The Cinco de Mayo Murder (27 page)

Erica Tyler called me back late in the afternoon.

“You got me thinking,” she said. “I called my mother and asked her if they paid Professor Koch to get me into Rimson. The answer is yes.”

“Really,” I said.

“My parents were annoyed. They felt that I could get in on my own but he made a case that it was still harder for girls, that the number of applicants had grown in the last few years. Anyway, he said he had expenses and asked them for a thousand dollars, and they gave him half with the promise of the second half when I was accepted.”

“Did they pay it?”

“She said they actually talked about not paying it but felt they had made a commitment, so yes, they gave it to him.”

“This is very interesting and helpful. Just to set the record straight, it was unethical of him to demand money for what Rimson paid him to do.”

“I'm not surprised, but getting into college was such an anxious affair, I can understand why they caved in.”

I was tempted to call Koch and tell him what I knew, but I sensed that was not the way to go. If there was a criminal case, Jack would know how to handle it better than I with his police and law background. In the meantime, I would
hope that Steve would call and fill in the narrowing gaps in my information. It had been three days since I'd last heard from him, and if he didn't come through, I wasn't sure how I would move forward.

Eddie came home with his friend Terry, and I set them up outside with games and milk and cookies. The phone rang several times, but it was always about something local. I kept my eye on the boys and kept the phone near me. Finally it rang and I heard Steve Millman's voice.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking,” he said.

“I'm listening.”

“There were four of us on the trail. Heinz had been the first to make plans for the trek. I said I'd join him. We talked about it and Marty McHugh said he'd like to come along. Then the fourth man showed up. I have to tell you— you probably know this already; you've talked to a lot of the guys—I didn't win any awards in college for charm. There were a lot of people I didn't get along with. And there was the plagiarism issue. Marty hated me. Heinz didn't care one way or the other. And then there was this other thing. Anyway, the plan, as I learned as we hiked up the trail, was to give me my comeuppance, knock me down, hurt me, put me in my place. I don't think they meant to kill me, but I could be wrong.”

“You were the intended victim?”

“I was it. We got to that place where it happened. We could see down and no one was coming. It curved going up and we couldn't see around the bend. The other guy nodded at Marty and the two of them came at me. Heinz said what's going on? and Marty said keep out of the way. But he didn't. He was like a bulldog, just went at them to keep them from hurting me. That's when it happened. He lost his footing or one of the others accidentally pushed him instead of me and he just flew over the side, rolled down the
slope, hit a stand of trees, and stopped. He never moved. I was—I was almost in tears. This guy had saved my life and paid for it with his own.

“We stood there for a while and the third guy said, ‘Here's what happened, Millman. McHugh and I saw you get into an argument with Heinz and push him to his death. We are not reporting this to anyone. You will keep quiet about this for the rest of your life or we will testify that we saw you push him. My word will go a lot further than yours with the reputation you have. Is this understood?’ Of course I said yes.”

“I see,” I said. My heart was pounding. Having been at the site, I could envision what had happened. “Who picked up the backpack?”

“I don't remember. You know, it couldn't have been Marty because he flew home that day. I sure as hell didn't.”

“Steve,” I said, “who was the fourth man?”

“It was that bastard Koch. He had squeezed money out of my parents to get me into Rimson and I wasn't the only one. There were lots of others, but they didn't want to admit it, or their parents didn't. My parents had talked to a lawyer about bringing charges against him; he'd been served with papers. He showed up at my parents’ house the day before the hike, trying to sweet-talk them into withdrawing the suit, which they didn't want to do. Koch was afraid that if it got out that he'd taken bribes, there could be lots more lawsuits and his career could be damaged. It was just a coincidence that he turned up the day we all arrived from Rimson. He didn't know McHugh until he got to our house but he must have sensed the animosity between us.

“In the evening, he went out for a walk with McHugh, and when they came back Koch said he would join us at Picacho Peak the next day. It was pretty crude, but he must've thought if he shook me up, we'd forget about the lawsuit.

Maybe we would have, but Marty was there, crying about the plagiarism thing, working himself into a rage. They came at me like a couple of bulls.”

“It must have been terrible,” I agreed. “Did you take Heinz's suitcases with you?”

“They were in my car.”

“And you mailed one of them back to the Gruners.”

“Right. I disposed of the other one. There was nothing in it that they needed, and I didn't want to pay to send it to New York.”

“And that was it,” I said, “four men.”

“Four men. And that's it. It's over.”

“Not so fast,” I said. “I have some questions. What happened with the lawsuit?”

“Oh, that. Koch settled out of court and that was the end of it.”

“Well, that's good news,” I said. “Now I have a question about your identity. You're impossible to find, but you've kept in touch with Marty McHugh. It seems contradictory.”

“OK, here's what happened. After the incident on the mountain, I was scared—to death. I thought McHugh might come after me; I thought all kinds of things, some of them irrational. I changed my name legally and tried to lose myself. Then some time passed and I reassessed my situation. I decided I was better off staying in touch with McHugh—keeping tabs on him, so to speak. I knew what had happened on the mountain. I knew who was at fault. Also, I had proof of Koch's shaking down my parents to get me into Rimson, something he wouldn't want made public. So I wasn't in as weak a position as I had originally thought. But I didn't want to make it easy for people like Heinz's parents or the police or someone like you to find me.”

“Have you been in touch with Koch?” I asked.

“Never.”

“But you talk to Marty.”

“Occasionally. When I talked to you with him on the line, that was the first time in a couple of years. I agreed to do it to make you go away. He and I agreed that that was in both our interests. Anyway, it's finally over.”

“Steve, don't you want to see justice done?”

“What kind of justice? It wasn't murder; it was an accident. No one will prosecute those guys for an accident. As for bribes, I can't imagine anyone gives a damn after more than twenty years. Who will you get to testify?”

“But you're free now, Steve. If we make this public, McHugh and Koch can't touch you. They'll be shamed. It's a small compensation for the death of an innocent person, but it's something that will make their lives unpleasant. Maybe you can embarrass Koch into returning the money he extorted from all those parents.”

There was silence and I thought his card had run out again, but then he said, “I'll think about it.”

“Please do.”

The next silence was the last one. I hung up and turned my attention to the little boys.

I waited until evening to discuss the situation with Jack. He wrote a page of notes and asked a number of questions. One of them was the name and number of Deputy Gonzales. He decided to call him in the morning. Even if there was no prosecutable case, he wanted Gonzales to have all the missing information.

Jack also promised to visit Alfred Koch with me and talk to him about the bribes he had apparently taken. Jack agreed that there was little chance of taking the case to court at this late date, but he wanted to pressure Koch into returning the bribes he had taken. I was sure Dean Hershey
would be able to dig up years of data—the sum might be substantial. I thought that what Koch had taken from the Gruners should be donated to the library fund in memory of Heinz.

The next day was Saturday, and Deputy Gonzales was off for the weekend. The sheriff's department gave Jack his home phone number, and they had a long conversation in the early afternoon.

“Sounds like a good guy,” Jack said when he got off the phone. “I told him Millman had moved but he thinks he'll be able to pressure Millman's mother into giving up the new address. People tend to fold when you get them into an interview room with a couple of cops.”

“I think Steve lied in our last conversation,” I said. “It's a small thing, but the guy isn't very trustworthy. I'm sure he's the one who grabbed the backpack and returned it a couple of days later.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Marty McHugh must have left immediately. I can't believe Koch would have stuckaround for even one extra day and then made that trek to drop off the backpack. They must have looked through it on the trail and then Steve took it home, thought better of it, and went backby himself to drop it off.”

“Makes sense. This guy Koch in on Monday?”

“Yes. He said I could see him at eleven this past Monday but I went at eleven thirty just to inconvenience him. I hate being ordered around by anyone except my son.”

Jack laughed but I had a feeling he agreed with me. Jack then called a detective in his command and asked him to research Alfred Koch's movements on the days around Cinco de Mayo the year of Heinz's death. Credit card receipts placing Koch anywhere near Picacho Peak would do fine.

I drove into the city on Monday, parked my car expensively, and met Jack on campus. He was in full uniform, which I thought might make a desirable impression. We arrived at Koch's office a bit after eleven and opened the door after his “Enter” call.

His eyes bulged as he saw Jack. “What is this?” he said, starting to rise out of his chair.

“Professor Koch, I'm Lt. John Brooks. I have some questions to ask you on behalf of the Pinal County sheriff's office in Arizona.”

“What?”

“We have evidence that you were present on Picacho Peak when Heinz Gruner fell to his death.”

“Nonsense.” “We have evidence that you took bribes from students’ families to get them into Rimson College. That includes the Gruners.”

“The Gruners are dead. They can't possibly be used against me.”

“We have a very credible witness, Professor, someone who knows the whole story.” He was referring to Dr. Farley. Whether his testimony would even be accepted was iffy, but Jack was trying to scare Koch, and it looked as though he was succeeding.

Koch stared at him.

“We have evidence that you were instrumental in causing Mr. Gruner's fall.”

“This is all hearsay. This is nonsense. I was nowhere near that place you just mentioned. I wasn't even at Rimson College that year.”

“Credit card receipts put you in Phoenix the day of Gruner's death.”

“I'm getting a lawyer.” Koch picked up the phone, then put it down. “Get out of my office.”

“With pleasure, Professor.”

I had not said a word, but I was feeling wonderful. We had him. We left the office, retrieved my car, and I drove Jack to his station house.

“I thinkwe can make trouble for him,” Jacksaid. “As for prosecuting, that's up to the folks in Arizona. But if your friend the dean at Rimson wants to make Koch's life difficult, he can tell the administration at Columbia what you've dug up.”

“I'll call him when I get home. And Marty McHugh. He's as guilty or innocent as Koch.” I stopped for a light. “Do you really have those credit card receipts?”

“Would I lie?” He gave me a grin. “You don't have to take me the rest of the way. I'll walk. Nice to see you during the day.” He leaned over and kissed me, opened the door, and strode down the street.

Someone honked behind me and I realized the light had turned green. I took off before I started an incident.

Dean Hershey was appropriately shocked. He promised to find all the students who had been brought to Rimson by Alfred Koch and further promised, if it turned out that they had been coerced into paying bribes, that he would notify his counterpart at Columbia. “He'll never be emeritus,” he said, “with information like this.”

Marty McHugh was enraged when I spoke to him. I told him that I had independent information that linked him, Millman, and Koch to the incident on the mountain and that the sheriff's office had his name and phone number.

After his ranting and raving, after absurd threats, I ended the conversation by hanging up and sitting back to clear my head. Then I called Andrew Franklin in Minnesota and apologized for doubting his claim that Heinz had taken off alone in a taxi to the airport. I was now convinced that
Steve and Marty had indeed shared a cab. Even before he met Koch that evening, McHugh had planned something evil for Steve on the mountain the next day, and he wanted to keep his eye on him.

Finally, late in the day, I called Herb Fallon. He had returned from New York the evening before and listened carefully to what I told him.

“It's hard to believe,” he said. “You think Marty and this guy Koch were planning to kill Steve?”

“I don't know, but I'd guess they just wanted to put fear into him, get him to call off the lawsuit in the case of Koch, and suffer for Marty's being charged with plagiarism.”

“So Heinz died and the others had twenty years of misery.”

“It looks that way. I'm glad I got to know you, Herb.” “Same here. Maybe on our next trip we'll all go out to dinner. I'd like to meet your husband.”

“We'll do it. Just let me know when you're making your next visit.”

He promised he would.