New Year's Eve Murder (18 page)

“It was just a thought.”

“But I found one somewhere else. Tompkins Square Park.”

“Tompkins Square. Over on the Lower East Side, right?”

“Right. The precinct cops call it Alphabet City.”

“Jack, that's not too far from where D.D.'s last apartment was.”

“That's just what I was thinking. The case is still
marked open and the squad is still putting in D.D.5s periodically, but no heavy work is being done.”

“When did it happen?”

“About a year ago. How does that fit with your theory?”

“It fits. She was still living in New York. Her story was published around that time. Do you know who the victim was?”

“A homeless guy. According to the file he was known in the area as Curly. That ring a bell?”

It didn't, but I told him I would see if I could make anything of it. When I got off the phone I went back to the lists in the story. There was no one like Curly on either one. The victim was Lester Heim and his looks were never described. I ran my eyes up and down the two lists, returning to poor Lester's name until something finally clicked.

“Come on, Eddie. Let's take a little ride in the car.” I scooped him up, changed him, and dressed him for the outdoors. Then I drove us to the library.

Oakwood has quite a good library, and the reference desk sent me to the foreign dictionaries right away. I was carrying Eddie in a pouch on my chest, leaving my arms free. I tried the German dictionary first.
Heim
was a German word and it translated to “home.” Lester Home. Les Home. Maybe it was my overactive imagination, but by reversing the two names you could come up with an understandable version of “homeless.” Whether D.D. had written the story before or after the murder, as far as I was concerned, she had pretty much confessed to it in print.

When we came home I called Susan's father and was put through with no difficulty.

“I'm talking to you,” he said, “but I have nothing to say.”

“I have one question. What was the name of the man who gave Susan her first job?”

“That's easy. It was Irwin Liebowitz. Irv and I grew up together before his father got rich. When their circumstances changed, the family moved to a big apartment on the East Side of Manhattan but we stayed friends. Eventually, Irv took over his father's job. His son didn't want it and Irv sold to a conglomerate a couple of years ago.”

“How many magazines do they publish?”

“I never counted. I would say just the right amount. They provided well for the family and didn't work either Irv or his father into a premature grave. His father lived to be almost ninety.”

I appreciated the commentary. I thanked him and called Jack to tell him what I'd learned in the library.

“That's a neat piece of deduction,” Jack said. “Any chance it's a coincidence?”

“Sure, there's a chance. But the narrator calls him Les several times in the story. I checked. It's as if D.D. wanted to be found out.”

“Well, I'll call the detective in charge of the Curly 209
homicide and see what he thinks. From what you've said, all she was doing was practicing for the big killing on New Year's Eve.”

“That's just what I think. D.D. had a grudge against her birth mother for giving her up and then not being willing to accept her as a family member, and maybe she had a bigger grudge against Susan for being the beneficiary of everything D.D. wanted for herself. So she steered Susan into Kevin's arms and into a good job just so she could take it all away.”

“Then you think Susan was the target on New Year's Eve?”

“I do. By killing Susan, D.D. could ruin Ada's life.”

“Sounds like D.D. was already over the deep end a long time before New Year's Eve.”

“She had to be,” I agreed. “Sane, normal people don't plan murders and don't commit practice ones.”

“This is some story,” Jack said. “It looks like we're back to suspecting Susan.”

“Or Ada or Ernie. But there are loose ends I'm trying to figure out. There's something very strange about that story of D.D.'s. We'll talk about it tonight. I don't want to keep you from your real work.”

He made an appropriate comment and we hung up. Loose ends. I wondered if they mattered. Would finding out more about how D.D.'s story got published help me to determine which of the Starks had killed her?

The person I really wanted to talk to was Arnold. We hadn't exchanged a word since Susan came back and he asked me to get off the case. I wondered whether he knew as much as I did about the life and times of D.D. Butler. I was sure Jack and I were the only two living people who suspected she had murdered the homeless man in Tompkins Square Park. Whether that could ever be proven was still doubtful. There was no chance for a
confession if you didn't consider the short story to be that. I picked up the phone.

“Chris, it's a tough life,” Arnold answered. “How are you?”

“I'm fine.”

“And our beautiful baby? Harriet asks me every day when she can talk to you again. I'm sorry this has happened.”

“Eddie's wonderful, almost two months old. We'll be going back to the pediatrician next week for his checkup.”

“Well, that sounds good. I'm glad you're all well. I've missed talking to you, as you can imagine. I understand my client defied my judgment and went to see you.”

“She did. She told me a few things I didn't know but she left gaping holes in her story. I told her I wouldn't look into the case till she filled in the blanks.”

“But you kept looking anyway.”

I smiled. Arnold knew me well. “There were things that were crying out to be uncovered.”

“And you answered the cry. I've gotten some info from the Bladesville sheriff's department that I gather comes originally from you. They the same folks who didn't want you nursing your baby outside a concrete fortress?”

“The very same.” It was such a pleasure to be talking to him again I hardly cared what the subject was. “I've learned some things you may want to know, Arnold.”

“About this Toledo character?”

“You've probably heard all there is to know about him.”

“You think he's a suspect?”

“A long shot. He had opportunity, but I can't see what he would have gained. Are you aware that D.D. Butler was responsible for Susan and Kevin meeting?”

“Tell me more.”

I did, continuing on to the peculiar way Susan got her second job.

“I don't know what's significant anymore. It's one of my loose ends. Arnold, I've found the secrets that Susan kept from me.”

“I figured you would. It's why I didn't want you to keep digging. What direction does that point you?”

“I think one, two, or all three of the Starks had a hand in the murder.”

“Well, you can't expect me to comment on that.”

“I think some or all of them were lured there by D.D. Butler. I believe she wanted to kill them and they turned the tables on her.”

“It looks as though she was hit with something like a shovel, not an easy or pleasant way to commit that kind of crime. I don't think my client is capable of it.”

“I also think D.D. herself had already killed before New Year's Eve.” I went on to tell him what Jack and I had just discussed.

“That's a hell of a discovery,” Arnold said. “Want to give me the magazine and anything else you've got?”

I read it off to him, explaining my theories about the names on the lists. It was clearly all new to him and every piece of information was important. When he had it all down, I asked if he had spoken to anyone in the Butler family.

“They've all been questioned. Seem like nice enough people who can't quite believe what's happened. If you want to know whether one of them could have killed D.D. Butler, they'd have to have been in two places at the same time.”

“Including the father?”

“Most especially the father. He worked on New Year's Eve and the day before that. A lot of people saw him.”

“Well, that's about all I can tell you. If anything else comes up, I'll give you a call. Give Harriet a kiss for me.”

“I will. And I'm sure I can trust you to keep family secrets to yourself.”

“Absolutely.”

Eddie was doing his late-afternoon thing by then, feeling irritable and letting me know it. I tried talking to him but he would have none of it. I even tried singing an old children's song that I remembered from a long time ago, but I guess my voice didn't have the necessary soothing qualities. He was almost two months old and I started wondering when I should get a playpen for him. There was plenty of room in the family room and I could be in the kitchen and keep my eye on him. I would have to ask Mel. She always knew the answers to such questions.

I realized as my mind wandered that it had suddenly become quiet. Eddie was on my shoulder and he was fast asleep. Good, I thought. I had one more call to make and this was a perfect time, too early for a husband to be home. I stood carefully, supporting Eddie's head, and went to the kitchen phone, carrying him.

Ada answered on the second ring.

“It's Chris. I have a couple of questions. Was D.D. blackmailing her natural father?”

“I don't know.”

“Did she know who he was?”

“Chris, you're asking me questions that are hard for me to answer.”

“You said his name wasn't on her birth certificate. I assume that means you wrote ‘Unknown' when you were asked.”

“That's right.”

“Was there any record anywhere of his name?”

“None that I know of.”

“Did you tell D.D. his name?”

“Please,” she said.

“Did D.D. know who he was?”

“Yes.” Her voice was choked. “She asked me and I told her. She threatened me if I didn't.”

“What's his name, Ada?”

“I can't—”

“Think of Susan,” I said. “Do you want her charged with murder?”

I heard something that sounded like a sob. Then she said, “Bill. His name was Bill Childs.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No.”

“When did you tell her?”

“I'm not sure. A long time ago. A year or more.”

“Thank you, Ada. I know how hard this has been for you.”

So D.D. knew her father's name and had known it for some time. It threw a new light on things. If Ada had really kept his name a secret, then no one could have known who D.D.'s natural father was till Ada disclosed the name herself. I had to wonder now whether he had been invited to the family reunion in Bladesville on New Year's Eve.

The name Bill Childs didn't quite ring a bell, but it sounded as though I might have heard it somewhere. I pulled out the Manhattan phone book and looked it up. There was nothing. I called information and asked for a listing under that name. I was told the number for William J. Childs was not published at the request of the customer. So he lived in the city and wasn't listed. I called Jack, hoping to get him before he left for the day. On my shoulder, little Eddie seemed happy to snuggle.

“Jack, I need some help from your esteemed department,” I said when I got him on the phone.

“Esteemed? You looking for a private audience with the commissioner?”

“Not quite. I need to know where a man named William J. Childs lives. He's got a Manhattan residence but no listed number.”

“Who is this guy?”

“D.D. Butler's natural father.”

“Who broke down and gave you his name?”

“Ada. Reluctantly. I'd guess that by now he's in his sixties anyway. He was married with children when they had their affair and that was over thirty years ago.”

“Maybe he owns a car,” Jack said. “I'll do what I can. I may not have time to call back.”

“That's OK. I'm not going anywhere tonight.”

“Kiss my son for me.”

“Done.”

“Brewster, New York,” I said when Jack handed me a piece of paper with the name and address. “Rich and powerful.”

“And not too far from here. He has two cars registered at that address. Probably has an apartment in the city for when he entertains the mayor. Where are you taking this?”

“He may be the missing piece in my puzzle. I think tomorrow I'll be able to find out.”

It was another long shot situation, where I would have to pretend to know things I merely suspected were possible. A little after nine on Friday morning I called
Soupçon
and asked to speak to Melissa Hanes. This time my name worked; she came on the line immediately.

“Ms. Hanes, are you the daughter of William J. Childs?”

“I—yes, I am. How did you know?”

“It seemed logical,” I said, hoping to sound vague. “Is your father the owner of
Soupçon
?”

“I am the owner,” she said archly.

“Did your father ask you to publish D.D. Butler's story?”

“What business is that of yours?” she retorted, making me feel I had hit the jackpot.

“It's part of the business of D.D. Butler's life and death.”

“I publish what I choose to publish.”

“Did your father ask you to do it as a favor?”

“Why do you care?” she persisted. “How can this possibly have anything to do with you?”

“He did, didn't he?” I said.

“He asked me, yes. My father was always very good to me. It seemed a small thing to do.”

“Was there anything else? Other stories of hers?”

“There was nothing else. He just asked if I could publish it quickly. I had to remove an article from that issue because there was no more room.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hanes.” I knew what I needed to. Now I had to talk to William Childs.

I called information and asked for the Brewster phone number but it was unlisted. There was no certainty that he would be at the Brewster address since he also had the apartment in New York, but if he wasn't there, perhaps a caretaker could be persuaded to give me the Manhattan address or a business address. It was worth a try.

Elsie agreed to take Eddie on short notice, and when I handed him to her I was sure I saw a glint of recognition in his face. He was awake and she greeted him like an old friend, as a little smile moved his lips.

“He's a little chunkier than last time I saw him, isn't he?” she said approvingly.

“I think so. And I'm afraid he's outgrowing all those little clothes I've been putting on him.”

“Those little things don't last long, Chris. You'll be surprised how fast he goes from one size to the next. Look at you,” she said, beaming at Eddie. “You are wonderful. You are just wonderful.”

And on that note I left them.

Brewster is almost due north of Oakwood, just west of the Connecticut state line in New York State. I had never been there although I'd passed road signs for it for years. I was kind of nervous at the prospect of meeting William Childs. I knew things about him that he had kept secret for over thirty years, and for my personal safety I would have to make it very plain that my-husband-the-police-sergeant knew where I was and why I had come.

It was a beautiful town, the kind I could never afford to live in, but it was fun to drive through the streets. When I finally reached the Childs house, which looked more like an estate than just a house, I turned into a private road that led to the front door. I parked at the side, leaving plenty of room for other cars, and walked up to a pair of double doors with beautiful brass fittings.

The door was opened by a middle-aged woman wearing a brown dress that wasn't quite a uniform but wasn't anything else. “May I help you?”