A Motive For Murder (35 page)

“I’ve been too busy,” Auntie Lil admitted.

“My support among whites has shot up thirty percent
and I’ve gained more than a dozen points on my opponent. I owe you
my thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Auntie Lil said. “I only suggested
a few surface modifications. You’re the genuine article.”

“Did you read my
Twenty-Point Plan Against
Crime
yet?” he asked. “It was in Margo McGregor’s column a few
days ago.”

“No,” she admitted. “Was there anything new in it?
Many have tried before you.”

“Sure,” he said with a chuckle. “I suggested we make
you police commissioner.” His laugh made her smile. “I have a
meeting with the mayor in fifteen minutes to discuss the plan, in
fact. You said it was an emergency?”

Auntie Lil asked him to again describe the man he had
seen running down the path. He did so with immediate consistency:
the man had been white, tall, and slender with an unknown color of
hair. “He was a regular beanpole,” Reverend Hampton added.

“You’re positive?” Auntie Lil asked.

“More positive every time I tell it,” he said.
“Though the police still don’t believe my story.”

“Could a child have thought he was of average
height?”

“I would think a child would be more likely to see
him as even taller,” the Reverend said. “Sorry I can’t be more
specific.”

“You’ve been helpful enough as it is,” Auntie Lil
said. “Thank you.”

“The same to you,” Reverend Hampton answered. “You’ll
have to dance with me at my inauguration ball in eight years when I
become the governor of this great state of New York.”

She had no doubt he was serious. She rang off and
wondered if Mikey Morgan was lying and, if so, about which man.
Perhaps about both. Perhaps about neither. If only she could see
inside that infernal child’s head. He’d been playacting for so long
that she wondered if he even knew how he really felt—or what he
really saw—at this point.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of
the telephone. When she answered, the husky voice of Emili Vladimir
greeted her. She sounded in a hurry. “I’ve been trying to call you
all morning,” the former ballerina said. “I was just trying one
more time before I head downtown to my studio.”

“I had the phone off the hook,” Auntie Lil admitted.
“What has happened? Why are you calling?”

“I must speak to you,” Emili said. “Alone. Today.
Immediately. Now, if possible. I will postpone my next
appointment until the afternoon. Please, it is very important.”

Auntie Lil was silent. “Why alone?”

“It is about my son,” Emili explained. “I must talk
to you as one mother to another.”

“I’m not a mother,” Auntie Lil pointed out.

“I must talk to you woman to woman, then. Please. You
will not be in any danger,” Emili promised, her voice thickening
with a Russian accent as she grew more agitated. “I will meet you
in a public place. You may choose.”

“The dancers’ lounge at the Metro,” Auntie Lil said
at once. Many people would be passing by. “I will meet you in an
hour.”

“Come alone,” Emili pleaded and abruptly hung up.

 Auntie Lil had no choice but to meet with Emili
alone. Herbert did not answer his phone and T.S. was no doubt lost
to the waking world as he bathed in video stimulation with his
temporary charge. Fortunately, it was the middle of the day and the
Metro was a bustling center of activity. Classes were being held in
all of the rooms and the hallway was full of dancers, musicians,
and support staff hurrying to their next destinations. The dancers’
lounge was an oasis of calm amidst the frantic scurrying: no one
would have time to relax for several hours and the room was
deserted. Auntie Lil waited a few minutes for Emili to arrive,
carefully situating herself at the end of the couch closest to the
door. Her dash from Martinez the night before was still fresh in
her memory. From now on, she’d keep a getaway in mind at all
times.

Emili entered the lounge flushed and out of breath.
She wore her dancing clothes under a leather jacket, which she
immediately took off and threw on a nearby chair as if she were
hot. “I must shut the door,” she said, and did so without waiting
for Auntie Lil to agree.

“What is it?” Auntie Lil asked, relaxing a bit after
Emili sat on the far end of the couch.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Emili began. “I have
talked to my friend Ruth and she tells me that you know all about
that Lane woman’s attempts to replace you on the board. You may
think I am involved, but I am not.”

“You are a friend of Ruth Beretsky’s?” Auntie Lil
asked skeptically.

“Yes. Why not?” Emili said. “She called me several
months ago and asked if I needed help in setting up a foundation to
support my ballet company.” Emili tapped her heart with a fist.
“She is a plain woman, perhaps, with little spark in her life. But
she has fire in her heart for the dance. She has no talent herself,
but she receives great joy from watching others dance and she is
very much committed to seeing new art forms flourish. I admire that
in her and I don’t mind that she wears those silly bows and creeps
around like a mouse.”

“What did Ruth say she had told me?” Auntie Lil
asked.

“The truth,” Emili explained. “That Lane had called
me about a seat on the board. I was very surprised at first. I knew
she didn’t like me. I have met her many times and always she
pretends not to know who I am. But then she learns that I have
founded my own company. She reads a review of my work in
The New
York Times
and thinks, ‘Aha! This woman will be famous again. I
must collect her now.’ I have met many people like her here in New
York City. I am no fool. I know how those types of people are.”
Emili leaned forward, speaking earnestly. “She was the one who
called me about a seat on the board. I did not know she meant your
seat. I apologize. I would have refused. I have no real desire to
be involved with the Metro. The ballets are so rigid, the style
excessive and stuffy. That Martinez man does not understand the
beauty of an isolated movement. He cannot grasp that ballet should
be like poetry. The fewer the lines, the greater the impact.” She
sighed. “I tell you all of this only so you understand that I am
telling you the truth here today. I have nothing to hide.”

Auntie Lil did not know whether to believe her or
not. But she also conceded that cultural differences could be at
the root of her skepticism. “Go on,” she told Emili.

“You must understand something else first,” Emili
said. “So you can be certain that I am telling the truth. When
The Nutcracker
was first cast, the students in the classes
knew right away who had been originally picked for the leading
roles. One of the boys broke into Martinez’s office and found the
judges’ scores from the tryouts. It was soon common knowledge among
the students that Fatima Jones would be dancing the role of Clara
and my Rudy would be Drosselmeyer and the Prince. He came home and
told me, very proud that he had gained such a part.” She paused for
breath. “You can imagine our disappointment when we learned that
the parts would be going to that child actor and Julie Perkins
instead.” She shrugged. “Rudy was very disappointed, but I was not
surprised. In Russia, it was always this way. What surprised me was
that later, the board returned the parts to their rightful owners.
When I thanked the board, I was truly grateful for that
decision.”

“What does this have to do with Morgan’s murder?”
Auntie Lil asked.

“I am coming to that,” Emili promised. “I want you to
know that I was the one who told Ruth Beretsky about the tryout
scores. And she was the one who called that columnist woman and
told her the truth.”

“Ruth Beretsky was Margo McGregor’s source for her
article starting the whole Fatima Jones protest?”

Emili nodded. “Ruth did not think that what had
happened to Fatima was fair. And, of course, it was not. But if
Lane Rogers finds out, Ruth will be off the board. Perhaps this is
why she wishes to work with my company now. But I tell you all this
so that you understand that I knew and had accepted all along what
had happened. I held no grudge against this Bobby Morgan man. In
fact, I want to help you find the killer so that we may all return
to our normal lives.”

“How can you help me?” Auntie Lil asked.

“Rudy knows more than he told you the other night,”
Emili said quickly, as if wanting to get the words out of her mouth
before she changed her mind. “I knew it the moment he met you. Do
you remember what he said?”

Auntie Lil shook her
head.           

“‘I know you,’” Emili repeated. “‘All of Mikey’s
friends do.’” She shook her head as if thinking it over. “I thought
it was a funny thing to say, as if he had been talking about you
with his friends. Yet he had never mentioned you to me and he
usually tells me every detail of his day. I knew then that he was
hiding something from me. It made me unhappy, you must understand.”
She smiled sadly. “He is growing up and becoming his own person,
moving away from me, and I must learn to accept that. But this is
different. This is murder, and if Rudy knows something about it,
then he must tell you.”

“And not the police?” Auntie Lil asked.

Emili’s eyes flashed. “Never the police,” she said in
a flat voice. “I am sure you understand why. I will have Rudy tell
you what he knows firsthand. Now. It may not be important. But you
must be the one to decide that.” Impulsively, she moved closer to
Auntie Lil and grabbed her hands, holding them as if she was an old
friends. “You are an honest woman. I can feel it clearly. You are
not always discreet, but you are always yourself. That is a rare
thing to find in anyone.”

Auntie Lil nodded, unsure of how to treat the
compliment. “Thank you,” she finally said. “But I am more
interested in hearing what Rudy has to tell me about the
murder.”

Emili stood. “Yes. I will go get him now.”

“But he’s in class,” Auntie Lil protested.

“That will not stop me,” Emili promised. She strode
from the room with a resolve that would have no trouble overruling
any instructor the Metro might employ. She returned a few minutes
later with a pale-looking Rudy in tow. “Sit,” she commanded her
son. He moved obediently to a chair across from Auntie Lil and
perched on the edge of it. He was wearing leotards and breathing
heavily. His mother had probably plucked him from class in
mid-jeté. “Tell her what you told me,” Emili ordered in a voice
that would have made a KGB agent proud.

Rudy looked mutely at Auntie Lil and then back at his
mother, his eyes pleading.

“Tell her,” Emili said firmly. Now.”

“But Mikey will be mad,” Rudy protested. “And the
other boys will call me a snitch.”

“We do not have time for such nonsense,” Emili said
crisply. “This is not a matter of protecting friends. It is not
honorable to protect a person who would kill another like that. You
must tell her the truth right now.”

Rudy stared miserably at his feet. They were splayed
to the side in an automatic and perfect first position.

“Rudolph Erik Vladimir, you tell this woman what you
told me last night,” Emili ordered for the last time in a voice
that held every ounce of the discipline and strength that had
brought her to where she was today. “You tell her this very instant
or you shall have me to deal with from this day forward. Do you
want that?”

Rudy sighed. “Mikey had a big fight with his dad that
afternoon.”

“The afternoon before his father was killed?” Auntie
Lil asked.

Rudy nodded. “They were yelling and screaming at each
other on the third floor. They thought that no one could hear them,
but the door to the catwalk was open and their voices carried down
onstage. I was onstage with the wooden soldiers and mice waiting to
rehearse my part. Just the guys who were standing on stage left
could hear them.”

“What were they saying?” Auntie Lil asked.

“Mikey screamed that he hated his father, that he
wished he was dead, that he always took everything away from him,
and it wasn’t fair.”

“What did Mikey’s father say back?”

“He yelled back that Mikey was nothing without him,
that he had been the one behind his success and talent had nothing
to do with it. Then he yelled that Mikey couldn’t even dance very
well because he was too lazy. Mikey really got mad then. He said
that he never wanted to be in
The Nutcracker
to begin with
and he was only doing it because his dad made him. Then it sounded
like he was going to cry.”     

“Mikey was going to cry?” Auntie Lil asked.

Rudy nodded guiltily. “We kind of sneaked off the
stage and went up the stairs to listen,” he admitted. “Me and a
couple of other boys.”

“What did you hear when you got closer?”

“Mikey’s dad was trying to whisper, but Mikey was too
mad to keep his voice down. He kept saying, ‘It’s not fair. You
don’t care about her. You’ll just get rid of her like all the
rest.’ Then Mikey’s dad started making fun of him, reminding him of
how young he was and asking him how could he know what was fair and
what wasn’t. He told Mikey that when he was a man he’d understand
everything.”

“Everything about what?” Auntie Lil asked.

Rudy looked miserable.

“Tell her,” Emili ordered.

“I think Mikey’s dad stole his girlfriend.”

Auntie Lil’s stomach twinged. She was a long, long
way from the age of fourteen, but she knew how emotional teenagers
were. They felt everything a hundred times more than adults. If
what Rudy was saying proved to be true, then Mikey Morgan probably
had really hated his father at that instant—and been capable of
murder.

“Who was Mikey’s girlfriend?” Auntie Lil asked.

Rudy shrugged. “He wouldn’t tell us. I guess he
thought we would tease him,” he explained. “We’re his friends, but
Mikey’s been around a lot more, you know? He thinks we’re babies
about some things. We didn’t even know he had a girlfriend until we
overheard the argument.”