No Place Like Home (45 page)

“Jeff, Rap swears that Ted Cartwright, minus a dopey looking blond wig, is one of the two so-called moving men he let into Zach Willet's apartment yesterday.”

T
ed Cartwright was dressed in an impeccably tailored dark blue suit, a light blue shirt with French cuffs, and a red and blue tie. With his crown of white hair, piercing blue eyes, and imposing carriage, he was every inch the powerful executive as he strode ahead of his lawyer into Jeff's office.

Seated behind his desk, Jeff calmly observed the arrival and deliberately waited until Cartwright and his lawyer were standing in front of him before he got up. He did not offer to shake the hand of either man, but indicated the chairs that were pulled close to the desk.

As witnesses to this meeting, Jeff had invited Detectives Angelo Ortiz and Paul Walsh, who were already seated in chairs to the side of the prosecutor. The court reporter was in place, her face expressionless as always. It had been said of Louise Bentley that even if she had recorded the confession of Jack the Ripper, she would not have allowed a single muscle of her face to show reaction.

Cartwright's attorney introduced himself. “Prosecutor MacKingsley, I am Louis Buch, and I am counsel to Mr. Theodore Cartwright. I wish to state for the record that my client is extremely distressed by the death of Zach Willet, and has, in response to the request of your office, appeared here today voluntarily and with the strong desire to assist you in any way in your investigation of Mr. Willet's death.”

His face impassive, Jeff MacKingsley looked at Ted. “How long have you known Zach Willet, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Oh, I think about twenty years,” Ted answered.

“Think again, Mr. Cartwright. Isn't it well over thirty years?”

“Twenty, thirty.” Cartwright shrugged. “A very long time, whichever it is, don't you agree?”

“Would you say you were friends?”

Ted hesitated. “It depends on how you define friendship. I knew Zach. I liked him. I love horses and he was a natural with them. I admired his skill at handling them. On the other hand, it wouldn't occur to me to invite him to my home for dinner, or really socialize with him in any way.”

“Then you don't count having a drink with him at the bar at Sammy's as socializing with him?”

“Of course, if I bumped into him at a bar, I would have a drink with him, Mr. MacKingsley.”

“I see. When was the last time you spoke with him?”

“Yesterday afternoon, around three o'clock.”

“And what was the reason for the call?”

“We had a good laugh over the joke he pulled on me.”

“What was that joke, Mr. Cartwright?”

“A few days ago Zach went over to my town house development in Madison and told my sales rep that I was giving him the model unit. We had a bet on the Yankee–Red Sox game, and he had kidded me that if the Red Sox won by more than ten runs, I would have to give him a unit.”

“That's not what he told your sales rep,” Jeff said. “He told her that he had saved your life.”

“He was joking.”

“When was the last time you saw Zach?”

“Yesterday, around noon.”

“Where did you see him?”

“At the Washington Valley stables.”

“Did you have a quarrel with him?”

“I blew off a little steam. Because of his joke, we almost lost a sale of that town house. My rep took him seriously and told a couple who were interested in it that it was no longer available. I simply wanted to tell Zach that his joke went too far. But later that couple
did
come back and made an offer on the unit, so I called Zach up at three o'clock and apologized.”

“That's very odd, Mr. Cartwright,” Jeff said, “because a witness heard Zach tell you that he didn't need the money the town house was worth because he had a better offer. Do you remember him saying that?”

“That wasn't the conversation we had,” Ted said
mildly. “You're mistaken, Mr. MacKingsley, as is your witness.”

“I don't think so. Mr. Cartwright, did you ever promise Henry Paley one hundred thousand dollars if he could persuade Georgette Grove to sell the property Georgette and Henry jointly owned on Route 24?”

“I had a business arrangement with Henry Paley.”

“Georgette was pretty much in your way, wasn't she, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Georgette had her way of doing things. I have mine.”

“Where were you on the morning of Wednesday, September 4th, at about ten
A.M
.?”

“I was out for an early morning ride on my horse.”

“Weren't you on a trail that connects directly to the private trail in the woods behind the Holland Road house where Georgette died?”

“I do not ride on private trails.”

“Mr. Cartwright, did you know Will Barton?”

“Yes, I did. He was the first husband of my late wife, Audrey.”

“You were separated from your wife at the time of her death?”

“The evening of her death she had called me to discuss a reconciliation. We were very much in love. Her daughter, Liza, hated me because she didn't want anyone to replace her father, and she hated her mother for loving me.”

“Why did you and your wife separate, Mr. Cartwright?”

“The strain of Liza's antagonism became too much for Audrey. We only planned the separation to be temporary, until she could get psychological help for her troubled daughter.”

“You didn't separate because, when you were drunk one night, you confessed to Audrey Barton that you had killed her first husband?”

“Don't answer that, Ted,” Louis Buch ordered. He looked at Jeff and angrily stated, “I thought we came here to talk about Zach Willet. I was never informed of other matters.”

“It's all right, Lou. No problem. I'll answer their questions.”

“Mr. Cartwright,” Jeff said, “Audrey Barton was terrified of you. Her mistake was that she didn't go to the police. She was horrified at what it would do to her daughter to learn that you had killed her father so that Audrey could be free to marry you. But you were afraid, weren't you? You were afraid that Audrey would have the courage to go to the police one day. There was always some question about the gunshot that was heard at the time Will Barton's horse went over the cliff with him.”

“This is ridiculous,” Cartwright snapped.

“No, it's not. Zach Willet witnessed what you did to Will Barton. We found some very interesting evidence in Zach's apartment—a statement he had written about what he saw, plus he took a picture of your bullet where it hit a tree near the trail.
He described what you did to Barton. He retrieved that bullet, and its casing, and kept them all these years. Let me read his statement to you.”

Jeff picked up Zach Willet's letter and read it with deliberate emphasis on the sentences describing Ted charging his horse into Will Barton's mare.

“That is a piece of fiction and inadmissible in court,” Louis Buch snapped.

“Zach's murder isn't a piece of fiction,” Jeff snapped. “He was bleeding you for twenty-seven years and finally got so cocksure of himself when he realized you killed Georgette Grove that he decided he ought to be taken care of on a higher scale.”

“I did
not
kill Georgette Grove or Zach Willet,” Cartwright said emphatically.

“Were you in Zach Willet's apartment yesterday?”

“No, I was not.”

Jeff looked past him. “Angelo, will you ask Rap to come in?”

As they waited, Jeff said, “Mr. Cartwright, as you can see, I have here the evidence you were searching for in Zach's apartment—the bullet and casing from the gun that you fired to terrify Will Barton's horse, and the pictures that show where and when it happened. You'd just won a prize with that gun, hadn't you? Later you donated it to the permanent collection of firearms at a Washington museum, didn't you? You couldn't quite bear to
throw it out, but you didn't want it in your home because you knew Zach had retrieved the bullet that sent Will Barton to his death. I am subpoenaing that gun from the museum so that we can compare the bullet and casing to it. We should be able to determine definitively if that bullet and casing were fired from that gun.” Jeff looked up. “Oh, here's Zach's landlady's son.”

At Angelo's prodding, Rap came forward to stand by the desk.

“Do you recognize anyone in this room, Rap?” Jeff asked.

The performer in Rap was clearly enjoying the spotlight. “I recognize you, Mr. MacKingsley,” he said, “and I recognize Detective Ortiz. You were both at my house yesterday after I found poor old Zach in his car.”

“Do you recognize anyone else, Rap?”

“Yes, I do. This guy.” He pointed at Ted. “Yesterday he came to our house dressed like a moving man. He had another guy with him. I gave him the key to Zach's apartment. Zach had told us he was moving over the weekend to some fancy town house in Madison.”

“Are you positive this is the man who came to your home yesterday and went up to Zach Willet's apartment?”

“I'm positive. He had a dopey blond wig on. Made him look like a real jerk. But I'd know that face anywhere, and if you find the other guy, I'd know him, too. I remember more about him now.
He has a little strawberry birthmark near his forehead, and he's missing half his right index finger.”

“Thank you, Rap.”

Jeff waited to speak until Rap reluctantly left the room and Angelo had closed the door behind him. “Robin Carpenter is your girlfriend,” he told Cartwright. “You gave her the money to bribe her half brother Charley Hatch to vandalize the house known, thanks to you, as ‘Little Lizzie's Place.' You shot Georgette Grove, and we will be able to prove it. Hatch became a threat and you, or Robin, took him out.”

“That's not true,” Cartwright shouted, jumping to his feet.

Louis Buch stood up, stunned and totally furious.

Jeff ignored the lawyer and glared at Cartwright. “We know that you went to Audrey Barton's home to kill her that night. We know that you caused Will Barton's death. We know that you killed Zach Willet. And we know that you're not in the moving business.”

Jeff stood up. “Mr. Cartwright, you are under arrest for the burglary of Zach Willet's apartment. Mr. Buch, we are finishing our investigation, and we anticipate that Mr. Cartwright will be formally charged with these murders in the next several days. I am now instructing Detective Walsh to proceed to Mr. Cartwright's home and to secure that scene while we apply for a search warrant.”

Jeff paused, then added sarcastically, “I anticipate that we will find a dopey blond wig and a moving man's outfit.” He turned to Detective Ortiz and said, “Please read Mr. Cartwright his rights.”

T
wenty minutes after Ted Cartwright had been led out of Jeff MacKingsley's office, Jeff invited Dru Perry in to speak with him. “I promised you that you would have a story,” he said, “and this is only the beginning of it. We have just arrested Ted Cartwright for the burglary of Zach Willet's apartment.”

Experienced reporter though she was, Dru Perry felt her jaw drop.

“We anticipate filing far more serious charges against him in the next several days,” Jeff continued. “These charges will relate to the deaths of Will Barton and Zach Willet. There may be other charges, depending upon the outcome of our investigation.”

“Will Barton!” Dru exclaimed. “Ted Cartwright killed Liza Barton's father?”

“We have proof that he did, and the reason that he went to that house on Old Mill Lane that night was to kill his estranged wife Audrey Barton. Liza, that poor little ten-year-old, was only
trying to protect her mother from Ted. For twenty-four years, Liza Barton, who is now known as Celia Nolan, has been tortured, not only by the loss of her mother, but by the nearly universal belief that she deliberately shot her mother and Ted because she resented their relationship.”