Caught in the Middle (11 page)

“He kept calling her and driving by her house,” Annie said. “Often he’d show up wherever she and Pat went for a date. The unnerving part was that he could only have known where they were if he followed them.”

I frowned. “He was a stalker?”

“I guess you could say that,” Annie said.

“Did she tell the police about him?”

Liz shook her head. “What’s to tell? He never really harmed her. He just wanted her back.”

“Did he threaten Pat?”

“He called a few times and asked Pat to leave her alone.” Liz smiled. “Pat politely said he loved Hannah and would leave her alone only if she asked him to. Which, of course, she didn’t. Pat even tried to tell Andy that Jesus loved him.”

“Uncle Pat always told everybody that,” Pete said.

I smiled and wished I had known Pat.

“She’s given his name to the police since the murder, hasn’t she?” I asked. If she hadn’t, I certainly would. He might be the one stalking me now.

“Grandmom,” Pete said. “I’m hungry.”

Liz looked at the boy, then at me. “I’ve got to feed him,” she said.

“And I’ve got to go.” I got quickly to my feet. “You have been very gracious to talk with me.”

“Just make it very obvious to people that he was wonderful,” Pat’s mother said fiercely. She left the room, Pete and Jonny trailing her.

Annie walked me to the door, and I went out into a wild, white world. I drove slowly back to the office, my mind whirling like the fat flakes that were already covering lawns and sidewalks. I parked in the small lot behind
The News
building and went inside.

Andy Gershowitz.

The News
had nothing on him in the e-files, but Sergeant Poole certainly reacted to the name when I called him.

“How’d you hear of Gershowitz?” he asked.

“I was talking with Patrick’s fiancée.”

He grunted.

When he said nothing more, I said, “And what does
umph
mean?”

Sergeant Poole grunted again. “Let’s just say we’re looking for him for questioning.”

“That means you think he’s the one?”

“That means we want to question him.”

“And he’s missing?”

“Mmm.”

“Since when?”

“Since we’re not certain.”

“So when was he last seen?”

“We’ve talked with the guys he ate lunch with Wednesday, the day of the murder, but it seems he never went back to work.”

“Where’d he work?”

“Brandywine Steel.”

“I know Mittal Steel in Coatesville, but I don’t know that company,” I said.

“They’re a small steel fabricator over in the east end of town. Apparently Gershowitz was a welder there. In fact, he was the welding supervisor.”

Suddenly Sergeant Poole sneezed loudly in my ear, and I jumped like I’d been shot at. Again.

“Sorry,” he said, sniffing. “I’ve been out in the cold rain too often recently.”

I refrained from pointing out that he had sat in my warm living room drinking coffee while his compatriots secured the crime scene in the rain.

“So this Gershowitz is the one I should be afraid of?” I asked.

Poole sighed again. “I don’t know, Miss Kramer. I really don’t. Even if Gershowitz is the one who killed Marten, I cannot imagine for the life of me why he would want to hurt you.”

I nodded to the phone. “I know exactly what you mean. I can’t figure it out, either. But there’s got to be a reason, because there’s a hole in the windshield of my rental car and no side window at all.”

“So what do you know that you aren’t telling us?” Sergeant Poole asked.

I frowned. “Believe me, Sergeant, if I knew anything, I’d tell you as quickly as I could.”

Sergeant Poole sniffed and swallowed, though he was polite enough to move the phone away from his mouth so it wasn’t quite so loud. “Think back to that evening when you picked up your car. Go over it again minute by minute.”

“There’s nothing to go over,” I said. “We drove up to Taggart’s. My car was parked outside the garage, waiting as Mr. Taggart and I had agreed. I got out of Jolene’s car and into mine. She drove away. I drove away. That’s it.”

“You didn’t see anyone running away or hiding or…”

“No skulkers,” I said. “Honest.”

“Well, I recommend you don’t go out alone until we get this guy safely tucked away.” And on that happy note, he disconnected.

Almost immediately the phone rang.

“You ready to come over and see my show? Come right now, and you can see it before the doors open.”

“Curt!” I looked at the clock on the wall. It was four-thirty, and I still had the Marten interview to write up. “Give me about an hour and a half, and then I’ll walk over.”

There was a small silence, and I guessed that he was unhappy, maybe feeling slighted. But I was reading him incorrectly.

“You can’t walk over here alone then. It’ll be dark, and with the snow the visibility will be very limited. It’ll be too dangerous.”

“Come on,” I said, last night’s fear lost here in the bustle and busyness of the office. “It’s only across the street to City Hall.”

“By way of the back parking lot. I’ll come for you,” he said.

“You will not,” I answered. “You can’t walk out on your own party. I’ll be there as soon as I can make it. Now go have fun.” I could give orders every bit as well as he could.

I punched off and stared at my keyboard.
Concentrate! Or you’ll never get out of here!

I began to type.

“Murder kills more than the victim. It kills his family and friends too.”

With these words Elizabeth Marten, mother of murder victim Patrick Marten, tried to explain the inexplicable pain of the violently bereaved.

I wrote for some time, wrapped in the Martens’ pain. Suddenly the emotion of the story got too heavy for me, and I pushed back my chair abruptly.

“Yo, princess, watch it!” Mac Carnuccio said as I caromed into him. He grabbed my chair and rolled me back to my desk.

“I’m sorry, Mac.” Here was as big a change of pace as I’d ever find. “Where’d I hit you?”

He laid his hand on his chest. “Right in my heart, beautiful. From the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

I grinned at him and shook my head. “You can’t help it, can you?”

He grinned back, eyes alight, and asked innocently, “Help what?”

“The flirting,” I said. “It’s as natural as breathing, isn’t it?”

“Been doing it since I was in diapers, or so I’ve been told.”

“And nobody’s slapped you down yet?”

“Plenty have, believe me. But most enjoy the fun as much as I do.”

I believed him. He had the knack for making a girl feel special, not tawdry, and if you didn’t want him to go beyond his outlandish compliments, he sensed it and didn’t push.

“Mac,” I said, looking around to see how close listening ears might be. I was about to go after information with nothing more than curiosity as an excuse, and I didn’t want eavesdroppers. “Do you think Don had anything going with Trudy?”

Mac looked at me incredulously. “Are you kidding? Didn’t you see how cool he was yesterday handing out the assignments relating to her? He didn’t care a rip about her.”

“Didn’t you see how messy his desk was and how mussed his hair was? I think he was very upset.”

Mac shook his head. “He’s a cold fish, just like I said. He keeps people at a distance emotionally. You should have seen him when his wife died. Nothing.”

“Jolene thinks Don had a wonderful, storybook marriage, and he couldn’t have been involved with Trudy because he’s still grieving.”

“Maybe they did have a great marriage for all I know. About the grieving?” He shrugged. “Just remember, Merry, we’re talking Jolene here. She may be one of the prettiest babes in town, but I wouldn’t depend on her great mental acumen. And speaking of the devil…”

With a wave he moved off as Jolene rushed to my desk, eyes wide with shock. She plunked a watering can down on the edge of my desk.

“Oh, Merry! I just found out some terrible news!”

“What, Jolene?” I automatically stood and reached for her hands as her lily of the valley perfume reached out and grabbed me by the throat. I wondered if she had ever heard the word
subtle
.

“I just learned who the body in your car was,” she said, gripping my hands back. Her eyes were wide with shock.

“You
just
learned?” I looked at Jolene in wonder. “Don’t you read the paper you work for?”

She shook her head. “I don’t read anything if I can help it.” She giggled self-consciously. “I’m never interested in other people’s stories. I guess I’m too wrapped up in my own.”

The brazen and unconscious egotism of that comment startled me, and I let go of her hands rather quickly.

Her giggle turned into a little sob. “It was Patsy! I can’t believe it! Patsy of all people! I’ve known Patsy since kindergarten. We always went to the same schools and rode the same school bus and sat near each other because of our names. I
like
Patsy!”

I felt lost. “It was Patrick, not Patsy. Patrick Marten.”

“Right,” she said. “That’s what I said. My maiden name is Luray, so I always sat next to Patsy.” She said her name with a heavy
u,
like Southerners say the Luray Caverns. “You know, Jolene Luray and Patsy Marten.”

“You do mean Patrick Marten?”

She nodded. “But the kids always called him Patsy. At least the boys did, and some of the girls. I called him Patsy from junior high on.”

“Why?” To me Patsy as a man’s nickname indicated a shamrock-in-your-face type of Irishness not usually found in America anymore and certainly not in Amhearst. Men named Patsy still lived back on the Auld Sod.

“He wasn’t the best athlete, especially as a kid. So they called him Patsy because he played like a girl. But he was so nice!”

I thought of Hannah talking about their plans to go skiing, skating and snowmobiling, and I thought about the picture of Pat with his mess of fish.

“I think he must have been athletic,” I said.

She looked at me like I had said something terribly ignorant. “But he couldn’t play football or basketball. He didn’t like team sports.”

I recalled the man on the Board of Education who wanted all the district’s monies funneled toward the schools’ sports programs instead of the academic ones. Now that I thought about it, the sports he kept mentioning were football and basketball.

“In Amhearst, they’re the sports the official jocks play,” Jolene explained. “If you’re not on one, better yet both, of those teams, you aren’t an athlete. Well, maybe if you played soccer or wrestled or ran track. But nothing else.”

“Did you know Pat’s fiancée?” I asked.

Jolene shook her head. “I didn’t even know he was engaged. I haven’t seen him in years. Probably some little mousy girl.”

“Hannah Albright.”

“Hannah Albright?” Jolene stared, amazed. “Are you sure? Beautiful? Perky? Head cheerleader?”

I shrugged. “I guess. I mean, how many Hannah Albrights can there be in Amhearst?”

“But she’s always gone with Andy Gershowitz.”

I looked at Jolene with interest. Who would have thought I’d find my own private information pipeline right here in the office.

“Tell me about Andy,” I said, pulling Edie Whatley’s empty chair over for Jolene. She sat down absentmindedly.

“Now Andy was a true jock. Football. Basketball. Track. That’s why he and Hannah were such a perfect couple.”

“The jock and the cheerleader?”

Jolene nodded. “And he’s so handsome and she’s so pretty.”

“Well, at the moment, she’s looking fairly un-pretty, and he’s wanted by the police.”

She didn’t seem too interested in that last piece of news. “You’re serious that Hannah was engaged to Patsy?”

I nodded. “They were supposed to get married in a couple of weeks at Christmastime. Needless to say, she’s very broken up about his death.”

“Why in the world did she pick Patsy instead of Andy?” Jolene looked at me with her wide eyes wider than usual. It was obvious that she was genuinely confused. The answer seemed just as obvious, at least to me.

“Maybe you answered your own question when you said how nice Pat was.”

“Yeah, but he was so religious! He never cheated on tests and he never got drunk and he never made lewd remarks to the girls.”

“And that’s bad? Remember, you
liked
the guy.”

“Well, he could always make you laugh. He was fun even if he wasn’t fun, if you know what I mean.”

I nodded, somewhat disconcerted that she and I were communicating on an intuitive level.

“Now Andy,” she said. She reached for the cascading baby’s tears on Edie’s desk, transferred it to mine and began automatically pruning it with her nails. “He had a foul temper. He got so mad at this guy named Mark back when we were seniors that he ran him off the road. Wrecked Mark’s father’s new car and put Mark in the hospital.”

“Was Mark okay?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Jolene said with a wave of her hand. “He still limps a little bit, but not so’s you’d notice much. He married a real pretty girl he met at college, so he’s doing okay. Andy had to pay a huge fine because of the accident—which I think his father paid for him—and he got a suspended sentence. It was the first time he’d had an actual run-in with the law, though I think there were a couple of times when his father bought off people who could have filed complaints with the police. Oh, and he lost his license for a while, too. Not that it stopped him from driving.”

And this was the guy she had thought was such a perfect match for Hannah. “What did this Mark do that made Andy so mad?”

Jolene thought for a moment, hands suspended over the plant, then nodded as memory returned. “You’re not going to believe this, but he made a pass at Hannah.”

“Really.” How interesting.

Jolene nodded. “Really. I wonder if Arnie will beat up the first guy who asks me out?” She shivered daintily and returned the baby’s tears to Edie’s desk. She seemed to like that possibility.

“So Andy could be violent enough to hit Pat over the head?” I asked, returning the conversation to its track.