“Twenty, thirty.” Cartwright shrugged. “A very long time, whichever it is, don’t you agree?”
“Would you say you were friends?”
Ted hesitated. “It depends on how you define friendship. I knew Zach. I liked him. I love horses and he was a natural with them. I admired his skill at handling them. On the other hand, it wouldn’t occur to me to invite him to my home for dinner, or really socialize with him in any way.”
“Then you don’t count having a drink with him at the bar at Sammy’s as socializing with him?”
“Of course, if I bumped into him at a bar, I would have a drink with him, Mr. MacKingsley.”
“I see. When was the last time you spoke with him?”
“Yesterday afternoon, around three o’clock.”
“And what was the reason for the call?”
“We had a good laugh over the joke he pulled on me.”
“What was that joke, Mr. Cartwright?”
“A few days ago Zach went over to my town house development in Madison and told my sales rep that I was giving him the model unit. We had a bet on the Yankee–Red Sox game, and he had kidded me that if the Red Sox won by more than ten runs, I would have to give him a unit.”
“That’s not what he told your sales rep,” Jeff said. “He told her that he had saved your life.”
“He was joking.”
“When was the last time you saw Zach?”
“Yesterday, around noon.”
“Where did you see him?”
“At the Washington Valley stables.”
“Did you have a quarrel with him?”
“I blew off a little steam. Because of his joke, we almost lost a sale of that town house. My rep took him seriously and told a couple who were interested in it that it was no longer available. I simply wanted to tell Zach that his joke went too far. But later that couple did come back and made an offer on the unit, so I called Zach up at three o’clock and apologized.”
“That’s very odd, Mr. Cartwright,” Jeff said, “because a witness heard Zach tell you that he didn’t need the money the town house was worth because he had a better offer. Do you remember him saying that?”
“That wasn’t the conversation we had,” Ted said mildly. “You’re mistaken, Mr. MacKingsley, as is your witness.”
“I don’t think so. Mr. Cartwright, did you ever promise Henry Paley one hundred thousand dollars if he could persuade Georgette Grove to sell the property Georgette and Henry jointly owned on Route 24?”
“I had a business arrangement with Henry Paley.”
“Georgette was pretty much in your way, wasn’t she, Mr. Cartwright?”
“Georgette had her way of doing things. I have mine.”
“Where were you on the morning of Wednesday, September 4th, at about ten A.M.?”
“I was out for an early morning ride on my horse.”
“Weren’t you on a trail that connects directly to the private trail in the woods behind the Holland Road house where Georgette died?”
“I do not ride on private trails.”
“Mr. Cartwright, did you know Will Barton?”
“Yes, I did. He was the first husband of my late wife, Audrey.”
“You were separated from your wife at the time of her death?”
“The evening of her death she had called me to discuss a reconciliation. We were very much in love. Her daughter, Liza, hated me because she didn’t want anyone to replace her father, and she hated her mother for loving me.”
“Why did you and your wife separate, Mr. Cartwright?”
“The strain of Liza’s antagonism became too much for Audrey. We only planned the separation to be temporary, until she could get psychological help for her troubled daughter.”
“You didn’t separate because, when you were drunk one night, you confessed to Audrey Barton that you had killed her first husband?”
“Don’t answer that, Ted,” Louis Buch ordered. He looked at Jeff and angrily stated, “I thought we came here to talk about Zach Willet. I was never informed of other matters.”
“It’s all right, Lou. No problem. I’ll answer their questions.”
“Mr. Cartwright,” Jeff said, “Audrey Barton was terrified of you. Her mistake was that she didn’t go to the police. She was horrified at what it would do to her daughter to learn that you had killed her father so that Audrey could be free to marry you. But you were afraid, weren’t you? You were afraid that Audrey would have the courage to go to the police one day. There was always some question about the gunshot that was heard at the time Will Barton’s horse went over the cliff with him.”
“This is ridiculous,” Cartwright snapped.
“No, it’s not. Zach Willet witnessed what you did to Will Barton. We found some very interesting evidence in Zach’s apartment—a statement he had written about what he saw, plus he took a picture of your bullet where it hit a tree near the trail. He described what you did to Barton. He retrieved that bullet, and its casing, and kept them all these years. Let me read his statement to you.”
Jeff picked up Zach Willet’s letter and read it with deliberate emphasis on the sentences describing Ted charging his horse into Will Barton’s mare.
“That is a piece of fiction and inadmissible in court,” Louis Buch snapped.
“Zach’s murder isn’t a piece of fiction,” Jeff snapped. “He was bleeding you for twenty-seven years and finally got so cocksure of himself when he realized you killed Georgette Grove that he decided he ought to be taken care of on a higher scale.”
“I did not kill Georgette Grove or Zach Willet,” Cartwright said emphatically.
“Were you in Zach Willet’s apartment yesterday?”
“No, I was not.”
Jeff looked past him. “Angelo, will you ask Rap to come in?”
As they waited, Jeff said, “Mr. Cartwright, as you can see, I have here the evidence you were searching for in Zach’s apartment—the bullet and casing from the gun that you fired to terrify Will Barton’s horse, and the pictures that show where and when it happened. You’d just won a prize with that gun, hadn’t you? Later you donated it to the permanent collection of firearms at a Washington museum, didn’t you? You couldn’t quite bear to throw it out, but you didn’t want it in your home because you knew Zach had retrieved the bullet that sent Will Barton to his death. I am subpoenaing that gun from the museum so that we can compare the bullet and casing to it. We should be able to determine definitively if that bullet and casing were fired from that gun.” Jeff looked up. “Oh, here’s Zach’s landlady’s son.”
At Angelo’s prodding, Rap came forward to stand by the desk.
“Do you recognize anyone in this room, Rap?” Jeff asked.
The performer in Rap was clearly enjoying the spotlight. “I recognize you, Mr. MacKingsley,” he said, “and I recognize Detective Ortiz. You were both at my house yesterday after I found poor old Zach in his car.”
“Do you recognize anyone else, Rap?”
“Yes, I do. This guy.” He pointed at Ted. “Yesterday he came to our house dressed like a moving man. He had another guy with him. I gave him the key to Zach’s apartment. Zach had told us he was moving over the weekend to some fancy town house in Madison.”
“Are you positive this is the man who came to your home yesterday and went up to Zach Willet’s apartment?”
“I’m positive. He had a dopey blond wig on. Made him look like a real jerk. But I’d know that face anywhere, and if you find the other guy, I’d know him, too. I remember more about him now. He has a little strawberry birthmark near his forehead, and he’s missing half his right index finger.”
“Thank you, Rap.”
Jeff waited to speak until Rap reluctantly left the room and Angelo had closed the door behind him. “Robin Carpenter is your girlfriend,” he told Cartwright. “You gave her the money to bribe her half brother Charley Hatch to vandalize the house known, thanks to you, as ‘Little Lizzie’s Place.’ You shot Georgette Grove, and
we will be able to prove it. Hatch became a threat and you, or Robin, took him out.”
“That’s not true,” Cartwright shouted, jumping to his feet.
Louis Buch stood up, stunned and totally furious.
Jeff ignored the lawyer and glared at Cartwright. “We know that you went to Audrey Barton’s home to kill her that night. We know that you caused Will Barton’s death. We know that you killed Zach Willet. And we know that you’re not in the moving business.”
Jeff stood up. “Mr. Cartwright, you are under arrest for the burglary of Zach Willet’s apartment. Mr. Buch, we are finishing our investigation, and we anticipate that Mr. Cartwright will be formally charged with these murders in the next several days. I am now instructing Detective Walsh to proceed to Mr. Cartwright’s home and to secure that scene while we apply for a search warrant.”
Jeff paused, then added sarcastically, “I anticipate that we will find a dopey blond wig and a moving man’s outfit.” He turned to Detective Ortiz and said, “Please read Mr. Cartwright his rights.”
77
Twenty minutes after Ted Cartwright had been led out of Jeff MacKingsley’s office, Jeff invited Dru Perry in to speak with him. “I promised you that you would have a story,” he said, “and this is only the beginning of it. We have just arrested Ted Cartwright for the burglary of Zach Willet’s apartment.”
Experienced reporter though she was, Dru Perry felt her jaw drop.
“We anticipate filing far more serious charges against him in the next several days,” Jeff continued. “These charges will relate to the deaths of Will Barton and Zach Willet. There may be other charges, depending upon the outcome of our investigation.”
“Will Barton!” Dru exclaimed. “Ted Cartwright killed Liza Barton’s father?”
“We have proof that he did, and the reason that he went to that house on Old Mill Lane that night was to kill his estranged wife Audrey Barton. Liza, that poor little ten-year-old, was only trying to protect her mother from Ted. For twenty-four years, Liza Barton, who is now known as Celia Nolan, has been tortured, not only by the loss of her mother, but by the nearly universal belief that she deliberately shot her mother and Ted because she resented their relationship.”
Jeff wearily rubbed his eyes. “There will be a lot more details coming in the next couple of days, Dru, but you can rely on what I’ve just told you.”
“I’ve been around for a long time, Jeff,” Dru said, “but this is almost unimaginable. I’m so glad that that poor girl has a loving husband and a great kid. I guess that’s what has helped her survive.”
“Yes,” Jeff replied carefully, “she has a really terrific kid, and he’ll help her get through all this.”
“You’re telling me something,” Dru said. “You didn’t mention her devoted husband.”
“No, I didn’t,” Jeff said quietly. “I can’t comment further right now, but that might change very soon.”
78
I am being carried downstairs. I can’t open my eyes. “Jack.” I try to call his name, but can only whisper it. My lips feel rubbery. I have to wake up. Jack needs me.
“It’s all right, Liza. I’m taking you to Jack.”
Alex is talking to me. Alex, my husband. He is home, not in Chicago. I have to tell him tomorrow that I’m really Liza Barton.
But he called me Liza.
There were sleeping pills in that glass.
Maybe I’m dreaming.
Jack. He’s crying. He’s calling me. “Mommy. Mommy. Mommy.”
“Jack. Jack.” I try to scream, but can only mouth his name.
There is cold air on my face. Alex is carrying me. Where is he taking me? Where is Jack?
My eyes won’t open. I hear a door opening—the garage door. Alex is laying me down. I know where I am. My car, the backseat of my car.
“Jack . . . ”
“You want him? You can have him.” It’s a woman’s voice, harsh and grating.
“Mommmmmmy!”
Jack’s arms are around my neck. His head is buried against my heart. “Mommmmmmmmmy.”
“Get outside, Robin, I’m starting the engine.” Alex’s voice.
I hear the garage door close. Jack and I are alone.
I’m so tired. I can’t help it. I am falling asleep.
79
At 10:30 P.M., still in his office, Jeff waited for Detective Mort Shelley. He had already been notified that the search of Ted Cartwright’s house had uncovered the blond wig, the movers’ uniforms, and the boxes of papers that had been taken from Zach Willet’s apartment. More important, a nine millimeter pistol had been found in the safe in his bedroom.
Jeff was virtually certain that the pistol would be matched to the nine millimeter bullet that had lodged in Zach Willet’s brain.
We’ll have Cartwright cold on this one, he thought, and with a plea agreement we may be able to get him to admit to Will Barton’s murder. We may finally be able to also make him admit the truth of what he intended to do when he went to Audrey Barton’s home the night she died.
The satisfaction Jeff would normally feel from the possibility of satisfactorily closing a case such as this one was outweighed by his concern for Celia Nolan. Or Liza Barton, he corrected himself. I’m going to have to be the one to tell her that her husband was setting her up to be accused of murdering Georgette Grove, he thought, and it’s all about the money she inherited from his cousin, Laurence Foster.
There was a light tap at the door and Mort Shelley came in. “Jeff, how this guy Nolan has managed to stay out of prison beats me.”
“What have you got, Mort?”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“You choose.” Jeff had been leaning back in his chair. Now he straightened up.
“Alex Nolan is a phony,” Mort said decisively. “He is a lawyer and he is affiliated with a law firm that used to be prestigious, but it’s now just a two-man operation run by the grandson of the founder. He and Nolan basically go their own ways. Nolan claims to specialize in wills and trusts, but has only a handful of clients. He’s had several ethics violations filed against him, and has been suspended twice. His defense has always been that he’s a sloppy bookkeeper, not a thief, and he has managed to avoid prosecution.”
The contempt in Shelley’s voice deepened as he continued to read his notes and consult the thick file he was carrying. “He never made an honest dollar in his life. His money came from a bequest he received four years ago from a seventy-seven-year-old widow he was romancing. The family was outraged, but rather than allow a distinguished and cultured lady to become the butt of jokes, they didn’t challenge the will in court. Nolan got three million dollars out of that scam.”
“That’s pretty good,” Jeff said. “Most people would settle for it.”
“Jeff, that kind of money is peanuts for someone like Alex Nolan. He wants real money, the kind that means private planes and yachts and mansions.”
“Celia—I mean Liza—doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“She doesn’t, but her son does. Don’t misunderstand me. She does have plenty. Laurence Foster took good care of her, but the two-thirds of his estate that he left to Jack contain Foster’s share of patents for research that he financed. There are three different companies that are about to go public, and that will mean tens of millions of dollars to Jack one day.”
“And Nolan knew this?”
“It was public knowledge that Laurence Foster was an investor in start-up companies. Wills are on file in the county courthouse where they were probated. Nolan didn’t need to be a genius.”
Shelley picked another page out of the file. “As you suggested, we tracked down Foster’s private nurses from the last time he was in the hospital. One of them admitted that she took big tips from Nolan to let him in to visit his cousin when Laurence Foster was dying and visitors were limited to the immediate family. Nolan was probably hoping to get himself written into the will, but Foster’s mind was beginning to wander, so maybe it
was he, himself, who told Nolan about Celia’s past. Of course, we can’t be sure, but it makes sense.”
Jeff’s mouth tightened as he listened.
“Nolan is all smoke and mirrors,” Shelley continued. “He didn’t own that apartment in SoHo. He sublet it on a month-to-month lease. The furniture wasn’t his. None of it was. He was using the three million bucks his old—and I do mean old—girlfriend left him to convince Liza that he was a prominent and successful attorney.
“I spoke to Celia’s investment adviser, Karl Winston. He told me that Celia’s accident when she was hit by the limo last winter was Nolan’s lucky break. She panicked at the thought that if she had died, Jack would have no close relative to care for him. Winston also told me that the way Laurence Foster set up his will, he left one-third of his estate to Celia and two-thirds to Jack. If Jack dies before he reaches twenty-one, everything he has goes to Celia. After her marriage to Alex Nolan, except for a few charitable donations and a fund to care for her adoptive parents, Celia split her estate between Nolan and Jack. She also made Nolan Jack’s guardian, as well as the trustee of his estate until the kid is twenty-one.”
“I knew when Nolan sat in this office yesterday and referred to the picture Liza found taped in the barn as the one of the Barton family on the beach in Spring Lake, that he must be the one who put it there,” Jeff said. “Last week I was in the kitchen when Liza gave it to me. Nolan came in as I was putting it in a plastic bag. He didn’t ask to look at it then, so supposedly he had never seen it. But yesterday, despite all the Barton family pictures that have been in the newspapers, he knew exactly which picture it was.”
“Robin has been his girlfriend for at least three years,” Shelley said. “I took a picture of Nolan I got in the Bar Association Directory to Patsy’s. One of the waiters started there three years ago and he remembers seeing them when he was new on the job. He said Nolan always paid cash, which figures.”
“I guess Robin’s been willing to stay under wraps because she wants him to hit the big bucks,” Jeff said. “One thing that she may not have been lying about is that her dates with Ted Cartwright didn’t amount to anything.”
No Place Like Home Page 31
