The Art of Death (21 page)
Authors: Margarite St. John
Can’t Stay Here
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
After dinner, back at the Conrad Hotel, Madeleine confirmed that Dr. Beltrami had checked in about fifteen minutes before seven.
“Has he returned to his room?”
“I don’t know. You want me to call up there?” the clerk asked.
“Yes.”
The clerk tapped in the room number. “No answer,” he said.
“Is his car still in the garage?”
“Let me check.” After a few seconds, the clerk said it was still there.
“The reason I asked is that An-- Dr. Beltrami didn’t show up for dinner. He was supposed to meet me at nine but he never appeared. I left my phone at the office. Could you try this number for me? It’s Dr. Beltrami’s cellphone.”
The clerk dutifully made the call. “Voice mail,” he said. “Want to leave a message?”
“No. Check our room bill. Maybe he ate here.”
The clerk tapped in numbers, scrutinized the screen, and said, “He did. He stopped at Tastings, had some food and wine, signed with the room number. That was at 8:20.”
“So where did he go after that?”
The clerk shrugged.
Madeleine turned to head to the elevator. Just then she caught a glimpse of a man hurrying toward the door to Washington Street. He was barely taller than she, wearing a navy blazer and white duck trousers. From the back, he had a full head of longish white hair.
The back of her neck prickled with fear. Not Captain Ahab again! How did he know she was here? “That man!” she cried, pointing toward the door. “He just reached the street. Who is he?”
The clerk jerked around and followed the direction of her finger. “What man?”
She ran to the windows on Washington. “See him striding toward the corner, that funny gait like he’s walking on a rolling boat? Dressed like the captain of a ship. Lots of white hair. He was just here in the lobby. Surely you saw him.”
The clerk joined her at the window and peered into the sodium-lit darkness. “I see a man -- but it could be anyone. I can’t see his hair or clothes that well.”
“Believe me, it’s him.” She gave him a little shove. “Chase him down. Stop him!”
“What would I do? What would I say? I can’t arrest him, you know.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, tell him to come back here, that’s what. I want to talk to him.”
He looked at Madeleine with astonishment. “I can’t possibly leave the desk.”
“You already have,” she said sarcastically.
“But not the building. Here, I’ll open the door for you.”
“Oh, dear. I can’t run in these heels.” With despair, she watched the man fade into the night.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“No, I’m not.” She wanted to hit the clerk for not running after Captain Ahab. “I’m scared to go up to my room.”
“The bellman can take you up.”
“Okay,” Madeleine said weakly. “Make him check under the bed and in the closet and bathroom.”
When Madeleine and the bellman entered the suite shortly before midnight, all the lights were on. The doctor’s clothes were hanging in the closet. His nylon toiletry bag was hanging on the back of the door to the bathroom, which smelled faintly of his cologne. There was no one in the shower.
Near the sofa was Anthony’s little travel bag, open, filled with shoes and books.
Handing the bellman a twenty and signaling him to stay a moment longer, she used the telephone beside the sofa to call Anthony’s cellphone. Still no answer.
Even though it was too late to call Babette, who had a strict rule of no calls after ten o’clock, she called anyway. Again no answer. No answer at the art gallery either. She didn’t have Arnaud’s private number and she couldn’t find his name in the city directory.
She called Anthony’s favorite cigar bar. No one answering to the name Beltrami spoke up.
Then she considered calling hospitals but didn’t know where to start.
She also considered calling 911 but decided against that. An adult who didn’t keep a social appointment was not a life-threatening emergency.
“I can’t stay here,” she said to the bellman, as if it mattered to him. “Let me gather up a few things, then take me back to the lobby and call a taxi for me.” She wrote a name, address, and telephone number on a piece of notepaper and handed it to the bellman. “When Dr. Beltrami returns tonight, have the desk clerk give him this. He’ll know what it is. He’ll find me there.”
Fifteen minutes later she was standing on Babette’s front porch, pressing the bell over and over.
P
art Three
If we have been pleased with life,
we should not be displeased with death,
since it comes from the hand of the same master.
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, 1475 - 1564
And the Lord God said,
"...He must not be allowed to reach out his hand
and take from the tree of life and eat,
and live forever."
Genesis 3: 22
Tormented Imagination
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Babette, wrapped in a plush terry robe and clutching her cellphone in case it was necessary to call the police, pulled aside the curtain to see who was wearing out her doorbell. She wanted to scream. Madeleine Harrod! What was she doing here at this ungodly hour?
“
Arrêter cette
!” she ordered as she unlocked two deadbolts, released the chain, and opened the door. “Stop that. It’s uncivilized. What are you doing here” -- checking her cellphone -- “at almost one in the morning?”
As Madeleine pushed into the entry, Babette glimpsed a taxi pulling away.
“Oh, Babette. Help me. I can’t be alone.”
Babette took her time shutting the door, setting the deadbolts, and replacing the chain. She needed a moment to think. The woman in fact looked pasty white, her carefully arranged pixie askew, as if she’d seen a ghost. But that meant nothing.
Une crise de nerfs
, Babette thought. Another fit of hysterics. Artist or not, Madeleine’s overwrought moods wore out even her most tolerant friends. “Why can’t you be alone?”
“Is Anthony here?”
“
Non
.”
“You’re sure?”
“
Mais
bien sûr
,
” Babette said indignantly.
“Where is Arnaud?”
Babette shrugged. “Perhaps at home, peacefully asleep, no mad woman ringing his bell. Perhaps partying.”
“Where is Anthony?”
“How would I know, Madeleine?”
“I can’t find him.”
“Where should he be?”
“At the hotel. But he’s not there. He checked in, hung up his clothes and everything, went to the wine bar, but didn’t meet me for dinner. He didn’t call. He doesn’t answer his phone. His car’s in the garage. Arnaud didn’t show up at dinner either. Would you call Arnaud? Oh, please. Maybe he knows where Anthony is.”
Babette wanted to put an ether-soaked rag over the woman’s mouth. “You are testing my patience. Have you been taking something you shouldn’t?”
Madeleine frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Pills? Alcohol?”
“Only a little champagne. A couple of Xanax.”
“Anything else?”
“Babette!”
“I’d give you a brandy to calm you if I thought it wouldn’t kill you. You need to slow down, take a breath, tell me what’s wrong in a way I can understand. You’re making me crazy.”
“Could I have some coffee? Maybe cappuccino?”
Babette sighed and headed for the kitchen.
Madeleine followed. “And that man is stalking me again.”
Babette started the Verismo. “What man?” she asked guardedly.
“Captain Ahab. I saw him as he left the hotel. The clerk saw him too. Ask him if you don’t believe me. Would you call Arnaud?”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Maybe Anthony’s with him. Or maybe he knows where Anthony is.”
“
Non
,” Babette said, turning around and handing Madeleine a cup of cappuccino. “
Certainement pas.
”
“No what? They aren’t together or you won’t call Arnaud?”
“I will not call Arnaud.”
“Why not?”
“I happen to know Arnaud knew nothing about meeting you anywhere tonight. He’d have mentioned it to me. He tells me everything about his social life. He left the gallery early to prepare for a going away party for a friend who’s moving to New York. The boys may still be partying somewhere for all I know. They’ve been planning it for months. As for Anthony, he’s a grown man. He’s somewhere. If he wanted you to know where he was, he’d tell you. And you are not being stalked by a strange man in a yachting costume. The only thing stalking you is your own
tourmentée
imagination
.”
Madeleine opened her mouth in shock. Less than a week ago Bettina Lazare had spoken to her in the same blunt and dismissive way. Who did these women think they were?
It was infuriating.
Did He Have Enemies?
Thursday, June 20, 2013
It was not yet daylight when Babette’s doorbell rang again, even more insistently than when Madeleine showed up. By then, both Babette and her unwelcome guest had gotten a few hours’ sleep but not nearly enough for the older woman’s sense of well-being.
This time, to Babette’s horror, it was the police, two uniformed officers and one plainclothes detective. Introducing himself as Lieutenant Ken Robins, the detective proffered his badge. He was tall and thin with the look of a man who’d never heard a joke that was actually funny. “Is a Mrs. Madeleine Harrod here?” he asked.
“
Oui
. Yes.”
“We’d like to talk to her.”
“You found Dr. Beltrami?”
The detective gave her a suspicious look. “What do you know about him?”
Before she could answer, he asked her to step outside or let them in. Or the women could accompany him to the police station. Babette showed the men to her living room. “I’ll get Ms. Harrod. She’s upstairs, asleep.”
Detective Robins glanced at a piece of paper, then at the woman wrapped in a terry robe. “Are you Babette Fouré?”
“Yes. How in the world did you find Madeleine and me?”
“This piece of paper with your name, address and telephone number was left with the desk at the hotel where the doctor was staying. Mrs. Harrod left it.”
“Where is Anthony?”
“How about bringing your guest down here first?”
Madeleine kept the police waiting twenty minutes while she arranged her hair, applied mascara and lipstick, and brushed her teeth. All three policemen got to their feet when she appeared in the doorway. In a silk robe borrowed from Babette, she looked like a Twenties’ film star. Something about her bare feet and the tension around her mouth made her seem very vulnerable.
Upon seeing the men’s serious faces, Madeleine put her hand on her heart and fell back into a chair. “What’s happened?”
“I understand you and Anthony Beltrami were sharing a room at the Conrad,” Detective Robins said.
“A suite, not a room. Yes. We’re friends. Well, more than friends. I checked in yesterday because my company’s office is here and I had a lot of work to do. I was at the office when he got into town. When I finally got back to the hotel around midnight, the clerk told me he’d checked in around seven. I didn’t see him but he was supposed to have joined me for dinner at nine. He didn’t show up, though. He didn’t answer any of my texts either.”
“We found a man in an alley who has been identified, from a driver’s license in his wallet, as Anthony Beltrami. Also in his wallet was a parking garage ticket for the Conrad Hotel. The desk clerk at the hotel gave us the little note you’d left for Beltrami. That’s how we knew about this address.”
“You found Anthony in an alley?” Madeleine asked. “What alley?”
“Downtown.”
“Where downtown? Near the hotel?”
“I’ll get to that,” the detective said.
“Is he okay?” Madeleine asked in a trembly voice.
“No. He was dead at the scene.”
Madeleine leaned forward, a stricken look on her face. “Dead? You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing in an alley?” A tear swelled in each eye, then spilled over.
“We’ll get to that too.”
Madeleine dabbed at her eyes. “What did he die of? A heart attack?”
“Did he have heart problems?” the detective asked.
Madeleine blew her nose, then looked off into space. “I don’t think so, but he didn’t exercise or watch his diet, so maybe he did.”
“Whether he did or didn’t have heart problems, that isn’t what killed him. He was shot. From the amount of blood we saw, the bullet probably got him in the carotid artery.”
“Shot with what?”
Detective Robins frowned. “With a gun.”
“I mean, what kind of gun?” Madeleine asked.
“We’re still trying to figure that out.”
“Was it robbery?”
“Doesn’t look like it. We found his wallet with cash and credit cards, keys, and phone.”
“What about his watch?”
“What watch?”
“It’s a Rolex. The Oyster Perpetual Explorer. Very expensive. I gave it to him last year.”
“Maybe he wasn’t wearing it.”
“He always wore it. So maybe it
was
robbery.”
Detective Robins was not about to explain why he wasn’t ready to assume that robbery was the motive for the murder, even if the victim’s watch had been stolen. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Oh,” Madeleine whispered. “Then what? A drive-by shooting?”
“We’re not starting with that premise.”
“What premise then?” Madeleine asked.
“It was personal.”
“Personal? Why would somebody want to kill him?”
“We’re hoping you can tell us, ma’am. How were the two of you getting along?”
Madeleine opened her eyes wide in innocence. “Very well. Never better. We’ve known each other for more than twenty years. We were in a professional relationship before it turned romantic.”
“Did he have enemies?”
Madeleine fell silent, trying to decide what to tell. “The only person I can think of is a drug dealer who was arrested in Fort Wayne. I can’t remember his name. He claimed Anthony bought cocaine from him and owed him money.”
“Did he?”
“Anthony denied it. But the guy got out on bail a few days ago and Anthony told me he was worried about the man.”
“I don’t follow,” Detective Robins said, although he did.
“Anthony was afraid the guy would try to collect.”
“So your friend did buy cocaine and owed the guy money.”
Madeleine closed her eyes in confusion. “I don’t know.”
Detective Robins turned his attention to Babette. “The last message on Beltrami’s phone was from you.”
“
Moi
?” Babette cried. “What are you talking about?”
“The last message on Beltrami’s phone instructed him to go to the back door of your gallery around 8:30 to accept a package from someone named Arnaud” -- which he pronounced Ar-nowd -- “that Beltrami wasn’t to open until the 23rd. The message ended with ‘Babette.’”
“The 23rd is his birthday!” Madeleine cried.
“Was, Madeleine. Was,” Babette said.
“Oh, God, you’re right. He’d have been fifty-three.” She looked with surprise at Babette. “You had a gift for him?”
“
Non
,” Babette snapped. “I know nothing about any of this. I didn’t send Anthony a message. I didn’t have a gift for him. I never knew when his birthday was. Arnaud left at four this afternoon to get ready for his party so he couldn’t have been at the gallery at 8:30 to give the man anything. None of this has anything to do with me. I can’t imagine why my name was on the message.”
“It’s quite a coincidence, Mrs. Fouré. He died in the alley behind Mass Ave, less than ten yards from the back door to your gallery.”
Babette gasped. “I don’t understand.”
“Your message to him told him to go to the gallery’s back door. He didn’t quite make it.”
“But I didn’t send a message.”
“So you say. Why don’t you show me your phone.” It wasn’t a request.
“
Avec plaisir
.” She had carried it downstairs when she heard her doorbell ring for the second time and it was now resting on the coffee table.
“Let me see the messages you sent around seven yesterday evening.”
Babette got up and took a seat on the sofa next to the detective. She scrolled through the day’s messages. “See. I didn’t send any messages to anyone at that time of day. Here look.”
Detective Robins nodded.
Babette returned to her chair across from the detective. “Did you notice that I have a security camera back there?”
“We noticed that. Does it film continuously?”
“
Non
,
non
. Only when it detects motion.”
“We want the film.”
“
Mais, bien sûr
.
Of course.”
“What’s its range?” Madeleine asked. “You said Anthony was found ten yards from the door. Would the camera have seen anything that far away?”
“I don’t know,” Babette said. “I’ve never tested it for something like this.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” the detective said. “May I see your phone, Mrs. Harrod?”
“Please. I’m
Ms
. Harrod. I’m divorced. As for my phone, I left it at the office. You can call it right now and see that I’m telling the truth.”
Detective Robins did that. “Right. But I want to see your phone anyway. Now let’s talk about where both of you were between seven Wednesday evening and one fifteen this morning when the body was discovered.”
Madeleine volunteered to go first. “I was at ApEx -- that’s the name of my toy company in the OneAmerica Tower -- all day. I was never alone. You can talk to my employees. Then I was at dinner with two of them, Dieter and Shelley.”
“I’ll need last names and addresses,” the detective interjected.
“Okay. Then, once dinner was over, around eleven or a little after, I walked to the Conrad alone but that was the only time I was alone. I didn’t even go up to the suite by myself.”
“And you?” he asked Babette.
“At the gallery until seven-thirty. I was with customers all day. Arnaud was there until four. Then I took a taxi here.”
“And after that you were alone?” Detective Robins asked.
“
Oui
. Until Madeleine showed up.”
“Make any calls? Get on your computer? Do anything we can track or verify?”
“
Non
. I wish I had, but I didn’t. But I give you my word, I was here from a little before eight until now.”
“I just remembered something,” Madeleine said brightly. She told Detective Robins about spotting Captain Ahab leaving the Conrad Hotel and about how he’d been stalking her ever since her one-woman show at Babette’s gallery.
Detective Robins glanced at Babette Fouré’s face as Madeleine Harrod chattered about Captain Ahab. Why did the older woman look so skeptical, even when Ms. Harrod said even the desk clerk at the Conrad saw the stalker hastening down the street and vanishing into the darkness? He made a note to talk to the desk clerk, then returned his attention to the younger woman.
She assured him it would be a great thing if the police could find the mysterious ship captain, whom she described in great detail. The captain was a suspect, she thought, in the shooting of a young woman in Fort Wayne, so he might want to contact his counterpart in the Fort Wayne Police Department, Lieutenant Dave Powers. Maybe the ship captain killed the girl and Anthony, maybe he didn’t, but at least if they found him he’d quit stalking her.
An hour later, having gotten signed statements from both women, Detective Robins told them he’d like them to come to the morgue to make a positive identification of the man found dead in the alley.
“Morgue?” Madeleine whispered. “You said you already know it’s him. You have his wallet.”
But Detective Robins didn’t take no for an answer. Watching people view the dead body of a loved one sometimes told him things he couldn’t learn any other way.
