New Year's Eve Murder (11 page)

“So this Teddy Toledo set her up in the Donaldson farmhouse and drove her into town from time to time so she didn't starve to death.” Jack was eating his late dinner and I had finished my tale.

“And unless she gave her name to the local shopkeepers in Bladesville, he may have been the only person for fifty miles, with the exception of the D'Agatis, who knew who she was and where she was living.”

“Nice. And then you breeze in this afternoon and it looks like you're the second person in fifty miles who knows about D.D. And she's dead.”

“You sound as though you think he's a suspect.”

“Damn right he's a suspect. He's got this girl in a farmhouse where she can't even tell people she's living because it's illegal for her to be there. There's no mail delivery. She pays no utility bills. She has no car so he's her sole transportation. She can't call for help because she has no phone. You think he's
not
a suspect?”

“He seems like a pretty mild guy,” I said meekly. After all, I'd been alone with him for half an hour or so, and I didn't like to think he'd done to D.D. Butler what someone had done to her.

“It's the neatest setup I've ever seen,” Jack said with enthusiasm. “Nobody except you can even connect him with the house. You said Fred Donaldson told you she
gave an obviously phony name when she rented the house.”

“She did.”

“It was a stroke of luck that the guy in the real estate office even put you on to Toledo. If the sheriffs deputies had come around, which they wouldn't have much reason to do, he might have said nothing.”

I agreed with that. “Anyway, I've got an address here for some rat-infested place that D.D. Butler lived in before she moved up to Bladesville. I doubt whether the Welcome Wagon lady comes around, and I don't know if it's the kind of place where you know your neighbors.”

“And I don't know if it's the kind of place you want to visit unarmed,” Jack said, looking at the address. “No,” he said quickly. “I'm not entirely serious. But that's not an upscale neighborhood.”

“That was the impression I got from Teddy.”

“Oh, it's Teddy. No wonder you don't suspect him.”

I smiled. “You're right that he had the perfect opportunity, especially if he kept her whereabouts secret and she never went farther than the D'Agati house down the road. But there's no motive, Jack. And he said she was planning something.”

“Planning what?”

“He didn't know and she didn't tell him. Call it intuition. And she told him not to drop by over the New Year's weekend.”

“Ah.”

When I hear that syllable, I know I've struck a chord. “Right. The last time he saw her, or admits to having seen her, was the Wednesday before New Year's. That's the day Susan was dropped off—”

“Allegedly.”

“Allegedly, by Kevin at the Starks' house. And that night or the next day she borrowed Jill Brady's car to
make a hundred-mile trip. It almost sounds as if D.D. was expecting Susan.”

“And we don't know what for.”

“We also don't know if it ever happened. But whatever it's worth, we now know that Susan didn't rent the farmhouse; D.D. did.”

“So it's possible,” Jack said, taking a piece of paper and folding it in quarters in his usual way, “that Susan and D.D. never met or at least never met before New Year's Eve.”

“Definitely possible.”

“Which would mean that Susan found out where D.D. was living in much the same way you found out about the farmhouse, asking a bunch of people a bunch of questions.”

“Except she was looking for D.D. and I was looking for Susan.”

“So why was she looking for D.D.?”

“That is the question.”

“You're sounding poetic. Looking forward to going back to work?”

My work was teaching poetry so his comment wasn't far-fetched. “I think so. Elsie will probably pay me to leave Eddie with her. It sounds like they entertained each other all afternoon.”

“Couldn't be better. By the way, have you given all this info to Arnold?”

“I called when I got home but he wasn't there. I'll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Well, you talk to him. I'm going to call the Starks' resident precinct and tell them what you learned. It should make the detective who caught the case very happy, lots more info for the file with no effort on his part.”

“Fine. Let them deal with the Bladesville and Silverton police department. I never want to go back to that station house in my life.”

“Understood. And you sure don't want to hurt their tender feelings by showing off how much you've learned while they were arresting nursing mothers.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, you're way ahead of them, honey. Not that I'm surprised. Just watch your step, OK? Spending an afternoon with a possible killer can pose a challenge to your security, if you get my meaning. And Eddie's future.”

“It's all I think about.”

Nothing was truer.

Friday morning I called Arnold, but he wasn't in his office. I took out the Manhattan telephone book and looked up
Cool
magazine. There wasn't any. I felt a little chill. Maybe Teddy had lied to me to put me off. I could call him and check the name, but I had the feeling he might be a night person and would not appreciate my waking him. I put the phone book on my lap and ran my finger down the list of entries starting with Cool. There was Cool Air, Cool Cars, Cool Clothes, Cool Harry J., Inc., Cool Sound, and
Cool Times.
I decided to call the last listing.

A bright young voice answered, “Good morning,
Cool Times.
”

“Is this the magazine?” I asked.

“Yes, it is. How can I help you?”

“I'm trying to locate someone who had something published in your magazine recently.”

“One moment. I'll connect you.”

The next voice said, “Billy Luft.”

“Mr. Luft, my name is Christine Bennett. I'm trying to locate D.D. Butler. She had something published in your magazine recently.”

“D.D., yeah, some pictures, a photo-essay. Nice spread. We got a lot of good comments on that.”

“Do you have an address for her?”

“Got her old one.” He read it off to me, the same address Teddy Toledo had given me. “I don't think she lives there any more. She said she was moving and she didn't leave a forwarding address.”

“Does she have an agent or a manager?” I asked hopefully.

“Works on her own. I met her, which is how we got together. If you talk to her, tell her I'd like more from her.”

I decided not to tell him what had happened. “Do you know any of her friends? I'd really like to find her.”

“I saw her once with a guy named Harlow Sugar.”

“Sugar?”

“Like in coffee. I don't have a number for him but there can't be too many in the book.”

“Thank you, Mr. Luft.”

“No thanks necessary. I haven't been called ‘Mr.' since I was twelve years old.”

I had hardly hung up when Jack called. “Susan's prints are in Jill Brady's car. Not a lot of them. She was probably wearing gloves most of the time.”

“Anybody else's?”

“Probably Jill's. She balked at being printed. Anyway, none of the other prints belong to anyone on file.”

“So no known criminal drove the car recently.”

“Not with his gloves off.”

“Doesn't tell us much. Uh-oh, I hear someone crying.”

“Go do your thing.”

I was nursing Eddie when the phone rang. I gathered him up and grabbed a chair on my way to answer it.

“Chris? It's Arnold.”

“Arnold, I've been trying to reach you since yesterday. I've got a bunch of stuff to tell you.”

“Before you start, I have something to tell you.” He sounded very somber and I flinched, expecting the worst. “This isn't easy. Something has come up in the Susan Stark case, and I have to ask you to stop looking into it.”

“I don't understand. Have they found her body?”

“Susan came home yesterday. She's alive and well and we're all relieved to see her.”

“Then—”

“I'm afraid she's the number-one suspect in the killing of the woman in Bladesville.”

“Has she been charged?”

“It's a matter of time. Her prints were found in the farmhouse so they can tie her to the location. I'm representing her, and I have to ask you to stop your investigation and go no further.”

“Arnold, I don't know what to say.”

“We'll talk about it when it's over. Susan didn't kill that woman or anyone else, but the hick cops have no suspects. They still don't even know who she is.”

“I know,” I said.

“You may think you do but it's a lot more complicated than what it appears to be.”

“I don't know what to say,” I said again.

“The best thing is to forget about this. I know you've been as worried as the rest of us about Susan. But she's safe and sound now, and I have a lot of work ahead of me to see to it that she isn't wrongly convicted of a terrible crime.”

“I understand,” I said, feeling as low as I had ever felt.

“We'll talk again, Chrissie. There's nothing personal in this, you understand that.”

“Arnold, suppose I can prove she's innocent?”

“I don't want you involved in the case in any way,” he said.

“OK.”

Eddie finished nursing and I eased him up to my shoulder. I needed two hands. I said good-bye.

I sat in my rocker with Eddie on my shoulder for a long time after I changed him. Arnold thought Susan was guilty. Why else would he refuse my offer to try to clear her? He was afraid that the more information I turned up, the more guilty she would appear. By now she would have told Arnold what her connection to D.D. Butler was, what there was between them that had precipitated their meeting. I was still totally in the dark about all that.

But I had to admit that I felt hurt. I had been summarily dismissed from a case that was not only interesting, but urgent and vital. And even though Susan had reappeared, the case itself, though somewhat changed, was no less interesting, and no less urgent and vital. I wanted to be a part of it and I had a tremendous sense of letdown.

“Oh, Eddie,” I said to the infant sleeping on my shoulder, “your life is so simple. You get what you want when you want it, and you make us all happy with a smile. No one even says no to you.”

In answer, a little tremor ran through his body and a small sound escaped him.

Suddenly, I had time on my hands. I did a load of baby clothes and cleaned up around the house. Over lunch, I read the paper. The phone rang, and after I had explained for the third time that I was not in need of a stockbroker, I hung up and saw my open notebook. Harlow Sugar. The man from
Cool Times
had said he had once seen D.D. Butler with the man with the odd name.

I took out the Manhattan phone book and looked up Sugar. To my surprise, there were several entries, but there was only one Harlow. I dialed.

“Yeah,” a man's voice answered.

“Mr. Sugar?”

“Right here.”

“My name is Christine Bennett. I'm trying to find a friend of yours, D.D. Butler.”

“D.D., yeah. She moved.”

“Then you know her.”

“Known her for years. Longer than that even.”

“Do you know where she's from?” I asked, picking up my pen.

“I don't understand. First you want to know where she's moved to, now you want to know where she's from. Which is it?”

“Where she's from. Before she lived on the Lower East Side.”

“You mind telling me what this is about?”

“Mr. Sugar, are you D.D.'s friend?”

“I'm her friend, yeah. I've known D.D. since she was maybe twenty. Does that qualify me?”

“It does, yes. Mr. Sugar, something very bad has happened to D.D.”

“Go on,” he said, his voice low.

“She died. Her body was found in a town up the Hudson.”

“What the hell is going on here?” he said excitedly. “Who are you? You call me out of the blue, you ask me a bunch of crazy questions, you tell me D.D.'s dead. Where did you get my name from? What's your business?”

“I got your name from Billy Luft at
Cool Times
magazine.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He said he met you once with D.D.”

“Oh, that one. Yeah, I met him once. Guy wears his shirt open down to the navel and has six yards of gold chains around his neck. I know who you mean. Who are you?”

“It's complicated.”

“I didn't think it was simple. I'm listening.”

“My name is Chris, Chris Bennett. Someone I know disappeared around New Year's Eve. I started looking for her and the trail led up the Hudson to an old house. D.D.'s body was there.”

“Not your friend's.”

“Not my friend's. But I know there's a connection between D.D. and the young woman I was looking for.”

“And the creep at
Cool Times
gave you my name and you thought I could help.”

“Yes. I just found out D.D.'s name yesterday. I know nothing at all about who she is, where she's from, why anyone would want to kill her.”

“Kill her? You said she was dead. You didn't say someone killed her.”

“Someone killed her.”

He mumbled an obscenity under his breath. “So what you're really looking for is who killed her.”

“That's right.”

“I couldn't help you there. She was a nice enough gal. She lived on a shoestring, but I don't think she ever stiffed anyone.”

“If I could find her family, Mr. Sugar. Do you know where she's from? Where she went to school? Any place she worked for for a period of time?”