New Year's Eve Murder (7 page)

“Yes. I looked at the speedometer but I really can't remember how many miles were on it before, so I can't say how far it was driven. Are you sure she's dead?”

“As sure as I can be. Her face was beaten badly so we can't identify her that way, but the blood type's the same and so is the hair color. She was wearing jeans and a sweater from what I could see.”

“Sounds like Susan. Well, I'll call that detective now and let him know. Maybe someone else drove the car back and they'll find fingerprints on the steering wheel. I didn't touch anything. I just opened the door and stuck my head in.”

“Thank you for calling me first, Jill. This is a real shocker. It's possible the killer knew she had borrowed the car and where it was garaged.”

“How would he know that?”

“She was very badly beaten. Maybe he got her to tell him things before he killed her.”

“What a gruesome thought. By the way, I rang the bell of the people I rent the garage from. They didn't see anyone return the car, so for all we know, it's been there since last night.”

“That's possible. We're not even sure when she was killed. There's no heat in the house and the body was frozen.”

“This is a terrible conversation,” Jill said. “I think I'll call the police now.”

“Sounds like she went up to the farmhouse with her killer,” Jack said when we talked about it later. “It does, doesn't it?”

“Otherwise you've got the problem of an extra car if the killer drove his own.”

“I hope he left some prints,” I said.

“Don't count on it. He could have dumped the car somewhere it might not be found for weeks, but he didn't. This guy is smart. He knows enough about Susan that he knows she's borrowing a car, and when he comes back with it, he drops it off in the middle of the night so no one will see him. He's wearing gloves for warmth so there are no prints on the car and he walks to the nearest subway. Assuming he lives alone, he walks into his apartment like a guy coming home from a late date. Were the keys in the ignition?”

“I didn't ask.”

“There's so damn much we don't know. When's your doctor's appointment?”

“Tomorrow before noon. I'm taking Eddie to Elsie's house after I nurse him.”

“Kid's really getting around, New York for New Year's Eve, Elsie's tomorrow morning. Think any of this makes an impression on him?”

“I wish I knew.”

The return of the car explained why there was none found at the farmhouse. If the killer had come in a separate car, there would have been one car too many at the murder scene. Now that was explained. Either he accompanied Susan from Brooklyn or she picked him up along the way—perhaps the person who had told her about the farmhouse five or six months ago?—and after he killed her he simply took her car and returned it to its parking place. As Jack had said, who would notice him in the middle of the night?

“So, Eddie,” I said as I wrapped him in his tiny snowsuit on Tuesday morning, “we've solved a small mystery, but we have no answers for the big one.”

His sleepy eyes looked at me for a moment, then closed. He had just finished nursing and was too sleepy to listen to my rambling. When I carried him out to the car, he never opened his eyes.

“Oh Chris, he's just so beautiful,” Elsie Rivers said as she took my bundle out of my arms and nestled it in hers. “And look how much he's grown. What a blessing he is.”

Elsie was my mother's closest friend and confidante during my childhood and was one of those remarkable women for whom each baby is a brand-new experience, no matter how many she has seen and fallen in love with.
For me, of course, Eddie was truly a first. I had almost nothing to do with babies for the first thirty-two years of my life, but Elsie had practically been born a grandmother, a woman who was drawn to babies the way I am to sweets. When she said how much he had grown, I had to smile. She could probably tell you to the ounce how much a baby would grow in a day, a week, or a month. For me it was a constant amazement at how he filled out his clothes a little more every few days without the benefit of steak and potatoes.

We spent only a few minutes talking since I had to get to my obstetrician on time, but I knew as I walked back to my car that Eddie was in the best of hands. With luck, I would return before he woke up but if he did, Elsie would charm him, I was sure.

This was my six-week checkup, the one that would give me a clean bill of health, a return to all the things I had become accustomed to in my life, including sex. I wondered, as I left the doctor's office, if I would ever feel wide-awake enough to engage in sex between feedings. But physically I was fine, and Dr. Campbell shook my hand and wished me a happy motherhood as I left. A nice woman, I thought as I put my coat on. A nice profession, too, treating women who were essentially healthy and doing something we all look forward to.

I took the opportunity to do some shopping before returning to Elsie's, where Eddie hadn't the least idea he'd been left with a sitter. She said he hadn't opened his eyes since I'd dropped him off!

Jack called in the afternoon to check up on my checkup. When I'd reported that all was well, he said, “I think there's an ID on Susan's body. I talked to the detective in charge and he said he was expecting the prints back momentarily.”

“Has there been an autopsy yet?”

“I doubt it. That body's got to thaw before they can start. They're handling it locally. The Brooklyn detective should hear as soon as there's something. How's my son?”

“He's fine. Elsie was bitterly disappointed—he didn't even open his eyes.”

“Kid takes after his old man.”

“That's not so bad.”

“Gotta go. See you later.” There were background noises that indicated something was up.

It was Arnold who finally called with the news. “It's not Susan,” he said.

“What?”

“They've checked the prints and they're not hers.”

My mind was whirling. “Arnold, could Kevin have given the police prints he knew weren't Susan's?”

“He could have but he didn't. Ada gave the cops a few things that were Susan's, and some of those prints are the same as the prints from Kevin. Pretty compelling, and nothing matching the prints on the body.”

“Who is she, then?”

“No one seems to know. She doesn't have an arrest record. A woman about Susan's age and build, similar hair color, wearing the same kind of clothes Susan wears—but doesn't everybody nowadays? Oh, and there were dental records. I forgot about those. Ada got some X rays from Susan's dentist and there's no comparison.”

“This is wild.”

“It's a lot worse than wild. The police are pretty sure Susan went up there. She seems to have been the one who rented the house last summer. And while they haven't said so, I get the feeling they think she could be the killer.”

“That's terrible. We don't even know she was there. Are there any prints in the house that seem to be hers?”

“We'll find that out. Did you and Sister Joseph leave prints?”

“I don't know. Possibly. We had gloves on because it was so cold inside, but I went upstairs and looked through the only occupied bedroom—well, it had probably been occupied in warmer weather. It looked as though Susan—or the victim—had moved into the kitchen and was living there. Maybe I took my gloves off then. Is there a problem with having left prints?”

“No problem at all. The police know you were in the house.”

“Arnold, Susan may not even have gone to that house on New Year's Eve.”

“You and I know that. But she seems to have a connection to it; she rented it from the Donaldsons, she borrowed a car and said she was driving about fifty miles from Brooklyn, and she hasn't been seen since. All very circumstantial, not convincing to those of us with a brain, but you know how New York's Finest think.” Arnold has never been known for flattering comments about police, Jack excluded.

“How on earth are they going to find out who that poor woman is? I didn't find a purse anywhere, or anything that looked like identification.”

“They'll search their computers for reports of missing women. Eventually, they may have to use DNA, although they have prints from the body now and that may do the trick.”

“This is just crazy. We have an unidentified body, a missing but presumably still alive Susan, no motive, and no connection.”

“And an uncooperative boyfriend who probably knows more than he's letting on.”

“Keep me posted, Arnold. I don't know what else to say.”

“Nor I. How's the baby?”

“Doing fine. He smiles a lot.”

“With a mother like you, how can he help it?”

That's why I love him.

Jack had heard the news by the time he came home from his classes but he'd been too busy to call.

“Puts everything in a new light, doesn't it?” he said.

“Puts everything in the dark as far as I'm concerned. Who is this woman? Who was the house rented by anyway, Susan or the victim? And why? Was it Susan's friend or the other woman's friend who suggested the farmhouse?”

“All good questions. Maybe Susan rented the house for herself and the victim came to visit her.”

“And where's Susan?”

“You know, you have to consider she could be the killer.”

“Oh, Jack.”

“You going to eliminate a suspect because she's the daughter of a friend of your friend?”

“I have to figure out what's going on there—what went on there,” I said, not answering his question. “Blackmail? How does a woman in her twenties get involved in blackmail? Something else?”

“There are certain relationships between women you may not want to think about,” Jack said quietly.

I took a breath. “Hate the sin, love the sinner,” I said. “But she had a boyfriend, Jack. She lived with a man.”

“She lived with a man recently. What did she do two years ago? Three?”

Four, five, and six.

“You still want to keep on with this?”

“A woman has been murdered,” I said firmly. “Nothing is worse than murder. I talked to Mel yesterday, and she came up with some good ideas for finding the person who led Susan to the farmhouse. I may look into that. Susan's friend Rachel might also be able to help.”

“She might also have a handle on Susan's sexual preference.”

“She might.”

“And speaking of sexual preference, I have a very strong one for my wife.”

I felt the cloud of fatigue lift. “That does something very nice to me.”

“It was meant to. It's been a long time.”

“Yes.” I leaned over and kissed him, feeling the stirrings of lovely desires that had not been satisfied since late in my pregnancy.

“Think that guy upstairs is good till morning?”

“Count on it.”

He put his arms around me and the rest, as they say, is sweet history.

I called Rachel Stone early Wednesday morning before she left for work. She didn't have time to talk, which didn't surprise me, but I had wanted to reach her early rather than wait for evening, and she called me back when she got to her job, a little after nine. Eddie was awake but quiet, so I was able to talk. Rachel had heard the terrible news that Susan was dead, but had not spoken to the Starks yesterday, and I was the one who was able to tell her that Susan was apparently alive and very much missing.

“God, what a relief,” she said. “Does anyone know what happened?”

“About all we know for sure is that someone about Susan's age is dead in that farmhouse in Bladesville. They don't know who she is, but they're certain it isn't Susan because the fingerprints don't match. I want to ask you some questions, Rachel, some uncomfortable questions, and I hope you'll be truthful with me.”

“I have nothing to hide,” she said.

That, of course, wasn't the problem. “I'm going to come right out with it. Do you think Susan could have been having a relationship, a sexual relationship, with another woman?”

There was silence. Finally she said, “Susan?”

“Yes, Susan.”

“I can't believe—Chris, what would make you ask such a thing?”

“I'm feeling my way. A woman has been murdered. Susan borrowed a car for a trip that was about fifty miles each way, just about the distance to that farmhouse. It looks as though Susan rented the house for herself or for the victim about five months ago. They knew each other. If we can figure out who the victim was, maybe it will lead us to Susan, and maybe it will also lead us to the murderer.”

“Do you think Susan killed that woman?”

“I have no idea who killed her.”

“Because I'm not going to say another word if that's where you're going. Susan is my friend. She's my best friend. I don't think she's capable of killing unless someone attacked her.”

“That could have happened, you know.”

“My head is buzzing. I've gone from being so relieved that Susan's not dead to having to consider her a killer, all in the space of a minute or two. Let me go back to your question. No, Susan is as heterosexual as they come. She's been going out since she was a teenager. With guys. She's in love with Kevin and I believe they have a good, healthy, physical relationship. Does that answer your questions?”

“Yes, it does.” It meant that if there were anything sexual between Susan and another woman, Rachel didn't know about it. “Rachel, are you aware of Susan taking trips by herself in the last six months?”

“Without Kevin? Not unless she went away for a day and didn't tell me. But Kevin would know.”

“I wonder,” I said, thinking aloud, “whether she could have told Kevin she was staying overnight with her parents and then just gone upstate.”

“I suppose—I suppose it could have happened. But
she would have been taking a big chance. If Kevin had to ask her something and she wasn't at the Starks', there would have been panic.”

“That's exactly what happened on New Year's Eve.”

“I see. Yes.”

“So it's possible that she did it before and was just lucky not to be found out.”

“Everything you say makes it seem as though something sinister was going on in Susan's life. I don't believe that's true. Secret maybe, but not sinister.”

“We'll find out the truth eventually, Rachel. Thanks for being so forthright.”

Eddie seemed quite content, so I took a chance and dialed
Single Up
, the magazine where Susan and Jill worked. Jill came on the phone and I told her the news.

“So it
was
Susan who returned the car,” she said, with what sounded to me like relief.

“We don't know yet but I hope so. And if it was, she's in hiding somewhere.”

“Well I would be, too, if I found a dead body, I can tell you.”

“Jill, I want to ask you if Susan ever borrowed your car before last Thursday?”

“Never. I don't even think she knew I had one. She just happened to mention she was going to rent a car—no, that's not the way it was. I heard her on the phone talking to a rental agency and when she got off, I asked her if she'd like to borrow mine. She was hesitant, but I told her I'd really appreciate it, that sitting in a garage isn't the best thing for a car. So she said yes.”

“Do you remember if Susan took time off from work in the last few months?”

“Oh boy.” She exhaled. “You know, we run around a lot. There are days we have to go interview people or pick up photographs or get supplies. I really couldn't tell
you. You know, Susan lives with someone. He's probably your best bet on something like that.”

If he would tell what he knows, I thought. But we couldn't count on that. “Thanks for your help, Jill,” I said.

“I hope you'll call me if she turns up.”

I said I would. I hoped she would turn up.

I was afraid she wouldn't. There was a very dark possibility to all this, that someone, the person who was the link between Susan and the victim, had killed the woman in the farmhouse and taken Susan with him in Jill's car, hurting and eventually killing her. I had to find out what the connection was between the two women and who the “friend” was in the Bladesville area. I thought about Mel's suggestions as I nursed Eddie. Another retired teacher. Mrs. Halliday could help me with that. A commune. I would call Jack, and he could ask the local sheriff up there. They would surely know if such a thing existed. The idea of a commune sounded hopelessly out-of-date, one of those sixties' and seventies' phenomena. I imagined most of them were deserted now, the land lying fallow, the members having become part of the American mainstream, but who knew?

I put Eddie on my shoulder and patted his back, feeling his warm head next to my cheek. After the inevitable burp, I said, “There we go, little sweetheart,” and began to nurse him on the second side.

A young family returning to the good earth. Someone she went to school with? Someone Rachel or Kevin might know? These were not easy things to check out. It occurred to me that I didn't know whose clothes those had been in the farmhouse, Susan's or the victim's. Which of them actually lived there? Joseph and I had been so sure the victim was Susan that we just assumed
everything was hers. Now nothing seemed certain. I watched Eddie as he nursed. His eyes had been fixed on mine but now they were closing. He had been awake for a long time before eating and now the little eyelids were flickering, now closing. This was his soundest nap of the day, the time I had staked out as my own. Before he was fast asleep, I burped him again and put him in his crib. With a sigh, he nestled on the mattress. I leaned over and kissed him. Then I went downstairs to do my thing.

Jack called back pretty quickly. “If there's anything like a commune up there, the sheriff doesn't know about it and they would if there were, if you follow me. What made you think of something like that?”

“It was Mel's idea. She thought Susan might know someone on a commune who would know the farmhouse was empty. It was just a thought, Jack. It was the easiest to check out.”

“Especially since I did the checking. Sorry, honey, it looks like you'll have to get another brainstorm.”

“Aside from asking the neighbors, everything else is tougher. Mel said maybe another retired teacher lives up there. I can call Mrs. Halliday and ask her. Or maybe an artist or a writer that Susan knew from New York moved upstate to work in inexpensive peace and quiet.”

“You'll just have to talk to Susan's friends and see if they can think of who that could be. This is really a weird one.”

“Any word on whether Susan's prints were picked up in the house or the car?”

“Maybe later. I'll let you know. How's my boy?”

“Fed, changed, and fast asleep. This is when my brain gets working.”

“Maybe a little snack would get mine working, too.”

“That's a productive thought. Let me know if those prints match.”

“You bet.”