesday, but I spent the entire afternoon showing a couple around a number of properties in town. I met them at 12:30, and we were out until after 6:00. I dropped them off at their car and didn’t come back to the office. First I knew about the murder was when I read the newspaper on Wednesday morning. Tragic, I’d say. He’d actually come up to see me a few times, just to be neighborly, he said. Very polite. I think the congregation liked him.”

  “Yes, that’s what I had heard. Are you part of the congregation, Mr. Richardson?”

  “Nope. Not Jewish. Klemme said they had a pretty good-sized congregation over there, but I don’t think it included too many Presbyterians.”

  “Hmm. You might be right about that,” Mihdí said with a smile. “Was anyone else in the office that day who might remember something?”

  “Ximena, my receptionist, was here, probably from about 10:00 to 5:00. I believe another detective already interviewed her about it. Since we face the other direction, and we both enter the parking lot from Pultney, we wouldn’t be likely to see anything, anyway.”

  “Well, if you think of anything else that might be relevant, please don’t hesitate to give me a call. The other matter I wanted to talk to you about is that I understand you have made an offer on the synagogue building.”

  Richardson frowned. “I made an offer a year ago or whenever the old rabbi left, and I would still honor that offer, but the congregation decided not to sell.”

  “Has Abe Cohen asked you about it since the rabbi’s death?” Mihdí inquired.

  “Yup. He was up here not half an hour ago to see if I’d still be interested. I said I’d still be willing to buy the place if it comes to that. But I don’t think Cohen can make that decision by himself; I think it requires a vote by the entire congregation.”

  Mihdí said, “I understand that’s the process. The rabbi’s death could cause a few votes to change, I’d think.”

  “That’s quite possible,” said Richardson. “It’s all the same to me, either way. The synagogue has been here a long, long time. They’ve certainly been good, quiet neighbors for us as long as we’ve had our office here. If I were Jewish, I’d certainly come here. For families that live around here, like I do—I live only about a half mile from here—it would be hard to find a more convenient location.”

  “Good point,” said Mihdí. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Richardson. Could I ask you for the names and numbers of the couple you showed around on Tuesday? It’s routine to follow up.”

  Richardson picked up a file from his desk, opened it, copied the names and phone number of the couple on a notepad, and handed the sheet to Montgomery. Mihdí thanked him and showed himself out.

  By the time Mihdí emerged from Richardson’s office, a light rain had started. Mihdí decided he could use a cup of coffee, so he made his way back through the alley to Kaminer Avenue and ducked into Ahmad Muhammad’s Uncommon Brews coffee shop. Mihdí ordered his favorite, a decaf cappuccino, and invited Muhammad to sit down with him to chat.

  Mihdí began, “I’ve been assuming that you are Muslim, Mr. Muhammad, but I shouldn’t take that for granted. Am I right?”

  Ahmad smiled, “Assuming I’m a Muslim is pretty safe when I’m from Tunisia with a name like mine. It seems as if most Americans also assume I’m a terrorist.”

  “I apologize for my fellow countrymen, Mr. Muhammad.”

  The coffee shop owner laughed. “Please call me Ahmad,” he said.

  “And please call me Mihdí.”

  “Your name is Mihdí?” Ahmad asked. “Do you also have Islamic background?”

  “Only distantly,” Mihdí replied. “My mother is Persian, but my family are all Bahá’ís.”

  “I know very little of Bahá’í,” said Ahmad, “although I have heard of it.”

  “We can talk more about it at some point if you’re interested,” said Mihdí. “I was wondering about your feelings as a Muslim about having a synagogue next door. Do you have a problem with it?”

  “If I did,” Ahmad answered, “I wouldn’t have opened my store here. We in Tunisia are mostly Arab, with Berber background as well. But in many ways, Tunisians feel more kinship with the West than we do with the Middle East. We don’t feel threatened by Israel in the same way that Syria, Lebanon, or Egypt do.”

  “I see,” said Mihdí. “So for you, the Jews next door are just potential customers.”

  “That’s the way I see it,” said Ahmad.

  “Have you ever detected any prejudice or hostility from the synagogue or its members?”

  “No, not a bit. As I said, their rabbi came here often. Other members of their temple come here as well. When they have weekday meetings, they often come here for coffee and snacks, or even for lunch. We always stock some kosher items, and some of them are careful to eat kosher, but not all of them by any means.”

  “Did you know that the congregation considered selling the building and moving elsewhere last year?” Mihdí asked.

  “Yes, I heard about that,” Ahmad replied. “I was a bit worried at the time, as they are our neighbors. It wouldn’t be good to have another empty building on the block.”

  “Oh yes, I saw that there were a few empty storefronts,” replied Mihdí. “Has it always been that way?”

  “It seems like there is always at least one place empty around here,” said Ahmad, “but it’s been a bit worse lately. There are two empty buildings on this block and two more on the block behind us. I hope it is just a phase and not a trend. No neighbors means less walk-in business. My landlord owns a few of these empty bui
ldings, so I think he’s probably anxious to fill them up, too.”

  “Who owns this building?” Mihdí asked.

  “It’s owned by the Richardson Agency,” replied Ahmad.

  “That’s Charlie Richardson, just around the corner, right?” Mihdí asked.

  “Yes, sir. He’s been very good to me over the years.”

  “Even more reason for him to be concerned about the neighborhood, I guess.”

  “That’s my thought exactly,” said Ahmad.

  They sipped their coffee in silence for a moment.

  “Other than the members of the synagogue,” Mihdí inquired, “who are your customers here?”

  Ahmad answered immediately, “It’s quite a mix. We get some traffic from the public buildings, since we’re in the downtown area. The lunch crowd is primarily from the office buildings close by. In the evenings, it’s more the single folks who live in the apartments and condos downtown. Oh, and there are lots of young professionals who live in the area that might pick up coffee and a roll on the way to work.”

  Mihdí was out of coffee and out of questions, so he said good-bye to Ahmad and walked down to Hoffman’s Deli, where he spoke again to his friend, Harry Katz. “Do you know if Charlie Richardson owns this building? He seems to own everything else on the block.”

  “No,” Harry said, “I don’t think he does.” He called to another man to join them. “Neil, this is Detective Mihdí Montgomery, an old friend of mine. Mihdí, this is Neil Hoffman. He owns the place.”

  Hoffman looked to be about six feet tall, with wavy, dark hair. Mihdí guessed him to be around fifty-five. He wore black pants and a white shirt. He had on what looked like a Rolex watch and was wearing expensive-looking wingtip black shoes. Mihdí asked him about the building.

  “I own this building,” Hoffman told him. “I guess I’m one of the last holdouts. Richardson and I have talked about me selling it to him, but it’s only been talking, nothing serious. If we ever move, I’d certainly go to him first, since he seems to be committed to the area.”

  “I was talking to Sam Schliebaum and Abe Cohen earlier, and it sounds like there will probably be another vote about moving the synagogue.”

  “I can’t say I’m too surprised,” Hoffman said. “It was a close vote a year ago. Sam and I won that one, but I’m sure Abe and friends will use this murder to try to win the vote this time. Abe’s been wanting to move for years, but he’s had a hard time getting the votes. The cards are stacked against him, you know.”

  “How so?”

  “The people that want to leave, leave. The only ones that are left are those of us who are more inclined to stay.” They all laughed. “But Abe might well win this vote, anyway.”

  “What will you do if the synagogue pulls out?”

  “Oh, I expect I’d move, too. I won’t let Richardson get this place for less than it’s worth, but I think he’ll be interested in it. I don’t know what he wants it for, though. It’s an OK place, but the downtown area isn’t really as vibrant a place as it used to be. I suppose he’s got big plans for it, though. He always has big plans.”

  Mihdí picked up his car from in front of the synagogue and drove to the Area Planning Commission office. Karen Short, one of his neighbors, worked on the staff there. “Do you know anything about Charlie Richardson?” he asked her.

  “Oh, yes,” she replied at once. “He has a very active real estate agency in town, so we’ve had dealings with him off and on over the years.”

  “Has he submitted any major development requests or inquired about zoning changes recently?” Mihdí asked.

  “Hmmm,” said Karen. “Not that I know of, but I’m not really the one to answer such questions. Why don’t you ask my boss, Peter Kowalczyk? He would know if anything were happening.”

  It turned out that Kowalczyk was available, so Mihdí was able to see him immediately. Kowalczyk appeared to be in his early thirties. He had on suit pants and a tie, but the jacket had been tossed aside and the tie was loosened. He had short-cut blond hair and a well-trimmed moustache. He had an almost blank look on his face, as if perhaps he was left perpetually wondering what was going on. He seemed happy for the distraction of talking to Mihdí, which was giving him an excuse to avoid his work. Mihdí asked him if he knew of any significant zoning appeals, purchases, or development plans from Richardson.

  “He doesn’t have anything on file with us at the moment,” Kowalczyk told him.

  “I understand that he made an offer for the Beth Shalom building last year when the congregation was considering selling it,” Mihdí said. “Did you know about that at the time?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Kowalczyk. “Charlie Richardson came in about a year ago and mentioned that it was a possibility. The Village of Pine Bluff has a long-range building plan that includes a downtown revitalization project. Charlie was asking if the block where his office is—and the synagogue, too, now that you mention it—would be eligible for funding to completely redo it into a mixed commercial and residential use area. You know, stores and restaurants on the lower level, with condos above. That’s the kind of plan that the village has been considering.”

  “And would that block be eligible?” Mihdí inquired.

  “Depends on the timing and the will of the Village Council, but it could be,” said Kowalczyk. “I think the Council is just about ready to move on this. The federal grant for the project is likely to come through soon, possibly as early as next month. When that happens, they’ll be looking for available tracts and for partnerships with developers. Charlie’s block would be a nice location, but the Council probably won’t consider it if it could be tied up in court for years trying to get all the property owners to cooperate. If all the owners were ready to sign on, that would be a different story.”

  Mihdí thanked Kowalczyk for the information and stopped to chat with Karen Short on his way out. They killed a few minutes catching up before Mihdí looked at his watch and said, “Say, I’ve got to get going. Andrea has a meeting tonight, and I need to pick up Enoch and Lua.”

  He retrieved his Mini Cooper from the parking lot and picked up the kids on his way home. Andrea had a dinner date with two of her girlfriends, then she was going directly to a meeting of the Bahá’í Local Spiritual Assembly. Mihdí heated up some leftovers for dinner and added a fresh garden salad. After dinner, he played a game with the two kids, then gave them their baths and got them ready for bed. After three stories, he said it was time for the lights to be out and tucked them in. He sat in Lua’s room for a while, just watching her sleep.

  It was Mihdí’s mother’s birthday, so he gave her a call and caught up a bit with her. She lived in a retirement home nearly four hours away, so he wasn’t able to visit her as often as she would have liked, but he tried to call at least every couple of weeks. Mihdí’s father had died several years earlier. Mihdí’s mother, who was almost eighty, had not remarried, but she seemed to have quite a few friends at the retirement home and kept up with other friends by e-mail and phone.

  Andrea arrived home about 10:00 p.m. “How was the Assembly meeting, honey?” he asked her.

  “It was good,” she said, as she gave him a kiss. Andrea was tall at five feet, ten inches and had a large frame to match. She exercised regularly to keep her weight from climbing, but it was a constant struggle. Her skin was very dark, and her hair was black. She changed her hairstyle about once per year, but it was currently straightened and long. She had dark eyes and full lips, and she used no lipstick. Her maroon slacks and matching sweater set were complemented by a heavy gold necklace and large African-themed earrings. Everyone who knew Andrea respected and admired her, but she was usually rather reserved with everyone but Mihdí. He valued her opinions, her ideas, and her support more than anyone else’s.

  “You’ll be happy to hear,” she said, “that we’re asking Brenda to be the Bahá’í reader for the Interfaith Thanksgiving service next week. I’d better send her an email tonight. Also, we have a little job
for you.”

  “Mmmmm,” he replied, thinking that little jobs often seemed to turn out to be major projects.

  “Behzad got a call from Newlin Properties yesterday.”

  “Newlin?” Mihdí asked. “Remind me who that is.”

  “That’s the holding company for the Bluff Village shopping plaza where the Bahá’í Center is,” his wife answered.

  “Oh, right,” said Mihdí. “I knew it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”

  Andrea continued, “They’re in final negotiations with some large conglomerate to sell the whole strip mall. Apparently, they want to build a combination storefront and condominium complex on the site. When our lease is up in four months, we’ll have to vacate.”

  “That’s too bad,” Mihdí said. “It’s been a good location for us. It’s central and the right size. And also the right price.”

  “That’s what we all think, too,” his wife replied. “It will take some doing to find another location as good as that one. And we think you’re just the guy to do that!”

  “So, that’s the ‘little job,’ is it?” Mihdí asked.

  “You got it! We thought that with all your connections in town and how much you get around everywhere, you might either know of a place or be able to identify a few possibilities that the Center committee could follow up on. You know the criteria we’re looking for: located close to the center of town, in an ethnically diverse neighborhood, affordable, with a big meeting space in addition to smaller classrooms. We don’t need you to make arrangements, only to come up with some possibilities. I said you’d be happy to do that.”

  “You and I may need to have a talk later about volunteering my services,” Mihdí said with a pretend frown, “but I think I can do this task. Actually, I was in a perfect place just today. The synagogue would make a great Bahá’í Center, but, of course, it’s not available.”