Spitting Images: A Harry Esten Mystery

By Julien Ayotte

Two bodies are washed ashore, one in Provincetown on Cape Cod, and the other on the shore of Boston Harbor. Both bodies look alike and are carrying the wallets of two other people who also resemble the two dead bodies. How can this be?
Follow the trail of leads found by Harry Esten, a former FBI agent, as he and his wife, Laura, join forces with two Massachusetts police forces to find the assailant.
The suspense is unending, and the motives are mind-boggling, but the ending is nothing like you would expect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julien Ayotte
• Release date: Dec 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005468651

Julien Ayotte

77 year old authorBS, MBA, PhD all in businessRetired Executive Director of two large law firmsFormer officer of Textron Inc.Adjunct Professor of InvestmentsMarried: wife, Pauline three adult childrenAvid tennis player and golfer

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Body on the Beach

The call from Sergeant John Meredith to Cindy and Ted Diaz was brief.

Mr. Diaz, do you have a twenty-two-year-old son named José? I’m with the Provincetown police on Cape Cod.

Yes, I do. He’s spending the week at my brother’s house in West Yarmouth, Dr. William Diaz. Is he in trouble or something? Ted asked at seven-thirty in the morning on Tuesday, July 6.

Sir, I believe you should head down here today as soon as possible. We have your son’s wallet with this address in Cumberland, Rhode Island. The wallet was found on the body of a young man washed ashore on Herring Cove Beach. The body was found earlier this morning by a jogger on the beach.

Ted, age forty-five, and the owner of a local restaurant, collapsed in a kitchen chair as he heard the news. Cindy, his wife of twenty-four years, wasn’t up yet, and Ted didn’t expect her to appear for breakfast until nine o’clock or so.

Are you sure it’s Joey? What happened? he shouted over the phone.

Right now, we’re not certain, sir, but there appears to be a bullet hole on the forehead of the body. We’ll need you to come down to identify the body as soon as possible. The Provincetown Police Station is located at 26 Shank Painter Road in Provincetown. You should ask for me, Sergeant John Meredith, or my partner, Detective Catherine Mayoh, Meredith answered.

Ted just sat there in grief at the news. Joey had been their only child, and Cindy would be crushed. How would he break the news to her? He stood up and walked to the sliders leading to the patio in the backyard, and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

Joey had just graduated from Brown University in June, and was taking the month of July off before starting his new job at the United Nations in New York as a Spanish interpreter for the U.S. Ambassador’s office. He had spent two years studying in Barcelona, the Spanish exchange partner with Brown, and lived with a family from Terrassa while studying there. The Diaz family was originally from Madrid, Spain. Cintra and Teodoro were their Spanish names, but in the U.S., they went by Cindy and Ted with everyone they knew.

At eight-forty-five, Cindy appeared in the kitchen and saw Ted sitting on the patio.

Good morning, my love. What brings you out here so early in the morning? she asked in her long blue bathrobe. Cindy was a dark-haired woman with a beautiful complexion, and would easily turn heads her way in a crowd.

As Ted turned to her, she immediately knew something was wrong as she could see the tears on his face.

What’s wrong, Ted? Why are you crying?

It’s Joey, he answered. He was murdered last night in Provincetown. The police just called, and they found his body washed on the beach with a bullet in his head. They had his wallet, and the photo on his license matched the body on the beach.

Cindy fell to the ground as Ted rushed to keep her from smashing her face on the patio flagstone. It took him several minutes to revive her.

Oh, God, tell me this isn’t true. What was he doing in Provincetown? Bill’s place is in West Yarmouth, far from Provincetown, she blurted in a delirious way. Are you sure they’re not mistaken? Have you called Bill yet?

Ted did all he could to calm her, but it was futile. This was Cindy’s baby she was talking about, her pride and joy. When José was born, Cindy had been warned by her gynecologist that having future children might not be a wise choice for her and Ted. She had Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, which increased the risk of infertility due to irregular menstrual functions. So, as their only child, the news was even more devastating. Ted grabbed the phone and punched in his brother’s phone number.

Bill, what happened? We just got a call from the Provincetown police, Ted shouted in the phone.

How did you find out so fast? Joey just called me a few hours ago. And what does the Provincetown police have to do with this? He was mugged in Hyannis outside the Black Cat Tavern after having dinner with college friends, Bill answered in a confused state.

Bill Diaz was the only periodontist in the West Yarmouth area, and his schedule was booked solid five days a week. Bill was widowed, having lost his wife in a skiing accident in Vermont five years earlier. They had no children. At the age of fifty, he was still in excellent physical shape and was hardly ever home, even on his days off on weekends. He socialized quite a bit, and dated several women in the Cape area, only one of them more often than the others. From Monday through Friday though, he was all business, and quite respected in his field.

What are you talking about? Are you sure? The cop from Provincetown said they found his body on the beach with his identity in his wallet. They said the body resembled the license photo.

Ted, I just talked to him a few minutes ago. He’s taking a shower. When he got mugged last night, the guy took his wallet at gunpoint, and whacked Joey on the side of the head with his gun before he took off. He was wearing a hoodie and a face mask, so Joey couldn’t identify him. I was with him at the hospital last night. He’s okay, Ted, believe me when I tell you. I’ll go get him, hang on.

Cindy, they have the wrong kid. Joey’s at Bill’s house. He got mugged last night and some guy stole his wallet and whacked him with his gun. Bill’s been with him all night. Let me put Bill on the speakerphone.

Cindy rushed to the phone and Ted tried to calm her down as tears turned to joy at hearing the news. Who would have ever thought that there would be joy at hearing that your son had just been mugged? But, when you compare it to finding a body on the beach, the mugging becomes acceptable, to say the least.

Hang on, I’m getting the phone to Joey. He was in the shower after a tough night, Bill exclaimed. The wait was endless. Silence on the other end of the line was interrupted by Bill again. He’ll be right here, he’s toweling off. Tell me more about this body they found in Provincetown, Bill asked.

What I’ve told you is all I know. They wanted us to come down today to identify the body.

"Don’t bother, I’ll take care of it. Obviously, the mugger took on more than he could handle, or he sold the identity to someone else. Who did you talk to from the Provincetown police?

Sergeant John Meredith. He’s got a partner, too, a Catherine Mayoh, Ted answered.

Joey grabbed the phone from his Uncle Bill and spoke.

I’m okay. I’ve got a bump on the side of my head, but the hospital didn’t want to chance any internal bleeding, and they did an MRI right away. Other than the bruise and a headache, I’m fine. I’ll have to think about the items in my wallet that I need to replace, but whoever did this surely will be disappointed at the cash he got.

I’ve got you on the speaker phone with Mom, so she knows you’re okay, too. We got a call from some cop in Provincetown saying they found your body on the beach earlier this morning. They have your wallet, so you might want to stick with Uncle Bill when he goes down there today. Can you imagine how we felt when he told us you had been murdered? Ted moaned.

Gosh, I thought I had it rough last night, but I can see where this kind of phone call would be devastating. How did they match me to the body, Dad?

The detective said the body looked just like the photo on your license. That is weird.

I’ll call you as soon as Uncle Bill and I find out more when we drive down there. I should have stayed at the U.N. this week. I was brushing up on my Spanish in their Spanish booth. There was no one there except a few guys in the conference hall from the Canary Islands off the coast of North Africa. I only caught a little of what they were saying, but most of it made no sense to me. I hope I don’t mess up as the new kid on the block when I get there in August.

You’ll do just fine. They wouldn’t have hired you if they didn’t think you could do the job. It’s an important job, and crucial that ambassadors understand what others are talking about. Spanish is more common now than before, but a lot of people who speak the language still don’t speak English. Your two years in Barcelona was put to good use.

Uncle Bill’s giving me the high sign, Dad. I’ve got to get dressed. I think this is going to be a long day. Love you both. I’ll call tonight.

Bill Diaz called his nurse assistant and explained the family emergency to her. He asked her to reschedule his appointments for that morning to the earliest possible date available on his schedule, even at night if it would be more convenient for some of them. It was nine in the morning and, following a quick breakfast, they drove to Provincetown to meet Sergeant Meredith and his partner.

What lied ahead they did not expect.

Chapter 2

Mistaken Identity

Although Bill Diaz was a practicing periodontist specializing in gum problems, he had graduated from dental school as an MD, as opposed to a dentist with a DDS degree. He and his younger brother Ted had always been close growing up in Madrid, until the family moved to Boston in 2002. Both of their parents were surgeons and had accepted positions at Massachusetts General Hospital. At the time, the parents were in their early fifties, and their Spanish language skills enabled the hospital to cater more to the increased Spanish population in the area. Bill had just completed his periodontal studies, and had accepted a position with University Dental Associates in nearby Cambridge, while Ted, at age twenty-six and a culinary graduate of the University of New Hampshire, became a sous chef at the Westin Hotel’s Turner Fisheries Restaurant at Copley Plaza.

In 2010, Bill had heard that there was a need for a dental specialist in the Cape Cod area, and he decided to venture off on his own. He and his wife Cheryl, a dental hygienist, both loved vacationing on Cape Cod, and the thought of living there year-round was irresistible. Ted, on the other hand, believed he could make a good living by opening up his own restaurant featuring an elegant cuisine, given the right location. That location ended up being in Cumberland, Rhode Island, a thriving community north of Providence which was ripe for fine dining without the need to drive into the capitol city. He named his restaurant Rioja after a well-known Spanish wine region and had a menu that was similar to the menu of the Toro Restaurant in Boston, which included Madrid favorites. José’s upbringing was surrounded by well-educated parents and relatives, and success was not something he just aspired to achieve, it was expected of him.

The forty-eight-mile ride from West Yarmouth to Provincetown took just over an hour and Bill’s Lexus 350 SUV pulled into the Provincetown police headquarters at eleven that morning.

Sergeant Meredith, please. It’s about the body found on one of your beaches this morning, Bill asked the clerk at the main desk.

Within minutes, both Sergeant Meredith and his partner, Detective Cathy Mayoh, appeared. The detectives took one look at Joey and were stunned at the figure before them.

I’m pleased to meet you, Dr. Diaz, Meredith began. And you are? he asked as he shook Joey’s hand.

José Diaz, sir.

This is crazy. We have your body at the morgue. Are you a twin or something like that? Meredith asked.

No, sir, not that I’m aware of, he answered.

There obviously has been a serious mistake here, Detectives. As you can see, my nephew, José Diaz, is very much alive. He was mugged in Hyannis last night. You can check with the Hyannis police. In the process, the mugger stole my nephew’s wallet, the one I believe you found on the body that washed up on one of your beaches this morning, Bill said.

Well, young man, if you don’t have a twin brother, you’re not going to believe what you are about to see at the morgue, Detective Mayoh interjected.

They rode the elevator down to the basement level of the station and entered the morgue. When Bill entered the office, he introduced himself to the attendant on duty.

You are practicing in what field, Dr. Diaz? the attendant asked.

I am a periodontist in the West Yarmouth area, but I am also an MD and the son of two surgeons in Boston.

The attendant took one look at Joey and then took another. You are the twin brother of the deceased? he asked.

No, sir, I am an only child, born in Boston, but raised in Cumberland, Rhode Island, he answered.

This is crazy. Do you mind if I record this session when I show you the corpse? I need to have a record of this meeting. You’ll know why in just a minute.

Certainly, we have no problem with that, Bill answered.

The attendant took them into an examination room lined with refrigerated vaults. He walked over to drawer number four and slid it open. The corpse on the slab was covered with a white sheet from head to toe. Joey and Bill approached the body as the attendant removed the sheet exposing the head of the victim. Both of them gasped in surprise at the sight of what appeared to be Joey in a sound sleep position.

You know what they say, the attendant blurted. everyone has a twin somewhere. The only problem is, we normally never get the chance to meet that person.

But this young man has a bullet in his head. It would not be how I would like to meet my twin, Bill answered. Joey was still in a daze, the thought of him looking at a dead body with an uncanny resemblance to himself was somewhat bizarre.

I guess we’re back to square one. We have no clue who this is, Meredith added.

The time of death is about ten hours ago, which means somewhere around one or two o’clock this morning, the attendant said.

And when did you say you were mugged last night, Joey? Meredith asked.

Just after dinner in Hyannis, about nine o’clock last night. The Hyannis police can probably give you more of an exact time.

So, the mugger took your wallet and three or four hours later, this guy is murdered carrying your wallet in his pants, and he is the spitting image of you. Wow, this is weird, Meredith added.

Detective, I don’t want to sound crude or anything, but if you’re finished with the stuff in my wallet, can I have it back? I’m leaving for a new job in New York City in a few weeks, and my license and credit cards are my only means of identification right now.

I can’t really release that right now. It’s a key piece of evidence in the case and the only thing we have. We can give you copies of everything that’s in the wallet, if that would help? There was no cash. We’ll need an address and phone number in case we need to talk to you more at a later date, Meredith stated.

I’ll send that over to you as soon as I get a permanent address in New York. In the meantime, you can reach me at the Cumberland address of my parents.

Chapter 3

The Second Victim

David Ames was a violinist for a group called Lightfoot, which was playing at the Encore Boston Harbor Hotel in Everett, Massachusetts. He had studied music at the Conservatory of Berklee in Boston, graduating at the age of twenty-one. He typified the struggles of an upcoming performer until hooking up with three other musicians and a female singer. Lightfoot’s music was similar to the popular band, Cowboy Junkies, and at first, they would take any gig they could find. Over the following two years, their music and lyrics seemed to gain more attention and Lightfoot was hired to do nightly playing in the Memoire Lounge at the Encore, except when special performers were scheduled. The money was good, the exposure priceless, and the attention by recording companies on the rise. It appeared that traditional folk music, blues, and country music were well-received by their followers.

In early July, Lightfoot’s dressing room was broken into while they were performing, and personal items were stolen from each male member of the group sharing that dressing room. Cheryl Jones, the lead singer of the group, had her own dressing room, and that was untouched. Cash and credit cards were taken from the others. Dave was furious at this break-in.

What kind of security do you have, anyway? he asked. How does anyone get by your security to even access the dressing rooms?

We’re insured for this, Dave, and we’ll work with you to cover any cash stolen, and credit cards, licenses, you name it. I don’t know how anyone got by security in the dressing room area, chimed in Roger Simpson, head of the hotel and casino’s security, but you can bet I’ll find out."

Well, I don’t know about the others, but I’ll definitely need some cash for groceries and cab fares. I can’t very well drive around in my car without a license, Dave growled.

Each male member affected by the break-in was given a thousand dollars by the hotel for short-term usage. Dave, who lived alone in an apartment in Boston, left the casino by cab at midnight. When he arrived home a short while later, he was tired from the night’s activities, and immediately went to bed.

His neighborhood consisted of well-kept flats in the North End of the city, and the area was deemed a very quiet section to live in. There were restaurants within walking distance, subway accesses nearby, and the old historic attractions in Boston were a pleasant distraction to a bustling city.

At eight o’clock the following morning, Dave was awakened by the sound of his doorbell ringing. Several consistent rings finally caught his attention, and he groggily got out of bed, put on a bathrobe, and made his way to the door. He peeped through his door hole and asked aloud, Who is it?

Lt. Sullivan and Detective McDermott, Boston Police. We are looking for David Ames, the lieutenant said as he flashed his police badge toward the peephole.

Dave unlocked the door and faced the two detectives.

Are you kidding me? McDermott yelled.

"Is there a problem, officers? I’m just getting up from a very long night at the Encore. I’m a musician