by Ron Finch
“Then we need his fingerprints,” said Chief Petrovic. “If they match the fingerprints on the wine bottle, I’m sure that’ll be sufficient cause for anybody.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” said Det. O’Neill.
“Do you serve tea and coffee here during your interviews?” asked the chief. “If you don’t, now would be a good time to start.”
“I think that’s a good start to any friendly interview,” said the detective.
Det. O’Neill went back down the hall to the sergeant’s desk.
“Mr. Frankel should be here shortly for an interview,” he said to the sergeant. “He’s a professional-looking man in his 50s. Please prepare both coffee and tea for the interview. I want the refreshments brought to the interview room within five minutes of his arrival.”
The sergeant gave Det. O’Neill a look. “Is he a special guest?”
“He’s special to Chief Petrovic and me,” said Det. O’Neill. “Serve the tea as soon as you can, Sergeant. Perhaps with some cookies. Then come back about 10 minutes later to collect all the cups and saucers. I want Frankel’s cup dusted for fingerprints.”
“Aha!” said the sergeant.
Det. O’Neill had only been back in the interview room about five minutes when there was a rap on the door. The sergeant opened the door and allowed another man to enter the room, introducing him as Benjamin Frankel. Chief Petrovic stood and introduced himself and Det. O’Neill.
Benjamin Frankel was tall, perhaps 6 foot 3, with black hair that showed traces of grey. He appeared to be healthy and in reasonably good shape. He also seemed confident. One look was enough to convince the chief that he could be related to Bella. That hadn’t been confirmed yet, but he expected he would know by the end of the day.
The chief had suggested that Det. O’Neill ask the questions. The chief wanted to sit and observe Frankel’s reactions. Det. O’Neill began by saying that he understood that Mr. Frankel was a university professor and that his area of expertise was botany. Frankel confirmed this.
“Prof. Frankel,” Det. O’Neill continued, “please tell me about your educational career from the time you started university.”
“As an undergraduate, I attended the University of Toronto,” said Frankel. “I was an excellent student. Because of my top marks and my expertise in laboratory work, I then completed two years of postgraduate work at Toronto. Then I received an opportunity to work at the University of Western Ontario with an eminent researcher who was working in the field of botany I was primarily interested in. I was particularly interested in the wildflowers of Ontario. Under the tutelage of that professor, I did groundbreaking research that earned me a PhD and a prestigious medal in 1912. My innovative research has continued to this day. I’m a very focused person. As a child, I was quite gifted. I pursue something until I achieve it. That’s why I’ve had such an illustrious career.”
It was all the chief could do to restrain himself from interrupting Frankel’s monologue praising his own brilliance. A couple of times, Chief Petrovic exchanged glances with Det. O’Neill. He knew Det. O’Neill was feeling the same way. The word ‘megalomaniac’ sprang to mind.
There was another rap on the door and the sergeant reappeared, this time with tea, which had been Frankel’s preference, and a plate of biscuits. There was a brief pause in the interview while the refreshments were served.
Det. O’Neill went on to ask Frankel about his family relationships and Frankel explained that his parents had died many years ago from natural causes, just after he’d become a professor at the University of Western Ontario.
“I was the sole beneficiary of my parent’s estate,” Frankel continued. “They were very wealthy people. I still live in the magnificent home that I grew up in.”
“Did you have any brothers or sisters?” inquired Det. O’Neill.
“I have a sister, Bella,” Frankel replied. “So far as I know, Bella is my only living relative. And I don’t know where she is. She was five years older than me and had no time for me when I was growing up. She was a very difficult person and caused my parents a lot of grief. She was extremely clever and manipulative. She was also very untrustworthy. They cut her out of their will after she became involved in a number of questionable situations. When they disowned her, she threatened their lives. I’m still suspicious about the manner of their deaths.”
This man isn’t difficult to interview, thought Det. O’Neill. You just ask him a question and he talks until you stop him.
“Do you have a wife or any lady friends?” the detective asked him.
“I have never married,” said Frankel. “I don’t have any romantic interests. There was only one woman I was ever interested in, and that was many years ago. She had no interest in me. Since then, I haven’t really bothered with women.”
“What was the name of the woman you had a romantic interest in?” the chief interjected.
“Her name was Louise Carter,” said Frankel. “She was very clever and interesting but had no use for me. When I persisted in my attentions, she notified me that, if necessary, she would have her brothers visit me. I’m a tall man but her brothers are both bigger than I am and I had no interest in tangling with them. So I never spoke to her again.”
“In answer to an earlier question,” said Chief Petrovic, “you mentioned a medal that you had won for outstanding research. Where is that medal now? That medal or medallion must have celebrated an important achievement in your career. Do you have it displayed prominently in your home?”
“Yes, I keep it in my front foyer along with some other important mementos,” said Frankel.
At this point the chief reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He put the box on the table and opened it. The medallion lay gleaming inside of it.
Frankel looked at Chief Petrovic. “Thank you very much,” he said. “Where did you find it?”
The chief was surprised by his answer.
“Let me explain,” said Chief Petrovic. “I was introduced to you as the Chief of Police of Chaseford and this medallion is the reason I’m here interviewing you now. It was found near a cabin in a bush owned by the Carter family. A bush not far from Chaseford.”
Frankel appeared astounded. “How did it get there?” he practically shouted. He was no longer calm or confident.
Chief Petrovic was a little baffled. He hadn’t expected Benjamin Frankel’s reaction to be one of total confusion.
“Where were you on Saturday, the 19th of May?” he said.
“I was at Northwestern University, in Evanston, Illinois,” said Frankel, still evidently perplexed. “I was there for a year as a visiting professor. I just returned to London at the start of July. I’ve only been home for two weeks.”
Now Chief Petrovic was confused. He did his best not to show it. It was apparent that Det. O’Neill was as amazed as he was. They had both arrived at the interview convinced they had found the murderer. This, apparently, was not the case.
Just then there was a knock on the door of the interview room.
Det. O’Neill excused himself and went to the door. The sergeant was standing outside. The sergeant handed Det. O’Neill a folded piece of notepaper.
“I was told to deliver this to you as soon as possible, sir,” said the sergeant, speaking quietly.
Det. O’Neill glanced at the contents of the note, then crossed the room and handed the note to Chief Petrovic.
None of the prints taken in the case to date match the prints on the wine bottle.
Chief Petrovic glanced up at Det. O’Neill, a resigned expression on his face.
Things in this interview were certainly beginning to fit together. The problem was that they weren’t fitting together the way both chief Petrovic and Det. O’Neill had thought that they would. They thanked Frankel for his time and let him go.
“Do you remember how excited we were yesterday about the discovery of the medallion and where it might lead?” said Chief Petrovic after Frankel left.
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“I certainly do,” said Det. O’Neill. “It hasn’t taken us where we thought we would go.”
“What do you think of Benjamin Frankel as a suspect?” asked the chief.
“He’s an arrogant ass, but I don’t think he’s a killer,” said Det. O’Neill.
“Nor do I,” said the chief. “But it appears we were being led to think that he is.”
“It certainly seems that someone – and we both know who – is trying to frame him,” said the detective.
Monday, July 16
IT WAS ANOTHER MONDAY morning meeting in the Chaseford Police Chief’s Office. When the meeting had broken up the previous Thursday, everyone had been very enthusiastic about the discovery of the medallion and the identification of the poison that had been used to murder Louise Carter. This morning, after the chief related the events of the Friday interview with Benjamin Frankel, there was a very different mood.
“I’m open to ideas,” said the chief. “I think, from looking at the evidence we have, we all strongly suspect this is directly or indirectly the work of Bella Frankel. The biggest part of the puzzle is the evidence we have linking her brother, Benjamin Frankel, to the murder: the medallion that was located at the crime scene. That, and the fact that he is a very clever botanist who could have easily prepared the hemlock poison. But of course, he wasn’t in Canada at the time that this happened, and the fingerprints on the wine bottle are not his. The fingerprints don’t belong to Bella Frankel either.”
“Chief, I think you’re suggesting that somehow Bella Frankel obtained the medallion from the home of her brother, and further that someone else delivered the bottle to the cabin,” said Cst. Herman.
“Exactly,” said Det. O’Neill. “Good thinking, Cst. Herman. You do show promise.”
“We need to establish that Bella Frankel was in her brother’s home in London at some point prior to the murder,” said Chief Petrovic. “We also need to determine who delivered the wine bottle to the cabin. Det. O’Neill and I have talked about this. O’Neill is going to contact Benjamin Frankel after the meeting today and arrange an interview with him in his home. O’Neill wants to see the layout of the house. He also wants to find out what arrangements Benjamin Frankel made for the security of his home while he was absent. It’s a magnificent house. Not the sort of house you would leave unguarded. Now,” said Chief Petrovic, concluding, “let’s hear your ideas about finding the person who delivered the wine bottle.”
Cst. Smith spoke up. “It’s not whisky, sir, but I would still be interested in finding out where it was purchased. That might give us a lead. We could also put an article in the newspaper indicating we are trying to locate someone who made the delivery to the cabin. I could go out and interview some of the farm families in the area again, too. Who knows, maybe one of them was involved?”
“Excellent ideas, Cst. Smith,” said the chief. “Please follow through on them.”
The meeting over, Det. O’Neill made his phone call. Benjamin Frankel, much to the surprise of the detective, agreed to have another interview with him at his home at 2 o’clock, Wednesday afternoon.
Frankel said he understood the police were just doing their job and had not been unduly upset about going to the station for the previous interview. As a matter fact, he was pleased that the police had found his medallion and relieved that it would be returned to him in due course.
Det. O’Neill inquired about the security of Frankel’s home when he was absent for long periods. Frankel replied that there was an older couple in the neighbourhood, Enoch and Alma Iversen, whom he had known since childhood. They lived next door to him and had been friends of his parents. Frankel said he always had them keep an eye on the house when he was away. Det. O’Neill asked if they would be able to attend the interview as well. Frankel told him that he thought it could easily be arranged.
Det. O’Neill thanked him and hung up.
Wednesday, July 18
DETECTIVE O’NEILL PULLED into the driveway of Benjamin Frankel’s North London home. It was a very impressive house indeed. This was a neighbourhood of the well-to-do, and Det. O’Neill expected a butler to answer the door. Instead, Benjamin Frankel greeted the detective personally with a welcoming smile and a firm handshake.
I had him at the police station a few days ago for a serious interview, thought Det. O’Neill, and now he’s welcoming me into his home like a friend. He’s either a little different or an excellent actor.
The front door opened onto a large, lovely, wood-panelled foyer. Across from the coat closet were two large glass display cases. Both cases had ornate wood trim matching the upper casings of the doors and windows in the grand entry. After the meeting, Det. O’Neill would recollect noting this unique pattern above all the other window and door casings in the house as well, almost like a family crest.
Det. O’Neill stopped in front of the display cases. Frankel, noting the detective’s interest, proceeded to explain the significance of the items on display. After a couple of minutes, Det. O’Neill politely interrupted him.
“Would the medallion have been displayed in one of these cases?” he asked.
Frankel responded by pointing to a small, unique, but beautiful table sitting between the two larger cases.
“It was not in a display case. I had it displayed on this table with two other awards I received in the course of my career. The medallion and those two other awards were particularly important to me. As you can see, I now have a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the table. The other two awards are locked in a display case in my library. The medallion will go into the case with them when I get it back.” Frankel interrupted himself. “But we’d better not tarry here. The Iversens are waiting for us in the sitting room. My maid Betsy will be serving us tea there.”
Frankel and Det. O’Neill proceeded to the sitting room. It was another beautiful room, and larger than any sitting room Det. O’Neill had ever been in. Large windows overlooking the lawn let in a wealth of natural light. An older couple that Det. O’Neill judged to be in their early 80s was already sitting there. Frankel introduced everyone and his maid Betsy appeared with the tea.
They chatted politely for a few minutes, during which time, Det. O’Neill was able to assess that Enoch and Alma Iversen were sharper than most people half their age. The three of them displayed a good deal of humour and Benjamin Frankel seemed quite relaxed. He was a much nicer person in their presence.
“I understand that when Benjamin was away this past year you kept an eye on his house,” Det. O’Neill said to the Iversens.
“We certainly did,” said Alma. “I visited the house once a day. If I didn’t come, then Enoch came and did a tour. There were never any signs that someone had tried to break in. We never noticed anything missing. We didn’t realize the medallion was missing until Benjamin told us a couple of days ago.”
“If no one broke in, then it must have gone missing when you were here,” said Det. O’Neill.
Enoch Iversen grew angry at this speculation.
“Young man,” he sputtered, “what exactly are you suggesting?” He stared hard at Det. O’Neill.
Det. O’Neill, suddenly realizing the implication of what he’d said, hastily apologized. “Please, forgive me. I wasn’t suggesting that either you or Alma had taken the medallion. That was never in my mind. Quite the opposite. I was wondering if perhaps there’d been a visitor to the house?”
Enoch, now much calmer, said: “No, I don’t think so.”
“There was a young woman here, once,” said Alma. “I think she saw me come in because I no sooner got in the house than she knocked on the door. She said she’d gone for a walk and had started to feel a little unwell. She wondered if she could have a glass of water so she could take one of her pills. I was hesitant to let her into the house, but she told me she was a niece of Nancy Partridge. That’s an older woman who lives two doors down from Enoch and me. This woman was very well dressed and I thought I recognized her. Perhaps she does look a littl
e bit like Nancy Partridge.”
“Can you describe this woman to me?” said Det. O’Neill.
“She was on the tall side,” said Alma. “She may have been about 50 years old. Her hair was dark, almost black. She seemed quite pleasant. When I came back with the glass of water, she put a pill in her mouth before drinking the water. At least, it looked like she had. Oh, that reminds me: about a week later I saw Mrs. Partridge and asked her about her niece. She just looked at me and said: ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Well, I thought, that’s understandable, her memory isn’t what it used to be.”
Det. O’Neill was convinced that the mystery woman was Bella, visiting her childhood home. And he didn’t think she’d done it out of nostalgia.
“Do you think you would recognize this woman if you saw her again?” he asked Alma.
“Most certainly,” she replied.
Det. O’Neill was very pleased. He was making progress.
He thanked them all for their patience and apologized if he had offended anyone. Then he stood and Frankel escorted him to the door.
At the door, Frankel stepped outside, closed the door, and turned to Det. O’Neill.
“I appreciate all your hard work, detective,” he said. “But I suspect, after listening to what Alma had to say, that my estranged sister Bella is somehow involved. It saddens me, but it doesn’t surprise me. I can’t think of any reason why Bella would want to destroy me, but Bella is Bella.”
“I can’t comment on what you’ve just said because it’s an active investigation,” said Det. O’Neill. “But I can tell you I’m extremely pleased with your cooperation.”
As he drove away, Det. O’Neill reflected out loud to himself: “What really happened to your parents, Bella?”
