“About a year ago. Americans are suckers for people with old world titles, especially when they happen to be beautiful women—and Alexandra is most certainly beautiful.” That sneer again. “It didn’t take long for the Kraut bitch to set her sights on poor old Walter.”
“How’d she hook him?”
Dr. Blythe smiled. “An apt turn of phrase, Detective, for hook him she did. Like some kind of flounder or carp. It wasn’t difficult, given Walter’s love for all things Germanic. He had spent most of his life dreaming of the forgotten grandeur of a dying empire held together more out of habit than practicality. It had always been his dream to sell all his possessions here one day and move back to his mother’s homeland.”
The doctor wagged a shaky finger at me. “And that’s the hook the countess used to reel him in. It didn’t matter to him that Alexandra’s title was purely ceremonial by then. Reparations for the war took her family’s land, fortunes, everything. That’s why she and all the others of her ilk came scurrying across the Atlantic as poor as church mice, finding fertile ground here in the bosom of wealthy people like Walter who admired them for what they used to be.”
“Did Mrs. Fairfax know about the countess?”
“I never discussed Walter’s indiscretions with my sister. They were always benign, temporary things. But Countess Alexandra was different. I’d never seen him so smitten before. I’d never thought he was capable of such emotion, and I’ve known the man my entire life.”
I’d already figured out the answer to my next question, but asked it anyway. “He give her any money?”
“Of course. Women of the countess’ breeding have standards that must be maintained. Walter set her up in an apartment, paid for the lifestyle she desired. Supported all of those lunatic causes of hers.”
I stopped writing, remembering the list Mary Pat had given me. If they matched with whatever Blythe told me, I’d be on to something. “What lunatic causes?”
“Esoteric nonsense like heightened awareness and streams of consciousness. Mysticism based on ancient Germanic pagan practices. I can’t tell you much about them for I never paid much attention to any of it, though it seemed to have struck a chord in Walter.”
I made a note of that, too. The more I heard about Countess Alexandra, the more I wanted to speak to her next. “Did a lot of people know about her and Walter?”
Blythe shook his head. “Just about the only thing she didn’t take from Walter was his discretion. She got him to pull away from his business, his family, his friends.” A wince. “Even me. He’d devoted a good portion of the past year to Alexandra’s oddball assortment of friends. Deposed aristocrats like her. The royal refuse of Europe.”
I wrote all that down. “Your sister said he was still committed to his insurance business.”
“Yes, but he gradually let his son, Trip, handle most of the daily affairs. I tried talking some sense into Walter, of course. I wanted him to see how Alexandra was slowly destroying his life with her Friends of New Germany and all that rabble. But by then he had stopped coming to see me for his usual examinations.”
My rush over getting a match on one of the groups on Mary Pat’s list was short- lived. “But earlier, you just told me you examined him a month ago.”
“It was my first examination of him in almost a year,” Blythe explained. “He preferred the countess’ idea of herbs and potions, or whatever botanical nonsense she fed him, over my prescriptions of modern medicine. I know Walter wasn’t feeling well, but wouldn’t tell me why. He complained about feeling different somehow, more sluggish. He blamed the whole thing on age catching up with him, but I wasn’t so cavalier about it. His color was off. His balance, too, and his stomach was giving him problems again. I offered him something that might give his system a boost, but he ultimately refused my help and swore me to secrecy. I didn’t have any grounds to force the issue, and had no choice but to allow him to leave without helping him.” Blythe’s hand quivered as he reached for his cup. “Now he’s dead.”
I could see the gin was already beginning to affect him. A few more sips and all I’d get from him then was guilt and regret.
I forgot about the other names on the list Mrs. Fairfax had given me. The countess had just gone to the top of my list. “Any idea on how I can find Alexandra?”
“No.” He took another sip of gin. “I know Walter set her up in an apartment, but I don’t know where. I don’t enjoy her company, and the feeling was more than mutual. Perhaps Walter’s secretary, Mrs. Swenson, could help you.”
I got nervous when the old man stopped talking. His face was flushed and I thought he might keel over. But he surprised me when he said, “Wait a moment. The Stuyvesant Society is having their annual gala tomorrow night at the new Waldorf-Astoria on Park Avenue. All the best families in the city will be there, and I’m sure Alexandra will somehow find a way to weasel her way in. She wouldn’t miss an event like that for the world, especially now that she’s lost Walter. Parasites like her always need new hosts to feed on. I should get you a ticket so you can meet her for yourself. See what you can deduce firsthand.”
It sounded like a good idea to me, but there was only one problem. “If the event’s tomorrow night, do you think I could get in?”
“I don’t see why not, seeing as how I sit on the board,” he said. “I’ll make the arrangements as soon as possible. You do have evening attire, of course.”
Thanks to Mrs. Van Dorn helping me pick out my wardrobe, I could say, “Of course.”
“Splendid.” Dr. Blythe was smiling again, the kind of face that made me want to smile, too. “Seven o’clock sharp, tomorrow night.” He took a final swig out of his cup and stood up, full of resolve. His sister had ended our meeting the same way. I guessed standing up must’ve been the way the Blythe family liked to end meetings. “I’ll make all the necessary arrangements. How might I get a hold of you?”
I dug out a calling card from my inside pocket and handed it to him. “All my information is right there. You can call me when it’s all arranged.”
I didn’t know why I added the next part. Maybe it was all the talk earlier about the war and Germany. Maybe it was the doctor’s guilt about losing someone he cared about that got to me. Anyway, I said, “Feel free to call me anytime you want. Even if it’s just to talk. I know a thing or two about regrets. I’ve got a few myself.”
Blythe didn’t look up from my card.
I added, “You might not have picked up the phone when Walter called, but you didn’t pull the trigger. Walter did.” I looked down at his empty cup. “If you leave that elixir alone long enough, you’ll realize I’m right.”
The doctor tucked my card away. “Reminds me of an old saying: ‘Physician, heal thyself.’”
“Or another old saying: ‘Quit kicking yourself in the ass.’”
Blythe laughed. “Serves me right for asking you not to be delicate.”
Chapter 6
It was just past three thirty when I pushed through the revolving doors of the New York Athletic Club.
I stood in the alcove entrance and checked the street for any sign of Blondie or his friends in the Ford. No one paid me any mind. Just the regular flow of people and cars heading across town along Central Park South on a mild March afternoon.
The coatroom attendant hadn’t seen me leave and I hadn’t looked for him, either. I decided I’d leave Blondie’s coat where it was. It might come in handy later, and the staff at the club would keep a better eye on it than I would.
A good breeze kicked up and I moved behind the alcove to fire up one of the cigars I had bought at Nat’s. I might not have had the chance to smoke it with Blythe, but there was no reason I couldn’t enjoy it now. I took a good pull and let the smoke drift out nice and slow through my nose. Nothing like fine tobacco to get the brain in working order. At least my brain, anyway.
Because my brain had
plenty to work on.
I had no place where I had to be in a hurry, so I pulled out my notebook and wrote down the new timeline while it was still fresh in my mind.
9:00 a.m. – Walter Fairfax arrives at the office.
9:15 a.m. – Walter takes a private call and closes the door.
9:20 a.m. (approximately) – Walter calls Dr. Blythe—urgent—no record of the call.
9:30 a.m. – Walter puts gun in mouth and squeezes trigger.
The time between the phone calls was everything. Something happened to make Fairfax call Blythe before he killed himself. I knew that first phone call had to be the reason. I needed to find out where that call had come from.
I also needed to find out why that second phone call to Dr. Blythe wasn’t in the police file.
And even though I didn’t have the slightest bit of proof to back it up, I knew it had something to do with Countess Alexandra von Holstein. I wrote her name in my notebook and underlined it twice. She was a wild card. If she wasn’t the key to all of this, she could help me fill in a lot of blanks.
I’d seen this scenario hundreds of times before. Lady friends tended to be expensive. Lady friends with pedigrees even more so. The countess wasn’t some shop girl Walter had stashed away in a joy pad on 52nd Street. She wasn’t one of those meek, thankful girls who spent their days thumbing through magazines and listening to the radio until her rich lover dropped by for a poke in the whiskers and left a couple of twenties on the nightstand.
The countess would have standards. She’d want good clothes and fine wine and the best cuisine. She’d require an apartment suitable for a woman of her standing. According to Blythe, she loved the nightlife, which only would have added to Fairfax’s bill. She’d also want money of her own and access to it on her terms. That meant a lease for an apartment and a bank account somewhere.
Although Fairfax could afford all that and more, those things left a paper trail I could follow once I had a place to start. Not to mention all the money she had Walter donate to all those “oddball causes” Blythe had mentioned and Mary Pat had listed.
I had no idea what Countess Alexandra looked like, but I knew she had a special hold on Walter. Because keeping a high-end girlfriend from his wife broke the insurance man’s pattern, and Walter Fairfax was a man who lived by patterns.
The countess was growing more interesting by the minute.
I knew I’d be seeing her at the Stuyvesant Society gala the next night, but seeing her wouldn’t be enough. Even if I did have the chance to meet her, an interrogation was out of the question. She was probably skilled enough to dodge my questions, especially in a social setting. I’d need facts before I faced her, and plenty of them. That paper trail connecting her to Walter would help.
I puffed on my cigar as I thought about where I should start. Where would a careful, methodical man keep his mistress’ leases and bank records? At his mansion? No, his wife might find out. A safe deposit box at the bank? Possibly, but what if the bank was closed when he needed access to the papers? A well-connected man like Walter could always call the manager to come down and let him in whatever the day or hour, but that would cause suspicion. Walter was a planner and far too careful for that.
No, Walter would keep those kinds of documents close at hand, at the one place where he spent most of his time. His office.
I smiled. The cigar had done the trick after all.
***
The Fairfax Liability Company had leased several floors in The Empire State Building right after the dump first opened a couple of years before.
It might have been the tallest building in the world, but they’d built the damned thing in the middle of nowhere, a dead spot on the city map. It wasn’t near any subways. Penn Station was several blocks away and Grand Central was even further. Throw in the fact that you could actually feel the building sway on windy days, and let’s just say companies weren’t exactly lining up, begging for space. With the Depression on, there weren’t that many companies left.
When I got off the elevator on the seventy-fifth floor, the receptionist in the Fairfax Liability lobby insisted on calling Walter’s secretary, Mrs. Swenson, to escort me back to the main offices. I remembered Swenson’s name from Mrs. Fairfax’s list.
I didn’t have to wait long. A prim, dark-haired woman with thick glasses ran out to greet me about a minute or two later. Her clothes were a few seasons out of fashion and too matronly for her age, which I pegged at around thirty. I’d expected the executive secretary of a big wig like Fairfax to dress better than that.
She was too flustered to bother with shaking hands or other pleasantries. “I do wish you would have called first to make a proper appointment, Mr. Doherty. I’m afraid you have come at a most inopportune time. I had no choice but to inform Mr. Fairfax that you were here, and he made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want you in his father’s office.”
I didn’t let the stiff-arm treatment throw me off. “Then I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t work for Mr. Fairfax. Or do you call him Trip? Anyway, I work for his mother, the new owner of the company. She’s already given me permission to see her husband’s office.”
“But—”
I picked up the earpiece from the receptionist’s phone and held it out to Mrs. Swenson. “Call her if you don’t believe me.”
She pulled away from the device like I was waving a snake at her. “No?” I set the earpiece back in the cradle. “Then either step aside or point me in the right direction, and I’ll be out of your way.”
Mrs. Swenson bit her lip and fidgeted with her hands. She seemed to like doing that. “Do you have some identification to prove who you are? I can’t let just anyone back there who claims they’re working for the family.”
I fished out my private cop license and showed her. She leaned in and studied it closely, like she’d know a fake if she saw it. I doubted she would. “Seems real enough. Do you carry a gun, too?”
“Only when I deal with difficult secretaries. Now, if I could see the office?”
Reluctantly, she held the door open for me and led me into the inner sanctum of The Fairfax Liability Company.
The space was nothing fancy. Office doors ran along the sides, with columns of desks lining the middle of the floor. Even though all the women at the desks seemed to either be on the phone or banging away at typewriters, we drew stares from every one of them as we passed by. A few heads poked out of offices like groundhogs sniffing out spring, only to duck back inside. I’d never been good at multiplication, but there had to be about forty or so desks crammed into the space. The uniformity of the scene made me almost feel sorry for them.
Mrs. Swenson spoke to me over her shoulder as she led the way. “Mrs. Fairfax has already told us to cooperate fully with your investigation, Mr. Doherty. I hope you understand I wasn’t trying to be difficult, but Mr. Fairfax isn’t adjusting well to his father’s passing. None of us are, considering the manner in which Mr. Fairfax died. It’s already been a month, but it feels like only yesterday. Such a terrible accident.”
Something in the way she’d made a point of adding the part about the suicide being an accident made me think she didn’t believe it. I figured she was holding the company line for the benefit of the employees who were listening as we walked by them. I decided to find out.
“Death is never easy, Mrs. Swenson. Especially when it happens in such a sudden way. According the police report, you were the first person in the office after the shot.”
Mrs. Swenson’s step faltered and I almost bumped into her. “You read the report?” She kept her voice low as she resumed her stride. “But that’s impossible. I was told the report was supposed to have been sealed. No one is supposed to see it.”
“I used to be a policeman. I have ways of getting my hands on things like that.” I lowered my voice. “Don’t worry. The family secret is safe with me. We�
�re all on the same team, remember?”
That seemed to calm her down a bit, but only a bit. “Yes, I suppose we are.” She picked up the pace a bit. “And to answer your question, you’re right. I was the first person to find him. I don’t think I’ll forget that sight for as long as I live.”
I had seen the crime scene photos, and knew it hadn’t been pretty. Since making her queasy wouldn’t help me, I decided to change the subject. “How long did you work for Mr. Fairfax?”
“Five years. And he was a good and generous man, Mr. Doherty.”
I figured that was more of the company line. Of all the things I had heard about Walter that day, good and generous just didn’t fit.
We reached her desk at an inner office at the far end of the floor. The door to Mr. Fairfax’s office was closed. Now that we were out of earshot of everyone, I could see she was relaxing a bit.
I eased into the questioning. “Did you notice anything different about Mr. Fairfax on the day it happened? Was he troubled? Annoyed? Nervous?”
She appeared to give it some thought, maybe a little too much. “Since you’ve read the report, you already know what I said.”
Defensive. Why? “Refresh my memory.”
“He came into the office a bit before nine, which was later than normal, but not late enough for me to think anything of it. I remember noticing he was perspiring despite it being a cool morning. I went in to give him his messages and other relevant correspondence, just like every other morning, when he told me that his stomach was bothering him. I knew he had suffered from ulcers in the past, so that wasn’t unusual, either.”
I’d already known about the ulcers from Dr. Blythe, but the police report hadn’t mentioned anything about Fairfax feeling ill. I began to wonder what else, besides the second phone call, was missing from the report. “Go on.”
“I offered to get him some boric acid. That usually made him feel better, but he refused. He told me he wanted to be left alone for a bit and to hold all of his calls. That’s why I was surprised that he overheard me answer the phone and demanded that I put it through.”
The Fairfax Incident Page 5
