A Multitude of Sins (13 page)

“Yes.”

“Who’s on it?”

“Jenny. The drug angle
does
change the picture, and I don’t like putting you in a potentially dangerous situation.”

“Now, look, if you think because I’m a weak little woman I can’t take care of myself, maybe I should give you a demonstration. If I can’t lay you out flat on the floor in ten seconds, I’ll turn in my license.”

He held up a hand in mock surrender.

“I believe you, and I’ll pass on the demonstration, but I don’t like sending someone else out on
my
limbs.”

“Well, Conan, that’s very chivalrous of you, but I can’t see you playing a domestic. It’s me or nothing.”

“You have a point there. I think.”

“Then that settles it.”

He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “All right.”

“Good. Now, shall we get back to the Canfields?”

“By all means. I need something to take my mind off your wild schemes.”

“You’re an ulcer type, I can see that.” She frowned at her notes. “You understand, a lot of this is gossip, mostly from Maud, but some of it checks out. She doesn’t care much for Catharine, so she’s been quite informative there.”

“Does her antipathy extend to Catharine’s children?”

“Well, not to Jim. She doesn’t really approve of him but she keeps saying he’s a good boy at heart. He must be a bundle of charm to get that from Moral Maud; he’s Willamette U.’s star swinger. He’s totaled out three cars and had so many traffic citations, he’s supporting half the Salem police force. He even got picked up at a pot party once.”

Conan’s head came up. “He was arrested?”

“No. He was clean, and nobody wanted to step on the Senator’s toes. He was released; no charges.”

Conan nodded and took a swallow of coffee.

“What did Maud have to say about Jenny?”

Sean’s eyes turned heavenward. “Nothing good. She thinks all artists are perverts to begin with, and I gather Jenny isn’t exactly the friendly, outgoing type.”

“No. Did Maud know anything about her illness?”

“Well, Jenny was
very
sick, but it seems to be a deep, dark family secret. Maud let something slip, though, when she was ranting about the low morals of artists. She said it figured Jenny would—quote—get herself in trouble.”

“Pregnant, then?”

“Coming from Maud, that had to be it.”

“Dore saw Jenny soon after she came home from Chicago. I can’t believe she wouldn’t notice something so obvious as pregnancy.”

“Maybe she isn’t telling all she knows.”

“I doubt she’d cover for Jenny, and extramarital pregnancy isn’t that big a thing these days.”

“Extramarital pregnancy still isn’t acceptable in some circles, Conan, especially not political circles.”

He nodded. “Neither are abortions.”

“No. I think that’s the answer, judging from Maud’s attitude. But the illness means a botched job. You’d think she could find a decent doctor somewhere in Chicago.”

“If she had, she probably wouldn’t have come home for help, and you can’t expect good judgment of someone under that kind of stress. Jenny had the Senator’s lady to consider, and God knows what personal considerations.” He paused, adding absently, “Septic poisoning. That could be extremely painful.” He lapsed into silence, thinking of a room full of slashed canvases.

Then he roused himself, frowning. “This is highly speculative, Sean. Let’s get back to Catharine. Where does she fit into the Canfield family history?”

Sean smiled faintly as she turned another page.

“Right in the middle, and it dates back to John Canfield’s college days at the University of Oregon. It seems he first met Catharine Clary—later Hanson—in his freshman year when she was waiting tables at a campus cafe.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“Mm. Well, that’s speculative, too, but I guess they had quite a romance on until the Canfield family shipped John off to Harvard. About six months later Catharine married George Hanson. A couple of years later, Canfield married Anna Morrisson, and apparently it was a love match as well as a union of two wealthy families. But Catharine picked a real dud. She stuck it out for six years, then contacted Canfield again. The family lawyer—that was Carleton senior—acted as her counsel in instigating divorce proceedings against Hanson.”

“What were the grounds?”

“Desertion. George did a lot of selling on the road and I guess he didn’t spend much time at home. The last time Catharine saw him was in February before she filed for divorce in May. But George was actually out of the scene well before February. He got into a barroom brawl in Los Angeles and spent five months in the LA County jail—September twelfth to February twelfth. He came home to Catharine then, but she didn’t want him, so he hopped a Liberian freighter, and that’s the last he was heard from. Now, keep the dates of his stay in the LA County jail in mind, because Catharine was pregnant with Jim when she filed for divorce.”

Conan reached for Jim’s transcript. His date of birth was at the top: August fifth, twenty-two years ago.

“You said Catharine ‘contacted’ Canfield before the divorce. When, and what do you mean by contact?”

“I don’t know when or what. Maud says Catharine came to him for legal aid on the divorce—period. But Maud
does
occasionally remember to keep the Senator’s image polished.”

Conan frowned and pushed the transcript aside.

“So, Hanson wasn’t Jim’s father, but that doesn’t mean Canfield was. Look at the will. Five hundred thousand to both Jenny and Jim; equal shares, and rather small ones out of such a large estate. Canfield had adopted Jim; giving him a bigger cut wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.”

“True, and this is another speculative line.”

“But interesting.” Conan took time to light a cigarette, still frowning. “What happened to Catharine after the divorce?”

Sean referred to her notebook again.

“For the next five years, it was rough going for her. Her widowed mother helped tend the kids while Catharine took night classes at a business school and worked days,”

“She had no financial help from Canfield?”

“I don’t think so. I checked the Social Security records, and she was working at everything from waiting tables to scrubbing floors, which doesn’t sound like she was getting much help. In fact, it was another five years after she graduated from business school before Canfield put her on as his private secretary.”

“You said Maud didn’t care much for her. Why not?”

“Oh, Maud’s practically sanctified Anna, in spite of her booze problem. Besides, Catharine’s the ambitious type and probably a lot harder to please. But Maud gives her credit for aiding and abetting Canfield’s political career, even after the accident. You know about that?”

“Yes.”

“She’s what you might call a determined woman. Her behavior after the accident is kind of interesting.”

“How so?”

“The new Congressional session began two weeks afterward, but Maud says Canfield didn’t want to leave; Catharine was still in the hospital and totally blind. But she nobly insisted he carry out his duties to his constituency, and he
did
leave. The next day, she checked out of the hospital.”

Conan stared at her blankly. “She what?”

“She went home. The hospital was so much against it, she had to sign an affidavit absolving them of responsibility. Emil Johnson, the family doctor, took over from there.”

“I can think of adjectives other than
determined.
How did she deal with the little problem of her blindness?”

“Very well, I guess. Of course, she could afford all the special help and equipment she needed; Braille typewriter, recording equipment, that sort of thing. She even taught herself Braille with Jenny’s help.”

“She taught herself—how did she manage that?”

“I told you she was determined.” Sean paused, pursing her lips. “Actually, I think Jenny’s been her eyes when it comes to reading and writing. Maud softens up a little on Jenny there; mother and daughter seem to be very close.”

Conan sighed, then put Catharine’s determination aside. “Sean, did any of your sources tell you Canfield was considering divorcing Catharine before the accident?”

Her eyebrows came up. “No. Maud gave the impression all wasn’t roses with them, but nothing that drastic.”

“That came from Isadora. What did you dig up on Canfield’s death?”

“Quite a lot. I have Maud’s testimony, of course, and Steve let me see all the police records.”

“I’m particularly interested in it from Dore’s point of view. She’s had a memory lapse, and her reactions to his death are strange. It isn’t just grief. Something happened that night that frightened her; terrified her, in fact.”

Sean seemed peculiarly uncomfortable at that.

“Well, I’ll give you what I have. According to the examining physician, death was due to cardiac arrest.”

“That’s a hell of a vague term.”

“I know, but no one was curious enough to wonder about the exact cause of the arrest.”

“So, no autopsy was done.”

“No, and the body was cremated. That was the Senator’s express wish.”

“To whom did he express this wish?”

“His wife, his lawyer, his doctor, and it was in his will.”

“Oh. What about his medical history?”

“No record of prior attacks or any hint of heart trouble. You knew Isadora found his body?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no testimony from her on record. She was…in a state of shock. But she came home that night—”

“Yes, I know. I got her as far as the library door.”

Sean glanced at him uneasily, then focused on her notes.

“Catharine said she was wakened at one-fifteen by—”

“How did she know what time it was?”

“Braille watch.”

“Oh, yes. Go on.”

“She heard screams, and when she got no response from her husband on their intercom, she called Jenny. She also rang the servants’ quarters. That’s a separate building; an old coach house. Jenny went down to the library and found Isadora on the floor, hysterical, and John Canfield slumped over his desk. Catharine came downstairs, and when Jenny explained the situation, she called the police.”

“Not a doctor?”

“No. Maud says Jenny took Isadora up to her bedroom, then the police, an ambulance, and Jim arrived more or less simultaneously. Catharine called Jim at his fraternity, and it isn’t far from the house. Carleton showed up about then, too. Anyway, Jim went upstairs to take care of Isadora and sent Jenny down to help Catharine. A few minutes later, Jim came downstairs and asked one of the ambulance attendants to help him; Isadora was still hysterical.”

“She was alone while he went for help?”

“Yes. The attendant went upstairs with him, and a little while later, Jim came back down—white as a sheet, according to Maud—and said Isadora had cut her wrists.”

He asked tightly, “Do you know what she used?”

“A razor blade.”

“Where did she get it?”

“Jenny testified that Isadora’s overnight case was in her bathroom—that’s where they found her—and a ladies’ razor was on the floor with the blade removed.”

“Single or double-edged?”

Sean had to check her notes. “Double-edged.”

“Double-edged? All right, then what happened?”

“Another ambulance arrived, and two attendants went upstairs. About fifteen minutes later, they came down with Isadora.” Sean glanced up at him. “She was on a stretcher, and from what Maud said, I assume heavily sedated.”

“Where was she taken?”

“Morningdell Sanatorium.”

“Morningdell?”
It came with the solid sensation of a physical blow.

“Yes, it’s a private men—”

“I know about Morningdell.” One of the finest private hospitals in the country, catering to those who desired and could afford anonymity, specializing exclusively in one kind of illness: mental illness.

Then his hands came down hard on the arms of his chair. “That’s
it,
Sean. That
must
be it.”

“That’s what?”

“What she’s been holding back; what she’s been so afraid I’d find out. Damn.” His breath came out in a weary sigh.

“Well, that’s the answer to one of your questions—where Isadora was after her father’s death.”

“She was in Morningdell all that time? Over a month?”

“She was released February twenty-third and put on an out-patient status.”

“What did you find out from the hospital?”

Sean gave that a short, sarcastic laugh.

“Not a damned thing. Steve got the release date for me and the name of her psychiatrist. Dr. Milton Kerr.”

Dr. K.

Conan reached for his cup, finding the coffee cold.

“What was the diagnosis?”

“
That
is a state secret. Morningdell protects its patients; that’s partly what they pay for, and I guess they pay well. But Maud said she heard the family talking about it once, and she remembered the word, ‘schizophrenia.’”

“Schizophrenia? What form?”

“Look, from Maud you’re lucky to get the general idea. It came out something like ‘skizzerfrizzled.’”

He nodded. “I’ll have to talk to Dr. Kerr.”

“Good luck. That place is like an armed fortress.”