by P. L. Gaus
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do, Caroline.”
“OK, no. But Bruce will have her locked up if we take her in like this.”
“We just won’t take her in, then.”
“Oh, that’ll be a very popular tactic, Professor.”
“Just the bloody things go in for now,” Branden said. “Get her changed and over to our house. Will Evelyn go with you?”
“One minute,” Caroline said. Shortly, she continued. “She says yes.”
“OK. Then bag all of her clothes, shoes, stockings, dress, and especially the apron, and put the bag—it should be a clean plastic trash bag—into the trunk of Sonny’s car.”
“There’s blood in the car, too.”
“We can’t do anything about that.”
“What do we do with the car?”
“Put the key under the front seat and leave the car right where it is, unlocked. I’ll tell Dan Wilsher where it is, and they can investigate for a while. That should give you more time with Martha. You’ve got to get her talking before I take her down to Robertson this afternoon.”
“You can’t do that,” Caroline argued.
“I’ve got to. He already knows she’s involved in this some way. I just want us to be the first to know what that involvement is.”
“When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know. It would be best for me to stay here as long as possible. We’re probably going to be at it all day, the way things are going.”
“All right.”
“Have you got any ideas how to approach Martha?”
“I don’t know. She’s sleeping on the couch now.”
“What did you get so far?”
“She’s pregnant, Michael.”
“How in the world do you know that?”
Caroline told him.
“This is worse,” he said, “much worse.”
“She’s waking up. I’ve got to go,” Caroline said.
“OK. Get her home, and I’ll take care of the car from this end.”
Caroline hung up. The professor switched off and pocketed the phone while he walked back along the east drive beside the house. He found Wilsher measuring the depth of a snow pile with a yardstick. The stick and half his arm penetrated the snow before hitting pavement. The captain saw Branden approaching and gave a wry smile. “We’re going to have to shovel this out in layers,” he said ruefully.
“That’s where anything that was dropped on the drive last night is going to be now.”
Wilsher acknowledged that by shaking his head, and waved over several deputies. As they came up to him, he said, “We’ve got to go through all this snow.”
One of the men whistled. Another rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. A third turned away, saying, “I’ll look for shovels.”
“Try the garage out back,” Wilsher said, and motioned for the others to help.
“It’s gotten a little more complicated, Dan,” Branden said. “Sonny Favor’s girlfriend, a student of mine, has shown up with blood on her clothes.”
Wilsher gave an incredulous stare.
“We should still look for blood evidence out here, anyway,” Branden said.
“Where’s the girlfriend, Mike?”
“She’s with Caroline and Evelyn Carson. She’s evidently in shock.”
“She was out here last night?”
“From what I know, yes.”
“Does the sheriff know this?”
“That’s where I’m headed now. To tell him. Also, we found Sonny Favor’s car with its front smashed in.”
“Oh, really?” Wilsher said, shading his eyes.
“It’s in the parking lot of that pink Victorian house south of Pomerene.”
“That’s where Carson’s office is.”
“Right.”
“You think the girlfriend drove it there?”
Branden said, “I’m not entirely sure how it got there, Dan, but someone ought to bring it back. Maybe go through it. Caroline bagged Martha’s bloody clothes and put them in the trunk. The keys are under the front seat.”
BRANDEN rounded the back corner of the Favor house and found several cruisers and cars parked in the snow. Behind a large, four-car garage, he found Bliss arguing loudly with Robertson, in front of the door to the butler’s small ranch home.
As Branden walked up, Bliss was saying, “This is my house. You cannot search it without a warrant.”
Robertson said, “I’m not going to tell you this again, Bliss. We don’t need a warrant. This is all part of the Favor estate.”
DiSalvo cut in. “The Favors own this house, Bruce, but Daniel has maintained it as a private domicile for eight years that I know of, probably more.”
“More than ten,” Bliss proclaimed. He pulled the collar of his long dress coat up around his ears and said, “It’s cold out here, Sheriff, but I’ll not step aside for any reason.”
“I’ll have you moved!” Robertson barked.
“He’s not under arrest, Bruce,” DiSalvo said calmly. “And you’ve no grounds to place him under arrest.”
“Obstruction of an investigation will do, for starters,” Robertson said, and waved over a deputy.
Branden watched the deputy take out a pair of handcuffs. The professor raised his hand, and said, “Wait a minute, Bruce. You can get a warrant in less than an hour.”
Robertson, heated, glowered at his friend.
“Think about it. Without the warrant, your search will be subject to appeal.”
Robertson started to speak, but Branden continued. “All we really want to do right now is interview Mr. Bliss. Right? Then, if we get a warrant, all is well and good.”
Robertson seemed to relax a degree or two.
DiSalvo said, “You’ve already kept Mr. Bliss for a good forty minutes. Your Captain Newell did. Do you have more questions, Mike?”
“One or two, Henry,” Branden said pacifically.
Daniel Bliss threw up his hands, frustrated.
Henry DiSalvo drew his charges aside on the driveway, and began talking quietly.
Branden pulled Robertson off from the group and told him about Martha Lehman’s bloody clothes.
The sheriff asked, “How long have you known?”
“I knew Martha was over at Evelyn Carson’s office, and I knew she had wrecked Sonny’s car. I just found out that the blood on her clothes isn’t her own.”
With considerable effort, Robertson forced calm into his voice. “We’ve been wasting our time out here, Mike!”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, really?”
“We need to process this case thoroughly, Bruce. That means doing everything out here that we normally would do. Martha’s not talking, so at least for now you won’t get anything out of her, anyway.”
“Where is she, Mike?”
“With Evelyn Carson. Caroline is there, too.”
“Where are the clothes?”
“Dan Wilsher is bringing them in, along with Sonny Favor’s car.”
“Martha Lehman had the car, like Sonny said earlier?”
“Yes.”
“Then what more do we have to do out here? What about Bliss and the Favor kids?”
“It’s straightforward, Bruce. I can’t believe that Martha Lehman killed Juliet Favor. And even if you suspect she did, you’ve still got to work the case from every angle. We do the interviews, as we would have done. Missy analyzes the evidence. Then we get to Martha Lehman when Evelyn Carson has her talking again.”
19
Saturday, November 2 10:20 A.M.
ROBERTSON led the way into the house by the back door, followed by Bliss, DiSalvo, and Branden. They all labored out of coats, which Bliss hung on the wall pegs near the back door. Bliss, still in his blue jacket and bow tie, leaned back against the center island counter in the big kitchen, and waited with an air of indifference.
The kitchen was rimmed with white counter space and appliances in either brushed stainles
s steel or glossy black. Two large, double-doored refrigerators stood against the inside wall, next to the rear stairs. Next to them was counter space in the corner and two large stainless sinks along the east wall. More counter space followed to the north wall, where there were two counter-top ranges, with stainless-steel hoods overhead. At the end of the ranges sat Sally Favor, still taking coffee in her bathrobe at a round kitchen table next to the back door.
Robertson waited for DiSalvo to sit at the table with Sally and said, “Miss Favor, if you’ll be so kind, I’d like you and Jenny Radcliffe dressed within the hour. And your brother, too. We’ll all be going into town before lunch.”
Sally glanced at DiSalvo, who nodded consent. She sighed and pushed herself away from the table. The coffee carafe and mug she carried past Bliss to the sinks.
Robertson said, “Nothing in the sinks, please, Miss Favor.”
Sally eyed him disapprovingly, set the mug and carafe on the counter, and went up the rear stairs without speaking.
Robertson turned a kitchen chair out from the table and sat down heavily. Branden positioned himself in the aisle, where he could observe the expressions of both Bliss and the sheriff.
Robertson pulled at loose skin under his chin and appeared to think carefully before speaking. To Bliss he said, “Captain Newell has taken an interest in Juliet Favor’s green pitcher.”
“The Tiffany,” Bliss commented.
“Precisely. He says you emptied the contents into the sink.”
“I did.”
“Well, Mr. Bliss, we’re pulling apart the trap under that sink, and while I’m at it, I reckon we’ll get the traps on the other sinks, too.”
Bliss’s cheeks heated to pink, but his expression remained stolid. Branden considered the notion that Bliss was worried, but thought, too, that he might simply be embarrassed.
“You want to know why I emptied the pitcher,” Bliss said.
“I’d rather know why you didn’t empty the other one.”
“I would have, if your captain would have permitted.”
Robertson waited.
“I was embarrassed that the pitchers had not been cleaned.”
“A fastidious butler,” Robertson observed.
“I try to be, but yesterday was rather a long day, and Ms. Favor retired early.”
“Funny,” Robertson said, “that Juliet Favor would serve martinis and keep a pitcher of ice water for herself.”
Branden saw a curious movement in Bliss’s eyes.
“She has been alcohol intolerant for many years,” Bliss said.
Robertson turned to DiSalvo, who said, “It’s true, Bruce. She kept it very private. I am sure not even the children knew.”
“You seem to know a lot about the lady,” Robertson said.
“When my wife was still alive, we were close friends of both Harry and Juliet Favor.”
“So, she drank water?” Robertson pressed.
“Chilled well water,” Bliss said.
“And nobody knew?” Robertson asked.
“Most anyone will have observed that she drank from a separate pitcher, but such indulgences are not uncommon among the very rich,” Bliss said.
Robertson nodded as if conceding the point. “I’m curious to know what cleaning you did before my sergeant first arrived,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor at his feet.
Branden watched Bliss closely, and saw no untoward reaction.
“Why, none, of course,” Bliss replied. “I expected to find Ms. Favor in the library. Perhaps the kitchen. She’s an early riser. But, once I did find her, I touched nothing.”
“Quite the expert trooper, aren’t you, Mr. Bliss,” Robertson challenged.
“I’ve watched my share of NYPD Blue.”
“I like Sipowicz, myself,” Robertson said.
“I’m not surprised,” Bliss said.
“So where did all the blood go, Detective Bliss?”
“I am quite certain I do not know,” Bliss said. He pushed himself away from the island counter and stepped to the sinks, where he retrieved a wrinkled hand towel from the countertop, and came back to his original position.
“Where were you when Sonny called 911?” Robertson asked.
“In my home.” The towel got folded neatly and was laid carefully on the counter.
“How convenient,” Robertson said.
“I see no reason for sarcasm,” Bliss said coolly.
“Were the doors locked or unlocked when you came into the house?” Robertson continued.
DiSalvo said, “I think this has gone on quite long enough.”
“No, it’s OK,” Bliss said. “Unlocked, Sheriff.”
Robertson waited for an explanation. None was forthcoming.
“Isn’t that a bit unusual?” Robertson finally asked.
“Not for the Favors.”
“All of them?”
“The children have frequent parties when Ms. Favor and I are away.”
“And they don’t lock the doors?”
Bliss shrugged.
“What about Juliet Favor? She in the habit of sleeping with the doors wide open?”
“Not in the least.”
“So, you’ll admit it is unusual to find the doors open. Was that the front door, too?”
“Front and back.”
“I presume the alarms were off, too,” Robertson added.
“Evidently,” Bliss said.
Robertson pulled at an ear lobe.
Said Bliss, “I would characterize that as unusual, but not noteworthy.”
“Imagine how pleased I am to have your assistance,” Robertson shot.
Branden suppressed a smile with difficulty. DiSalvo said, “Stop it, Bruce.”
“My apologies, Mr. Bliss,” Robertson said with a wave of his hand.
Bliss remained implacably silent.
“Who comes out to these parties?” Robertson continued.
“I wouldn’t know. College students.”
“Which is it? ‘You wouldn’t know’? or ‘college students’?”
“I only presumed.”
“How many times did you plow last night?”
“Two or three.”
“Which is it? Two or three?”
“Three, last night. Twice before dinner, and once after. Once again, this morning, before sunrise. That was before I entered the house.”
“Did you see anything unusual this morning?”
“Mr. Favor had parked his car at the front.”
“Why is that unusual?” Robertson asked, turning his eyes to Branden.
“Because I don’t believe it is there now,” Bliss said.
Robertson’s neck thickened like a charging bull, and Branden knew why. A brief silence passed, the sheriff staring at the professor. Bliss noticed the look and stood up straighter, attentive.
Branden said, “Dan Wilsher has the car now, Bruce.”
Robertson’s expression did not soften. “Where is Sally’s car?” he eventually asked Bliss.
“She keeps a BMW in the garage.”
“Is it there now?”
“I believe so. Also Mr. Favor’s 4x4.”
“Last night, Mr. Bliss. Who was the last to leave?”
“I spoke with President Laughton, and I presume he left. Then there was one car left in the back, Royce’s.”
“And out front?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Did you go through the house before you turned in?”
“No.”
Abruptly finished, Robertson said to Branden, “Do you have anything further, Professor?”
Branden thought and asked, “Who were the first to arrive?”
“Mr. Favor and his girlfriend. Professor Pomeroy—I had asked him to come out early. Mr. DiSalvo. President Laughton. Dr. Royce. Then everyone else arrived at about the same time.”
“Sally and Jenny?” Robertson asked.
“I think they were here most of the day,” said Bliss. “I did not see them arrive.”
20
Saturday, November 2 10:30 A.M.
AT THE BRANDENS’ home on a cul-de-sac near the college, Caroline seated Martha at the kitchen table and put on a pot of coffee. From the many dozens of mugs she had collected over the years, she selected three—a scenic Badlands, a Niagara Falls, and a Lincoln. She carried the mugs to the kitchen table and found Martha standing at the window, gazing at a woodpecker on the feeder just beyond the storm windows of the long back porch. To Caroline, Martha’s posture seemed more relaxed. Caroline stood quietly beside the table and signaled Dr. Carson with a finger to her lips.
Martha watched the birdfeeder for several minutes after the woodpecker had left, and then stirred. She turned to face Caroline and Evelyn and looked at each of them. Stepping away from the window, she came around the large table and walked into the Brandens’ family room. There she stood in front of the fireplace, eyes fixed on a Civil War musket on the mantel. Familiar with the room, Martha dropped casually into a recliner. She used the remote to switch on Fox 8 News from Cleveland, and idly watched a forecast calling for continued cold, Saturday morning, skies graying, as another storm approached from the northwest for Saturday night.
Back in the kitchen, Martha accepted a mug of coffee from Caroline and sat opposite the two women at the rectangular table. Her eyes settled on the elaborate grain in the curly maple tabletop, and she listened to Caroline and Evelyn as she took an occasional sip of coffee.
Said Caroline, “Martha, let us help you.”
Evelyn tried, “Martha, tell us about the blood.”
Martha gazed a long time into Dr. Carson’s eyes, and then turned away, silent.
After a dozen or so further questions, Caroline shook her head and signaled Evelyn to follow her to the living room. She drew back drapes to let in strong morning sun, and sat on a couch next to Martha’s purse, which they had found in the Lexus. “I feel like such a snoop,” she said to Evelyn, who swept her fingers forward to encourage Caroline.
Caroline emptied the contents of the purse onto the coffee table, and she and the psychiatrist knelt on the carpet to go through the items. Aside from the usual things, they found a fat leather folder holding pictures, a little blue notebook with phone numbers and handwritten notes in different inks, a cell phone and its charger, and a laminated table of photographic data, which Martha had evidently made for herself on a computer. Caroline started paging through the blue book, and Evelyn turned the cell phone on.
