Death in Saratoga Springs (25 page)

“What did you think when you heard that Crake was murdered and Francesca was arrested?”

“At first, I didn't know what to make of it all. Had Shaw hired the girl? Or was the killing an odd coincidence unrelated to Shaw's plan? What most disturbed me was hearing that the murder weapon was a boning knife. The police seemed to suspect that I was careless or even let the girl have the knife.”

“Unfortunately,” said Harry, “in the secret messages I've discovered, Rachel has implicated you and Jason, as well as Shaw. When she recovers, she'll claim she wasn't involved.”

He glared at Harry. “Rachel's a liar! It was her idea from the beginning. She was always in the background, egging Shaw on. What do you think will happen?”

“That you are coming forward with the truth should work in your favor. Sometime tomorrow, Brophy will call you into his office and ask you to explain. I recommend that first thing tomorrow morning you hire a lawyer. Brophy's not a bad sort. Still, he's a cop. Don't trust a cop to be kind or fair or forgiving.” Harry leaned forward and measured his words. “I speak from experience.”

Tuesday, July 31

 

P
amela and Prescott were eating breakfast in the dining hall when Harry arrived late and sat down with them. “What did you learn from Metzger last night?” Pamela asked as a waiter approached.

Harry placed an order and reported briefly on the German's confession. Then he added, “I'm concerned that Shaw's lawyer will try to shift at least part of the blame for Crake's death onto Karl. I'll make sure he gets a good lawyer.”

Pamela asked, “Could Shaw argue that Crake's death was due to a conspiracy of Jason and Metzger and Rachel?”

“That sounds farfetched to me,” replied Prescott, “but lawyers sometimes have to make things up.”

At midmorning, Pamela and Prescott rode with James and Virgil in the Crawford carriage to Dr. Carson's clinic for a conversation about Jason's condition. Edith went by herself to the exercise track to ride Savannah.

Carson had chosen a time when Jason would be engaged with a nurse and wouldn't encounter the visitors. They sat congenially at a conference table in the doctor's office.

Pamela began, “After nearly six days of examination, Doctor, have you reached a preliminary assessment of Jason's condition?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Fortunately, his condition is treatable. He has adjusted well to our clinic's routine and accepts our procedures. We encourage him to speak of the past. As you already know, he has a deep-seated need to know who he is and where he comes from. For most of his young life that need was frustrated, causing resentment toward his family. He grew up with little appreciation or respect from the people in charge of him, and that led to self-doubt and then to self-loathing. When his condition recently became acute, he was tempted to seek release in suicide.”

No surprises thus far, Pamela thought. Her companions seemed to agree. She asked, “Are there grounds for hope?”

“Yes,” Carson replied. “Fortunately, Jason has strengths we can build upon, his musical talent, for example. We offer him many opportunities to perform. He also responds eagerly when we prompt him to speak his mind and then explore his complaints. It helps also that his physical condition is good. In contrast, some of our patients arrive here suffering from years of poor diet, lack of exercise, and neglected hygiene. Their recovery is much slower than I expect Jason's to be.”

“Do you think the therapy will heal his mental illness?” James asked.

“I'm optimistic. The therapy has worked well on more desperate cases than his.”

James addressed the doctor tactfully. “Your medical colleagues and your patients assure me that you are competent and trustworthy, so I'm prepared to enter into an agreement for Jason's treatment. We'll hope for the best.”

As the visitors stood at the door out of the clinic, Pamela asked Carson if he could foresee any complications. He gazed at them with an eye steeped in family secrets, then said, “Mr. Dunn may try to keep certain aspects of his past hidden from us to avoid being treated. That happens occasionally in cases of severe trauma like his. If he has any secrets, my nurses are trained to discover them and will pry them open.”

Pamela asked herself, was Carson perhaps alluding to a secret as traumatic as killing one's father? She glanced at the two Crawfords. Their expressions were opaque.

She had an afterthought and drew Carson to the side. “Doctor,” she said softly, “we learned late yesterday that Mr. Robert Shaw, a notorious gambler in this town and a suspect in Captain Crake's murder, was arrested over the weekend and charged with attempting to kill Mrs. Rachel Crake, his former mistress. If he is released on bail, perhaps as early as today, I urge you to keep him away from the clinic. He may attempt to harm Mr. Dunn, who possibly holds secrets that incriminate him.”

Dr. Carson thanked her for the warning. “I know Mr. Shaw by reputation, and I've heard of Mrs. Crake's misfortune, but I wasn't aware of a connection to Jason. I'll alert the nurses. By the way, could you come back this afternoon? I'd like you to visit Jason. You are one of the few persons he trusts. You might catch a significance in his remarks that my nurses miss.”

 

That afternoon, Pamela returned to the clinic. From Carson's darkened office through a one-way window, she watched Jason in the foyer while the doctor stood by her side. The brightly lighted foyer served as a gathering place after the noon meal. Nurses and patients were similarly dressed in casual summer clothes. Carson remarked, “We encourage patients to wear whatever they wish within a reasonable range of decency.”

Most of the patients formed small groups and chatted normally with each other. Jason sat with a young female nurse and engaged in a rather strained conversation. “She's giving him advice on behavior with women,” said Carson. “He's quite awkward on that score due to a history of unhealthy sexual experiences.” Soon a female patient joined the pair and then a male. Introductions were made, followed by an exchange of teasing that produced a smile on Jason's face. “In a few more days, he'll be more at ease,” Carson added.

Jason reached for an instrument case by his side and pulled out his flute. The stressed look on his face vanished as he heard a request for a tune. The gathering quieted down and Jason played “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes.” The others listened raptly. At the end, they asked him to play it again. This time a slender, attractive young female patient with a sweet soprano voice sang Ben Jonson's lyrics.

At the end, they bowed to the audience and then to each other. For a moment, Jason gazed fondly at the singer. His face filled with a tenderness Pamela hadn't noticed before.

When the gathering broke up, Carson led Pamela up to Jason. “Mrs. Thompson has come to visit you,” he announced. “Please show her your garden.”

Jason reacted with an embarrassed smile and a shrug of his shoulders, then slipped into the role of a bellboy. “Come with me, ma'am,” he said to Pamela, as if she were a guest at the Grand Union Hotel.

She put on her straw hat and they walked through rows of roses in bloom next to a berry patch. “Tomorrow, I'll feed the horses. Today, I must pick a couple of quarts of raspberries for supper.”

“May I help?” she asked.

He glanced critically at her white linen dress. “You must be
very
careful.”

“You're right,” she granted. “I'll only pick a few for the taste.” The berries were large, sun ripened, and delicious. Jason quickly picked two quarts and delivered them to the kitchen.

“Shall we find a shady bench and chat for a few minutes?” she asked.

“I've nothing else to do,” he replied curtly, but his voice betrayed pleasure at the suggestion. He led her to a shaded bench overlooking the pond.

“This is my favorite spot,” he remarked. “I love the sounds of the flute on the water.” He glanced at her for a sign of interest. She replied, “I would like very much to hear it.”

He began to play what resembled an endless variety of bird songs, subtly echoed by the pond.

Pamela gazed at Jason with astonishment. “I've never heard anything so beautiful in all my life.”

“I listen to the birds at different times of the day and learn their songs. They bring me close to God—closer than people do.”

“This place is good for you, Jason. You'll meet people with the uplifting spirit of birds, and they will help you find a way into happiness.”

He stared at her doubtfully. “And who is paying for this?” He waved his hand over the estate.

“Your uncle, James.” She had to be truthful with Jason. Lies had nearly ruined his life. She continued. “James is a kind, generous man. This is his way to acknowledge that you and he are kin. He's also a smart, successful businessman who believes you are a promising investment, rich in potential satisfaction for both of you.”

“I would like to believe you, Mrs. Thompson. Maybe one day I shall.”

Pamela rose from the bench. “I'll be leaving now. May I come again for a concert by the pond?”

“Please do. I'd like that.” He remained seated. “There's something I'd like to say to you.” She sat down again by his side, wondering what was on his mind.

“I've heard that Rachel Crake is in the hospital, and they've arrested Robert Shaw. I'm pleased. He's one of the devil's minions. When I say that, I'm not talking crazy. A little over three weeks ago, he tried to suck me and Karl Metzger into his scheme to kill the captain.”

Pamela was now paying close attention and urged him to continue. He looked out over the pond and described essentially the same conspiracy as Metzger with similar regret that it led to Francesca Ricci being blamed for Crake's murder.

“But,” he concluded, “I see things much clearer now. Crake was a bad man and deserved to be punished. I'm not sorry he's dead. Still, I regret now that I encouraged Shaw to kill him.”

“Did you actually help him on the night of July seventh?”

“No, earlier on that day I thought it over and told him that I didn't have enough nerve. I'd only mess up his plan. He didn't object and said he'd drop the idea. Somehow, he managed without me. The whole incident left me feeling distressed and unable to manage my life.”

“When did you begin to change for the better?”

“After a few days in this clinic, I feel more comfortable about myself and others, and look at everything more clearly. I still have much to learn. I wish I had come here earlier.” He hesitated. “But then I couldn't afford it, could I?” His eyes filled with tears.

Pamela gave him a handkerchief and urged him to continue.

He dabbed at his eyes. “While we were looking out over the pond and I was playing the flute, I thought of my mother, Edith, with affection for the first time, just for an instant, as if a little bird had flown by. And now I'm thinking of her again. How she must have suffered back in Georgia in sixty-four.”

He began to tremble as if he were having a fit. Pamela grew concerned.

Jason seemed to sense her reaction. “Captain Crake has come back into my mind again and is taunting me while he violates a young woman. I'd like to tear him to pieces.” Jason looked piteously at Pamela. “I don't feel well, ma'am. I need to go inside and see a nurse. You and I will talk again another time.”

 

Pamela kept the Crawfords posted on Jason's progress. Then, one morning early in August, as Pamela was preparing to visit the clinic for the last time before returning to work in New York, Virgil Crawford came to her office. “Edith and James would like to go with you to the clinic,” he said. “Do you think Jason is ready to meet them?”

“I think he is, but I'll check. I can telephone you from the clinic.”

Early that afternoon, Pamela found Jason by the pond, playing his flute. His girlfriend, the young soprano, was at his side. When he finished the piece, Pamela approached. Jason welcomed her. His girlfriend excused herself and left. Pamela asked about his health. He responded that he felt encouraged. That morning, his nurse had recommended a gradual transition to the “real” world.

That same nurse had also encouraged Pamela to suggest to Jason that he meet his mother and uncle. So, Pamela now posed the idea to him. He didn't seem surprised or resentful. For a long moment, he quietly reflected. Then he gazed at Pamela, and said, “I think it's about time.”

Monday, August 6

 

L
ater that afternoon, when Pamela returned to the hotel, a message from Prescott was waiting for her.

She left immediately for the police station.

As she walked through the door, she felt a tense atmosphere in the room. Brophy sat at his desk. His coat and hat hung on a hook. He was again collarless. Sweat stained his shirt. He was chewing on his cigar. Next to him was seated Mr. John Person, the district attorney. Pamela had met him briefly at Francesca's arraignment in the county courthouse in Ballston Spa.

Prescott pulled up a chair for her, and said, “We're discussing the case against Robert Shaw. He now admits going to Crake's cottage the night of July seventh, disguised as a chambermaid, to persuade him to leave Rachel in his will. But, he insists that Crake was already dead. He also claims that Metzger and Dunn must have killed Crake, though he had earlier tried to dissuade them.”

Pamela shook her head. “How does he explain Rachel's message identifying him as the killer?”

“He says she shouldn't be trusted since she acted out of spite and in order to extort money from him. For good measure, he continues to insist that Rachel's overdose was an accident.”

Harry added, “We've also questioned Metzger. This morning, he came here with a lawyer, who advised him to say only that he didn't kill Crake. He wouldn't comment on the passages in Rachel's message that seemed to implicate him.”

Brophy put aside his cigar and asked, “What can you tell us, Mrs. Thompson, concerning Jason Dunn's role in this crime?”

“I've spoken candidly with him. He admits having discussed the murder but decided against it. He accuses Shaw of the crime. I should add that Jason's mental condition is still fragile, but his remarks to me were credible.”

Mr. Person thanked her politely, then spoke with the assurance of an experienced prosecutor. “The preponderance of the evidence indicates that Shaw killed Crake with Rachel's assistance to prevent him from cutting her out of his will. They had expected to share the inheritance. He tried to kill Rachel to prevent her from testifying against him. Both Crake's murder and the attempt on Rachel's life appear to be premeditated. I conclude that Shaw deserves the death penalty.”

“I agree that's what happened,” said Prescott. “At trial, however, Shaw's attorney will attack the credibility of Rachel's messages. They are obviously self-serving. She also implicated Metzger and Dunn. According to her, they conspired with Shaw to murder Crake. Shaw's attorney will try to shift at least some responsibility to them.”

“That could be difficult to determine in court,” the district attorney admitted. “Dunn could plead that he was acting under the influence of severe mental illness. Moreover, if I charge them with aiding and abetting a murder, they might refuse to cooperate. That could weaken my case against Shaw.” He threw up his hands. “How is justice best served?”

Prescott came up with a suggestion. “Persuade Shaw to change his story in return for life in prison instead of the death sentence. Threaten him with the electric chair. He would have to admit to confronting Crake, but only in order to persuade him to write his will in Rachel's favor. Crake refused and cursed him. Shaw lost his temper and killed him. Shaw never intended to kill Rachel, but their quarrel got out of hand. Shaw's new story would not implicate Metzger and Jason in Crake's death.”

This discussion annoyed Pamela. She had been long enough in Prescott's law firm to understand that the legal system was as messy as a sausage factory and often achieved much less than perfect justice. Over a span of thirty years, Captain Crake had committed several serious crimes, including Edith's rape, but was never charged because he was rich, powerful, and clever enough to evade responsibility. Now at least Crake was no longer a threat to others.

Still, a nagging doubt disturbed her peace of mind. No one had seen Shaw kill Crake, and he would confess only under the threat of the electric chair. He might indeed have discovered Crake's bloody corpse and panicked. All the evidence against him was circumstantial. The testimony of Rachel, Jason, and Metzger could be dismissed as self-serving.

If not Shaw, then who else could have killed Crake? It would have to be a very clever man with opportunity and motive.

 

A few days later, when the district attorney had formally charged Shaw with Crake's murder, Harry Miller felt it was time to deal with another piece of unfinished business, Karl Metzger. Misleading reports of his alleged role in the Crake murder had put his job at the hotel in jeopardy. If he were fired, he faced unemployment, homelessness, and destitution. Wooley thought Metzger had been too friendly with Shaw and had carelessly mislaid the boning knife that Shaw had then stolen.

Harry went to Mr. Wooley, the hotel proprietor, and explained that the murder weapon was not Metzger's boning knife but Shaw's dagger. The manager of the meat department, who accompanied Harry, praised Metzger's skill and pointed out that it would be hard to replace him at the peak of the tourist season.

“Mrs. Thompson and I,” Harry concluded, “have observed Karl Metzger and can attest that he's an honorable, hardworking man. The Crake affair has taught him to choose more carefully his drinking companions. He's happy in his job at the hotel. Contrary to Captain Crake's assertions, he has no intention to stir up trouble.”

The meat manager seconded Harry's argument. Wooley looked skeptical, but in the end he said Metzger could stay.

 

The last unfinished business fell to Pamela. For a month, she had worked to free Francesca Ricci from prison and clear her name. When Shaw was formally charged, the district attorney petitioned the court in Ballston Spa to quash the charges against Francesca and to release her. That procedure was cumbersome and took several days while Pamela waited impatiently.

Finally, August 10, the day of the girl's release, Pamela drove to the prison. At the appointed hour, Francesca was led out, dressed in the frock she wore when she entered. Pamela was stunned to see how she had changed in a month. The heedless look of a young madcap was gone, replaced by dull eyes and sagging shoulders. Pamela worried that the change might be irreversible.

They climbed into the carriage and began the ride back to Saratoga Springs. The air was warm, the sky blue. Cows grazed in lush meadows. Birds twittered in the trees. Children played in hamlets along the road. Francesca began to brighten. By the time they reached Saratoga Springs, she was humming an Italian folk tune, her feet tapping to the beat.

She turned to Pamela with a big smile. “It's good to be free.”