"I've never seen a color green just like the green jacket that I've seen on Donal Carmody for twenty years or more and I thought what is Donal Carmody doing in Mrs. Salome's room? At this hour?"
Naturally the defense attorney Ma hired objected all over the place, and when he took on Mrs. Hennessey on cross examination he did his best to shake her story, but when he got her to admit that, well, maybe she'd never actually seen my father's face, she told him and the judge and jury that “Nobody else ever wore that green jacket. It was as much Donal Carmody as that Irish brogue and that harp and I've been seeing Donal Carmody for twenty years, don't you think I'd recognize him from the back, from the side, and from every which way? It was Donal Carmody, all right. I'd swear to it on a stack of Bibles."
He didn't have much luck with Tamara either when he couldn't change her testimony that before she and Mr. Hall went up to bed she carefully locked the front door “just like Mrs. Carmody told us to.” That plus the fact that my mother herself always locked up the back put the kibosh on any stranger-off-the-street theory. Tamara's testimony ended with tears after she swore that she went straight to bed and “slept like a baby” because that very night Mr. Hall, a widower and a fine gentleman, had asked her to be his wife. “And now my mother will never see my wedding day!” she cried.
Bert and Al and Mr. Hall, called to the stand, made like the monkeys who saw no evil, heard no evil, and spoke no evil. After them, they called Ma.
The district attorney wanted to know why they slept in separate bedrooms. Did it have anything to do with his having an affair with another woman prior to February when he suddenly went away?"
Her mouth was tight. “No. It just worked out that way. When he came back. It seemed best."
"And your husband didn't leave Chicago because this other woman had a father who threatened to do him bodily harm?"
"No. I told you he went to look for work."
"One final question. Do you have any reason, Mrs. Carmody, to believe that your husband was having an affair with Mrs. Salome?"
"No.” Loud and clear. “I do not. He had no reason to kill her. No reason at all."
And, at last, they came to me. The district attorney wanted to know if I'd ever seen my father touch Mrs. Salome when they were at work. I said, “Touch?” He said, “Yes, touch. Like hold her hand. Put his arm around her. Pat her on the shoulder. Anything like that?"
I squirmed as I tried to remember. “I don't think so."
The district attorney put his hands on the witness box railing and looked closely at me. “Isn't it a fact, Francis, that if you'd seen your father and Mrs. Salome in a most passionate embrace, you wouldn't admit it?"
I looked across the room at my father. “No, sir,” I said. “I wouldn't admit it. After all, he is my father."
* * * *
It's funny how things turn out. When you're a kid you can't think straight beyond tonight. But when you get older, as old as I am now, you can think backward better than forward. Yes, sir, you sure can remember.
I remember Father Connolly ringing our doorbell that morning in November. I'd been in the kitchen trying to put something together for breakfast when I heard its br-ring, and for a moment I stood stock still thinking I'd walk out and there'd be Lurlane and Tamara standing there smiling in their blue and pink dresses. But it was Father Connolly coming to express condolences. My mother had taken to her room, had stayed there since they'd sentenced him. “Tell her I've brought good news about something else,” he said, and I rapped gently on the panel of her door and told her what Father had said. “Good news?” she said in a voice that hardly sounded like hers.
"Not about what you think. Something else."
"Tell him I'm—not—up—to—company."
"Please, Ma. You're going to make yourself sick."
"I am sick."
So Father Connolly told it to me, he'd found me a job, a real job as an apprentice to a man in the religious jewelry business who'd lost his son in World War I and so he had no one to take over the store. He was looking for, according to Father Connolly, “a fine, decent young man who'd come in and learn the business. Then after he's got it down pat, it would be his, lock, stock, and barrel. He could pay for it over the years and Harry (Harry McCormack, that's his name) would have an income and the lad would have this steady, successful business. Right away I thought of you."
I'd always wanted to end up in New York doing something—I didn't know what—exciting, but I was the man of the house now, so I went to work selling crucifixes and rosaries and Knights of Columbus rings and advent candleholders and fine crystal, until finally (!) Mr. McCormack got ready to retire and I met a girl I wanted to marry. Lila Terhune. Not only was she a good-looker, but she was a college graduate to boot. I thought how nice it would be to have someone to talk to when I got home and someone to help me with the housework because even though Ma got better and didn't hide in her room all day, she never seemed to take an interest anymore, and it surely was a big house to take care of. I finally had to shut off the top floors, more or less, had a little bathroom put in where the pantry was.
Anyway, I proposed to Lila and she accepted and let me kiss her and I told her I wanted to bring her home to meet Ma. I'd told her a little about Ma, how Ma had been sick for some time but not to worry because she, Lila, would be in complete charge, only Ma would have to live with us.
I planned to have Lila visit for Sunday supper so I'd have all day to prepare a nice meal. I told Ma that Lila was coming and she nodded and strummed his harp which she kept in her bedroom. But she'd never mentioned him, not once, and neither had I.
Lila came that Sunday about five thirty, and I sat her down on the sofa, told her how pretty she looked. Then I went to get Ma.
When Ma's door opened she wasn't dressed, she had her bathrobe on, that was the first thing I noticed. The second was that she held Mr. Hall's gun in her hand, pointing it right at Lila. “Get that slut out of my house,” she yelled, waving the gun.
After that I sort of lost heart, I didn't try to find anyone to marry anymore.
When I told Doc Nelson about her he told me that at seventy her health was very good indeed, and when I asked him if she was crazy, he said, no, he didn't believe she had a sickness of the mind, but of the heart.
"Well, she acts crazy sometimes,” I told him.
"Don't we all?” said Dr. Nelson.
* * * *
The phone call came late in the afternoon. I'd just come home from work, and even though I'd expected it one day, some day, I couldn't talk very well. So mostly I listened and croaked yes or no, except when they said to expect a letter.
They were quick about it. The body was delivered two days later, and that required a trip in person to the mortuary. Driving back, I could feel the shape of the letter in my pocket. I'd read it in private and then dispose of it. Like the others before. No need to upset Ma with a message from the dead.
I'd just closed the front door behind me when Ma's door opened. I called out, “Hi, Ma. I'm home."
"Where've you been?” I breathed a sigh of relief. This was going to be one of her good days.
"At work, of course.” I unbuttoned my coat but kept it on. The letter in my pocket felt like a bushel basket. “The new branch store is doing well."
"He's dead, isn't he? I heard you on the phone last night. He left me a letter. I heard you say. Where is it? I want it."
"They said they'd mail it.” Later, I would claim it was lost in the mail. She insisted that I take her to the funeral home at once; then she announced that the wake would be held at home. I started to contradict her, but I decided to let her do what she wanted. Maybe she'd be all right now, maybe it wasn't too late for me. I was only fifty-three. That wasn't ancient. “How about some pork chops for dinner, Ma? I picked up some nice ones at the market yesterday."
"Pork chops would be nice, Francis. Baked with sliced apples and onions. The way your father likes them."
When she'd gone to bed I
took the envelope into the kitchen and steamed it open. It was written in capital letters, pencil on lined paper. I read:
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DEAR MARY KATHLEEN, DEAR WIFE, THIS IS THE LAST LETTER I'LL BE WRITING YOU. THE DOC HERE TELLS ME THERE'S SOMETHING BAD WRONG WITH MY LUNGS AND THAT'S MAKING MY HEART WORK TOO HARD SO IT WON'T BE TOO LONG FOR ME. I'M LEAVING THIS LETTER WITH THE WARDEN SO THAT I'LL BE SURE IT GETS TO YOU. I FIGURE THE OTHERS NEVER MADE IT INTO YOUR HANDS BECAUSE I KNOW YOU'RE NOT A HEARTLESS WOMAN AND I KNOW YOU WOULD HAVE ANSWERED ME IF YOU'D GOTTEN EVEN ONE OF MY LETTERS.
THERE'S A LOT OF THINGS I COULD SAY BUT I'VE GIVEN EVERYTHING A LOT OF THOUGHT AND I RECKON THERE'S ONLY TWO THINGS THAT ARE IMPORTANT AT THIS TIME. ONE IS THAT I NEVER STRANGLED LURLANE, NEVER. I'M SURE YOU FIGURED OUT THAT ANYBODY COULD HAVE PUT ON MY SMOKING JACKET AND TURNED ON THE LIGHT SO THAT OUR NEIGHBORHOOD SNOOP COULD GET A GOOD LOOK. I'M SURE YOU'VE FIGURED THAT OUT. ALL OF IT AND IT WOULDN'T DO ANY GOOD AT ALL TO SPELL IT OUT. I HURT YOU IN A LOT OF WAYS, MARY KATHLEEN, AND I'M SORRY BUT ALL THE TIME I LOVED YOU—LOVE YOU STILL TODAY. THAT'S THE SECOND IMPORTANT THING, MY DARLIN'. THE MOST IMPORTANT. I LOVE YOU. YOUR HUSBAND, DONAL.
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"I want my letter!” Ma's voice from behind made me jump. Involuntarily I scrunched the pages behind me as I turned around.
I took a deep breath. “I can't give it to you, Ma. It wouldn't be good for you. It wouldn't be good for you at all..."
She spun around and snatched the letter. “He loved me,” she cried. “I never knew it until he got rid of her. It was the most loving thing he ever did, killing that Jezebel!"
Her words like cymbals crashed in my head. To her retreating back I shouted, “He didn't do it. I did it, Ma, I did it. Because I was the only one who truly loved you. Not him, Ma. Me! Me! Me!"
My voice beat upon boulders, sea against the shore. And off somewhere a little dog was barking...
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Copyright © 2005 by DeLoris Stanton Forbes.
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The Mysterious Photograph
* * * *
* * * *
All in Favor
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We will give a prize of $25 to the person who invents the best mystery story (in 250 words or less, and be sure to include a crime) based on the above photograph. The story will be printed in a future issue. Reply to AHMM, Dell Magazines, 475 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10016. Please label your entry “July/August Contest,” and be sure your name and address are written on the story you submit. If possible, please also include your Social Security number.
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The Story That Won
The January/February Mysterious Photograph contest was won by Mark Cook of Williamsburg, ON. Honorable mentions go to J. F. Peirce of Bryan, TX; Brian Spencer of Aptos, CA; Robert Kesling of Ann Arbor, MI; Sharon Near of Puyallup, WA; Frank T. Johnston of Jacksonville, FL; Mike Befeler of Boulder, CO; Heather Creamer of Canning, NS; Michelle Mach of Fort Collins, CO; and Kathleen Cooley of Monroe, WA.
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When One Door Closes by Mark Cook
* * * *
* * * *
Officer Hanley pointed, “Is he in there?"
"Ya. He's in there all right,” confirmed Lieutenant Scanton.
"What do we do?"
"What can we do? Door's locked. Until we get a locksmith here all we can do is wait him out."
"Doesn't make sense, Lieutenant. Guy snaps an’ takes all that loot just to hide in a closet.” Hanley shrugged, “I mean, where's he gonna go?"
Good question. So was, why? Why would old Willie Carmen, janitor for thirty years, do this? Why today while sweeping the vault would he grab two million in bearer bonds just to run and lock himself in the mop closet?
Manager said Willie was peaceable. Always had a smile. In fact, only time he didn't was once last year when after his wife died the bank turned down Willie's loan request for a stone monument. Standard bank policy. Willie was old. If he died, how would the bank collect on a monument? Just business, he told Willie. Nothing personal. Besides, it was just a day or two before Willie was back to his smiley self.
After two hours the door was unlocked. Scanton opened it. Empty. Looking down he saw a piece of paper. He picked it up and read two words: “Nothing personal."
Then he saw the tunnel.
Six months later at the cemetery a quiet anonymous delivery of a beautiful large monument was made. Off to one side in the shade of an elm tree stood an old man.
He was smiling.
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Reel Crime
Column by Steve Hockensmith
For most folks, summertime is synonymous with fun in the sun. But there's a special breed of person—homo sapiens americanus celluloidus, more commonly known as the American movie fan—for whom summer means just the opposite. While their neighbors are lounging on beaches or grilling brats in the backyard, they're cloistered away in the air-conditioned shadows of the cineplex, feasting their eyes on the escapist fare Hollywood serves up during the dog days. But while BDL (Big, Dumb'n'Loud) sci-fi/action blockbusters will dominate the box office from May through August, that doesn't mean film fans with a taste for the more old-fashioned pleasures of thrillers and mysteries won't find a few good excuses for slipping out of the sun for some fun in the dark.
House of Wax
If you're one of the millions of Americans who'd love to see Paris Hilton get her comeuppance, rejoice. You'll get your chance this summer. While the irritating heiress's fifteen minutes of fame haven't elapsed yet (according to our calculations, she's at fourteen minutes, thirty seconds), her life will be ending—at least on screen. Hilton plays one of the victims-in-waiting in a remake of the 1953 Vincent Price chiller House of Wax. The new version jettisons the original's gothic flavor in favor of a more teen-friendly, hotties-chased-by-serial-killer approach. The update features a house of wax and a villain named “Vincent,” but the similarities end there. May 6
Unleashed
Little wonder the producers of this Jet Li vehicle changed the name: The original title, Danny the Dog, would've drawn flocks of parents thinking they were dropping their rugrats off for the latest G-rated Disney offering. Instead, the traumatized toddlers would've been subjected to R-rated martial arts mayhem. But though the film features plenty of kung-fu derring-do, it's not your typical chop-socky action flick. Oscar nominee Bob Hoskins plays a vicious gangster who raises a child to be his personal “fighting dog.” When the grown-up killer (Li) befriends a kindly blind man on the run from the mob (Oscar winner Morgan Freeman), he slowly comes to understand his own humanity. Hopefully, the resulting melodrama will be uplifting as opposed to uproarious. May 13
Crash
Sandra Bullock, Don Cheadle, Matt Dillon, Thandie Newton, Ryan Phillippe, and Brendan Fraser headline the huge ensemble cast of this sprawling, Robert Altman-esque exploration of life and death in modern L.A. Not just about a crime, this ambitious film attempts to examine crime as one strand of the complex web of connections that holds a community together—or tears it apart. If that synopsis sounds pretentious, blame me. Hopefully, writer/director Paul Haggis (a recent Oscar nominee for his Million Dollar Baby screenplay) can pull it off with more aplomb. May 13
Mindhunters
The hunters become the hunted in this thriller about a group of FBI profilers (including Val Kilmer, LL Cool J, and Christian Slater) stalked by a serial killer. Dimension Films, the Miramax genre division notorious for consigning completed projects to movie limbo for a seeming eternity, lived up to its reputation again here: Mindhunters was originally intended to be a spring 2003 release, then a winter 2004 release before landing on the schedule for May 2005. Given the studio's lack of faith in the film, it seems possible ticketbuyers might end up doing some hunting of their own ... for refunds. May 27
A
sylum
Like Mindhunters, this long-in-the-works erotic thriller has had more than one announced release date—and it might have more still. But if Paramount Classics sticks to its planned early summer opening, fans of offbeat horror/suspense writer Patrick McGrath (Spider, The Grotesque) will finally get a chance to see an adaptation of one of his most acclaimed novels. Natasha Richardson plays the neglected wife of a psychiatrist who enters into a torrid affair with one of her husband's most dangerously unbalanced (or is he?) patients. Sounds interesting. Now the real mystery is, when will we get to see it? May ... ?
High Tension
Moviegoers who assume the French only make romantic comedies or existentialist art flicks will have their minds changed by this no-holds-barred thriller. What starts off as a quiet getaway in the country turns into a non-stop fight for life for two college friends relentlessly pursued by a mysterious—and seemingly unstoppable—maniac. Think The Bordeaux Chainsaw Massacre ... only with an existentialist twist ending. Hey, the filmmakers couldn't entirely escape being French, could they? June 3
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
It's going to take a lot more than marriage counseling to help the Smiths (Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie). They might look like just another couple who've grown bored with their lives, but in reality they're international assassins. Their latest targets: each other. When the bullets start flying so do the sparks, and their love life revives as they dole out death together. The Prizzi's Honor-meets-True Lies plot might sound hard to swallow, but director Doug Liman (Swingers, Go, The Bourne Identity) knows how to make comedy and action go down easy. June 10
Batman Begins
As devoted DC Comics readers know, Batman's not just a superhero: He's also “The Darknight Detective,” the world's greatest criminologist. While other recent Bat-movies have emphasized over-the-top guest-star villains (and camp), this latest big-screen outing promises a more subdued tone and a serious crime story. With an outstanding cast (including Christian Bale as Bruce Wayne and Michael Caine, Gary Oldman, Morgan Freeman, and Liam Neeson in supporting roles) and the perfect director (Memento/Insomnia helmer Christopher Nolan), Batman Begins might actually please hardcore comics junkies and non-batfans alike. June 17
AHMM, Jul-Aug 2005 Page 28
