Murder Old and New

by Chet Williamson

  “No…it just occurred to me, and I thought it might be useful.”

  He sat back and looked at me closely. “Forgive me, Livy, but this kind of …epiphany usually comes from some remembered detail. Last night you seemed sure that the burglar was a man, or at least you hadn’t considered the option that it was a woman. I’m just wondering what made you change your attitude. If I knew that, it would help more than just a half-formed sense on your part.”

  I hadn’t been planning to mention Genevieve, but he drove me to it. “Well…” I said, “maybe it was suggestibility, but there’s this night nurse in the home…” And I told Dave about Genevieve Tucker and how she was the last person out and about her interest in my mother. He listened with interest, but when I got into my theory about Genevieve returning through the door in disguise, he began to look at me more curiously.

  “You suspect she could have gone outside, left a peg in the door, and returned disguised as a man?”

  “I…well…maybe…” It sounded thin, and Dave made it thinner.

  “If she’d intended to steal something, Livy—or even do something worse—wouldn’t it make more sense to stay herself? After all, if someone had seen her, she’d have had a reason to be there, checking on your mother before she left or something. But if she’d been confronted in a disguise, and not a very good one, since you said you could’ve seen her face if there’d been more light in the room, the immediate question would have been why was this…?”

  “Genevieve Tucker.”

  “Why was this Genevieve Tucker going around the home at night dressed as a man? Much harder question to answer than why she was in your mother’s room, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, absolutely…I wouldn’t even have brought Genevieve up if you hadn’t asked me what made me think of the woman-dressed-as-a-man thing.”

  He smiled reassuringly. “I’m glad you suggested the possibility. It gives us a little more to go on—and doubles the size of our suspect pool, so thanks a lot,” he added with a chuckle. “Look, if it’ll set your mind at ease, we were planning to question and run a check on Genevieve Tucker anyway, since she was the last person out. For all we know, she could have been working with the burglar. We’ll know one way or another. No point in worrying about somebody you don’t have to worry about.”

  “Genevieve’s really nice to my mother. I hate to think that because of what I said you’re going to—“

  “We were going to anyway. I think it’ll come out just the way you’d originally figured it, that the burglar put a peg at the door and Genevieve was the one who opened it, nothing more. Her only mistake was not making sure it locked behind her.”

  I shook my head. “And I think she’s going to catch it from Doris Landover because of it.”

  “Oh yeah,” Dave said. “I gathered that much from talking to Mrs. Landover last night…. Ah, food…”

  He was right—the chicken cashew salad was terrific, and so was his company. We got away from police business and started talking about other things. It turned out that we were both divorced, me far longer than him. He’d split from his wife five years earlier, while I’d been single for the past twenty years, something that seemed to surprise him.

  “Pardon my saying so,” he said, “but it’s funny somebody like you hasn’t been snatched up long ago.”

  It was a nice thing to hear, and I got a little flustered. “Well, thanks, but maybe I’m not as snatchworthy as you think.” Then the flustered turned to embarrassed. “Oh my god…I think that came out really, really wrong.”

  He laughed. “Well, yeah, I think it did.”

  “Only I could turn a compliment into borderline pornography.”

  We laughed some more and talked some more. It turned out that Dave seemed to like old movies on DVD almost as much as I did. Before he’d been called out the night before he was at home watching Lady in the Lake.

  “From one of the Warner Brothers film noir sets?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I have them all—working through the third one now.”

  “I have them too,” I said in astonishment.

  “I hit Costco every Tuesday to see if they have any new releases of the old stuff,” he said. “What they don’t get I buy in Deep Discount’s sale twice a year.”

  “The twenty-five per cent off sale? Yeah, me too!” Dear lord, it seemed that two ubergeeks had found each other at last. Now for the acid test. “You into…Criterions?”

  “Oh man!” said Dave. “They’re the best. I watched their Blu-ray of The Third Man last week—awesome. Worth it for the extras alone.”

  “How’d you get into that stuff?” I asked him.

  “Aw, after the divorce I really didn’t feel like socializing. The whole dating scene…I just couldn’t get into it. Too old, I guess. So I stayed home more, started watching old movies on Turner Classics, then started picking them up on DVD, and I was hooked. I’m obsessive, I’m afraid.”

  “Better than drugs or booze,” I said. “And I speak as a fellow addict.”

  “Any dessert?” the waitress asked, and we both shook our heads. Jesus, something else in common. When she brought the check, he did the gentlemanly thing—tried to take it, but when I protested, he let me pay for my half.

  “So,” he said as he helped me with the fluffy bulk of my coat, “this was fun. You, uh…you like Thai food?”

  “Love it.”

  “Then why don’t we continue this conversation over some? Maybe tomorrow night? And a movie afterward?”

  “Or a DVD,” I said. “Not much out right now as good as the old stuff.”

  “I’ve got a 50-inch high-def flat screen, a Blu-Ray player, and Dolby at my place. And I promise to be a gentleman. And we don’t even have to watch a shoot-em-up.”

  “Shoot-em-ups are great,” I said. “The old ones, anyway.”

  We set a time when Dave would actually pick me up, and said goodbye. It wasn’t until I walked through the door of Better Days that I realized that the following night was Thursday night, which was when Ted and I had planned to go out on our buddy date. Ah well, I thought, better to tell the truth and just reschedule with him, so I looked into his clear blue, oh so young eyes and spoke:

  “Ted, I’m sorry, but I have to cancel tomorrow night, I…” I was going to go on to tell him about my date with Dave, but his face fell so low that his chin scraped my shoes, and I shifted to coward mode. “…I forgot I made plans with Karen. Maybe Friday night?”

  He brightened a bit. “Sure, Livy, Friday’d be great.”

  Okay, now I had to cover my ass with Karen. Oh, what a tangled web, et cetera. I hastened up to my apartment and called her at the Gates Home. “Do me a favor,” I asked, and explained my problem. “If Ted should ever ask, I was with you tomorrow night.”

  “And what were we doing?”

  “Uh…well, what are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Having some of the girls over for Bunco.”

  “Okay, I was playing Bunco.”

  “You hate Bunco. I invited you one time and you never came again.”

  “Ted doesn’t know that.”

  “And you’re going out with a cop?”

  “A police officer. A lieutenant. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Livy, have you watched The Shield?”

  “Yes, I’ve watched The Shield, and Dave is not Vic Mackey. He’s nice and he’s charming and he likes old movies.”

  “I’m sure that Vic Mackey seems nice and charming too, but he still killed his partner.”

  “Dave doesn’t have a partner…I don’t think. Besides, The Shield is in L.A.—this is Buchanan.”

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “You’ll cover my ass then?”

  “Consider it covered. And keep it that way with Vic Mackey, or you might be sorry.”

  Okay, that was taken care of.

  Chapter 12

  My date the following night went really well, right up to the point when Dave
told me about Genevieve Tucker. He picked me up in a Toyota Prius, which showed me that he cared about the environment, the Thai restaurant was full of Asian ambiance, and the food? Well, we shared three dishes—Pork Pad Thai, Chicken Satay, and a Thai Seafood Paella—and they were all amazing (even though I’m not big on mussels) and spicy.

  “Wow,” I said as I had still another sip of water, “I’m sure glad we didn’t go higher.” They offered all entrees from one to ten on the hot scale. We’d ordered ours at a wussy two, and it was plenty.

  “The first time I ate here,” Dave said, “I ordered a five, figuring that was moderate. I drank water all night and hated myself in the morning.” He looked up at the waiter, who had arrived again to refill our water glasses. “Does anyone ever actually order their food at a ten?”

  “Oh yes, many,” the man said smiling. “Mostly Thai peoples.”

  “And they survive?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. Opens the pores.”

  “So that’s how the heat gets out,” Dave said, reaching for the full glass.

  When we were alone again, and the table was silent except for our ceaseless slurping of ice water, Dave leaned across the table toward me. Though we’d eaten dishes full of garlic and onion, his breath was totally inoffensive, and I assumed it was because I was equally polluted. Skunks love other skunks. When he spoke again, his tone was more confidential. “I found out a few things about Genevieve Tucker. She actually does have a record, though she was never convicted.” He hesitated.

  “Can you tell me? I mean, legally?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s a matter of public record. But remember, now, she was found not guilty.”

  “Of what?”

  He smiled one of those sour I-don’t-want-to-tell-you-but-here-goes smiles. “Manslaughter.”

  “What?”

  “It was fifteen years ago, out in Idaho. Genevieve Tucker was 40 years old, a nurse in a G.P.’s office, and was living with her elderly aunt. The aunt got cancer, incurable and very nasty, and though she was getting a lot of pain meds, they apparently didn’t do much, and she told her doctors that she wanted to die. Nothing they could do, of course, except send her home and keep her as doped up as possible.

  “Two days after the aunt got back home from the hospital, Genevieve called the funeral home and told them the woman was dead. When the morticians arrived, they noticed that there seemed to be ligature marks around her neck. Not so deep as to indicate strangulation, but suspicious, so they called in the police. They found a heavy plastic bag and a wide elastic band in the garbage, and right away they suspected assisted suicide. There was also a copy of Final Exit in Genevieve’s room.”

  “Final Exit?” I dimly recalled the title.

  “A book about dying with dignity, with instructions on how to do it. Overmedication and a plastic bag are the basics. The autopsy showed the aunt suffocated. They hit Genevieve with that, and she broke down. Said the aunt begged her to help her die, so Genevieve brought her the bag, the elastic, and the pills, then left the room. Claimed the aunt did the rest on her own. Afterward, Genevieve took off the bag and threw it away, said her aunt didn’t want people to know she’d killed herself, and also so Genevieve wouldn’t be suspected.

  “The state tried her for manslaughter, but there wasn’t a strong enough case to show that she was active in the death itself, other than bringing the aunt what she asked for, so she was acquitted. She left the state shortly afterward, so I assume she quit her job, since the publicity probably made her a local pariah. Don’t know where she was in the interim, but she showed up in Pennsylvania three years ago, and she’s worked at Gates for the past ten months.” He shrugged. “And that’s it. No other violations at all, not even a parking ticket.”

  I was confused, and more than a little concerned. “But she could still get a job taking care of old people?”

  “Yep. She was acquitted, Livy. There would be nothing that she’d legally have to report on any application. As long as her nursing certification was valid and up to date, she could apply for a job just like any other nurse. And that’s the way it really ought to be.”

  “You think so?”

  Dave sat back in his chair. “Livy, I’m not speaking as a police officer now, but as just a citizen. Even if she did help her aunt to die, even if she helped her overdose and put that bag over her head, I think what she did was probably…right. There was a lot of evidence to show that the aunt wanted to die, that she was in terrible pain, and she wanted it to end. What Genevieve Tucker did—if she did it—was a humane act, as far as I’m concerned. It was something that a nurse, or any caring human being, might do.”

  “And you don’t think something like that should…disqualify her from working in a place filled with old people, many in pain? Some who might be better off dead?”

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Dave. I really don’t. But knowing that she did something like that…if she did…makes me a little concerned, especially since she feels so close to my mother…”

  The waiter floated back to our table. “Any dessert tonight?” he asked.

  Dave gave me the eye. “Sticky Rice and Fresh Mangos are really good.”

  “I think I’d rather have something cool,” I said. “How about green tea ice cream?”

  The waiter brought our desserts and coffee almost immediately. I had a bite of Dave’s sticky rice, which was tasty but too filling, and was glad I’d gotten the ice cream. Its cool smoothness soothed the heat on my tongue, but did nothing to ease my worry. Dave sensed that I hadn’t been mollified, and resumed the subject.

  “Livy, I honestly think that what Genevieve Tucker did or didn’t do fifteen years ago has no bearing on what she’s doing now, or in her friendship with your mother. Look at it this way. If you’d been in the same situation, with your mother, say, and you had the choice to end what was terrible suffering and you knew that she wanted it ended, what would you do?”

  I didn’t even have to think. “I’d have done what Genevieve did—I’d have helped her end it.”

  “There you are,” Dave said. “So how can you blame Genevieve Tucker then?”

  He was right and I knew it. Logically, there was no reason I should fear Genevieve, and yet something at the back of my head told me that it still wasn’t right. I could, however, try and pretend that it was. After all, I was sitting across from a nice-looking and companionable gentleman, and until this subject had come up, we’d been having an altogether lovely evening. There was no reason it shouldn’t continue.

  “I guess I’m just being silly,” I finally said. “You’re right. Just because Genevieve might see a little of her own mother—or her aunt—in mine is no reason to suspect her of anything. Sorry to be such a party pooper.”

  “My fault. I brought it up in the first place.” He gestured to my ice cream. “Cooling things down, is it?”

  “You bet. And how about yourself?”

  “Absolutely. There’s something in dairy products that counterbalances hot spices in your mouth—some scientific reason or other, I can’t explain it, but it works.”

  The talk grew lighter then, and we stayed away from Genevieve Tucker and the doings at the Gates Home, talking about our favorite movies and old TV shows, and then about growing up and from there into our families, both the ones we still had and those we didn’t.

  “I was married for twenty-five years,” Dave told me over what seemed like our tenth cup of coffee. “And I never really knew anything was wrong until five years ago when Barb told me she wanted a divorce. No lead-in, no nothing, just an announcement. She’d found somebody else, after all that time, a guy she worked with and had known for years. His wife had died of cancer a couple of years before, and she became his friend, supporting him and all…. I really can’t blame her. My work kept me so busy. We’ve been understaffed for years, and I’ve taken on more and more responsibilities. I wasn’t spending time with her the way I should have, and he was. It was too late to prom
ise I’d change, and even if I had, she was pretty gone on this guy.” He shook his head. “I don’t blame her for that either. He was—is—a nice guy. I couldn’t even bring myself to hate him.”

  “Do you have kids?” I asked.

  “A son. James. Lives in L.A. He’s a script reader for a big agency out there, keeps me clued in to what good films are coming out. Still single.”

  “How’d he take your break-up?”

  “Really hard. He didn’t talk to either of us for a few months, blamed us both, which was as it should be, I suppose. And how about your tale of woe?”

  I thought for a minute before I spoke. I never make it a habit to wear my heart on my sleeve, especially with men I’ve known for only a few days. But Dave had been so upfront with me I felt it was my duty to reciprocate to some extent. So I figured I’d tell at least part of the story.

  “I married too young,” I said. “That really was about it. One of those situations where you both think you’re in love, and then you find out that you’re not. Learning that only took a few years, which was good, because we’d decided to wait until we were thirty to have kids. Hell, we were kids. And that was it. Not much property to divvy up when you’re in your twenties, and we both went our own way alone. Sadder but wiser. And you know what they say—once bitten, twice shy.”

  “You never came close afterward?”

  “Maybe kind of close, but no regrets.” And it was true. There was no way I would have wanted to commit to spending the rest of my life with any of the men I’d dated and, yes, slept with from time to time, though that hadn’t happened for three years. Two months. And twenty-four days, but who’s counting?

  “Well, no regrets is good,” Dave said, though his expression told me that he had a lot of them.

  Time to lighten things up again. “Yeah,” I said with a smirk, “but no pain, no gain.”

  “And a rolling stone gathers no moss.”

  “And without a song, the day would never end.”

  “And there’s no business like show business…”

  “Like no business I know, that’s for sure.”