A Pain in the Tuchis: A Mrs. Kaplan Mystery (9 page)

“And she did tell them?”

“Yes, and then testified against him in court. And I cannot myself say I blame her. As you know, I did not like Vera and was upset by many of the unfriendly things she did. But that is not one of them, as far as I am concerned. It was, as they say, a ‘no win’ situation.”

“Yes, I agree,” Mrs. K said. “But as you point out, her cousin Erik probably would not.”

In a way, Vera telling on her cousin was like her telling Pupik about Rena Shapiro’s cat; it was
lashon hara.
And although some might say that neither was right, I think if Vera’s only purpose in speaking of Erik’s crime was to prevent harm to her company, she should be excused. But is it a wonder that
lashon hara
is considered the most difficult sin not to commit, or that of the forty-three sins for which we ask God’s forgiveness on
Yom Kippur,
eleven are committed by speaking? Vera telling on Erik, someone telling Rena that she had done so, and then Rena telling us, all technically were
lashon hara.
And now I am committing it by telling you!
Oy gevalt,
it can get so complicated.

This story of the cousin was a total surprise to both of us. But unfortunately, as the man was in prison, we could not very well add him to our list.

It was too bad. He would have made a most welcome addition.

It was about a week later that the police made an arrest for Vera’s murder.

I was chatting with Mrs. K in her apartment when she received a telephone call. She said “Hello” and then just listened for a minute or so, while her face got so pale I was afraid she would faint. She sat down on a nearby chair. Finally she said, “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll see what I can do.”

After she hung up, she just sat there as if trying to make sense of what she had heard on the telephone. I have seldom seen her looking so upset, or maybe confused. I, of course, was dying to know what—and who—it was that had caused such a reaction. So I asked.

“That was Daniel,” she said in a strained voice. “He’s been arrested for his mother’s murder.”

Yes, Daniel.
Nu,
I was as surprised as you are!

Now I too was staring into space.
Gotteniu!
How was this possible? Not only was Daniel not on our list of possible suspects, but he was probably the last person we would have thought to put there.

“Did he tell you why they had arrested him? They must have some
meshugge
theory or other, but I cannot imagine what it might be.”

“He didn’t really say, and I’m not certain that he knows yet. He sounds completely
farmisht,
bewildered. And I don’t blame him.”

“And why did he call you? Shouldn’t he be calling a lawyer or something?”

“Oh, I assume he has called one. But he said he wanted to talk to me, and could I meet with him today or tomorrow.”

“So you will do that?”

“Of course. And I hope you will come with me.”

“Yes, certainly.” I could hardly refuse. And I was just as curious to find out how this could have happened as was Mrs. K.

“But first,” Mrs. K said, now with a firm and determined tone of voice, having recovered a little from the shock, “I will have a talk with Inspector Corcoran. Surely he can give us some idea why Daniel, of all people, has been arrested.”

Typically, she did not waste any time getting in touch with Corcoran, and he agreed to see us at his office that afternoon.

Before that meeting, however, and in fact all during the rest of the morning and over lunch, Mrs. K and I tried to figure out how Daniel could be not only a suspect, but the person the police had decided was in fact the murderer of Vera Gold. Of his own mother. It simply did not make sense, at least to us.

“Let us try to be objective about this,” Mrs. K said as we finished our lunch. I could hardly eat and refused second helpings of everything. “Let us treat Daniel as we would any other suspect in a crime.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “Surely that is the way the police are treating him.”

“Exactly. And when considering a suspect in a crime, we always must look for a motive and an opportunity,” Mrs. K said. “I suppose because he was helping his mother with taking her medications, he did have some opportunity to give her the wrong pills. But of course so did many other people, including several employees of the Home, Rena Shapiro, and even Fannie. People were apparently in and out of her room all day, as is normal. But even if Daniel did have an opportunity to give Vera what amounted to poison, why would he do it? What would have been his motive?”

“Well, to be honest,” I said, “he did tell us that he would be getting something in his mother’s will. A big something yet. That could have been his motive, couldn’t it?”

“Yes, of course money is always a possible motive, so I suppose Daniel had one. But we can hardly suspect that everyone who is going to inherit from a close relative will want to murder them for the money, especially when the relative is elderly and ill.”

“No,” I agreed. I took a sip of water, as all of this thinking was making me thirsty. But Mrs. K was in her element, and she continued right on.

“He also said there was a gift to the Home in Vera’s will. Shall we then suspect Pupik or one of the staff of killing her to get it? And do we suspect this Fred person as well? No, it is all too simple, and too unlikely. There must be more to it than that.”

There usually is.

Inspector Corcoran’s office was located downtown. Mrs. K and I again got on the shopping shuttle, which Mrs. K said would take us close enough to police headquarters that we could walk the rest of the way. As I had never been to police headquarters,
Got tsu danken,
I took her word for it.

When we boarded the bus, Andy, the shuttle driver, asked us where we were going, as usual. We of course did not say “to the police station,” but gave him the name of a store nearby. All we needed was for everyone within earshot to start
noodging
us about why we were going there. And once Mrs. Bissela heard about it…well, you know.

So Andy dropped us off at the usual place for shopping, and we walked a few blocks to a plain-looking building that was police headquarters. From the outside it just looked like an ordinary ugly office building; only a shiny brass plaque next to the big double front doors warned you that it was full of policemen.

Mrs. K had been to Corcoran’s office once or twice since we had met him during that business with the matzoh ball soup, which is why she knew where it was. I had never been there, and I did not like the idea of going into that building, as I watched policemen and police ladies in uniform and in plainclothes passing in and out of the doors. Even though I was of course not guilty of anything, and I honestly have only respect for policemen—after all, our good friend and table companion Isaac Taubman’s son Benjamin is on the police force and is a wonderful boy—it is from my childhood in the old country that I still get a shiver when I am around those people in uniforms. But that is just my problem and a story for another day.

Inside we faced a desk at which sat two uniformed policemen. One was busy on a computer or something, and the other was writing something on a pad. As soon as we got near the desk, the writing policeman looked up and, seeing us, gave us a nice smile, and asked if he could help us. Mrs. K said we were there to see Inspector Corcoran, and the man at the desk immediately nodded and picked up his telephone. A few seconds later he told us to go to the second floor and we would be met there.

When we arrived at the second floor, we were greeted by Corcoran’s secretary—she was just wearing a pretty green blouse and brown skirt, not a uniform—and shown into his office. As he also does not wear a policeman’s uniform, I am not at all uncomfortable around him, or even his
shlumpy
partner, Jenkins, for that matter.

The first thing I noticed when being shown into Corcoran’s office was his first name. On his door in gold letters it said “Inspector Robert Corcoran, Homicide.” In the many times I had met Corcoran, all at the Home, he was always “Corcoran” or “Inspector Corcoran,” or maybe “that handsome policeman”; this was the first time I knew his first name. I doubted I would have any occasion to use it, however.

Corcoran’s office was not what you would call decorated, but it did have several photographs on the walls. Some seemed to be of him with his family, which I thought was very nice. One of the pictures was of Corcoran with two smiling young boys maybe seven or eight years old, all of them wearing skis and standing in the snow. Another was just him with a beautiful young woman I assume is his wife and mother of the two boys. It is interesting how much a few photos can tell you about a person. Some of the pictures were of Corcoran shaking hands with people like the mayor and the police chief. You know, the kind that show what important people a person knows. There also was a large map of the city on one wall and two faded prints of people on horses on another. I guess it was about right for a policeman’s office.

Inspector Corcoran himself greeted us at the door. Although he had said he wanted our help, it had to be difficult for him to take time out from a murder investigation, and who knows what other important police business he had, to talk with us. Nevertheless, he certainly looked and sounded like he was glad to see us.

“Please come in, Mrs. Kaplan, Mrs. Berkowitz,” he said with a smile. After asking his secretary to ask Sergeant Jenkins to come to his office, he turned his attention to us. He indicated two chairs for us to sit in. “Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee? Water?”

We both said “no, thank you,” although to tell the truth, I could have used a nice cup of tea just then. But I knew Mrs. K wanted to get right to the point. And the point, of course, was Daniel Gold.

Inspector Corcoran took the big chair behind his desk. He was in his shirtsleeves, the cuffs rolled up, his tie loosened. The desk top was not messy, but it was crowded with papers. I wondered whether any of them had a relation to Daniel’s case.

Jenkins knocked on the door and came in, pulling up a chair at the corner of the desk on the same side as Corcoran. The Inspector then said to us, “I would ask what I can do for you ladies, but I assume you’re here to talk about Daniel Gold. Am I correct?”

“You are,” said Mrs. K. “We cannot understand how, with all the people who one might suspect of wanting to harm Vera Gold, you have decided that her son, who we all know was so devoted to her, would do such a terrible thing.”

Corcoran appeared very serious, putting his fingertips together and looking down at his desk before looking up at us and saying, “Yes, I fully understand. And I also understand, from what we’ve learned, that you, Mrs. Kaplan, have a…a special relationship with Mr. Gold, almost like family. Isn’t that so?”

“I suppose you could say that,” Mrs. K said. “And I’m sure that is one reason I’m here. But even if he were a stranger, I would still feel he is maybe the most unlikely person to suspect. So I am hoping you are able to tell us something to make some sense of it. There must be a great deal that we do not know.”

“Yes, yes, there is. And ordinarily I would have to answer that I cannot discuss any of the details of our case with anyone except Mr. Gold himself and his attorney. But I not only trust you—and you as well, Mrs. Berkowitz—to keep anything I say confidential, but frankly I would be glad to have you thinking about the facts together with us. You know the people involved, you know the setting, and you have a…shall we say…a unique perspective and approach to these matters. So yes, I can give you some idea of why Mr. Gold has been arrested without breaching any confidences. But keep in mind that our discussion here, like when we spoke at your residence, is strictly confidential.”

We nodded.

Corcoran picked up a file folder from the right side of his desk, glanced at a few of the pages, put it down, folded his hands, and told us what was a most surprising and disturbing story.

“First of all,” Inspector Corcoran began, “you should know in a little more detail what we’ve learned about the medications that apparently were responsible for Mrs. Gold’s death. As I think I already mentioned, her death was caused, our medical people say, by two drugs that, when combined, can cause serious, even fatal heart problems.”

Here he took out some notes from the folder he had consulted earlier and glanced down at them as he continued: “You might recall that the first drug is called ziprasidone, but let’s call it drug number one, to make it easier to say.” He smiled and we did as well.

“Drug number one, as I’ve told you, is used to treat the symptoms of schizophrenia and also episodes of”—and here he read from his notes—“ ‘mania, which is a frenzied, abnormally excited or irritated mood in patients with bipolar disorder.’ ” He looked up. “Anyway, you get the idea. Drug one is in a class of medications called”—and again he read from his notes—“ ‘atypical antipsychotics.’ It works by changing the activity of certain natural substances in the brain.” He put down the notes and looked at us. “The bottom line is that this drug, which was prescribed for Mrs. Gold by Dr. Menschyk, can affect the heart’s rhythm. Therefore, taking it with some other drug that also affects the heart’s rhythm can cause an irregular heartbeat and be life-threatening.”

I was trying hard to absorb all of this medical
megillah,
and to be honest I was finding it difficult. I glanced at Mrs. K, however, and she seemed to be nodding right along with Corcoran, not seeming lost at all. That’s good, because she could explain it to me later.

“Now, taking drug number one,” Corcoran said, “which as I say was prescribed for Mrs. Gold, was not a problem. It was drug number two that likely caused her death. That was,” with a glance down at his notes, “sibutramine. I believe I told you earlier that sibutramine, which let’s call drug number two, is an appetite suppressant. It was pulled off the market a few years ago, but of course there is still some floating around in people’s medicine cabinets and such. It also affects the heart’s rhythm, and it is exactly the kind of drug that, when combined with drug number one, can easily be fatal. In fact, there were clear warnings on the label of drug number two against using it if you’re also taking drug number one or anything similar.”

“And of course this number two drug was not prescribed for Mrs. Gold?” Mrs. K asked.

“Of course. So as I’ve already told you, the medical examiner found evidence of both drugs one and two in Mrs. Gold’s system and concluded that, especially given her weakened condition at the time, that is what caused her death.”

“I see,” Mrs. K said. “But as you say, you already told us this, although not in such detail. So how does it relate to Daniel?”

“Yes, I’m getting to that. One of the characteristics of drug number two, I’m told, is that it does not stay active in the system very long. In other words, if one were to take drug number two, say, in the morning, and drug number one in the evening, although there might be some slight effect, it would not be very dangerous, because number two would already pretty much be out of one’s bloodstream.”

We again nodded.

“Now, drug number one, the drug that Mrs. Gold was supposed to take, was always given her with or just after her dinner—it is supposed to be taken with food, I believe—by her son, Daniel. We assume—and in fact, I don’t believe he denies—that Mr. Gold gave his mother drug number one that evening, as scheduled.”

I wished Inspector Corcoran would call him Daniel. It was hard to remember who this “Mr. Gold” was, since we almost never called him that.

“If you consider those facts for a moment,” Corcoran went on, “you’ll see where I’m heading. If Mr. Gold gave his mother drug number one, and if, in order for it to be fatal, drug number two had to be given her at or at least near the same time, he is the only one who was in a position to give her both that evening.”

He let this sink in for a minute. Even I could follow this reasoning. It let off the hook, so to speak, all those people who entered Vera’s room, for whatever reason, earlier in the day.

Corcoran began again. “Now, I know, Mrs. Kaplan, you are a big fan of Sherlock Holmes, and we’ve talked about the need to look for both a motive and an opportunity in these cases. Daniel Gold is the only person, or at least the only person of whom we are presently aware, who had the opportunity to administer both of the fatal drugs to his mother.”

“Yes, I see,” said Mrs. K. “I am not sure you are correct about that, but let us go on to talk about motive. I assume you will tell us that Daniel’s motive was that he was going to receive a large inheritance in his mother’s will?”

Inspector Corcoran looked surprised. “Well, yes, in part. But how did you…?”

“Daniel already told us this. And I do not see that it is very important. Of course he would receive an inheritance as her son, especially because he has been so good to her.” Mrs. K went on to mention the point we had already discussed, that you cannot suspect everyone who receives a legacy in a will of wanting to murder that person, especially if the person is already getting toward the end of her life.

“Yes, I agree,” Corcoran said after Mrs. K had finished. “And if that were the only motive Mr. Gold might have had, we would at least be less certain of our position. But there is more to consider.”

“Such as?”

“Well, first of all, there is the obvious fact that he is a pharmacist. He would not only be familiar with the interactions of drugs such as these, but he would have access to them, perhaps even to those no longer on the market.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Mrs. K conceded, if somewhat reluctantly.

“As you know, he was very reluctant to allow an autopsy, and as I understand it he only agreed after you, uh, put pressure on him, correct?”

“Yes, but I assume you understand that he was objecting for religious reasons. That should not be held against him.”

“Perhaps. It’s just something to take into account. But there’s also his financial circumstances. I cannot go into detail, but suffice it to say he was, and is, in need of a considerable amount of money, and very soon.”

We both were silent as we took in this bad news. We certainly could not contradict it, as we had no knowledge of Daniel’s finances. Inspector Corcoran waited patiently.

Finally Mrs. K said, “So this is your case for murder? Is it not all what would be called circumstantial evidence? You are just drawing conclusions from these circumstances.”

“Well, no, but before I go on, I want to point out that sometimes circumstantial evidence is all we have to go on. There’s not always an eyewitness, or a smoking gun. And I believe it was Thoreau who said ‘Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout in the milk.’ ”

This seemed like a strange thing for Mr. Thoreau to say, and I did not quite understand what a fish would be doing in the milk, but Mrs. K seemed to, as she said, “Yes, I suppose so. Still, I think you are making a big mistake. I know Daniel very well, and it is simply impossible that he would do such a horrible thing, even for all the money in the world.” She was getting quite emotional.

Corcoran smiled and held his hand out as if to stop her becoming too upset.

“Mrs. Kaplan,” he said, “I can well understand your feelings, and I realize you are much closer to Mr. Gold and know him better than any of us here. And I also realize that, no matter how strong circumstantial evidence is, even if that trout is definitely in the milk, it is not as conclusive as an eyewitness might be. And even eyewitnesses can be mistaken, as has been shown many times. But there is also one other piece of evidence that I must mention that may change your thinking somewhat.”

“And that is?”

“Given all of these circumstances that I’ve already mentioned, we obtained a search warrant for Mr. Gold’s home.”

“A search warrant?” Mrs. K said, surprised. As was I. “For what could you be searching? The murder weapon?” Although this was a sarcastic question by Mrs. K, it turned out to have a serious answer.

“In a way, yes,” Corcoran said. “Believe it or not, it’s not uncommon for a criminal to fail to dispose of all evidence of his crime, either because he’s so confident he won’t be apprehended he doesn’t need to, or just because he’s careless. We were hoping to find some trace of sibutramine somewhere in his home. It was a long shot, you might say. But it paid off, because we actually found an unmarked bottle in his medicine cabinet that, when analyzed, contained a few sibutramine pills. That was when we decided to make the arrest.”

At hearing this, both Mrs. K and I were, you could say, totally
tsemisht.
Confused. Even flabbergasted. Had a “smoking gun” really been found in Daniel’s hand? For Mrs. K especially this was a difficult thing to accept. Could Daniel really have done such a terrible thing?

Inspector Corcoran could see how this last thing he said had affected Mrs. K and me, and he hurriedly tried to reassure us.

“I know this is very difficult for you both,” he said, “and I’m sure you will continue to believe in Mr. Gold’s innocence, as is quite natural. But I assure you we are quite comfortable with our judgment that Mr. Gold is indeed the guilty party here. In other words, while I am very grateful for the help you’ve given us—and me in particular—to this point, now that, with your help, we’ve discovered the perpetrator of this crime, I’m asking you to accept our judgment and to let the process of justice run its proper course.” Jenkins nodded enthusiastically at this.

Mrs. K did not look at all ready to accept Corcoran’s judgment. “You are asking us to, what do they say, to butt out?” she asked. “To assume you are right in arresting Daniel?”

“Well, yes, although I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”

“Put, shmut, it’s all the same.” She stood up and turned to me.

“Come, Ida. It seems the police think this case is now closed. We have no further business here.”

“Now, Mrs. Kaplan,” Corcoran said, also standing, “please don’t take what I said the wrong way. I really am grateful for your help, for both of your assistance. But there comes a point when no further assistance is…is required, that’s all.”

Mrs. K’s tone softened a little. She said, “I know, Inspector Corcoran. You have to do your job the way you think best, not how I think you should do it.

“And we have to do the same.”

We started to leave the office, but then Mrs. K seemed to think of something and turned back to the policemen.

“Isn’t it too bad that the cousin is in jail?” she said. “He would make such a better suspect than Daniel.”

Corcoran looked puzzled. “The cousin? Whose cousin are you referring to?”

“Vera’s cousin, Erik. The one who is in prison.”

He still looked puzzled. “Yes, in our general background investigation we discovered the cousin, but why do you consider him important? I admit we didn’t follow up with him, because he wouldn’t figure in the will, or in any other way we could see.”

“Well, no, he would not, because he is in prison.” And Mrs. K told Corcoran what Mrs. Bissela had told us about Vera’s telling on Erik.

“Hmm. As I said, we didn’t really check up on him, but now that you tell me this, I think we’d better. Just to tie up loose ends, you understand. You say he’s in Sing Sing prison? I’ll have our records department check on that, just to make sure.”

“Oh, and one other thing,” Mrs. K said. “Daniel told us that a large part of his mother’s estate was to go to a man named Fred Herring. No, Herrington, I think. Is he still in the will, or does everything go to Daniel?”

Corcoran hesitated before answering, but then said, “Again, I’m sure Mr. Gold will tell you anyway, and a deceased’s will is a public document, so yes, Fred Herrington is still in the will. And yes,” he added, holding up a hand, “we realize that gives him a motive, and we wanted to speak with him—still do—but so far we’ve been unable to locate him. We’ll keep trying, as will the estate. But a motive without an opportunity, as you know, is very weak evidence, and at this point I can’t see him having that opportunity. Or this Cousin Erik either, for that matter. So to be honest, we won’t be spending a whole lot of time and effort on either man. As I said, we’re quite comfortable with our present conclusions.” He smiled as he said this, and Mrs. K accepted the point.
Nu,
she should argue with the policeman?

Again we turned to leave, and as we did Corcoran said, “I should remind you again that our little discussion here was in strict confidence, and I’d appreciate if you didn’t discuss any of the details of this case with others.”

“But it is already well known at the Home that Vera Gold was…did not die of natural causes,” I said. “We cannot pretend otherwise.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean the details, like what the medications were, the timing, that sort of thing. Our investigation is continuing even though we believe we have the right person, and the less those details are spread around, the better, if you understand what I mean.”

We understood, and we promised to be careful what we said. He again thanked us for coming—and no doubt was thankful also we were leaving—and we left his office.

On our way to the elevator, Mrs. K sat down on an upholstered bench, and I sat next to her. She looked quite pale and just sat quietly without saying anything, and I did not disturb her. Finally she turned to me and said, with the conviction of a person who knows she is right and is prepared to fight to prove it, “Ida, we have a lot of work to do.”

“But the policemen made it clear they did not want any more help from us. It is just like in some of the cases of Sherlock Holmes, and of course you know that even better than I, where the policemen tell Mr. Holmes to, how did you put it, to butt out. To be honest, I always wondered why the policemen would not be glad to have someone of Mr. Holmes’s great ability on their side. Jealousy, I suppose.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Mrs. K said. “But whatever the reason, I do not intend to do any such thing, any more than Mr. Holmes would. Especially as we are responsible for Daniel being in such trouble in the first place.”