Something Mary Pat had found in the records of Walter Fairfax’s past flashed before my eyes. I picked up the phone and dialed the morgue. I got Kronauer on the line; he wasn’t happy.
“Damn it, Charlie,” the coroner said. “I already told you I’d call when I had something on Blythe, but I won’t have anything final until tomorrow.”
“I don’t care about the final report,” I said. “I want to know what your gut tells you. I won’t hold you to it, I promise. I need your instincts, Hank, not proof, and I need it right now.”
Kronauer hesitated before saying, “It was some kind of sudden event, but not a coronary. The entire body reeked of gin, too much for it to be from normal consumption.”
I closed my eyes and damned near prayed before I asked the question I was getting at. “Any other odors?”
“There was a faint scent of almonds when I cut him open, which—”
I’d heard enough and hung up the phone. “We need to get a judge to exhume Walter Fairfax’s body as soon as possible.”
Mr. Van Dorn said, “That’s a drastic move, Charlie. One we should consider carefully before presenting it to Mrs. Fairfax. Any judge will want her permission first.”
“And she’ll give it,” I told him. “Because Walter Fairfax didn’t commit suicide. He was already dead.”
Chapter 17
Sometimes, I hated being right.
I watched Mr. Van Dorn console Mrs. Fairfax the next morning, holding her hand as she quietly wept into her handkerchief. An anxious maid stood in the doorway, ready in case her mistress needed something.
I sat next to Mr. Van Dorn as we watched the proud widow absorb all the tragedies we had just dropped in her lap. She had not only lost a husband, but her brother, too.
Both of them had been murdered by the same people.
“You’re absolutely sure? You know for a fact they were poisoned? Both of them?”
“Cyanide,” Mr. Van Dorn told her.
She looked up from her handkerchief, her reddened eyes angry. “But how could the police have missed something so obvious?”
“It wasn’t all that obvious,” Mr. Van Dorn explained. “The coroner didn’t do an autopsy on Walter because the cause of death was clear. The nature of his wounds made a sealed coffin unavoidable, and prevented anyone from detecting the presence of poison until the exhumation.”
“And you found the same poison in my brother’s system?”
“His death was ruled a coronary at first, but further analysis showed the presence of cyanide in his system.”
“But why would Walter have taken poison? His mother killed herself with arsenic. It took her days to die. He watched her suffer. He knew how horrible a death it would be.”
“Which was why we believe the person who poisoned him told him it was arsenic,” Mr. Van Dorn explained. “He shot himself to avoid suffering as his mother did. The act made an autopsy moot, and the poisoning went undetected until now.”
I was glad he spared her the details. Since she’d ordered Walter’s remains to be placed in the family crypt immediately, his body had never been embalmed. I’d been there when they removed the stone covering his crypt earlier that morning. The smell of almonds was overwhelming. A few hours later, Kronauer’s tests confirmed it.
Mrs. Fairfax balled up her fists in her lap. “I knew something was wrong. I just knew it. But how he was poisoned?”
Mr. Van Dorn skipped over that point. “Mr. Doherty is trying to determine that as we speak. We don’t want to get your hopes up yet, but we have a few promising leads.”
I had to fight to keep my face blank. We already knew exactly what had happened.
On the day he died, Walter Fairfax left his house around five in the morning. Instead of going to the office, he went to Alexandra’s place across town, probably for a quick romp before work. I didn’t know how she introduced the cyanide into his system, but she did. It was a high enough dosage to begin working on him as soon as he got to the office.
Miss Swenson said Walter’s stomach was already bothering him, and he was beginning to break out into a cold sweat. Classic symptoms of cyanide poisoning.
A Miss Schmidt called his office and Walter insisted on taking the call immediately. I was pretty sure he knew it was Alexandra. She probably knew how Walter’s mother died, and probably told him he’d been poisoned by arsenic, not cyanide. She probably knew he kept a gun in the office and, being a psychiatrist and his lover, knew him well enough to know what he’d do.
Walter called Dr. Blythe in a panic, but when he couldn’t reach him, he got desperate. He stuck his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Without an autopsy, the poisoning would go undetected forever.
The scheme was as brutal as it was clever.
But Alex didn’t know about the safe or the records he kept. Neither did their spy, Miss Swenson.
I didn’t know why Alex had decided to poison Walter. She had the poor bastard jumping through hoops. He had given her everything she asked for and more.
No, I didn’t know why she decided to end it, but I intended on asking her that personally, and soon.
Technically, Walter Fairfax really had killed himself, but he hadn’t been given much of a choice.
And Mrs. Fairfax was in no state of mind to appreciate the difference.
“And you’re sure the same people who killed Walter killed my brother? Was it because I hired Mr. Doherty? Did I cause them to murder him?”
Mr. Van Dorn held her hand tightly. “Don’t allow yourself to think like that. These people are murderers. Your husband and your brother were killed by ruthless people whose aims we’re still investigating. But don’t worry. We’re hunting them, and we’re very close to finding them. I don’t have enough information to share with you now, but we’ll know more within a week at the latest, I assure you.”
She dabbed her eyes one final time and sat upright. Her moment of weakness had passed and a lifetime of resiliency kicked in. She looked at me. “The only assurances I want are those that only Mr. Doherty can give me.”
I could tell what she meant by her tone, but I hoped like hell I was wrong.
Mr. Van Dorn quickly said, “Charles is an excellent detective, Eleanor. We’ve only found out this much thanks to his hard work having led us this far. We’ll catch the people responsible, I promise you.”
But the widow never took her eyes off me. “You know what I’m asking, Mr. Doherty. I don’t simply want these murderers found. I want them dead.”
“Eleanor.” Mr. Van Dorn dropped her hand. “You can’t mean that.”
“I’ve never meant anything more in my life. I will not abide them being alive while my husband and brother are molding in their graves. I don’t care what it takes or what it costs. Double your price. Quadruple it if you must. I will give you a million dollars in cash for each of them if that’s what you want. I want them dead and I expect you to kill them.”
Mr. Van Dorn went pale. “That’s not possible.”
But Mrs. Fairfax ignored him. “You killed the men who wronged the Van Dorn family, Mr. Doherty. I expect the same satisfaction. Kill them, or I will burn this city down around me. I will tell the world about Chief Carmichael’s perjury in my husband’s investigation. I will remind my friends of your own career as a corrupt policeman.” She looked at Mr. Van Dorn. “And Jack’s willful association with the undesirables who not only kidnapped him, but led to the murder of his own sister.”
Mr. Van Dorn pushed his chair away from her as though he’d been slapped.
I’d seen this reaction in grieving people before. They were hurt and cornered, lashing out at anything near them, even the people trying to help them.
A cruel tone was in her voice. “Yes, Harry. The gossip-mongers in our circle don’t just talk about my misfortunes, but yours as well. There have been whisperings about Jack’s i
nvolvement in his own kidnapping. About Mr. Doherty’s background, too, and how he’s serving as your own personal lapdog now. Perhaps he’s sharing everything he finds with you. These are nothing but whispers for the moment, of course. Sparks of information here and there.” She leaned forward ever so slightly. “But one puff from me will ignite those sparks into an inferno that will burn this entire city to the ground, and all of you with it.”
She stood up so quickly, Mr. Van Dorn and I flinched. “My family deserves justice, gentlemen. Not the kind of justice doled out in a courtroom, but justice in the same manner in which they lost their lives. Earlier, you said you needed a week. Well, you have a week before I begin seeking vengeance on all of those who have failed me, starting with the both of you.”
She turned and walked out of the study. The maid followed her out.
The butler appeared with our hats, as if we didn’t already know it was time to go.
***
Once we were on the street, it took Mr. Van Dorn a few minutes to speak. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that angry before, Charlie.”
I popped my hat onto my head and pulled the brim low. I kept looking around to see if anyone was following us. Between the krauts and Carmichael’s men, there was no telling who might be looking for me. “We’ve got more to worry about than an old widow’s rage, sir. Carmichael’s going to be furious when he finds out about the exhumation, if he doesn’t know about it already. He’ll have my ass in a chair under a lot of hot lights if he finds me.”
“Then I suppose we’re lucky that we already have a plan.”
But I knew luck didn’t have anything to do with it. It was called thinking ahead.
Among the papers we had found in Fairfax’s safe, three of them were property deeds Fairfax had donated to the Friends of New Germany. One was a ten-acre spread in Suffolk County, out on Long Island. The other two were across the Hudson River, in New Jersey. The plan was for me to check out each one on my own to see what made these parcels so special.
It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all we had.
When we reached his car at the corner, Mr. Van Dorn handed me the keys. I already had everything I needed stashed in the trunk.
“You’re sure I can’t talk you into taking someone with you, Charlie? Detective Loomis, maybe? Someone?”
“Loomis isn’t built for this kind of work, and everyone else I’d trust is still on the force. Carmichael looked pretty cozy with Alexandra last night, and Hauser is driving them around places. Anyone with a badge could lead them right to me, even if they didn’t mean to. It’s best if I try to handle this alone.”
He watched me climb behind the wheel of his car and start it up. He leaned in through the window and said, “I’ll expect one call from you in the morning and one call in the evening. I’ll be in Washington, far beyond the reach of any phone taps Chief Carmichael might try to use. Father Mullins will be available in an emergency if you can’t reach me. Best for you to drive down and meet me there instead of coming back to New York. The chief will be easier to handle if we’re beyond his reach.”
I was still getting used to the idea that a priest was involved in all of this. Hell, I was still getting used to the idea of how complicated everything was. “After everything calms down, you’re going to have to tell me what you’re really up to, sir. No more secrets.”
Mr. Van Dorn smiled as he stood away from the car. “No more secrets, Charlie. But if things work out the way I think they will, we will definitely have a more extensive conversation.” He patted the door. “Be safe, my friend. We need you.”
I put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. Long Island was a long way away.
Chapter 18
I didn’t know why Mr. Van Dorn had a police scanner in his car, and I’d never asked him.
But I’d already reached Nassau County when I heard the dispatcher make the alert over the radio.
“This is an all points bulletin. Be on the lookout for Charles Doherty, retired detective, NYPD. Age forty-five, height five feet seven inches, weight about one hundred and sixty pounds. Hair and eyes are gray. Suspect is wanted in the questioning of a homicide and should be considered armed and dangerous. Approach with extreme caution. Contact chief’s office upon apprehension.”
Mr. Van Dorn didn’t approve of smoking in his car. I lit a cigarette and rolled down the window anyway. I needed the tobacco.
Being hunted by the best police force in the world was bad enough. Having my height and weight broadcast to the world made it even worse. I weighed a buck fifty, thank you very much, and I was five seven and a half. Leave it to Andy Carmichael to find a way to slip a dig into a goddamned APB.
I was already out of his jurisdiction, but that was cold comfort. Carmichael probably already had my phone tapped and men at my place, too. He probably even had someone watching Theresa’s house up in Poughkeepsie in case I showed up there. I felt sorry for the poor bastards who’d drawn that assignment. Poughkeepsie wasn’t exactly Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Goddamned place was quiet enough to hear the deer munching the grass.
He probably already had poor Loomis under the lights, trying to make him spill everything he knew about my work on the Fairfax case. I’d try to find a way to make it up to him.
What I didn’t know was why Carmichael had issued the bulletin. Was it because of the Fairfax exhumation, or was it more than that? Did Alexandra have him wrapped around her little finger, too? Was that why Hauser was driving her and her friends to galas? The krauts were bad enough without having to fight my own people in the bargain.
But reasons didn’t matter at this point. Actions did. I figured Carmichael would probably give it a day, maybe two at the most, before he issued a statewide alert. I didn’t know how thorough Long Island cops were, but it would only take one to ruin my day.
I flicked my cigarette out the window and rolled it back up. I hoped my visit to Suffolk County would answer a lot of questions I needed answers for.
***
It was already past sunset by the time I reached the plot of land Walter Fairfax had donated to the Friends of New Germany. The road was blocked by a metal gate that looked like it hadn’t been there too long. Even though the area along the road was thick with sharp overgrowth and shrubs, someone had taken the time to pound stakes into the ground, probably for some kind of fence they were going to put up.
For once, my timing was perfect.
I hid Mr. Van Dorn’s car beneath some overgrowth on the other side of the road from the fence line. I used the privacy of the spot to change out of my suit and into a getup more practical for what I’d come there to do. I shrugged into a mechanic’s brown coveralls and a brown cap to match. I pulled on some work boots and laced them up tight. I made sure my .38 was still easy to reach under the coveralls. Given the thickness of the brush, I decided not to wear it on the outside and risk getting it caught on branches.
I jogged across the road and pushed my way through a small clearing in the overgrowth. It was the first time I’d been in a wooded area since the war, since my time at Belleau Wood. The memories of combat flooded my mind so fast that I damn near fell over. The sights, the sounds, the feelings of those days all came back to me like they were happening all over again.
I could hear the whistle of the artillery coming in, feel the ground shake beneath me as the shells exploded, the shrapnel peppering the trees around me as I kept my head down. I heard the echoing screams of dying Marines begging for medics who were already dead. I felt the dust in the air that choked every breath just before another shell slammed into the earth and raised hell all over again.
I knew it was all in my head, but it still felt incredibly real to me. I lurched over a fallen log and vomited. Belleau Wood had happened almost twenty years before, but it was closer than that for me. Closer than I knew.
I guessed living in Manhattan hel
ped me keep a lot of things buried, where they belonged. But buried things had a habit of rising from the ground in the woods, especially if they weren’t buried deep enough.
I shook off the sickness and wiped my mouth on the back of my sleeve, just as I’d done all those years before in France. And just as I’d done back then, I got up and kept going.
The sky in the west glowed in front of me, and I headed in that direction. I crept along, the wet ground pulling at my boots with each step. The branches of the overgrowth pulling on my coveralls but not tearing them. I moved carefully, trying to keep the noise I made to a minimum.
But the deeper I got, the clearer things became.
I saw the flames from a large bonfire flickering through the branches, and heard something I hadn’t heard since I mustered out of the Marines.
Hundreds of male voices sounding at once.
I was still too deep in the woods to hear what they said, but I kept moving.
I stopped when I broke through the tangle and let my eyes adjust. Through the line of trees in front of me I saw about a hundred young men, all wearing the same brown shirt and dark pants, standing in a circle around a large bonfire. Something that resembled a watch tower loomed behind the fire. A man stood in the tower. The dancing flames cast a flickering glow on his face, casting most of him in shadow.
Although I was too far away to hear exactly what he was saying, the men looking up at him seemed taken by every word. I saw him gesturing wildly, and heard the echo of his voice carried on the breeze.
I looked around the area in front of me. There was enough level ground between me and the tree line for me to get a closer look without breaking cover. I belly-crawled over to a tree and looked out at the scene.
I saw banners on tall poles outlined against the bonfire. It was too dark to make out what was on them, but they looked like platoon flags. The men around them weren’t men at all, but teenagers in uniforms. The man in the tower was dressed the same way, beneath a gray overcoat.
The Fairfax Incident Page 16
