New Year's Eve Murder (16 page)

“Very nice. The lab guy made a big thing about saying that DNA was most useful in exclusion rather than inclusion, and that to prove his hunch, he'd need the DNA not just from the two potential half siblings but from the three parents involved, the one they share and the two they didn't. But if he's right, you know what this means, don't you?”

“It means that something D.D. Butler's sister, Heather Williams, told me this afternoon isn't true. D.D. was adopted and she told Heather she wasn't interested in finding her birth mother. Whether Heather lied to me or D.D. lied to Heather doesn't really matter. D.D. did find her birth mother and it must be Ada Stark. And D.D. must have been doing to Ada what she was doing to Susan, insinuating herself into Ada's life and making her miserable.”

“Blackmail?” Jack asked.

“Why not? Maybe she wanted from Ada everything that Susan got. She may have felt she had it coming. She was as much Ada's child as Susan was.”

“What did Ada say she was doing the day of New Year's Eve?”

I tried to remember. The question had come up, I was sure of it. “I think she said she was shopping that day.”

“With the family car?”

“That's my recollection. Now tell me about the autopsy.”

“It's taken a long time because they had to thaw the body. What's most interesting is that they can't give a time of death. It could have been New Year's Eve, it could have been a week earlier. For that matter, it could have been a month earlier. The upstate coroner said the body would have started to cool immediately, even with wood burning in the stove, and with the kind of temperatures they've been having in that area, it would probably have frozen in twelve to twenty-four hours and only minimal changes would have taken place.”

“That means we have to rely on Teddy Toledo for a last date that D.D. was alive. And that was the day before New Year's Eve.”

“And you found her on January third when she was frozen solid. A three-day window.”

“Which doesn't change my belief that it happened New Year's Eve.”

“Or mine. The other thing that came out of the autopsy is that there was evidence of wood and ash in some of her wounds. Sounds like the killer grabbed the shovel she used to clean out the stove.”

“Meaning,” I said, “that he may not have gone there to kill her.”

“I'm sure his lawyer'll argue that if we ever get him to court. OK. Let's talk about where we go from here.”

If I could get in, seeing Ernest Stark seemed like a good next step. I assumed he knew nothing about what I now felt sure was the truth about Ada. Very possibly she had kept a secret, an illegitimate baby born before she married her husband, probably before she knew him. But if Ada had been sending money to D.D., Ernest might well have had suspicions of something amiss, although Ada had mentioned that she worked, and what she did with her income could well have been her own business.

But maybe he knew something about the whereabouts of his wife and daughter on New Year's Eve, and in any event, he was one of the two people I had not seen or spoken to, the other being D.D.'s adoptive father.

I couldn't call to make an appointment with Ernest Stark because I knew he wouldn't see me. My only chance was to walk in unannounced and hope he wouldn't throw me out. With no guarantee that he would even be in his office, I dropped Eddie off at Elsie's before nine on Wednesday morning and drove into the city.

Maiden Lane is in the southernmost part of Manhattan, south of the Brooklyn Bridge in what's often called the Financial District. It's a few blocks north of Wall Street and there are many old banks in the area whose reputations are solid as the structure of their buildings. Jack,
who knows Manhattan better than anyone else I have ever known, described the kinds of businesses that were down there. At one time it was home to insurance companies and brokers, and many are still there.

This is the oldest part of Manhattan, where streets tend to be narrow—and one-way—with tall buildings that keep out the sun. Finding a place to leave my car wasn't easy. Uptown, the newer buildings all have basement garages. Many of these buildings were erected before cars became the preferred mode of transportation, and no thought was given as to how to get them off the street when their occupants needed to move on foot. The area is tight, so no space goes unused. There are little plazas between the buildings, and when an old building comes down, the chain-link fences go up. PARK EASY said the sign. I did, then walked back to Ernest Stark's building and looked him up in the framed directory near the elevators.

Kevin had been right about a sense of history. The floor was marble, the ceilings high, the elevators gilded cages with polished brass plates, knobs, and scrolls. I rode up to the seventh floor and walked down a long hall to Ernest Stark's office.

“May I help you?” a pleasant, graying woman at the reception desk asked.

“I'd like to see Mr. Stark.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. He's in, I thought. I just have to get through the door. “No. I just found myself with a little extra time and I need to talk to him.”

“Your name?”

“Ms. Bennett.” I was pretty sure I had been introduced to Ada as Jack's wife, which would make me Brooks.

“Let me check.” She got up and went into an office, leaving the door ajar. When she came back, she smiled. “He'll see you now.”

The furnishings must have been as old as the business, a heavy desk of beautifully polished wood, an Oriental rug with plenty of wear, several wooden chairs with leather seats, shelves and books and file cabinets, and one large window looking out on nothing.

Ernest Stark was standing in the middle of the room and he held out his hand as I walked in.

“Ms. Bennett, glad to meet you. Please take a seat. What can I do for you?”

He was closer to seventy than his wife, a little thick around the waist, his hair mostly gone and what was left a thin gray. He had a warm smile, and I had the feeling he was probably a very good salesman without being pushy.

“I came here to ask you some questions, Mr. Stark. I was at the Golds' on New Year's Eve when Susan disappeared.”

“You shouldn't be here, you know,” he said in a fatherly way.

“I know, but I'm trying to clear Susan.”

“Susan is completely innocent, and I believe she will never be charged because there isn't any evidence.”

“She was there.”

“I can't discuss it.”

“Where were you that day, Mr. Stark?” Since he hadn't stood and ushered me out, I decided to push ahead until he did so.

“Where was I? What difference could that make?”

“It might make a difference.”

“I was right here,” he said, “right in this office, working, clearing out some old cases.”

“How did you get here?”

“How did I travel? I think I took the subway that day.”

“You own a car, don't you?”

“We do, but I take the subway when my wife needs it.”

“Was anyone else here in the office that day?”

He didn't answer. He saw where I was going and he didn't want to play into my hands. Finally he said, “I don't think anyone else was in that day. Does that make a difference? Do you want to check my outgoing phone calls with the telephone company? Maybe you'll find out that someone used this phone to call my home number.”

And maybe I could find out that no one had. “Do you often work here alone?”

“When I have a lot to do. I come in on the weekends sometimes. It's not something I schedule.”

“Where was your wife that day?”

“I think she was out shopping. She had the day off and she wanted to visit some stores.”

“Where were you when you found out Susan was missing?”

“I was here. My wife called. I went right home.”

“Mr. Stark, did you see Susan in your house that morning, the morning of New Year's Eve?”

He looked beyond me. “I don't think I saw her. Was she in my house that morning?”

“I thought she was.”

“I'm not sure. I'll have to ask her. I left for the office rather early.”

“Did Susan ever mention the farmhouse in Bladesville where D.D. Butler's body was found?”

“Never. The first I ever heard of it was when you went up there and found the body.”

“Your daughter knew her.”

“I wouldn't say Susan knew that woman. And anyway, my daughter knows many people that I don't know.”

I wasn't getting anywhere, and I was about to say good-bye when I thought of something else. “Before this magazine job that Susan has, where did she work?”

“For a different magazine. One of the big names.”

“How did she get that job?”

“I got it for her.”

His candidness startled me. “Really,” I said.

“One of the fellows I went to school with owned the magazine. I called him up when Susan got out of college and asked him if he might have a job for my daughter. He said to send her down and he hired her.”

“That was good luck, your knowing someone in that position.”

“It was good luck, but it lasted only as long as she performed.”

“I wonder why she left,” I said.

“My friend retired,” Ernest Stark said. “After the new management took over, there were cutbacks and downsizing and the quality of her assignments went down. When this new job came up, she took it. I think she's been very happy there.”

“Do you know how she found this job?”

He shrugged. “How does anyone find any job? An ad in the paper, a lead from a friend.”

I could see I had exhausted my source. I thanked him for his time and left the office.

I had to be back at Elsie's by two, a little before two to be on the safe side. Which left me quite a bit of time. Just on the chance that Ada might be home, I called her from a pay phone. She had said she worked part-time, and with luck this would be the other part. It was. She answered. I told her who it was and asked if I could come over.

“Arnold doesn't want us talking,” she said.

“Ada, I'm trying to clear your daughter.”

“The police will do it. Arnold will do it. I can't talk to you, Chris.”

“Ada, I know the relationship between you and D.D. Butler.”

There was silence. Then a voice said in a half whisper, “I'll wait here for you.”

I was lucky. There was little traffic and the distance was not great. I was at her house in less than half an hour.

Her skin looked almost gray as she opened the door, her natural vitality gone, her nerves taking over. “Come in. We'll sit in the kitchen.”

I took my coat off as we walked to the back of the house. She wasn't going to offer to take it. She wanted me out of there as soon as possible.

“Who knows about this?” she said as I sat at the kitchen table.

“Jack and I. The DNA looked as though Susan and D.D. Butler might be related. And I know D.D. was adopted.”

Her eyes filled. Thirty-plus years of keeping a secret was withering away before her. “You talked to my husband,” she said.

“He told me nothing.”

“He knows nothing. How dare you do this? Didn't Arnold tell you to stay out of this?”

“Ada, your daughter may be charged with a murder. I don't think she did it.” I realized as I said it that I believed it. “I think someone else did it. When did D.D. get in touch with you?”

Her mouth quivered. “A few years ago.”

“How did she contact you?”

“She wrote a letter.” Her voice was strained.

“What did she want?”

“To meet me. It's what they all want. Everyone's looking for roots. I was looking for a clean slate. I gave her up and I asked that the records be sealed. I didn't want to be confronted at her whim.”

“Do you know how she found you?”

“She worked for an insurance company and she had a
friend who had access to records. At least that's what she told me.”

“What did she want?”

“The world. Everything she'd been denied when I gave her up.”

“Were you paying her?”

She nodded, nearly in tears.

“Was she threatening you?”

“She said she would tell Ernie if I didn't pay her. He doesn't know. Ernie has never known anything about it. It was my choice when I met him and I've never changed my mind. I didn't want him to know.” She paused. “I still don't.”

“Did you ever meet D.D.?”

“Never. I didn't want to and I told her that. She wasn't part of my life. There's a lot more to being a mother than giving birth. Even if I had adopted Susan, she would be my daughter when D.D. wasn't. I've shared Susan's life. That's what makes me her mother.”

“What about D.D.'s natural father?”

“There was never any question of our getting married. He was a wealthy man, older than I, married with a couple of children. I was young and inexperienced and very taken with him. I was quite pretty when I was young,” she added, as though to explain his interest in her.

“I'm sure you were, Ada. You're a very beautiful woman.”

Two tears spilled over. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“So you gave birth even though you knew you would give the baby away.”

“It was over thirty years ago. Abortions were illegal and often dangerous. He would have paid for one. He would have preferred that I have one. Maybe that's why I didn't. And maybe I held out some hope that when our
child was born—” She stopped as the pain became too much.

He would see their beautiful child and he would leave his wife. He would do the honorable thing. Nine months of hopes and fears, and in the end the inevitable happened.

“Did you ever see him again?”

“Never.”

“Is his name on D.D.'s birth certificate?”

“No.”

“Ada, Susan spent the night before New Year's Eve in this house.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me.”

“She what?”

“We spoke,” I said.

“But Arnold said she wasn't—”

“I know, but she wants me to help her clear her name.”

“My God.”

“I think she knew about you and D.D.” As I said it, I realized Susan had a good motive for killing her half sister, to protect their mother. If Susan knew that D.D. was blackmailing Ada…

“How could she—?”

“If a letter came to the house, she could have found it and read it.”

“I thought I was so careful.”

“Ada, do you have any papers in the house about D.D.?”

“Not anymore. I used to have a birth certificate years ago. Ernie never goes near anything of mine and I thought it was perfectly safe. Later on, when Susan was growing up, I got rid of it.”

“Did it have D.D.'s name on it?”

“It just said Baby Girl.”

Funny how puzzling bits and pieces start to make
sense. “You know, when Susan was a child she thought she was adopted.”

“Many children think that,” Ada said. “It's not uncommon.”

“But her fear persisted. She told people about it.”

“She must have seen the papers and misunderstood them.” She looked even sadder. “It's hard to imagine Susan rummaging around in my things.”

“She was a child. Little girls are very curious.”

“And big girls, it appears, if she read the letters D.D. sent.”

It seemed an ironic twist on the usual. Here it wasn't the inquisitive mother snooping through her daughter's possessions; it was the curious child, the suspicious young adult, reading her mother's mail, copying down a name and address. Perhaps the suspicious adult had grown directly from the child who had accidentally found something in Mommy's drawer while innocently searching for a Band-Aid or a favorite piece of jewelry.

“On New Year's Eve,” I said, changing the subject, “when did you find out that Susan was missing?”

“Kevin called to talk to her. You've heard all this before.”

“I know. Tell me again.”

“He said he'd dropped her off here the afternoon before, and I hadn't seen her. He was worried and that made me worried.”

“What did you do?”

She thought for a moment, as thought there might be a part of the story she had to remember. “I called Ernie.”