The Good Friday Murder (16 page)

“Much better. When he got out of his teens, he seemed to shake off all those other problems. We watch him, of course, but his health has really been remarkable.”

“Did you tell me all this to explain why you're not going to let me take you to bed?”

“Not tonight, no. But that wasn't the reason. I care about you, and I wanted you to know as much about me as I know about you. And that you're the first man in my life, something I didn't expect to happen for a long time, something I didn't really want to happen so soon.”

“Things don't always happen the way you plan them.”

“I know that better than anyone. But I want you to understand
that if I make a misstep in the etiquette of love, it's because I've never been here before.”

He kissed me then and said something very nice. “Maybe I haven't either.”

When he had left, I went up to Aunt Meg's bedroom, the bedroom I had not taken as my own last month because of the mirror. It was time, I thought, now that I had talked about it.

Standing in front of the dresser where I could see myself, I took off all my clothes and looked at my nude reflection. I had not seen my own body or anyone else's in fifteen years. But I knew now that the day would come when someone else would see mine, and I wanted to see it first.

And in looking, I admitted to myself how much I wanted him.

I could have done it by telephone, but I felt that a face-to-face meeting would be best. So on Sunday morning I drove to Brooklyn and parked as close as I could to Mrs. Talley's old building on Ocean Avenue.

I rang the bell, heard the query, and responded. The door loosened at the buzz, and I took the elevator up to the fourth floor. The little round lady with the plump cheeks opened the door as I got off the elevator.

“It's nice to have company on Sunday,” she said, welcoming me.

“You're not expecting anyone today?”

“Not till three. My granddaughter is bringing her newest boyfriend to meet Grandma.”

We had sat in our usual places in the living room. “I bet you approve before you even see him.”

She gave me a big smile. “You know me already, and we've hardly been introduced.”

“Mrs. Franklin, what I'm going to say is hard for me, but I want you to hear it. You're a lovely lady, and I know what you've been living with for the past forty years.” I watched her face change, the smile leave, the eyes narrow. “I know what happened that day that Mrs. Talley was killed. I know you were home; I know you heard the terrible noise in the kitchen and you banged your broom on the ceiling to make the noise stop.” I looked through the many-paned glass swinging door to her own kitchen. “I know you went upstairs to complain and you rang the doorbell, but no one answered.” I didn't know it, but it seemed the likeliest possibility. She herself had told me that her friend who lived next door heard no noise from the Talley apartment. The walls were thick, but sounds of pounding feet and falling objects could be heard through the floor and ceiling below.

The plumpness in her face seemed to wither as she took in what I was saying.

“I'm not blaming you. They made a lot of noise, and they made no effort to stop it. You must have been very angry when you went upstairs, and even angrier when they pretended not to be home, not to have heard you ring.” I watched her. Her eyes were no longer on mine but somewhere far away, maybe forty years away. “Or maybe,” I went on, “you guessed, when it suddenly got quiet in the apartment after you rang, that something was going on that was different from the usual noise. Maybe you knew someone was in there doing something so terrible that you were better off not knowing what it was.” It was a chance, just a small one, but I had to take it, hoping it would pay off.

She shrank deep into her comfortable chair, looking so sad that I felt terrible. Finally she said, “I won't ask you how you know. When it happened, I took a chance that nobody
would know I heard and they would leave me alone. I knew something was very bad when I rang the bell and the noise stopped just like that. I knew I should call the police, but then I thought, whoever it is in there, he knows it's the people downstairs at the door, because I banged on the ceiling. If I call and he gets away, what keeps him from coming after me? From hurting my children? I didn't know he killed anyone. You must believe me.”

“I do believe you, Mrs. Franklin. All I want to know is, did you see him?”

“In my whole life I could never believe I would lie to the police. By the time they came to me with their questions, it was Monday, three days later. What did it matter on Monday? Did I want my picture all over the front page of the paper telling everyone I heard a murder and did nothing?”

I knew she wanted forgiveness, and I had already tried to give it to her, but I sensed she needed more. Perhaps forgiveness is what everybody wants in unlimited quantities. “The press can be very cruel,” I said. “I understand how you felt.”

“I kept quiet. My mother, may she rest in peace, always said, ‘If you have nothing to say, say nothing.' I never even told my husband.” This last seemed to affect her more than anything else. She pulled a tissue out of her dress pocket and patted her eyes.

I got up and went over to her chair. She was so tiny, she was almost lost in it. I knelt beside the chair, feeling her thick carpet under my knees, and took her hand. “All I want to know is whether you saw him, Mrs. Franklin.”

She nodded her head, and I felt that surge of excitement. “In the hallway, next to the elevator, is the incinerator. On every floor it's the same. I thought, if this man, whoever he is, comes out, I should see who he is. Maybe I know him. Maybe he lives right here in the building. I went to the incinerator room, and I waited. It was maybe twenty minutes, maybe a little more. I heard Mrs. Talley's door open and close and in the crack of the door where I was, I saw somebody coming out and walking down the hall to the elevator.
I opened the incinerator and closed it with a bang, and I went out. My best friend, Harriet Cohen, I told you, lived next door to the Talleys. I could go there if he was still waiting for the elevator, but I didn't have to. He opened the door to the stairs and went down.”

“You saw him.”

“Yes, it was a man, a young man in a big black coat that was too big for him, his hair already creeping back from his forehead. He had his hands in his pockets. His face looked angry, but in New York everybody looks angry. I don't pay it any attention.”

“What did you do?”

“I went back to the Talleys and rang the bell. Maybe I heard a sound, maybe I didn't. Nobody answered. I went downstairs. After that it was quiet.”

“Had you ever seen him before?”

She screwed up her face and shrugged. “Maybe I saw him, maybe I didn't. It was a face. That's all.”

“How old do you think he was? Twenty? Thirty?”

“Halfway in between.”

“So he could be alive today.” I stood and walked to the window.

“God forbid.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Franklin. I know how hard this was for you.”

“You're a smart girl to figure all this out.”

“I had some help,” I told her honestly. “Have a good time with your granddaughter today. Don't get up. I can get out myself.”

But she had pushed herself out of the chair and was following me to the door. “I have to double-lock it,” she said. “You can't be too careful.”

I drove directly to Greenwillow. I wanted to check out the twins, make sure they had come through yesterday's ordeal all right. I was in for a shock.

A staff member opened the door, and when I asked for the
twins, she said, “Robert's here, but James is in the hospital.”

My heart sank. “What happened?”

“Some kind of a stomach upset. They decided to keep him overnight,”

“Let me take Robert to see him.”

“I don't think that would be wise,” she said.

“It's absolutely necessary.” I sounded as authoritarian as I could. “Those twins are lost without each other. Where's Robert?”

“In his room.”

I flew up the stairs, found Robert, and took him to the hospital, which adjoined the Greenwillow wing. When the twins saw each other, they locked eyes as they had the evening of the Fourth, and then they relaxed, their lives joined once again.

“How are you, James?” I asked.

“My stomach hurts.”

I was going to ask if he'd seen the doctor, but I remembered he couldn't tell me anything if he experienced it alone. “Stay here,” I said. “I want to find the doctor.”

It was Sunday, so a nurse was all I could find, but she was very helpful.

“The doctor suspects some kind of food poisoning,” she said when I had explained who I was. “The lab report should be back tomorrow.”

“Was anyone else at Greenwillow affected?”

“Apparently not. It probably wasn't what he had for lunch. He was holding a candy wrapper when he started vomiting.”

“I'm leaving the second twin here for a while. I've got to talk to someone at Greenwillow.”

She sputtered that she couldn't handle both of them, but I assured her there would be no trouble and I ran. Back at Greenwillow I asked for the source of the candy bars that had been given out the day before.

“We didn't give any out,” the cook said.

“James Talley was given a candy bar,” I told her. “If he didn't get it from the kitchen, where did it come from?”

“Don't ask me. All I know is it's not on the list.” She handed me the previous day's menus. “There was ice cream at three-thirty. No candy bars.” She sounded irritated.

“Maybe there was a guest who gave them out. If there was something wrong, they should be told. Other residents might get sick, too.”

“Ask Jonesy. She was on duty yesterday.” The cook turned away.

Jonesy looked at the log and said two residents had been picked up to spend the day with their families, but no guests stayed for a snack, and no one else complained of stomach trouble.

I was starting to feel very uneasy. “Do you mind if I question the residents?” I asked.

She looked undecided.

“Call Virginia if you need backing up.”

That seemed to do it. She clearly didn't want her authority undermined. “Go ahead. I'm sure you'll be appropriately courteous.”

Appropriately courteous. I thanked her and left before she had misgivings. I started with Gene, who didn't know what I was talking about. Then I went from resident to resident, slowly, appropriately courteous in demeanor. It took a long time and I listened to a lot of digressions, but I finally hit pay dirt.

A very sweet blond girl who was often in Gene's activity groups admitted she had given James and Robert the candy bars.

“Did a lady give them to you?” I asked, wanting to establish her reliability.

“No.”

“Did a man give them to you?”

“Yes.”

“What did the man say?”

“Give to those twinmen.”

“And you gave the candy bars to the twinmen?”

“Yes.”

“Did the man give you a candy bar?”

“Yes.”

“Did you eat it?”

“Yes.”

“Was it good?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I like candy bars.”

“So do I. Did you know the man, Jenny?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Where did you see him?”

She stuck out her arm and pointed toward the delivery area, where trucks sometimes drove in to drop off food.

I thanked her and sent her off to her friends. Then I returned to the hospital.

I spent some time with the twins, finally getting a resident to agree to release James to Greenwillow. It seemed safe enough; he couldn't be closer to a hospital if he needed one, and I felt it was more important that the twins be together than that James have a nurse nearby.

From Greenwillow I called Virginia and told her what had happened and what I had learned. She knew of James's stomach upset but didn't know the cause. She assured me she would keep the twins indoors until we found out what was going on.

I went home and called Jack, but there was no answer. I felt restless, but nothing seemed to satisfy me, not reading, not TV. On a whim, I took myself to the closest town with a movie theater and sat for two hours watching a film. It helped to calm me down. On the way home, I stopped at a pizzeria and bought a very sloppy sandwich of sausage and green peppers, which I ate at home. I called Jack again, but he was still out.

I wondered whether Melanie was home, and looked her number up. In small towns like Oakwood, one of the service organizations usually provides an annual telephone directory, twenty or thirty pages in large, readable type. Running my finger down the page looking for Gross, I stopped at Gore. Betsy Gore had stopped me at the beach yesterday afternoon. I noted that her husband's name was Daniel.

I stopped and tried to recall the name of the man who had
called Friday evening to inquire about my progress. My mind was a blank. I rummaged on the counter next to the phone. I often take notes on the backs of envelopes and then hesitate to throw them away, in case I need the information later. It's not very efficient or tidy, but I never seem to have a notepad when I need one.

The Friday envelope was still there. Harry Forrest on Sunset Drive. I flipped back two pages from Gore and looked through the Fs. No Forrest, no Forest. No Forster or Foster. I started feeling a little sick.

In the centerfold of the stapled directory was a pen-and-ink map of Oakwood with the names of all the streets listed alphabetically along the sides of the pages. There was no Sunset, no Sunrise, no Sunshine, no Sun.

My heart was now beating in a panicky nonrhythm. I picked up the phone and dialed information.

“The number of Harry Forrest in Oakwood,” I said.

There was the kind of pause that told me she hadn't found it on her first search.

“I don't find a listing for Harry Forrest in Oakwood.”

“Maybe they have an unlisted number,” I suggested.

“I'm sorry, there is no Forrest in Oakwood.”

“Thank you.”

I put the phone down and leaned against the doorjamb. The man who had called had known my name and my phone number. It was a cinch he knew my address. The day after he had called, one of the twins had come down with a “stomach upset” that had hospitalized him. Both of the twins had been given candy bars from a mysterious man,
but only one twin had gotten sick.
Was it possible that Jerry was alive and well and protecting his interests?