“Go nice and slow, Dad. Do you need to see a doctor? Are you dizzy?”
“Stop that, Danny. I’m fine. Do you know Cole Porter?”
My father didn’t sound fine. I wondered if prison life had gotten to him. Despite his criminal past, he had never before been arrested or locked up.
I decided to go along with him and consider what I should do.
“Cole Porter? Didn’t he write ‘Anything Goes’?”
“Right. And ‘You’re the Top’ and lots of other wonderful songs. ‘You’re the Top’ is my favorite. Great song. More witty than funny even if it doesn’t age perfectly. But I’m not calling you about that one. Porter once had to write a song for a movie about the West. That didn’t excite him so he found a poem and adapted it and put it to music. The song was called ‘Don’t Fence Me In.’ He hated the song. I guess because it wasn’t a sophisticated urban song that was the kind of clever song he liked. But it was a great success for Crosby. We’re talking the middle of the forties here.”
“Dad, please be calm for a minute. Do you understand that you woke me up to talk about a song written forty years ago?”
“That’s why you didn’t notice. He was counting on that. You’re not any kind of Westerner.”
New Jersey is the far West to me, but I didn’t say that.
“Please. I beg you, Dad. Tell me what you are talking about.”
“Mr. Spring’s neighbor, the one who saw him discover the body.”
“Lou Nelson. Okay.”
“The neighbor made up the story he told you. He used lyrics from this song to form a narrative, to tell you a lie. He’s back to being a suspect.”
“If so, then Mr. Spring is also back to being a suspect. Now slow down and tell me about the song.”
“I like the song. It’s very catchy. The thing is, do you remember me asking you to tell me exactly what the neighbor said to you?”
“I remember.”
“The words and the ideas sounded familiar to me only I couldn’t place it. I was lying on my cot last night humming some old tunes and it came to me. Just like that. I could practically hear Bing Crosby.”
“Okay. Nice and slow. Can you be specific?”
“Sure. So the neighbor is telling you his story. Did he say there were stars above?”
“There’s not much to that, Dad.”
“Wait. Be patient, Danny.”
“Go ahead.”
“He said he hated fences. That was the whole idea of ‘Don’t Fence Me In.’ The speaker wanted to see trees. He wanted to gaze at the moon.”
“Fine. Nelson did talk about the moon. But still that’s not enough of a coincidence.”
“Did the neighbor say he liked to ride an Indian pony?”
“He said that.”
“Do you know what a cayuse is?”
“I never heard of it, but I’m going to take a wild guess here and say it’s some sort of Indian pony.”
“It sure it. And Crosby sang about wanting to ride a cayuse. Don’t you see, Danny? It all adds up. He wants to make up a story. He wants to have a little fun with a kid. So he uses references from a song you probably don’t know to tell you the story which is completely made up. He never looked over the fence. He never saw Spring discovering his dead wife.”
I was silent for a minute.
“Why would he do that, Dad?”
“No. You’re looking at it from the wrong angle. The question isn’t why he did it but why Spring didn’t correct him.”
“I’m not looking at it the wrong way. Spring may not have corrected him for two reasons. First, whatever crazy story it was, the story gave Spring an alibi. And second if Spring understood that Lou Nelson was telling some lie, that made Nelson a prime suspect, which in fact he is now. And that helped Spring.”
“You still need a motive for the neighbor.”
“I know. I don’t see money. But there’s always romance. Or she caught him stealing. There’s a lot of possibilities. I have to check on them.”
“I’ve got to go. Time’s up here, Danny. But I had to tell you.”
“Thanks, Dad. This one was good.”
“You know what my friend from the South says. I ain’t dead and I ain’t done.”
“Stay that way, Dad.”
“I intend to.”
We hung up.
I got out of bed. Normally I’d talk it all out, especially with Betsy. But now I needed to be alone, inside my own head with no company and no distractions.
I once was at a bookstore in Huntington. There was a mystery writer speaking. He was very smart. I talked to him after he finished speaking and after he had signed one of his books for me. He had said during the talk that he often upset friends who came to his house to watch mysteries on television with him. The shows hadn’t been on before and yet he was almost always able to name the killer long before the show ended. That’s what his friends found annoying. He ruined the surprise for them.
“Do you know how I did it?” he asked me.
I shook my head.
“I solved those television mysteries because I would wonder to myself how I would write the story. Who would have the means, motive, and opportunity? TV mysteries are pretty straightforward. I write very complicated stories, so the ones on television were very simple. I figured out how I’d write it and most of the time I was right. Flinging modesty against the wall, when I was wrong it was because the story of the show that I made up was better than the story on the actual show.”
I always remembered that.
And so now I tried to think of the killings as a mystery novel, or movie, or television show. I looked for the story.
Three cups of coffee later, I had the story that I liked.
Now, I wondered, how I could find out if it was true.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
My first call was to Cromwell. He was always glad to hear from me.
“Why are you bothering me again, Danny? I said I’d call when I had something.”
“But you’re the Great Cromwell. You work miracles.”
“I can’t work the miracle of making us even.”
“We’re not far from even. As soon as you get my father out of jail, we will be almost even.”
“You’re a terrible human being, Danny Ryle.”
“A common enough evaluation. How are you doing?”
“I have something.”
“See? I have confidence in you. I knew you’d come through.”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s not much.”
“All right. Give me what you’ve got.”
“You asked me about this Natalie lady.”
“I did.”
“If you’re planning to marry her, I’d take a step back.”
“Why, Cromwell?”
“When did she start working for the Congressman?”
I told him.
“Okay. Exactly two days before that she got a check for $25,000. She deposited twenty of it and spent the rest. It wasn’t on a complete collection of Tolstoy’s novels. Diamonds. Clothes. Make-up. All the stuff a modest lady needs.”
“She’s attractive. Maybe she has an appearance to keep up.”
“You’re missing the point, Danny. Why did she get that large an amount?”
“My next question. But first who gave it to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“That would be a useful bit of information.”
“I bet it would, Danny. Only I don’t know how to get it. I think you’re going to have to speak with her.”
“Wonderful.”
We hung up.
I called Betsy into the room.
She smiled. “You need me to crack the case wide open?”
“Oh, you guessed,” I said.
“No. That’s just what I do.”
“I need you to play bad cop.”
“I’ve done it a few times.”
“This is going against a very beautiful woman. I take it you can do that.”
/>
“I should pay you. It will be so much fun.”
“I thought it might.”
We drove over to Natalie’s apartment.
She opened the door. One smile when she saw me. One smile gone when she saw Betsy.
I introduced them.
“Betsy used to be a police officer. I heard they kicked her off the force because of too many complaints of excessive force.”
I told myself that I wasn’t claiming it was true, just that I heard it.
It was enough for Natalie’s big blue eyes to widen as she stared at Betsy.
“Shall we sit, Natalie?”
She nodded, seemingly unable to speak. Ex-cops, vicious or not, were certainly a cause of worry for her.
Natalie took some time to recover by getting us some coffee.
Finally we were all seated.
I cleared my throat.
“Natalie, we’re friends. Nobody is yet talking about an arrest or trial.”
For some reason she did not find these to be calming words.
“Let me be blunt. The police are struggling with two murders. They get very angry when murders are unsolved. To be honest, they sometimes go around arresting people whether the people did anything wrong or not. The arrest keeps the public pleased.”
“I didn’t kill anyone, Danny. You must know that.”
“Oh, I’m not the problem, Natalie. I don’t think you’d kill anyone, even someone who deserved killing. Say someone who was blackmailing you or forcing you to do something.”
I paused to take a sip of coffee.
“Or someone who paid you $25,000.”
Her face turned white. She started coughing.
I turned to Betsy and nodded.
It was her turn.
“I don’t know you, Miss Robbins. Danny has told me about you. I don’t know why, but he wants to help you. I wouldn’t. But he asked me to tell you the truth.”
Betsy paused in order to let panic worm its way into Natalie’s mind.
“Have you ever been in prison, Miss Robbins?”
A firm shake of her nod, but no sounds coming out of her.
“I didn’t think so. Most people have an incorrect view of prison. I’ve spoken to a lot of prison guards. Would you allow me to offer you some advice?”
A nod but still no words.
“You are a beautiful woman. This has great advantages in the world. Men take care of you. They buy you expensive things. They fall over each other to get your attention. They stare at you as though they are love-struck puppies.”
Natalie was not happy. She wasn’t enjoying a second of what would be an education in prison life.
Betsy seemed pleased by this reaction, and she continued. “While in the world there are advantages, in prison being a beautiful woman has no advantages at all. It has, unfortunately, many disadvantages. Inmates, male and female guards, take note of the beauty. My parents raised me to be delicate about such matters, so I will refrain from describing what exactly is done to beautiful female inmates. I suggest you imagine the worst you can. The reality is ten times worse than that. Every day. All day. And all night. Would you like me to describe it in very explicit terms?”
“I...no.”
“If we go further, I think I should. You need to be aware of the possibilities.”
“But I’m not going to jail. Am I?” She turned to me. “Come on, Danny. You can save me.”
“I’m going to ask you some questions, Natalie. We already know a lot of this. But I want to test you to see if you’ll tell the truth.”
“But will I go to jail if I tell the truth?”
“We’re not currently representing any form of law enforcement. In a way, Natalie, if you speak to us, we will be able to prevent the police from bothering you.”
“I like that.”
“All right. Let’s start. You spent five thousand of the money you got. What did you spend it on?”
“A diamond bracelet. Three new dresses. New earrings. A good supply of face cream and lipstick and other products I need. You think it’s easy to look like this? It takes me hours.”
I didn’t think that was a good moment to express my sympathy for the time needed to look attractive.
“All right, Natalie. Let’s get to the big questions. Who gave you the money?”
“Do you know?”
Betsy leaned forward. “I’m going to ask you one more time and then I’m going to walk out of here. You do not want me to walk out. Who gave you the money, Miss Robbins?”
“Lou Nelson. He’s Mr. Spring’s neighbor.”
“I know who he is, Natalie,” I said. “How did you know him?”
“I didn’t. He came into the Congressman’s office one day and went over to my desk. He asked if we could talk outside. We did. I don’t usually do that, of course, but he said it was private and important. So we went. He handed me a cashier’s check for the money. Of course, I was suspicious.”
“He was alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did he mention Mrs. Spring or Buzzy Young, Mr. Spring’s partner, or Joni Burns, the paralegal?”
“No. None of those. As far as I know he was speaking for himself.”
“What were you supposed to do for the money, Natalie?”
“I can’t say that. I won’t say that.”
Betsy started to speak again but I put my hand on her arm to stop her.
Natalie was shaking a little bit.
“All right, Natalie. Here we are. You’re embarrassed about what you had to do. Or ashamed. Or afraid about what will happen if we find out.”
“All of those.”
I nodded. “And so we are at your crossroads, Natalie. We go down one road and you tell us. We get angry. But you’re helping us so despite the anger we don’t go to the cops. We leave. You’re back to your normal life. But the crossroads has the second road. In this one you don’t tell us. We go right to the D.A.’s office. There is an arrest warrant offered for you. Your neighbors see you dragged away in handcuffs. Your father is horrified. You lose your job. How can a Congressman keep you in those circumstances? The story comes out then. You see how much trouble you’ve caused yourself and still the story comes out.”
“I can’t do it, Danny.”
“You mean because it’s about me?”
She looked up.
“You know?”
“All but the details, Natalie. So save yourself a lot of trouble.”
She looked as though her body was going to collapse.
“All right. Yes. Mr. Nelson was giving me this enormous amount of money. What he wanted wasn’t illegal, Danny. I wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”
“No. Only get close to me. Make me think you loved me. Make me think I loved you.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And find out what you knew about Mrs. Spring’s death.”
“What about Buzzy Young?”
“Mr. Nelson didn’t mention him.”
“I haven’t investigated him much.”
I didn’t say that I thought if I solved Mrs. Spring’s murder I would solve Young’s.
“You did a good job, Natalie.”
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
“You got some good information. Stuff I wouldn’t have normally told anyone. You should be an actress.”
“Everyone used to tell me that. Only I can’t memorize lines.”
“That’s too bad,” I said.
“I had feelings for you, Danny.”
“Don’t make it worse by lying, Natalie.”
“No, I did. Only they weren’t feelings of love.”
“No. You felt sorry that I was such an idiot.”
“No. I did feel sorry that I was doing this.”
Betsy and I stood up.
“You’re not going to the police, are you?”
“Not now, Natalie. My advice is to leave the Congressional office quietly. Tomorrow. Get a job in an office someplace. Maybe an insurance
or law office. Or a bank. Don’t tell anyone about what’s happened.”
“Oh, I’d never do that, Danny.”
“I’m talking specifically about Mr. Nelson. Don’t call him. If he calls you, say you haven’t seen or heard from me. As far as he’s concerned, this conversation never took place.”
“Of course.”
We went outside.
“What do you think, Danny?”
I turned to Betsy.
“I think Lou Nelson is in the center of the bull’s-eye.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Al Flanagan and I were out in Waterbend eating at what had become his favorite restaurant. The red leather in the booths had already become a little frayed from so many customers sitting on them just to gaze and talk with the waitress Daisy Gunn.
“Give her a rest, Flanagan. It must be exhausting to keep flirting in that false Southern voice.”
“Hey, actresses get paid every day to perform. She’s acting, and she’s getting paid for it, and getting paid nicely.”
“Let it go for one meal.”
“You used to be fun, Ryle. I don’t know when you became sixty-five.”
Daisy came over.
Flanagan smiled. “You know if I wasn’t married, I’d buy you a ranch in Texas and we’d raise little children,” he said.
I sighed.
“Is that letting go?” I asked him.
Daisy looked at us and smiled.
“That’s okay. I keep track of the proposals every day and that counts as one. I figure when the proposals stop coming it’s time for me to find another job.”
“You won’t have to worry about that for twenty years,” Flanagan said.
“Oh, my God.”
“Do you boys want to stop fighting and tell me what you want to eat?”
Flanagan ordered a turkey sandwich, and I said that was good but I told her to put a lot of mustard on it because the turkey would be dry without it. We added drinks. Daisy smiled her way back to the kitchen.
“It wouldn’t kill you to flirt sometimes, Ryle.”
I shrugged. “Stupid me. I was thinking of the feelings of the women I’d flirt with.”
“It’s just fun. No one’s getting hurt. You think I should stop?”
“You do whatever you want, all the time imagining that your wife is sitting next to you.”
“You got born a century too late, Ryle. You’re one of those Victorians. Sort of. You’ve got a real good-looking girlfriend.”
The Starry Night of Death Page 12
