Winter House (27 page)

The front door opened. Bitty grabbed the rail and held it white-knuckle tight.

Oh, it was only the housekeeper with her grocery bags. What was her name? There had been so many of them, none of them lasting for more than a week or so. The new hire tapped in the code to disable the security alarm, then proceeded across the wide front room.

Bitty called down her late lunch order. „And could you bring it upstairs?“

The woman scowled at this with good reason. It was a chore and a half just to climb to the second floor, and she had already made this trip too many times in one day.

Of late, Bitty had developed a backbone, and now she insisted that a meal be delivered to her room. She had no plans to be caught downstairs when her mother and uncle came home.

Retreating to her room, she passed the time with the old family albums retrieved from storage in the north attic. The bird clawed his way up the weave of the bedspread to join her in examining the photographs, tasting the pages and tearing off the corners. Bitty absently stroked the comb of yellow feathers, and Rags’s tiny eyes soon closed in sleep.

The photography had ended the year of the massacre. In the yearly portraits of the Winters and their brood, all the children were gathered on Nedda’s side of the photograph. Cleo clung to her eldest sister, and Lionel played with her hair. The others were seated at Nedda’s feet.

A loud knock on the door awakened the bird with a start. „What?“ Rags flapped his useless wings and dropped off the edge of the bed, hitting the floor with a dull thud. „What?“

Bitty rose to answer the heavy-handed knocking. This could only be the resentful housekeeper with her lunch. Upon opening the door, she was faced with her worst fear for the evening. Her mother pushed past her to enter the room.

„Why is Nedda staying with Dr. Butler? Tell me,“ Cleo demanded. „What happened at that police station?“

„Don’t be difficult,“ said Uncle Lionel, as he also entered into the bedroom uninvited.

„Aunt Nedda thought you didn’t want her here.“

Uncle Lionel was not surprised by this. „Did Neddy say why?“

„No, but she’ll be back around dinnertime.“

„I know that,“ said Lionel, holding up a folded piece of paper. „The housekeeper took a message from her. She asked if we could both stay at home this evening. She wants to talk to us. Do you know what this is about?“

Behind her uncle’s back, the bird was climbing up the lace curtain, his claws leaving holes and tatters in his wake. He gained a perch on the curtain rod, then spread his wings, stepped off into thin air – and dropped like a stone. Bitty watched the stunned creature stumble about in a circle. Lame for decades, old Rags persisted in the idea that he could fly.

W
ell, this was fun.

Riker counted eight men and women, the partners of this venerable law firm, and they were almost gasping for breath. The air was not so rarified on the lower floor of their holdings. In this nether region, accountants and clerks were caged alongside a storage area for files that dated back a hundred and twenty years. Riker doubted that the attorneys had ever visited this land of the underpaid, though it was only three flights below their penthouse offices.

The firm was obviously a family business, for he could see traces of Sheldon Smyth among the assembled faces, a replicated nose or chin, a pair of snake eyes here and there. Their ages ranged from the twenties to the sixties, and yet they had lined up like children in a fire drill, all eyes on the drill instructor.

His partner had quickly adjusted all of their attitudes, and Mallory had done this without the necessity of shooting one of them as an example to the rest. They listened to her very attentively as she recited the parameters of the warrant. Two of the lawyers seemed on the verge of projectile vomit. Paul Smyth, son of Sheldon, went pale when Mallory said, „The seizure of documents covers every file even remotely connected to the Winter family trust. That includes the firm’s Financials.“ She tossed this last phrase off as an afterthought, leaving them all with the impression that it was true, and she was not expecting any arguments.

Riker held his breath for a moment, then realized that she was going to get away with this. Amazing. These people all held their own copies of exactly the same warrant.

The two detectives watched in silence while the storage room was gutted by uniformed officers carrying cartons, stacking them in the waiting freight elevator and returning for more. Not satisfied with this staggering plunder of hard copy, Mallory slipped her own disc into the firm’s computer, startling the partners anew, saying, „This is federal software. It’s coded to pick up only transactions for the Winter family. Everything else is disregarded as inviolate material.“

Riker knew she was lying, but the eldest lawyer, no doubt left behind by the age of computers, was actually nodding, as if he had heard of this magical, mythical software of hers. The others, perhaps a little more savvy, were hemorrhaging as she copied their entire database. This was a major gamble. Riker knew one elderly judge who would have a heart attack if Mallory’s fairy tale on the financials ever got back to him.

And now Sheldon Smyth had arrived. His white head poked out of an elevator, uncertain of his bearings in this strange new world of badly dressed underlings. The knot of his tie was crooked, and he weaved a bit as he sauntered out, puffing up his chest in a prelude to voicing something lawyerly.

Riker put up one hand to ward off Mallory, then picked up the warrant and flashed it. Faster than he could fire off a bullet, this had the effect of deflating the old man, who bent at the waist and plopped down in the nearest chair.

„It’s all going to come out.“ Mallory’s eyes were cast down to the computer keyboard as she spoke to the old man. „If you want to cut a deal, now’s the time.“ She raised her face and graced Sheldon Smyth with a smile designed to make him wet his pants. „I know what you did.“

I
t was not the petulant housekeeper, but Bitty’s mother who fetched the tray of food upstairs. „Here, eat something. We’ll discuss your aunt later on.“

Bitty had lost all interest in food, but her mother prodded her and stood over her until the plate was cleaned and the teacup emptied.

„I’m going to call your father. Sheldon will know what to do.“

Before the food could march back up Bitty’s throat, her mother lifted the tray and opened the door. „Lionel? Coming?“

Of course he was. Brother and sister went everywhere together. They were like twins joined by a shared brain. Uncle Lionel walked toward the door, then paused a moment to turn and stare at his niece. It was that look he usually gave to her mother while they were silently communing. He shook his head, unable to read Bitty’s thoughts. No, his niece was from some other planet.

Bitty called it Earth.

Outside the raised window sash, a siren was growing in volume. Rags rushed out of his cage, running across the floor and screaming in concert with the fire engine, believing it to be a giant bird coming to mate with him and bear him away, to change his life and set him free.

Her bird was in love with a big red truck.

The siren faded off down the street. Rags fell silent. He walked back into his cage, tail dragging behind him. He tucked his head under one wing and squatted in a huddle of fluffed feathers. This was a sign of deep depression in Birdworld and Bitty’s world as well. She curled into a ball.

CHARLES BUTLER CRACKED THE DOOR TO HIS APARTMENT AND watched the heavy foot traffic of policemen marching down the hall, their arms laden with boxes. Last in line, Riker set down his own carton to say „Hello,“ and, „Sorry about the commotion. We got the trust documents.“ So I see.

„But we couldn’t cart them back to Special Crimes,“ said Riker. „The boss would’ve freaked.“

Mallory walked by with a carton. She never turned her head in their direction, and Charles gave no indication that he had even seen her. He nodded his good-bye to Riker, then closed the door – and locked it. Riker heard the sound of a second deadbolt, and then a chain guard falling into place. And Mallory heard this, too. She turned back to the door, as if the sound of three locks might be a message just for her.

Trouble? Oh, absolutely.

Riker would never have believed that Charles Butler had the willpower to hold a grudge for six minutes, and that would be a feud with a total stranger. With Mallory, the poor bastard had no shot at all.

Until today.

The uniformed officers were making their escape to the elevator when Riker carried the last of the haul into Mallory’s private office at the back of Butler and Company. He set it down at her feet, saying, „What are the odds Charles is gonna give us a hand with this? You got another speed reader in your pocket?“

„Better than that,“ she said. „I’ve got a lawyer on the way.“

„Oh, well that’s just
great.
Lawyers read at two hundred dollars an hour – real slow.“ He turned to the cork wall. It had been cleared in preparation for their autopsy on a trust fund.

„We don’t need Charles.“ Mallory opened a folder and held up a sheet with columns of words and numbers. „The documents are indexed, and all the boxes are clearly marked.“ She pinned up the first page of her document list in perfect alignment with the walls.
Two
pushpins.

Riker could see their first problem in the making. Was his little neatness freak even capable of doing this without her usual time-consuming perfection? He decided to experiment. Taking a handful of sheets from her index folder, he plopped them on the cork wall in haphazard fashion, one pin a piece and every sheet dangling at a different angle. One glance over his shoulder told him that it actually hurt her to look at his mess.

„Mallory, we don’t
have years
for this.“ He walked off to the reception room to answer a knock. When he reached the end of the hall, the door was flung open, and he was assaulted by a little man with the jowls of a bulldog. Riker was forced to endure a bear hug from the only lawyer he could abide. Robin Duffy had lived across the street from Lou and Helen Markowitz since forever. And now, in his retirement years with both his old friends in the ground, Robin looked upon every connection to them as his extended family. He released his hold on the detective and stepped back. His eyes were lit up and manic. He was just so happy to be here. „Where’s my Kathy?“

The old lawyer was in that small circle of friends allowed to address his partner by her given name and get away with it unscarred.

B
itty Smyth’s eyelids weighed ten pounds each. She sat bolt upright on the bed to keep from falling asleep. When would Aunt Nedda come home?

She poured another glass of water from the pitcher by her bed. The edge of the glass blurred as she lifted it to her lips. She returned the glass to the night table and knocked the alarm clock to the floor, leaving the time of day a mystery.

Or was it night?

She fumbled in the pockets of her skirt and found the business card that Charles Butler had given her. Fortunately, she had memorized the office number, for it would have been difficult to focus on the small print of the card.

Bitty stared at the telephone, as if the large numbers on the dial might be equally difficult. No, she would not call, not yet. She would give it a few more hours. Aunt Nedda would surely come home for dinner without any prompting. She had promised.

It was such a fight to stay awake.

R
obin Duffy stood among the cartons, trying to make sense of the numbers stenciled on the cardboard. Lowering his reading glasses, he said, „Give it up, Kathy. The document index has no relationship to the documents. All I can tell you at this point is that Smyth’s firm is hiding something.“ His eyes traveled over the towers of boxes, each containing thousands of documents. „This is an old lawyer’s trick – bury the sins in a ton of paperwork.“ He glanced at his wristwatch. „It’s time to get Charles.“

Riker listened for the sound of the reception room door closing on the lawyer. He stepped up behind his partner. „We’re never gonna find the will without Charles. You think he’ll come?“

Mallory sat at her computer, checking financial data she had raided from the law firm, still following the money. Riker was at the point of repeating himself when she said, „He’ll come… for Robin.“

F
rom his turtleneck jersey to his formal evening shoes, Rabbi David Kaplan had dressed all in black. This was the proper attire in his understanding of the criminal underworld. This evening, he played the role of lookout man and loved it. He leaned into the hallway, then quickly withdrew to the elevator and spoke to Edward Slope in a stage whisper. „Charles is leaving with Robin.“ He poked his head out again. „Now they’re going into the office across the hall. The coast is clear.“

„You’ve been waiting all day to say that line, haven’t you?“

„Please, Edward, no noise.“

Together, the chief medical examiner and the rabbi moved their heavy burden along on its rolling pallet, out of the elevator and down the hallway, as Edward Slope said once again, „There’s no such thing as a surprise poker game.“

„Shhh.“ The rabbi was reveling in this crime of backward burglary. He turned the knob of the door to Charles Butler’s apartment. As promised, it opened easily. Pointing to a piece of tape that covered the bolt, he said, „Robin’s idea.“

And that made this crime of breaking and entering a conspiracy of three. The doctor and the rabbi wheeled the game table in the door, snagging its padded cover on a hinge and tearing it. Had the table not been turned on its side, it would never have fit through the door frame.

At the end of the foyer, they stopped in heart-clutching guilty surprise, as if they had been caught in the act of removing something instead of depositing a gift. Before them stood a tall, stately woman rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her hair was snow white, and her smile was bemused. She clearly recognized Edward Slope as the doctor who had written her Valium prescription earlier in the day. She studied the bulky object on the pallet.

„It’s a table,“ said Edward Slope, as if the furniture padding might have disguised that fact.

„Ah,“ she said. „I know just the place for it.“

Following Nedda Winter, they wheeled the table into the library. With no mention of the Winter House Massacre and the lady’s celebrity status, introductions were made to Rabbi Kaplan as the two men shifted the table off the pallet and placed it in the center of a ring of club chairs. And now the rabbi began to explain what had happened to Charles Butler’s last table.

„Burned in a warehouse fire,“ said Nedda. „Yes, I know. But I’ve never heard of a surprise poker game.“

The doctor consulted his watch. „Should we unwrap it now or wait for Robin?“

„You dropped something,“ said Nedda. „It fell out of that tear in the padding.“

David Kaplan bent down and retrieved the paper. „Oh, it’s the provenance. Kathy mentioned that it was an antique.“ The rabbi scanned the text, then abruptly sank into a club chair. „Edward, you won’t believe where this table has been.“

T
he job in Mallory’s office did not actually require a speed reader. It had taken Charles Butler only a few minutes to break the index code – childishly simple – a few minutes more to locate the correct carton, the correct folder and to hand over the original will to Robin Duffy.

„It’s really quite easy.“ Charles looked down at the file inventory in his hand. „The last three digits of the listed items correspond to the first three digits on the cartons. For the actual documents listed in the index, disregard the first and last two digits of the index number, and everything in the middle will match up with the numbers on the file holders.“ He never saw their startled faces. His head was deep in a carton as he fished out the folder that gave up the basic structure of the Winter family trust fund. Done with this chore, he asked, „What else am I looking for?“

„Something incriminating,“ said Riker.

„Well, I’ve got that right here.“ Robin Duffy sat behind Mallory’s steel desk, poring over papers covered with handwritten lines of faded blue ink. „I’m not surprised that you couldn’t find a copy of this will in the public record. Back in the thirties, you could buy off a clerk for pocket change. And I can tell you right now that Sheldon Smyth’s father bought a judge. That’s the only way he could’ve rammed this will through probate.“

Mallory stood behind Robin’s chair and read over his shoulder. „So it’s a fake?“

„Worse than that. It’s what I call
hysteric form,
confused and flawed. Edwina Winter was angry when she wrote this, and she wasn’t thinking straight. Her husband was cut off. That’s like an invitation to contest a will. Everything was left to Nedda and her siblings, but the kids only get a draw from a family trust. And there’s nothing here to say that Nedda’s siblings have to be Edwina’s children. Any sibling can benefit from the trust.“

„Well,“ said Riker, „I guess the lady didn’t count on Quentin having eight more kids with another wife.“

„But here’s the catch,“ said Robin. „She writes, ‘When my last child is dead, the trust passes on to the New-York Historical Society.’“

„Sounds smart to me,“ said Mallory. „According to Bitty Smyth, Edwina’s husband was the one who killed her. Maybe she saw it coming. She wanted to take the money motive out of murdering her children to inherit.“

„Makes sense,“ said Riker. „That’s why Nedda could never be legally declared dead.“

Charles thought of a more likely scenario: Edwina was preventing her husband from spending the money before the children were properly launched into the world, but he kept this to himself.

„With this wording,“ said Robin, „any judge would know it wasn’t Edwina’s intention to support another woman’s children by a future marriage. But that’s a moot point. The trust should never have been drawn up in the first place. It was created from the instructions of a flawed will. An honest judge would’ve set the will aside and divided the money between the infant Nedda and her father, Quentin Winter.“ He looked up at Charles. „I need to see the previous will.“

Charles flipped through the document index. „Sorry. There’s only one.“

„Then the law firm destroyed a preexisting will,“ said Robin Duffy. „Once you get past the hysterics, the rest of it, codicils, gifts to friends and servants, things like that, it’s all in correct legal form. She must’ve copied it from her earlier will.“

„Then we got ‘em,“ said Riker. „The old man told me that Edwina changed her will every time she had a fight with her husband.“

„In that case,“ said Robin, pausing to look over the mass of cartons, „the earlier wills were misplaced. You won’t find them on the index. You won’t find them at all. But they’re here.“

Charles Butler stood at the center of the room, sifting through another carton. „Why didn’t Quentin Winter hire a lawyer to break the will?“

„That’s an easy one,“ said Riker. „The Winter family’s lawyers have always been Smyths. Now I got a question. Why would the law firm keep all this stuff. If it incriminates them, why not destroy it?“

„Lessons of Nixon,“ said Robin. „The cover-up is always worse than the crime. They’d rather look incompetent than go to jail for fraud.“ He waved one hand to include every carton in the room. „I don’t have to look at their Financials. I know you’ll find a penny-perfect accounting for every fee and payout. It might not be honest, but it’ll look good on paper and it’ll pass an audit.“

„All right,“ said Mallory. „So the firm had to convince Quentin Winter that it wasn’t in his best interests to contest the will.“

„Right,“ said Robin. „If they couldn’t create the trust from the will instructions, then they’d lose a huge administration fee.“

„And it’s not like Quentin was left out in the cold.“ Charles placed a folder on the desk. „That’s a summary sheet for payouts in the first year. He had more income than he could spend. There’s a generous housekeeping allowance, a maintenance allotment for each child and a guardian’s draw.“

Robin studied the file, then nodded. „The firm padded out his monthly draw. My God, this trust fund was worth twenty-five million dollars. You know what that is in today’s dollars? Maybe a quarter-billion.“

„More,“ said Mallory, whose gift was calculation.

W
alking had become a great effort for Bitty Smyth. When was Aunt Nedda coming home? She undid the bolt and slumped to the floor. One ear pressed against the door, she listened to the loud conversation downstairs. Her father’s voice joined the cacophony of invectives and blame flying back and forth across the wide front room below. Sheldon Smyth was slurring his words. She knew her aunt had not yet arrived. Aunt Nedda would not be privy to this conversation of family matters. On hands and knees, Bitty crawled back toward her bed and pulled the telephone off the nightstand by its cord.