Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 03 - The Recorder's Way (12 page)

“Did Marilyn confess?” Captain
Tedler asked.

Helen shook her head. “She
lawyered up, but she’s open to a deal.”

“For murder?” Max didn’t want to hear about any
such arrangement.

“She says nurse
s never hurt other human beings.” Helen turned to set her coffee cup down. Max caught sight of the large bruise on Helen’s left cheek. “But she admitted,” Helen continued, “Rufus was her dog, before she blew her top.”

“She obviously took
Sally’s car to Cape May.” Captain Tedler shifted papers on his desk. “But the DA thinks we need more evidence for a trial for murder.”

“I
am coming with you to talk to Jason Cornell?” Max rose to accompany Helen.

Captain
Tedler waved for them to go. “I’ll be listening.”

When they entered the
interrogation room, Jason Cornell clicked his cowboy boots like a German officer. He wore a denim shirt with a leather string tie. After introductions, he went to the heart of the matter. “I know Marilyn Helms was blackmailing my dad, but I never knew why.”

Max
took his time arranging himself at the table. “Your father thought he was negligent when a patient of his died at St. Anthony’s Hospital, after they stopped using his services as a consultant.”

“
Someone died?”

“
Jean Bacon.” Helen remained standing. She walked from the table to the door and back again. Her shoulders were tense as if her ribs still pained her. Her heels made sharp jabbing sounds on the tiled floor. “Miss Bacon was diabetic. The nurse in charge swears Dr. Cornell would not have been able to reverse what was clearly a gradual decline.”

“
Then why did he pay the money?” Jason asked.

“
He might not have wanted a scandal.” Max couldn’t keep his hands from his hair. He really wanted to touch Helen. “Or, Doctors Whidbey and Handler colluded to keep him ignorant of the facts. They might have wanted to give Marilyn Helms a third blackmail victim to share the financial burden.”

Jason
shined the knees of his jeans. “We always thought he was a skin-flint, not helping with our college expenses. Mother went without things she might have enjoyed. My father spent money on himself: bagpipes, trips for out-of-state lessons. Our home was huge to keep up appearances. Colleagues can harass you into doing things their way. I wish he had owned more courage.”

“
Captain Tedler tried not to rummage about too much in our search of his belongings.” Helen said. “Did you read his diary?”

“No. Should I?”

“I think you would find out how much he thought of his children.” Max said. “According to Captain Tedler, your father thought you were the happiest. You raise horses?”

“I do. Thank you for your kindness in this matter.”

“We won’t be needing you further.” Max said.

“Even if Dr. Whidbey and Dr. Handler claim my father was part of the mess?”

“We can guarantee we intend to keep your father’s name out of the newspapers.” Helen sat down finally as Dr. Cornell’s son left the room.

Max stayed behind
, too. “I should have prevented Marilyn from injuring you.”

“Marilyn might decide to plead insanity for
Sally’s murder.” Helen held her side.

Max felt the sand from
Iraq descend from some inner cache. His eyes smarted and his nose itched. “I let you down.”

Helen stood
up and moved behind him, pressed his head against her breasts. “You are my truest friend. You could never disappoint me.”

Max let himself be comforted by her closeness. He knew he didn’t deserve her tenderness
. He took her hand and kissed it, not noticing his tears also anointed her ring finger.

♦
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Helen
withdrew her hand, stared at the teardrops. “Max,” she said, moved at his concern.

A
bruptly, Max’s mood changed. The lines of his face soured his expression. He stood and faced her. “I need to speak to your dad.”

“Come to supper.” Helen wanted to cheer him up. His seriousness unnerved her. “George will be there. You know how much George loves you.”

“He hates me.”

She thought he might actually be ready to
weep again. “No. No. He doesn’t Max. He’s just flexing his new half-brother muscles.”

Max didn’t say anything. He acted as if he’d just realized she
owned a face, staring as if he needed to attach a name. He seemed confused as conflicting emotions held him sway. She straightened her jacket in the interrogation room’s two-way mirror. There wasn’t a fly sitting on her nose. She cocked her head, preparing to ask him what had just happened. She could tell he wouldn’t answer.

He
turned his back to her, missed a beat and then produced his well-rehearsed smile. “I’m starving. What is your mother cooking tonight?”

“She doesn’t issue menus for the day.”

Max laughed, so Helen tucked her worries away.

♦
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Second
Wednesday in May, 2008

Costello Residence

George Clemmons was sitting on the front steps of Helen’s home. Max stuck out his hand to show he harbored no hard feelings. “Hello, George.” George didn’t shake his hand. Max felt his temper rising. He’d kick this interfering baggage into the next county if he wasn’t careful.

Helen sat down next to the lump and put her arm around
George’s shoulder.

George looked up at Max as if he
should explain. “Helen’s mother is weeping and her dad asked me to wait out here.”

“What did you say to her? She’s the nicest woman on the planet, besides her daughter.” Max wanted to hit something, anything. He picked up a pot of geraniums to
pitch at George, but Helen gently took the weapon away from him.

“Dad
will come back out.” She patted the stone step next to her as if Max should make nice.

“
George must have said something awful.” Max tried not to shout.

“I didn’t say a word.” George shook his head. “She took one look at me and burst into tears.”

“You idiot,” Max said. “Your probably look like your father.”

“
I guess that’s the trouble.” George appealed to Helen. “Should I go home?”

Max was all for that, but Helen insisted
George stay. She left them sitting there like two mismatched bookends while she went into the house to find out how matters stood.

George
seemed to need conversation. “Mr. Costello said you two have solved Sally Bianco’s murder case.”

Max looked at the kid. Was this jerk going to stay in his life? As soon as Mr. Costello had time to listen to him, Max was sure he wouldn’t be invited back to
Helen’s home. Finally Helen opened the front door and ushered the two of them into the living room.

Julia
Costello held out her hand for George. “I don’t know why I was so shocked today. When you were here for Mrs. Bianco’s funeral, I didn’t react at all. You see, your father always wore a red baseball cap when we dated. I think that’s what triggered my outburst. You’re very welcome here and I do apologize.

George threw the red hat he was holding behind him
, as if to toss it out the door. Instead the bill of the cap hit Max right in the eye.

“Oh, Max.” Helen
recognized Max was trying not to swear a blue streak. “Dad, check Max’s eye.”

“Sit down, you giant.” Mr. Costello pushed him into a chair and took a good look into Max’s watering eye. “You’re all right. Nothing a good helping of
orange duck won’t fix.”

Helen c
ould see Max’s mouth water with the thought of food. He wiped his tearing eyes and smiled. “No injury, no foul.”

♦
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Helen’s mother motioned for George to sit next to Helen. Max was seated across from them. Usually Helen could peg Max’s moods, at least to the posit
ive or negative side of a chart, but today she regarded him warily. Under stress, his PTSD loomed into his awareness. She disagreed with his private assessment of the ailment. Even if his parents died a violent death, Max must have been affected deeply by the war. She should try harder to make him open up to vent the horrid tales; but dinner with her newly found half-brother hardly seemed the time to assure Max a comfortable enough environment to render his war experiences.

But
, George broached the subject just as Max finished his first bite of roast duck. “Max, a fair number of my company’s investors are veterans.”

“Which war?” Max asked, intent on his plate.

Andrew coughed. “Hey, we were recently given a graphic example of Max’s capacity to handle stress. Why don’t we wait to discuss his war experiences after the table is cleared?”

Max waved his free hand. “I’m okay. I served in the first
Iraq war.”

George seemed to try to back out of the discussion, after Andrew’s warning. “Most of these guys are younger than you.”

“Any signs of PTSD?” Max asked. George nodded. He filled his mouth and tried to avoid answering. But Max was like a cat waiting for a mouse to spring away from his gaze. Julia tried to pass Max more orange sauce, but he waved her away without breaking eye contact with George.

“A few.” George admitted. “They attend a group session at the VA.”

“I heard it helps to talk about events – with other veterans.” Max began to attack his plate again. “Details are not conducive to good digestion.”

“Of course,” George said.

Helen thanked God the subject was closed. George blushed with as much color as she did. A shared family trait, no doubt. “Max, we haven’t told George about the trial we’re going to be involved with.”

“
The murder trial,” Andrew offered.

Max shook his head. “I doubt Handler will serve any time
for endangering Larry Schneider’s life.”

“What about
Sally’s murderer?” Julia asked.

Helen touched her left ear gingerly. “Marilyn Helms may not admit to blackmailing Handler unless she can get off with manslaughter.”

George reached for the sauce ladle. “You and Max live more exciting lives than my girlfriend, Mitzi, and I do.”

Helen wondered if Max caught the fact George thought Max was her
boyfriend, as well as partner in the detective agency.

“Tell us about your friend,” Julia said as she started
clearing the table. She tugged on Max’s plate. He seemed unwilling to let her take his. “Now, Max. Drink some water and sit awhile. We’ll have cake and coffee later in the evening.”

“I met Mitzi at the Back Door,” George said. “
I volunteer once a month to hand out groceries at St. Clare’s. People only sign their names and tell us how many are in their families. A family of four receives two bags a week.”

“Hardly enough,” Max said.

“I agree,” George said. “Mitzi gets in trouble because she walks them to the car and hands out twenty dollar bills.”

Max asked, “Is she rich?”

“Uh, no.” George blushed. “She asks me for the money.”

Max laughed. “You remind me of your sister, I mean half-sister.
You both have good hearts.”

♦
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After dinner, Max asked Mr. Costello if he could speak to him,
“Privately.” Andrew led him down to the basement room he used as his den. “It’s me.” Max ducked his head as he walked into the small room. After waiting for Andrew to claim his desk chair, Max plopped down into an enormous beanbag. “I’ll never get out of here.”

“We’ll rent a crane. What did you want to talk about?”

“Your daughter.” Max felt he shouldn’t need to explain further, but Andrew didn’t react to the news.

Andrew
only stared at him. “What about my daughter?” Andrew seemed to find it necessary to add a negative edge to his voice.

“No. Nothing to complain about.
” Max noticed again how gigantic his frame was compared to Andrew’s. “See, I think I’m in love with her…and you shouldn’t let me near her. I mean, you know…I’m no good for a decent woman.”

Andrew
held up his hand to stop his babbling. “You want to marry Helen?”

“No that’s just it.” Max pulled on his curls. “Why would you want me to marry Helen?”

“You said you loved her.”

“I kno
w, but it’s me you’re talking to. You don’t want me to marry your daughter, do you?”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Not her! Me.”

Andrew
’s hands tugged at the remains of his hairline. “Okay. Start over. Why don’t I want you to marry my daughter?”