“We need to speak with Mr. Plummer,” Gretchen told her.
Wordlessly, Tammy led them through an ornately decorated foyer to a large kitchen. White marble tile complemented the eggshell-colored cabinets, each one accented with elaborate molding and gleaming silver handles. The countertops were all granite, the color of white sand. Even the appliances were white. At the island table, Calvin Plummer sat in khaki pants and a polo shirt, a magazine in one hand and a fork in the other. He swirled pasta onto his fork and shoveled it into his mouth, leaning over the plate so the sauce dripping down his chin didn’t get on his shirt. A half-eaten plateful lay across the table from him. Tammy took up her position there, digging back into her meal as if Josie and Gretchen weren’t there.
Plummer looked up. “Didn’t think I’d see you two again. What’s going on?”
Josie said, “We’ve positively identified the murder victim found beneath the foundation of your property on Hempstead.”
He put his fork and magazine down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and sat back in his chair. His face was impassive. “Murder victim?”
“Yes,” Josie said.
“How did it happen?”
“She was shot in the head,” Gretchen told him. “Her name was Beverly Urban. She was seventeen. We believe she was a tenant of yours.”
Tammy watched with wide eyes, her fork poised over her own plate.
Plummer scratched his chin. “Urban. She was the daughter, right? I rented to her mom. What was her name?”
“Vera,” Josie filled in.
He nodded. “Yep, that’s it. I rented to her for a while. Single mom. Nice lady but the last year she was there, she was late with the rent. I started eviction proceedings and then one night she up and left. Took all her stuff with her.”
Josie and Gretchen exchanged a quizzical look. Gretchen took out her notebook and started jotting down notes. “She took all her personal things?”
“Most of them. She left behind a few knick-knacks. All the furniture. I figured she was taking off because she owed rent. I sold the furniture and used the security deposit to make repairs. Never heard from her again.”
Gretchen asked, “What kind of repairs?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really remember. I always had to have someone come in and paint the place between tenants.”
Josie asked, “Was there any work being done to the basement?”
“I really couldn’t tell you. Listen, I’ve got six rental properties, my office, and this big old place. We’re talking about sixteen years ago. I’m sure there were repairs on Hempstead over the years, but I don’t remember them all. I can tell you this though: I needed permits for anything I did to those rental properties. You should check with the City Codes office.”
“We will,” Gretchen said. “You didn’t keep your own records of repairs made to your rental properties?”
“For taxes maybe,” he said. “But not that far back.”
Josie asked, “What about Beverly? Do you remember her?”
“I’m sorry to say, no. Not really. I don’t think I ever met the kid. I just know Vera had one. She was required to list other residents on her lease. Plus, she always made a big deal out of being a single mother. Couldn’t have a conversation with her where she didn’t mention it.”
“Are you aware of Vera ever having any men living or staying with her?” Gretchen asked.
“No,” Plummer sighed. “Listen, I don’t get to know my tenants, okay? They mail in their checks and call me if a pipe breaks. Then I call a contractor and pay them to make repairs. That’s it. I don’t see these people. I don’t socialize with them.”
“Got it,” Josie said. “Do you have a list of contractors you use regularly?”
“Sure. Tammy can email a list of them to you. You have an email address?”
Gretchen jotted it down and handed it to Tammy.
“One last thing,” Josie asked. “Do you own any firearms?”
He lowered his head, a smile on his face. “Of course,” he said. “You think I might have killed this kid.” He stood up and started walking out of the room, beckoning them along. “Come on,” he called.
They followed him down a series of hallways to a study filled with shiny wooden bookcases and a behemoth of a desk. Along one wall was a gun cabinet and behind its glass, Josie counted three rifles and one shotgun. None were nine-millimeter. Gretchen studied them and wrote down their models. Plummer said, “I used to hunt. A long, long time ago. Never actually got