Read Barbara Levenson - Mary Magruder Katz 03 - Outrageous October Online
Authors: Barbara Levenson
Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - Lawyer - Romance - Vermont
.
I delivered Sherry back to Lillian, refused Lillian’s dinner invitation and began the drive home. Of course, not my real home. Lucy’s house was beginning to feel familiar and safe.
I thought about Miami as I drove. Sooner or later I had to return to home and work. What would it be like without Carlos dropping into the office or waiting for me at my house in the Gables; without Chicky phoning to tell me about the latest fashions? I knew my family would be around to fill those gaps. As annoyed as I got over Mother’s fussing over me, I sort of missed being that center of attention. Sooner or later was becoming sooner in my mind. Could I ever forget Carlos? I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him all the time I was here, seventeen hundred miles away from him. How would I erase him from my mind when he was only blocks away. Maybe I was as stupid as Sherry had been about Paul. For all my experience judging people, I believed in Carlos, and he turned out to be a liar.
Before I knew it, I was passing the mini-mart. I hadn’t seen Riley for days. I turned into the drive and parked at the gas pump. As soon as I entered the store, Riley saw me and came out from behind the counter.
“Mary, I’ve heard all about the kidnapping and Francie Wallace being in jail. I feel just awful that I had no inkling what she was up to. I’m the one she left the package with that your friend, Mrs. Yarmouth, came here to get. I hope you’re not mad at me. I just didn’t know.”
I didn’t even bother to ask Riley how she knew these details. Between Hal’s store and this mini-mart, there was little need for a newspaper or television.
“I’m not mad at you. I couldn’t share anything that was happening for fear that we’d never get Sherry back alive.”
“How is she?”
“I just left her. She’s doing better and getting ready to go home with her mother. Listen, Riley, I’m sure you know about Roland Behr being murdered. You’ll probably hear soon enough that he was running some kind of Nazi organization at his house. Were you aware that there was a hate group like that here in the Upper Valley?”
“I know he was shot. There have always been rumors about who he really was. If you’re asking if I knew he was a bigot, the answer is yes. I think almost everyone knew that. Even his wife was always quick to tell a joke about Blacks and Jews.”
“What I can’t figure out is how there could be an active Nazi cell operating here without everyone knowing about it. It seems like no one can do anything in secret here. Everyone knew who I was before I could introduce myself.”
“It’s probably hard for you to understand. You come from a big city where people are more anonymous. People probably did know more than you think. Some people definitely agreed with the distrust of minorities. They just kept it to themselves. Others may have known that Roland was involved in some ugly stuff. Try to understand that Vermonters believe in live and let live. We gossip, but we don’t judge peoples’ thoughts. Does that make sense to you?”
“No, it doesn’t, not really; not when it is so hurtful. But I still hope you and I are friends. I want to make sure that Ken Upham is not a person of interest anymore in Roland’s murder and then I want to get back to Miami, and back to making a living again. Maybe you’ll even visit me there sometime.”
“I’d love to, especially during the grey days of March when I tend to get cabin fever. It sounds like you’re telling me goodbye. I was hoping you and Dash would become a couple and you’d stick around.”
“Thanks for wanting me around. Dash is a great guy. He’s just not my great guy.”
.
I gassed up the Explorer and headed for Main Street and River Road. I realized I was just blocks from Dash’s office. I pulled into the drive next to the barn and parked next to Daisy’s car. Dash was sitting at Daisy’s desk as I walked in. Daisy was looking over his shoulder at the computer. She hurried over to me and gave me a hug.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you how happy I am that everything turned out fine for Sherry. Dash told me how brave you were helping with her rescue.” Daisy’s heavy hairdo bobbed up and down as she talked.
“Mary, I’m glad you stopped in. We were just talking about you and laughing about how you smoked Tom Brousseau out. I have to admit, I thought you were overly imaginative about someone staying at the Brousseau house.”
“You don’t know the half of it. For a while I thought it might be you hanging out there. You and Tom have the same exact car.”
“So does half the valley. A black Subaru SUV is standard here.” Dash broke up laughing and then Daisy joined him. I began to giggle too.
Daisy left for a minute and returned with a tray and glasses. “I think it’s the cocktail hour,” she said.
She poured a shot of scotch in each glass and we all swilled it down. The warm liquid left an after- glow that even warmed my feet a little. I still wasn’t adjusted to the power of the wind to envelope all of my parts. If I stayed until real winter I might develop an alcohol problem.
“Mary, Daisy and I were just discussing the feds investigation into Roland’s murder. Curtis is questioning all the board members of the temple,”
“Even me!” Daisy said.
“Do you want me to sit in with you, Daisy?” I asked.
“No, one of the FBI men already talked to me. I’m worried about Franz Goldstein and his family.”
“I can’t believe that Curtis is going to question Franz. He must be at least 85 and he’s fairly feeble,” Dash said.
“Isn’t he the one you said was a Holocaust survivor?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“That’s the reason he’s a suspect. If he knew there were Nazis operating here, wouldn’t that cause flashbacks to whatever he endured during the war?” I asked.
“Possibly, but I can’t picture Franz being able to attack someone physically. Roland was either chased into his front yard and shot there, or his body was dragged out there. How could Franz manage that?” Dash asked.
“Mary, couldn’t you represent Franz and his family when the FBI questions them?” Daisy asked.
“That might not be proper. I represented Ken.”
“Ken’s off the hook. He told me himself that Curtis said he wasn’t under suspicion,” Dash said.
“Sometimes the Feds say that, but they really don’t mean it, trying to catch a suspect off guard,” I said. “Maybe I could offer a limited representation just for the purpose of guarding Franz’s rights during questioning. Why don’t you represent the other family members, Dash?”
“I’m not the criminal law expert. If any of them get charged with anything, I’ll find them permanent Vermont criminal lawyers,” Dash said.
“Please, do this Mary. These are such good people,” Daisy said as she poured me another hit of scotch.
.
I was awake before six the next morning. I couldn’t believe that I was again working on a case in Vermont when I should be returning to Miami.
I got up and went right to the computer and sent a long e-mail to Catherine. I told her about Sherry, the Brousseau murder, and Roland Behr. I assured her that this was the last case that I would be even peripherally involved in here, and that I would be leaving for Miami by the weekend or Monday at the latest.
I grabbed Sam and sped off to Hal’s store to pick up breakfast and the morning paper. Hal was just opening the store, although I could smell that he’d been baking for hours. We bought pumpkin bread and coffee for me, and homemade dog biscuits for Sam. I dodged Hal’s questions about Tom, and about the feds showing up to investigate Roland’s murder.
Back at Lucy’s, I spread out the Valley News to read about the murder and the full story of Sherry’s kidnapping. My name was mentioned four times. The second page carried the story of Francie Wallace and Carolyn Brousseau’s murder. I got two mentions in that article.
What surprised me was the sidebar that accompanied the story of Francie’s arrest.
Sheriff Jimmy Parsons tendered his resignation last night to the Village Manager, stating he wished to spend more time with his family. He had two years left in his term of office. The Select Board will discuss appointing an interim sheriff to serve the two years remaining in Parson’s term or until a future election.
Some citizens of the village have expressed distrust of the abilities of Parsons after Carolyn Brousseau’s murder went unsolved for over one year. Many others felt that Jimmy Parsons did a good job of keeping the highways safe from speeders and drunk drivers.
Parsons was unavailable for comment prior to deadline.
With a kidnapping and two murders in the past twelve months, High Pines better get a super cop appointed fast, I thought.
I had treated myself to a New York Times and opened it to National News. Immediately an item jumped out at me. Seaside National Bank in Miami was under scrutiny from the Securities and Exchange Commission, the IRS, and the Justice Department for irregularities. Seaside was the startup bank that J.C. Martin, Carlos’s father, served as a board member. I remembered that he even tried to get me to move my law office trust account to Seaside. I had a pang of regret when I saw J.C.’s name.. I had always felt real affection for him. He was a complete gentleman, always saying the right thing at the right time. I missed him.
It was time to put on my lawyer’s attire and get myself over to Rabbi Goldblatt’s chambers at the temple.
“I can’t take you with me, Sam. I’m sorry to leave you home again,” I said.
Just then I heard a tap on the back door. I saw Tom Brousseau through the glass.
“Tom, how are you?”
“I’m great, Mary. Thanks to you, I’m starting a whole new life. I came over to say thank you so much. I hope I’m not coming over too early.”
“Not at all. I’m just about to leave to do some legal work. I was just putting Sam in his crate.”
Sam jumped up and put his paws on Tom’s chest, a greeting reserved for his closest friends. Tom rubbed Sam’s chest.
“Mary, why don’t you leave Sam with me? It’s a shame to keep him cooped up. I’ll be home all day, painting. It’s so pretty that I may even set up an easel outside and Sam can romp around.”
“Are you sure? Sam can be an escape artist, so you need to keep a close eye on him. You never told me where your paintings are exhibited.”
“Nowhere right now. I had some exhibits when I was at the art institute and a small show on Cape Cod, but I’ve been out of touch as you know.”
“We have a big art show in Miami every February, the Coconut Grove Art Show. I’ll send you all the information and maybe you can get accepted. If you do, you can stay with me.”
“Thanks, Mary. That would be great.”
I snapped Sam’s leash on him and he and Tom set off on the path between the two houses.
.
I followed Daisy’s directions to the temple. I admired the interesting building as I approached it from the parking area. It had a New England look and fit into the rural setting as easily as one of the red barns I kept passing; nothing like the Moorish architecture that older synagogues utilized, nor the stern modern looking buildings in Miami.
A group of people was standing around in the entryway. They were of mixed ages. A very frail appearing man sat on a bench. He cradled a cane in his knarred hand. Next to him sat a man around my father’s age. He had his arm around the shoulder of the older man. A young couple stood nearby. I was sure these were the Goldsteins.
“Hi, I’m Mary Katz. Are you the Goldstein family?”
“Thank goodness you’re here. I’m Jeff and this is my wife, Sophie. This is my grandfather Franz Goldstein and my dad, Harry. Dash Mellman said you’d be here to help us when we talk to the FBI people. How can this be happening?”
I shook hands with each of them. Franz barely acknowledged that I was there.
“Don’t be upset. This is all very routine. I will be in the room with each of you as you’re called in. If I don’t want you to answer a question, I’ll put my hand on your arm at the same time that I object. That’s your cue to stop talking and wait,” I explained.
“You mean they’re going to talk to each of us separately?” Harry asked.
“Yes, they have that right, and actually it gives the investigator a better idea of what each of you might be able to add.”
“It’s impossible for my father to be questioned without one of us with him. He doesn’t always even recognize his own family anymore. We are accustomed to keeping him calm. We know how to handle him and help him listen to directions. His mind is not functioning as it used to,” Harry said.
“I’m sure that the investigator will realize this, but let me sit with Franz for a few minutes and see if he can understand me,” I said.
Harry moved over and I took the seat next to Franz. “Good morning Mr. Goldstein. How are you?” I asked.
Franz gave me a happy smile. “You can call me Franz,” he said. He had a fairly heavy accent. He reminded me of the old people who used to live on Miami Beach when I was a young child.
“He likes women,” Jeff said.
“I can see that. Franz, do you know where you are?”
“Of course, I’m at the
schul
.”
“So do you know why you’re here?”
“Sure. It’s Rosh Hashanah. Shouldn’t we go in and get our seats for the service? Why are we sitting out here?”
“That holiday was a few weeks ago. We’re here today because a policeman wants to talk to us about something that happened to Roland Behr. Do you know who he is?”
“That
schtunck, that gonif
. Of course, I know who he is. He shouldn’t be allowed to live here.”
“Okay, Franz. Do you know what happened to Roland Behr?”
“Who?” Franz asked.
“See what I mean?” Harry asked.
“I’m sure they won’t speak to him for long,” I reassured him. “Now do any of you have any other questions for me? I’m sure they will ask you where you were on the night of the murder, and whether you own any firearms, and whether you knew about the neo-Nazi group.”
“I think this is ridiculous. They can’t believe that we would actually murder someone.” Sophie spoke up for the first time.
I reminded the Goldsteins that Franz had suffered at the hands of the Nazis, so it was inevitable that they would want to meet with the family.
The door to the Rabbi’s study opened and a tall young woman stepped out. She ushered out an older woman. They shook hands. Harry approached the older woman and gave her a hug.
“Mildred, are you being questioned too?” Harry said.
“Please, I must request that you do not discuss anything I’ve asked you with the other witnesses,” the tall woman said as she escorted Mildred to the outer door.
I was happy to see that the agent who was doing the interviews was a woman. I knew Franz would respond better to her.
I quickly introduced myself and explained why I was there.
“I’m Laura Morris. I’m with the FBI office serving Northern New England,” she said and showed us her badge. “I’m going to speak to each of you in just a minute, but to save time, let me explain that my job is to gather as much information as possible regarding the death of Roland Behr. I will be handing each of you a form explaining your rights. If you have any questions about the form, just ask me. You have counsel who will represent you during my questions. Once you are sure you understand the form, please sign it.”
“Are we being accused of something here? Are any of us under arrest?” Jeff was showing his anger.
“No, this is completely investigatory at this point.” Agent Morris answered.
“Let me suggest that we get under way. I’m sure you’re on a tight schedule. Why don’t you start with Harry Goldstein?” I stood up and steered Harry toward the door to the study. My hope was that the whole family didn’t become defensive and appear guilty of something.
We entered a pleasant room with a large antique desk and several comfortable leather chairs. The view from the large window reflected the sun on the crimson apples still remaining on a squat tree..
Laura seated herself behind the desk, placed Harry under oath, and turned on a tape recorder. “I hope you have no objection to the use of the recorder.” Without waiting for an answer, Laura began her questions.
“State your full name and date of birth, sir.” Laura began.
“Harry Joseph Goldstein. July 12, 1954.
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a social worker. I work for the United Jewish Appeal of Greater New York.”
“What are your duties there?”
“I’m in charge of overseeing several of the services run by the organization including family services, vocational services, and nutritional services.”
“How long have you worked there?”
“Let’s see, almost six years. Prior to that, I was employed by Vista services of New England working with families.”
“Did you live in this area at one time?”
Yes, I did. We raised our children in Vermont. My wife died six years ago. I took the job in New York and moved there. It was just so difficult being here after she died.”
“And where do you live in New York?”
“In the East Village, near New York University.”
“When you lived here, did you know Roland Behr?”
“I knew who he was, but I never socialized with him, if that’s what you mean.”
“Why not?”
“Everyone knew he was anti-Semitic. He and his wife had a few friends who shared his views.”
“Am I correct that your father came from Germany and was interred during the war?”
“That’s a polite way to put it. My dad and my mother lost their entire families during the war, killed by the Nazis. They met here in the U.S. They didn’t like to talk too much about what happened to them while I was growing up, but later when Jeff came along, he asked my dad a lot of questions and got him talking. Jeff had a school writing project. Dad agreed to speak to the students and that opened the door for him to speak out. He addressed high school classes here for several years until my mother passed away. He’s gone downhill very fast. I hope you will understand that he is no longer able to converse coherently.”
“I will have to judge that for myself. Right now I need to hear where you were on October Twelfth in the evening hours.”
“Just a minute,” I said, placing my hand on Harry’s arm. “Mr. Goldstein was trying to explain something important to you. There’s no reason for you to be rude. He’s answering all your questions, but I expect you to respect him and the rest of his family.”
“No need to get your dander up. Ms. Katz. No one’s being rude. I’m just doing my job, as I assume, you are. Is your client going to answer my last question?”
“Go ahead, Harry,” I said.
“I was working that night. That was our opening fund raising event. We had almost a thousand people at the Plaza Hotel. Elie Wiesel was our speaker. People were still there at eleven o’clock, and I wasn’t able to leave until after midnight.”
“Are there people whose names you can provide who saw you there?”
“Give or take a thousand or so,” I interrupted. “Look Agent Morris. Harry was a five hour drive from High Pines. I think you can safely eliminate him from your suspicious list.”
“Thank you, Ms. Katz, for your assistance, but I feel capable of making such judgments on my own. Now, Mr. Goldstein, when was the last time you were here in the Upper Valley?”
“That would have been on Yom Kippur, about three weeks ago.”
“And how often do you visit here?”
“I try to get here once a month if my work allows. I like to check on my dad and see how Jeff and Sophie are doing, and to see my little grandson.”
“Do you own any firearms?”
“I did, but I gave my hunting guns to Jeff when I moved down to New York.”
“Okay, sir, I think that’s all I need from you. Please, don’t discuss these questions with other members of your family. Ms. Katz, please bring Franz Goldstein in.”
Harry and I departed quickly. Once outside the Rabbi’s study, Harry shook his head.
“She’s some piece of work. I don’t know how she’s going to interview Dad.”
“I’ll do my best to keep everyone calm.” I turned to Franz. “Come on Franz. Let’s take a little walk. I want you to meet a lady named Laura. She’s very pretty.”
“Oh, good, I like the pretty ones,” Franz said. Harry and I helped him up and Harry tucked his cane in Franz’s hand.
We made our way slowly through the door.
“Franz, this is Laura. She wants to ask you some questions.”
Laura turned the tape recorder back on.
“For the record,” I said, Franz Goldstein is unable to sign his rights form or to understand its meaning. He has dementia and it is my hope that he will be treated very carefully.”
“Are you finished, Ms. Katz?“ I nodded my head.
“Hello, Franz. My name is Laura Morris. Can you tell me your full name?”
“Do you know my wife. I’ll bet she’d like to meet you,” Franz said.
“Franz, tell Laura your name,” I said.
“She already knows it”.
“Franz, do you know how old you are?”
“Sure, I’m fifty-five.”
Laura looked at me. I guessed that she had never encountered someone with dementia.
“Franz, were you born in Germany?”
“I don’t want to talk about that place.” Franz frowned and tried to turn his back on Laura.
“Okay, we won’t then. Did you ever meet someone named Roland Behr?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“In Dachau.”
“Where is Dachau?”
“Back there.”
“Where do you live, Franz”
“In my own apartment. I can’t talk to you anymore. We’re late for the service, and the rabbi doesn’t like it when people come in late.”
“You can go in just a minute. Franz, have you seen Roland here in High Pines?”
“Jeff said, just ignore him. Jeff said he’d take care of everything. I hate Roland, and now I don’t like you anymore.” Franz struggled to his feet. “Don’t bother me anymore.” He raised his cane and pointed it at Laura.
For a minute, I thought he was going to hit the agent with the cane. He lowered it and it was clear that he didn’t have the strength to hit anyone.
“We’re through here,” I said. I took Franz’s arm and led him from the room.
Laura followed us into the hallway. “Please bring in Sophie Goldstein.”
Harry guided his father into a chair and approached Laura. “Ms. Morris, may I leave and take my father home? He seems very upset.”
“Yes, you can leave, but please don’t go back to New York or out of the area without checking with me. I may need to speak to you again,” Laura said.
I shook hands with Harry, and motioned Sophie to follow me into the rabbi’s study which was now an interrogation room.
Laura went through her routine about the rights form and the tape recorder and placed Sophie under oath. Sophie squirmed in her chair, her eyes darting from me to Laura and back again.
“Sophie, do you recall the evening of October twelfth and can you relate everything you do remember about that evening?”
“I’m pretty sure that was one of the nights that we had Papa Franz over for dinner. It was our baby’s nine month birthday and Papa loves to play with the baby. It always cheers him up.”
“How did he get to your house and what time did he arrive?”
“Jeff picked him up on his way home from work. The assisted living facility is close to where he works when he’s not working out of our house. We’re both graphic designers so we don’t always have to go into the office.”
“When did Franz and Jeff arrive? How did the evening progress?”
“They got home about six. I fed the baby and then we all sat down and had dinner. We had a cake and Jacob sat in his high chair with us and got the icing all over his face. It was so cute. We took some pictures.”
“Yes, well, how long did Franz stay at your house?”
“We watched the Red Sox game on TV. Franz fell asleep. I guess the game was over around ten, and Jeff woke his granddad up and got him into the car.”
“How far is it to Franz’s place?”
“About five or six miles.”
“And when did Jeff get home?”
“Jeff called from there. Papa Franz refused to settle down and go to bed. Jeff said he was disoriented and kept saying he wanted to go with Jeff.”
“What time did he call?”
“I had already gone to bed, so I’m not sure. I told Jeff to bring him back and I’d get the guest room ready. Jeff said he was waiting for the nurse to come in and maybe they’d give Franz a sedative or a tranquilizer or something.”
“So when did Jeff get back?”
“He called again and said Franz was very hyper even after the medication, I told him to bring him home and we’d get him quiet. I got the bed made up and they got here a little after twelve.”
“So you really don’t know where Jeff and Franz were for over two hours, do you?” Laura said accusingly.
“Okay, Laura, Sophie has answered all your questions very patiently. Knock off your tone,” I said.