The Girl in White Pajamas (4 page)

As they drove slowly through the traffic on Beacon Street looking for a parking spot near the McGruder home, Bogie felt his stomach begin to tighten the way it always did when he was near that house. “The Angel always finds a space!” he announced as they approached a small, empty parking space a half a block from the McGruder brownstone.

The house had been purchased for Elizabeth Culley Shoeberg McGruder when she married her first husband, Bobbie Shoeberg. Her parents owned a double-sized estate on Beacon Hill and believed the Beacon Street house would make a nice starter home for their daughter and Shoeberg, who was the Chief of Police and an aspiring politician. That brownstone had an adjoining wall with Elizabeth’s brother’s red brick-faced house. Elizabeth’s home had a large, black front door and three rectangular front windows which curved to give a bay window effect. The attached house next door had been modified by Elizabeth’s older brother when he inherited the parents’ mansion along with controlling interest in their banking empire.

Elizabeth’s parents were displeased with her second marriage to Baxter McGruder, who they believed had been little more than a chauffeur to the late Chief of Police. When her parents died, Elizabeth was given their Palm Beach property but no stake in the family’s business. She was provided with an iron-clad trust that would revert to her children upon her death. Although the trust was extremely generous, it was her parents’ way of insuring that Baxter McGruder, who they considered to be a social climber and a money grabber, would not profit from the union with their daughter.

After her brother moved into the Beacon Hill estate, he had his twin brownstone modified and turned into a two-family dwelling. Its front door was larger now but it only had two front windows on the first floor. Elizabeth was outraged when she learned that her brother had turned the adjoining house into no more than a rental property without consulting her. She feared riff-raff might move into one of the overpriced apartments. It never occurred to her that her brother, like everyone else in their social circle, was distancing himself from his sister and her second marriage that still had the stink of Bobbie Shoeberg’s untimely death all over it.

Although ostracized, Elizabeth and Baxter McGruder maintained their social fantasy. They repeatedly told people they lived in the Beacon Hill area, the priciest section of the city. Their brownstone was on Beacon Street two blocks before the street considered ascending into a hill. They believed they were members of a better class of people. Elizabeth’s first marriage to the Chief of Police only withstood social scrutiny because the family put out the word that he had grand political plans and could be an asset to the financial community. The second marriage to Baxter McGruder left Elizabeth a social pariah.

Bogie knew that the blustering of Elizabeth and Baxter McGruder was pretentious bullshit. Because his real mother was Ukrainian, Bogie’s father often called him a hunky, a scornful name for Slavic immigrants and laborers. The term was made up by Celtic laborers who were no better off than the ‘hunkies’ they ridiculed. And Bogie was a bastard. Baxter McGruder believed you couldn’t get more common than that. When Bogie’s stomach completed tying itself in knots, Bogie knew he was home.

Bogie walked up the stairs behind Amanda and Rose. She was shorter than the young woman, but Rose walked with a take charge swagger. Angel followed carrying Amanda’s bag and tried to act like it didn’t weigh two hundred pounds.

The door opened. A white-haired man with skin the color of parchment greeted them. Today he was acting as the butler. Amanda hugged him. “Hi, Mr. James.”

“Miss Amanda. My, how you’ve grown up!” She hugged him again for noticing.

Rose shook his hand. “How are you doing, James?”

“Good, Miss Rose. And I trust you’re doing well?”

Angel followed Rose, introduced himself and shook James’ hand.

Bogie didn’t say a word. He grabbed the old man and held him tight in a bear hug.

“Bogie...”

“Don’t say anything, James. It’s good to see you. How’s your lovely wife Trudie?”

“She’s in the kitchen preparing a little something for your arrival.”

“I’ll stop in to say hello after I talk to Annie and Herself. Where are they?”

James smiled knowing Bogie refused to call his father or stepmother anything. It was his way of giving them the finger. James motioned toward the parlor on his left. “Thank you again for the —”

Bogie cut him off. “It was nothing.”

They walked into the parlor. It was overly-decorated and filled with dark oak furniture. Heavy brocade drapes covered the high windows, and a red Persian rug lay on the floor. Bogie remembered the first day he came into this house at the age of thirteen. He felt as unwelcome then as he did right now. He looked at the shrunken white-haired woman sitting in an overstuffed chair near the unlit fireplace. She stared at him, her blue eyes dulled with pain and age. “You’ve changed...your hair…you’re thin.” Without waiting for a response she looked beyond him at the raven-haired girl. “Oh, Amanda, look at you! You’re a lady now!” She held out her arms to Amanda who reached down and hugged her grandmother. Without a word, Amanda turned to the small lady in the opposite chair and hugged her. Believing it was his duty, Bogie stepped up to Elizabeth McGruder, but the threatening look she gave him warned him to keep his distance. Bogie walked over to the other chair, bent down and hugged his sister. He wondered how she had gotten so old in just four years.

Rose walked over to Elizabeth McGruder and extended her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. McGruder.”

When Elizabeth stared at her not seeming to comprehend who she was, Rose added. “I’m Rose Jones, Darryl’s daughter. My father was your husband’s partner on the police force.”

Elizabeth McGruder nodded once. “Of course! And how are your father and your mother? She’s such a lovely woman!”

Rose stopped short then said, “They’re fine. They send their condolences.” Rose was a bit shaken since her mother, Gretchen Jones, had been dead for more than thirty years.

As Angel moved to follow Rose in offering condolences, she gestured for him to go down the hall to the kitchen. Rose walked over to Ann McGruder and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Annie.”

The petite woman nodded as her eyes filled with tears.

Elizabeth spoke looking at Ann. “Bud is dead. You are his sister and…brother.” She pointed at Bogie then turned away. “Please make the arrangements.” Elizabeth then glared at Bogie. “Since you are an investigator, find out who killed my son. That’s the least you can do after all the misery you’ve caused this family.” The old woman carefully got out of her chair and took her granddaughter’s arm. “Come, Amanda, tell me all about your life in our Palm Beach mansion.” As Elizabeth slowly led Amanda down the hall to the den, Bogie shook his head.

Four years earlier, Elizabeth knew that the run-down mansion in Palm Beach had been sold without her knowledge to finance Baxter McGruder’s last attempt to play her for a fool and part her with as much of her fortune as he was able. She learned that Bogie was involved in that charade, but found it almost impossible to think less of him since she already believed he was one of the lowest forms of life.

Bogie studied Elizabeth as she moved away. He had watched her decline over the years. Her closet drinking increased as Baxter McGruder continued philandering and humiliating her.

Bogie turned to his sister as Rose pulled up a foot stool and sat down beside her. Ann seemed to be following in her mother’s footsteps with a nose covered with broken capillaries and tremors in her hands. Bogie said, “You’re right! She’s going around the bend.”

“And you don’t know the half of it,” Ann said wearily.

Bogie sat down as they listened to Elizabeth speaking from down the hall. It was difficult for Bogie to think of Elizabeth McGruder, this demented old woman, as a once vibrant blonde socialite from a prominent Boston family. As the only daughter of Angus Culley, the financier, and granddaughter of the former Boston Mayor, Robert ‘Bud’ Culley, she was given the best education money could buy, although she had no particular scholastic talent or interest in academics. By the time she was ready to receive her degree in Art History from Radcliff, she had three serious suitors asking for her hand in marriage. The least qualified was the forty-five-year-old Police Chief, Bobbie Shoeberg. He was tenacious, though, showering Elizabeth with flowers and compliments as he professed his undying love for her. He worked his charisma on the whole family. Shoeberg joined the family’s church and was invited to join Angus Culley’s poker group. Shoeberg shared his political aspirations with Angus Culley, making no secret of the fact that becoming the Governor of Massachusetts was part of his master plan. Bedazzled by Shoeberg’s charm and encouraged by her parents, Elizabeth agreed to marry him. She began a year of planning for a wedding ceremony in the Park Street Church to be followed by a reception at the Harvard Club.

Elizabeth was deeply involved in every detail of the upcoming wedding which was Boston’s most-anticipated social event. But Elizabeth noticed that Bobbie always seemed busy with his police work or huddled with his political handlers who were deciding which functions he should attend, which causes he should endorse or whose ass he should kiss.

Before they were even married, Elizabeth felt a bit cast aside. Then she met one of her fiancé’s drivers. That driver was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He was funny, he was sexy, he was Baxter McGruder, the man with whom she would have an affair that would precede and outlast the marriage. The same man who would one day make her his wife and then set out to seduce every other female in the Metropolitan Boston area.

Bogie looked at his sister and said, “Not to be a stickler for details, but did she forget Bud has a wife?”

“Mother has pretended that Jeannie is off getting rehabilitated for so long, it sticks in her mind. Now, as far as she’s concerned, Jeannie’s off somewhere, God knows where, just not here. I can’t tell you the last time we saw her.”

“Have you talked to her?” When she shook her head, he asked, “She knows, doesn’t she?”

“Of course! While Matt was here, a couple of cops went next door to tell her. I think they had a chaplain with them. ”

“Matt MacDonald?”

Ann nodded. “He’s the one who found Bud. He identified….” She took a deep breath and sighed. “He brought Mother home.”

“What do you mean he brought her home?! Where was she?” Bogie asked.

“Out roaming the streets again. She’s been doing that a lot lately.”

“Can’t you stop her from leaving the house?” Bogie asked.

“No!” Ann answered with an edge to her voice. “She gets up in the middle of the night when we’re all sleeping and then starts walking around the city. Sometimes she doesn’t know where she is and gets scared.”

Bogie held her hand. “It’s that bad?”

Ann McGruder shook her head. “No, it’s worse!” She looked at Rose then at Bogie. “Mother was out walking in the storm when Bud was killed. She wandered onto the scene…where Bud…” Her voice trailed off as she was overcome with emotion. After regaining her composure, Ann said, “When Matt brought her home, she was soaked. I helped her out of her coat and found a gun in her pocket.”

Bogie and Rose stared wide-eyed at Ann.

Ann continued. “Last night she got up, took one of the guns from the den, loaded it and went outside yelling and swearing. She started firing through Bud’s kitchen window. I think Jeannie fired back and told her to go home. Somebody called the police. I heard a raccoon was blown to pieces in the alleyway.” Although Bogie and Rose were speechless, Ann continued, “The police came later, and James told them everybody here was sleeping. He reminded the cops that this was Bud McGruder’s mother’s house and they left. This morning, Mother got up complaining that someone had smeared dirt on the bottoms of her feet again while she was sleeping.”

“Annie, show Rose where the guns are so she can get them out of here. Do you have a list of the serial numbers?”

Ann nodded but added, “Some of the guns are missing.”

Bogie considered this then said, “Make sure they get all the ammunition. Guns are no good without bullets.” As they stood up, Bogie could hear Elizabeth talking to Amanda. “Are they in the den?”

Ann nodded.

Bogie looked at Rose. “Trudie is fixing something to eat. When they go in the dining room, Angel can get the guns out of the den.” Bogie turned to Ann. “Go in there with him to make sure he takes whatever’s there. You can give me the paperwork later.” Bogie called down the hallway where he heard Angel talking in the kitchen. “Angel!” When Angel walked toward him, Bogie said, “Bring that case in now and don’t let Herself see you!” He gestured to the den with his thumb.

The two small figures huddled again on a couch surrounded by moving boxes in a house eleven miles outside of Boston. The little redhead held the Cambodian woman’s hand. “I’m scared, Kim,” she said softly.

Kim shook her head. “No, you must be brave and strong like her,” she said pointing to Lucy Liu on the TV screen. They studied Lucy playing the part of O-Ren as she lopped off a crime boss’ head with her sword. O-Ren held up the head for the others to see.

‘
I collect your fucking head.

Just like this fucker here.

Now, if any of you sons of

bitches got anything else to say,

now’s the fucking time!

I didn’t think so.’

The child considered this then asked, “Is Mommy going to die?”

Kim quickly said, “No! No. Your uncles told you not to worry. She’s just sick. She needs to rest.”

“But she rested yesterday…and today,” little Isabella protested.

“So she can get better tomorrow. Oh, oh look at this! Here comes
The Bride
!” Kim said as she handed Isabella a large bag of M&M’s.

Darryl Jones sat in a booth inside Dunkin’ Donuts on Dorchester Avenue. He was an enormous black man and took up most of his side of the booth as he sat eating a toasted bagel with double cream cheese and drinking a large coffee with cream and two sugars. Across from him, a large black coffee sat with the lid on it.

When the unmarked car pulled up in front of the restaurant, Darryl lifted the lid off the other coffee and let the steam out.

A tall man with short salt and pepper hair got out of the driver’s side, looked around and then walked in the restaurant still checking out his surroundings.

“Mike!” Darryl Jones called out.

Mike Wislowski grinned and walked over to the booth and sat down. “I’d shake your hand but I don’t want to force you to stop eating.”

Darryl looked from the bagel in one hand to the large coffee in the other. “I told you I’d order something for you to eat.”

Mike Wislowski shook his head and took a small sip of his coffee. “I’ve got to get back. I’m not living on a retiree’s schedule.”

“You should try it, it wouldn’t hurt you. You work too hard,” Darryl offered.

“You sound just like my mother,” Mike complained.

Darryl smiled and nodded. “How is Irene?”

“She’s fine, mean as a snake,” Mike said then laughed.

“Good! That’s how she kept you boys in line!”

Mike Wislowski nodded. “I wouldn’t want to be bringing up three boys in Dorchester, especially these days.”

“It wasn’t easy back then either.”

Mike nodded again. “How’s Rose doing?”

Darryl smiled and shook his head. “Rose is Rose. She does whatever she wants.”

“Is she still seeing—”

“Don’t even mention his name. I get sick every time I think of her wasting her time with him. Since you’re so interested in her, why don’t you just ask her out?”

Mike Wislowski shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. “I don’t poach on another guy’s—”

“Mike!” Daryl interrupted. “I’m glad that you’ve got such high principles, but if you’re sitting around waiting until Rose has nobody else, you might be waiting a long time.”

“I’ve got lots of time,” Mike said solemnly. “I know you didn’t invite me for coffee to talk about Rose. What’s up?”

“What’s happening with the McGruder murder case?”

Mike hesitated for a half a second then started speaking. Darryl had, after all, been his rabbi on the force. Although Darryl was now retired, Mike still had no secrets from him. “Man, it just gets better and better,” Mike said conspiratorially. “The call came in after eleven on Saturday night. MacDonald’s the one who called it in. He was batshit, yelling and crying. Everybody who was within earshot, including the top brass, headed down to Washington Street. Before eleven-thirty the whole area was cordoned off, the bright lights were hooked up and half the force was there. Jack Duggan tried to talk to MacDonald, but Matt was still all over the place. He said he got a call from Bud McGruder around ten o’clock, and Bud said he’d call him back. When he didn’t, MacDonald got concerned then came down to Washington Street. Jack Duggan asked him how he knew to come to Washington Street, and MacDonald started babbling shit about caller ID and GPS. While all this was going on, this little old lady wearing a raincoat wandered on the scene and walked up to MacDonald. She was soaked. She turned out to be Bud McGruder’s mother. She seemed confused and kept saying something like ‘I want to go home’. Finally, Jack Duggan had MacDonald take her home. He had a couple of guys and a chaplain go to notify the wife. Do you know her, Jeannie McGruder?”

Darryl nodded. “I thought everybody knew her! She used to be a cop. Jeannie shot her little girl while she was having an argument with Bud. She never came back from that, she’s probably certifiable by now! Are you working the case?”

Mike shook his head. “Debbie Mauser is heading up the investigation and somehow Matt MacDonald inserted himself in there. He really shouldn’t be on that case. But he’s in a lot places where he doesn’t belong,” Mike said as he got out of the booth.

Thinking of his daughter and Matt MacDonald together, Darryl’s appetite dissipated. He wrapped up the bagel and left the coffee shop.