New Year's Eve Murder (12 page)

“She worked for an insurance company for a couple of years back in the eighties, maybe the early nineties, but they left town and she didn't go with them. I don't remember where they are now. But I know where she's
from because I took her home once and stayed over. It wasn't up the Hudson, I can tell you that.”

“You remember where it was?”

“Some town in New Jersey. Wait a minute. I'll think of it, I'll think of it.”

I almost held my breath.

“How does Paramus sound?”

I never know how to answer questions like that. “Is that where her folks lived?”

“Yeah. Not too far from the bridge.”

“You remember her father's first name?”

“Nope.”

“How did she get along with her parents?”

“How does anyone get along with their folks?”

“Does that mean she didn't get along?”

“It means she got along OK. She worked at it. They were nice people, a little old, maybe. Made it hard to relate to them. But they were OK.”

“Mr. Sugar, why did D.D. leave New York and go upstate?”

“For peace and quiet. Why does anyone?”

“Was she working on something? Writing a book? Composing a symphony?”

“I like that,” he said with a little laugh. “You got a sense of humor. I think maybe she was writing something. She had a story published once. Kinda dark but interesting. She's a person who could be by herself. She didn't need a crowd to get something done. She liked the insurance company, don't get me wrong, but she wanted to write.”

“I understand she also took pictures that were published.”

“She was a multitalented woman.”

I wasn't sure if that was a joke. “You said she had a
story published. Do you know where I could find a copy?”

“I got it right here. I'll put a copy in the mail today if you give me an address.”

I gave it to him.

“You'll have it Monday.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sugar. I appreciate your help.”

“My pleasure.”

Now I really had a problem. I knew who D.D. Butler's family was and knew more or less where to find them, but I didn't want to be the one to tell them their daughter was dead. It was too late today to do anything anyway. Eddie would be up soon and after his two o'clock feeding, he tended to stay awake. He hadn't been out yet today, so I thought a little walk in the brisk cold would do us both good. But before Eddie woke up, I decided to see whether we had a phone book that included Paramus.

We keep the books of the five boroughs and the Westchester area that we live in downstairs, but Jack has other directories that he stores in the study on the second floor. I went up and opened the closet, where a stack of phone books lay piled on the floor. The third one down was Bergen County, New Jersey.

There was a column and a half of Butlers, but to my amazement only four of them lived in Paramus. I copied them down and finished just as my son made his first sounds.

It was about three when we finally got outside. The driveway was clear of snow and I was able to push the carriage down to the curb, where it took a little work to get it over the mound of frozen snow. Once in the street, walking was a breeze. Oakwood, happily, is a town with
good services. On nights when it snows we're often awakened by the sound of snowplows going down the street, but the knowledge that we won't be snowed in makes up for the loss of sleep. I chatted with a couple of neighbors who were also out with their young children and circled our long block slowly, talking to Eddie, who was watching me as his cheeks grew redder. When I got back to the house, I saw Mel's car in her driveway but decided against barging in. Now that she was teaching full-time, her afternoons were very busy and I empathized with her need to be with her children and the myriad tasks that home and family engendered.

“Let's go home, Eddie,” I said to my wide-eyed son. And I worked the carriage over the ice and pushed it up the driveway.

The four names and phone numbers were sitting next to the telephone. I put Eddie on the kitchen table in his seat where he could watch me and called the first one on the list.

A woman answered.

“Mrs. Butler?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Is D.D. there?”

“Who?”

“D.D. Butler. Isn't this her number?”

“It's Butler, but there's no D.D. here.”

“Thank you.” And crossed it off my list.

The second was a child, and I sensed from the first word that this was the wrong number but I asked anyway.

“Who?” she said.

“D.D.,” I repeated. “D.D. Butler.”

“My name's Sharon.”

“Is D.D. there?”

“I don't know D.D.”

I thanked her and hung up. The third call was answered by a woman. I asked my question again.

“You want D.D.?”

“Yes, please.”

“I haven't heard from D.D. for some time. Are you a friend of hers?”

“I've met her,” I said uncomfortably.

“Well, she went to live up in New England, New Hampshire or someplace like that, back in the summer and I haven't heard from her for a while. She called at Christmas, but that's a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, so she calls from time to time.”

“Once in a while. But I can't give you a number. She doesn't have a phone where she's living. And she can't even get mail delivered, though I'm not sure why. Can I help you in any way?”

“Mrs. Butler, could I come out and talk to you?”

“To me? Why would you want to talk to me?”

“Just for a little while. Maybe tomorrow,” I said, avoiding the question.

“Well, I suppose I'll be here. Who did you say you were?”

“My name is Chris Bennett. Can I come around one o'clock?”

“Yes, why don't you,” she said.

Which meant I would have to deliver the news, but when I thought about it, I decided it was better coming from me than from a police officer.

I told the whole story to Jack at dinner. It was Friday, so he came home at a reasonable hour and we ate together.

“I can see you're upset about Arnold,” he said. “You
shouldn't take this personally. If he's representing a client, he has to do everything he can to protect her.”

“I know and I explained it all to myself in easy-to-understand terms but it still hurts. Jack, he obviously thinks Susan is guilty.”

“Not necessarily. He may know there's a piece of evidence that could make it look bad for her and there's no easy way to work around it. You know the old story of the guy who could clear himself of a murder charge by admitting he spent the night with another woman. He's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't.”

I didn't accept his explanation. Arnold was too smart. He had to know something devastating about Susan, and what else could it be except murder? “Anyway,” I said, “I talked to this man Harlow Sugar, who led me to D.D. Butler's family. I'm going over there tomorrow, and I'll tell her mother that D.D. is dead.”

“You sure you want to do this?”

“I don't want to, but what's the alternative? I think it's better than to have a cop come to her door. Or get a call from the Bladesville people. They're not exactly models of sensitivity.”

He smiled. “Good point.”

“This Harlow Sugar said that D.D. was writing something. Teddy Toledo told me about some things D.D. got published. If she was up there working on a book, I wonder where it was. You didn't hear about a manuscript, did you?”

“Maybe she finished it and sent it off to a publisher.”

“Maybe the killer took it with him.”

“Or her.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe,” Jack said, warming to the subject, “it was one of those novels about real people where they change
the names so it sounds like fiction but the originals recognize themselves.”

“A roman à clef.”

“And the original of one of the characters had a New Year's Eve date with D.D.”

That ended in murder. “I forgot to tell you. D.D. lied to her mother. She said she was going to New England. The Hudson River valley in New York State hardly qualifies as New England. The mother said, ‘New Hampshire or someplace like that.' ”

“Maybe she didn't want them coming after her. If they live in New Jersey, chances are they have a car. It wouldn't take long for them to drive up to Bladesville.”

“True. They might be disappointed to see the conditions she was living in.”

“Or they could drop in at the wrong moment,” Jack said, more to the point. “She had no phone. They couldn't call and tell her they were coming.”

“Spoil whatever she was planning,” I said. “I'll take Eddie with me tomorrow, Jack. Let you get some work done.”

“I don't mind watching him.”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure. I kinda like to have a day at home with my son.”

I was glad to hear it.

Paramus turned out to be a town of some size, filled with New York-style department stores and lots of pretty houses on quiet streets. Jack and I had figured out an easy route for me, and I reached the house just about when I had promised. I was pretty sure the Butlers hadn't been informed of D.D.'s death. Jack had phoned in her name to the Brooklyn precinct detective squad yesterday, but all he had known at that point was the name. Someone
would have called the Bladesville sheriffs department by now, but I didn't think they would have located D.D.'s family. If she had no police record, she was just an anonymous human being who had dropped out.

I left the car in front of the bi-level house and went up to the door. A thin, gray-haired woman in glasses opened the door and looked me over.

“I'm Christine Bennett,” I said. “Mrs. Butler?” I offered my hand and she shook it. “We spoke yesterday.”

“Come in.”

We went up four or five steps to the main level, turned left, and went into the living room. It was a large room, with the section at the back of the house used as a dining room. We sat, I feeling as uncomfortable as she looked.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she said.

“I have some things to tell you. It started on New Year's Eve.” I went through the story quickly, culminating with my discovery of the body. She sat rigidly, listening and frowning deeply. “We believe the body in that house is your daughter,” I said finally.

She shook her head. “No. That's not my daughter. My daughter's in New Hampshire. She called me from there. She told me she was living in an old house that had no phone. She had to go into town to use a pay phone. D.D.'s not in New York State. She's in New England. You've got the wrong person.”

I made a decision not to push it. Eventually, someone with official standing would come up her walk and give her the news, and when that happened, she would know it was true and she would have suffered half the pain already. “Perhaps that's so,” I said gently. “Can you tell me why D.D. went to New England?”

“How could it be her?” the woman said. “She just called me from New Hampshire for Christmas.”

“I don't know,” I said.

“She went there to write. She's a very talented girl. She's been published, you know.”

“I heard.”

“Very talented. She's had a story published. And a magazine printed a whole lot of her pictures, pictures of very important people. D.D. met them all. She knew them. John Kennedy, Junior was one of them. It's a wonderful picture.”

“It must be. What was she going to write in New Hampshire?”

“It was a play. She had it all worked out. She would tell me, ‘Mom, I finished another scene. I have just a few more to go.' She was in good health. Why would she die? Why would she die in New York when she went to live in New Hampshire?”

I knew that she understood that what I had told her was true, that she was working it out, getting around to believing it, trying to argue against it logically when it wasn't a matter of logic at all; it was a matter of fact. “Did you ever read any of the scenes of D.D.'s play?” I asked.

“No. She kept it to herself. She didn't like to show things around till she finished them.”

“What kind of play was it going to be? A drama? A love story?”

“I think it was a murder mystery,” she said.

“That sounds exciting,” I said, feeling chilled.

The door opened downstairs and a girl's voice called, “Hi, Mom. We're here.”

“That's my other daughter,” Mrs. Butler said. “Let's not talk about this any more.” She got up and went to the stairs. “How's my little lover?” she crooned as a toddler climbed up the last step on his hands and knees, then stood shakily to kiss his grandmother.

He was followed by a pretty, young woman who said, “Oh, hi,” as she saw me.

“I'm Chris Bennett. Hello. That's a beautiful little boy you have.”

“Oh, thanks. He's a handful. I'm Heather Williams.”

“The lady's just going, Heather.”

“I'll walk her out, Mom. You stay with Grandma, honey, OK?” she said to her little one.

I followed her down the stairs. Outside she said, “Mom told me someone was coming to ask about my sister. Is something wrong?”

“I believe so. Your mother doesn't believe it.”

“Mom never believes bad news. Is something wrong with D.D.? Has there been an accident?”

“I think she's dead, Heather.”

“Oh, God. I knew it. I knew it when Mom called.” She was trying to hold herself together. “Are you a friend of hers?”

“I'm a friend of someone else who disappeared on New Year's Eve. I went looking for her and found a body. I thought it was hers but it may be your sister's.”

“In New Hampshire, right?”

“No, in a town called Bladesville, New York. It's up the Hudson.”

“Mom said D.D. was in New Hampshire.”

“I can't explain the discrepancies.”

“Look, I have to go inside. Can I call you?”

“I wish you would.” I wrote down the necessary information and handed it to her. “I'm home most of the time. I have a new baby.”

She smiled a little and said, “Congratulations. I'll try to call tomorrow.”

The door opened and her mother came outside, carrying the little boy. “Come in, Heather. It's cold out here.”

“Mrs. Butler,” I said, “did D.D. tell you whether her play was finished yet?”

“It wasn't,” her mother said. “I asked her when she called at Christmas. She said it would be finished by New Year's Eve.”

“Wow,” Jack said when I finished my story. “I'd like to get hold of that manuscript.”

“So would I. But who knows if there even was a manuscript? This D.D. sounds like a strange person. She makes her own rules, says what suits her purposes.”

“She must have loved her mother,” Jack said. “She called her.”

“I hope I hear from Heather. She knows things.”

“You have a problem with my calling in what I know to the precinct squad in Brooklyn?”

“No, go ahead. The sooner they positively identify D.D. the better it'll be for her family. It's probably too late to find prints at the Butler's home but maybe they have some of her possessions that'll yield a match.”

“Her mother'll know the dentist D.D. saw.”

“Right. Go make your call. I'll entertain our son for a while.”