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Authors: Richard Montanari
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cubicles.
While she waited, Jessica considered that, because this was part of a homicide investigation, she could have had her commissioner call the commissioner of L & I, thereby greasing the wheels. She decided that sometimes it was easier to save the chit, and wait in line. She flashed her badge and a smile, and before too long an L & I employee led her over to a terminal, and showed her how to access the information she wanted.
The process was a little confusing at first, but Jessica soon found the data on the crime-scene building. She began to read the history of the address, which went back more than 150 years.
Working front to back, she waded through documents such as zoning and use permits, prerequisite approvals, limited cooking permits (the building had once been used to house a restaurant it seemed), plot plans, electrical permits, and other documents. Although she found out that the property was abandoned, due to non-payment of taxes, she decided to check records all the way back to the building’s original owners.
After twenty minutes or so of dry, municipal data, one name popped out, and changed everything.
‘You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me,’ she said, loud enough to draw attention from the handful of people at the other terminals. She looked up, offered a silent sorry to all of them.
Jessica printed off her findings, grabbed her coat, and all but ran back to her car.
When Jessica returned to the Roundhouse, Byrne was waiting for her. She didn’t even have to ask. He proffered a white bakery bag – always a good sign.
God , she was going to become a cow. She decided she wouldput these empty calories into the bank of time she owed the treadmill, as opposed to the other bank she owed the elliptical trainer. She figured she was up to somewhere around four and a half months straight on the treadmill, at a four-mile-per-hour pace. If she ran all the way to Baltimore, and halfway back, she’d be paid up.
She finished the Danish, took the computer printout from her portfolio.
‘You ready for this?’ Jessica asked.
‘I love conversations that begin that way.’
Jessica handed Byrne the printout she made at L & I.
‘This is the ownership history of that building?’ Byrne asked.
‘Yeah. Skip down to the bottom of the second page. The rest of it is pretty boring.’
Byrne flipped a page, scanned the next one. It listed the previous owners of the property.
‘Check out the owner in 1853,’ Jessica said.
‘Holy shit.’
‘Well put.’
Byrne read it again. ‘John Nepomucene Neumann?’
‘Himself.’
‘As in Bishop Neumann?’
‘Well, Saint John Nepomucene Neumann now, but yeah.’
Jessica had asked the clerk in zoning about ownership. It turned out that, for many years, property owned by the Catholic church listed the bishop of the diocese as the owner. As a Catholic Jessica probably should have known this, but it was far from the only thing about her faith on which she was clueless.
‘So, this means that the property was at one time a Catholic church,’ Byrne said.
‘It does. It was originally called St Adelaide’s. After St Adelaide’s merged with a larger parish the building was sold to the Methodists, and I guess they couldn’t make a go of it either. As you can see, it’s been a lot of things since.’
‘It still had that Catholic vibe though, didn’t it?’
‘Oh, yeah.’
Jessica knew that ‘vibe’ meant one thing to Byrne, and another to her. When she saw her partner go back into St Adelaide’s, on his own, she knew that he needed time inside by himself. She had long ago learned to accept and respect Kevin Byrne’s gifts. They didn’t talk about them too much, but the knowledge was always there, always between them. Jessica figured one day Byrne might spill his guts to her about it. Doubtful, but maybe.
‘And no one is on the books for the property now?’
Jessica shook her head. ‘No one has paid taxes on it in ten years. I checked the last
While she waited, Jessica considered that, because this was part of a homicide investigation, she could have had her commissioner call the commissioner of L & I, thereby greasing the wheels. She decided that sometimes it was easier to save the chit, and wait in line. She flashed her badge and a smile, and before too long an L & I employee led her over to a terminal, and showed her how to access the information she wanted.
The process was a little confusing at first, but Jessica soon found the data on the crime-scene building. She began to read the history of the address, which went back more than 150 years.
Working front to back, she waded through documents such as zoning and use permits, prerequisite approvals, limited cooking permits (the building had once been used to house a restaurant it seemed), plot plans, electrical permits, and other documents. Although she found out that the property was abandoned, due to non-payment of taxes, she decided to check records all the way back to the building’s original owners.
After twenty minutes or so of dry, municipal data, one name popped out, and changed everything.
‘You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me,’ she said, loud enough to draw attention from the handful of people at the other terminals. She looked up, offered a silent sorry to all of them.
Jessica printed off her findings, grabbed her coat, and all but ran back to her car.
When Jessica returned to the Roundhouse, Byrne was waiting for her. She didn’t even have to ask. He proffered a white bakery bag – always a good sign.
God , she was going to become a cow. She decided she wouldput these empty calories into the bank of time she owed the treadmill, as opposed to the other bank she owed the elliptical trainer. She figured she was up to somewhere around four and a half months straight on the treadmill, at a four-mile-per-hour pace. If she ran all the way to Baltimore, and halfway back, she’d be paid up.
She finished the Danish, took the computer printout from her portfolio.
‘You ready for this?’ Jessica asked.
‘I love conversations that begin that way.’
Jessica handed Byrne the printout she made at L & I.
‘This is the ownership history of that building?’ Byrne asked.
‘Yeah. Skip down to the bottom of the second page. The rest of it is pretty boring.’
Byrne flipped a page, scanned the next one. It listed the previous owners of the property.
‘Check out the owner in 1853,’ Jessica said.
‘Holy shit.’
‘Well put.’
Byrne read it again. ‘John Nepomucene Neumann?’
‘Himself.’
‘As in Bishop Neumann?’
‘Well, Saint John Nepomucene Neumann now, but yeah.’
Jessica had asked the clerk in zoning about ownership. It turned out that, for many years, property owned by the Catholic church listed the bishop of the diocese as the owner. As a Catholic Jessica probably should have known this, but it was far from the only thing about her faith on which she was clueless.
‘So, this means that the property was at one time a Catholic church,’ Byrne said.
‘It does. It was originally called St Adelaide’s. After St Adelaide’s merged with a larger parish the building was sold to the Methodists, and I guess they couldn’t make a go of it either. As you can see, it’s been a lot of things since.’
‘It still had that Catholic vibe though, didn’t it?’
‘Oh, yeah.’
Jessica knew that ‘vibe’ meant one thing to Byrne, and another to her. When she saw her partner go back into St Adelaide’s, on his own, she knew that he needed time inside by himself. She had long ago learned to accept and respect Kevin Byrne’s gifts. They didn’t talk about them too much, but the knowledge was always there, always between them. Jessica figured one day Byrne might spill his guts to her about it. Doubtful, but maybe.
‘And no one is on the books for the property now?’
Jessica shook her head. ‘No one has paid taxes on it in ten years. I checked the last
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