“Oh, my God, you’re really going through with this?”
“It’s the police, Lucille. They’re going through with it. All that circumstantial evidence has caught up with him.”
“But why are you bringing them here?”
I looked at my watch. “Manny Alvarez, the doorman, just got off work and he’s coming too. I told him the cops wanted to talk to you about DeWeldt and he insisted on being here.”
Speechless for a moment, then Lucille said, “This is absolutely crazy. Why would you say that to him? He’s not going to just rush over here because of me. We only know each other in passing.”
“That’s just how Manny is. He gets easily attached to people.”
Movement outside the door caught my eye. Kalijero and Brookstone had reached the top of the stairs.
“Okay, the detectives are here. Try to relax.”
Lucille sat back down, still incredulous. I stepped through the doorway and waved. Brookstone had bruises over the bridge of his nose. He looked pouty, as if Daddy was dragging him to his little sister’s piano recital. I made the introductions then offered the two detectives the sofa under the window.
“Gentlemen,” Lucille said. “I have a purely professional relationship with Henry DeWeldt. I really don’t know what you’re expecting of me.”
“That’s fine, ma’am,” Kalijero said. “Mr. Landau is going to present some concerns. Feel free to challenge him. And we appreciate you letting us use your office.”
My attention was again drawn out the door, where I saw a determined Manny fast-walking across the common area. “Here’s Manny Alvarez,” I said.
Kalijero and Brookstone sat directly in line with the doorway. Manny slowed down then cautiously entered. “What’s going on, Lucille?” Manny said. Lucille motioned toward me with her head. Manny turned around. “I didn’t know you were coming too, Mr. Landau.”
“There’s no reason for you to be here, Manny,” Lucille said.
Manny looked at the two detectives then turned back to Lucille. “What’s DeWeldt trying to do?”
“I think you’ve met Detective Brookstone,” I said then closed the door. “This is Detective Kalijero. Why don’t you take a seat, Manny.” I gently put my hand on Manny’s back and directed him to the guest chair in front of Lucille’s desk.
“Okay, Landau,” Brookstone said, “we’re ready for your little show.”
I was about to tell Kalijero to control his pet chimp, when Kalijero whispered something in Brookstone’s ear. “I’m sorry, everybody,” Brookstone said with obvious sarcasm. “I promise to behave and let Landau lead story time.”
I took a few pieces of paper from the accordion file and held them up. “Just for you, Brookie,” I said. “DNA tested lab results of evidence collected at the crime scene.” I held up a copy of the police photo showing a plastic bag. “Inside are some kind of tiny shavings. At the time, I thought it was dead skin. The report says they’re made of keratin, which is what fingernails are made of. It turns out these are sheaths from a cat’s claw. Cats shed these sheaths naturally when they scratch.”
“Did Jackie Whitney own a cat?” Kalijero said.
“Not that I know of,” Manny said.
“I’ve never been in Jackie’s apartment,” Lucille said. “And Henry DeWeldt doesn’t own a cat either.”
“How would you know whose cat the nail shavings belonged to?” Kalijero said.
“Tiny, almost invisible strands of fur were attached to these sheaths,” I said. “Because cats are such meticulous groomers, the lab was able to extract DNA from the cat’s saliva on the fur.”
“The cat’s DNA?” Brookstone said.
“Exactly,” I said. “Believe it or not, a database of cat-fur DNA has already been established for use as forensic evidence. The database looks at specific markers that have been identified in the cat genome. Cat fur has solved several murders already.”
“That’s your DNA-solid proof?” Brookstone said. “A cat?”
“There’s more,” I said. “Also embedded in the cat sheaths were particles of skin, human skin. And from this human skin, the lab was able to extract DNA that doesn’t belong to Jackie Whitney or Kate McCall.”
More silence, then Brookstone said, “That’s great for your reasonable doubt, but unless the cat’s the killer, so what? The human DNA could be McCall’s accomplice.”
“At Linda Napier’s crime scene,” I said, “more sheaths and fur were found. According to the lab, the human and cat DNA are identical to the human and cat DNA found at Jackie Whitney’s crime scene.”
“Proof the same person was at both murder scenes,” Kalijero said.
“Exactly,” I said.
“We already assumed that,” Brookstone said. “Did you think everything through before calling this meeting, Landau? Or were you too excited over cat DNA?”
“Manny,” I said. “The other day I saw you vigorously using a lint brush on your doorman’s jacket.”
“We talked about that,” Manny said. “My jacket is a magnet for any loose fuzz and fluff. And Gloria’s dog, remember? I was taking care of Louie. His fur gets all over the place.”
“That reminds me. I found out what kind of dog Louie is. He’s called a bichon frise. Ever heard of it?”
Manny shook his head.
“It’s a non-shedding breed,” I said.
Manny stared at me. “Then I guess the stuff on my coat isn’t dog fur. And I don’t have a cat, if you’re wondering.”
“Jackie Whitney and Linda Napier didn’t have cats either,” I said.
Manny looked at the two detectives then back to me. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“Yeah, Landau,” Brookstone said. “What the hell are you saying?”
“What did Manny Alvarez and Kate McCall have in common?” I said. “The obvious answer is Jackie Whitney. The better answer is the derisive, insulting, humiliating manner in which Jackie Whitney spoke to both Manny Alvarez and Kate McCall.”
“That never bothered me,” Manny said. “Ask anyone in the building.”
“Outwardly it didn’t,” I said. “You called her your friend. I even saw you wipe tears from your eyes the first time we talked about her.”
“Manny doesn’t have a violent bone in his body,” Lucille said. “Many people will gladly testify to this.”
“Jackie Whitney’s treatment of Manny Alvarez and Kate McCall was no secret,” I said. “She never considered who was standing nearby before she fired off a belittling remark. In fact, Henry DeWeldt told me himself that he was well aware of the abusive way in which Jackie Whitney spoke to Manny Alvarez and Kate McCall. And we’re all aware that Henry DeWeldt knows how to recognize and exploit an opportunity when he sees one. And we also know he’s the type of man not disposed to getting his hands bloody—I mean dirty.”
I stopped to allow some dead air to enhance my words. Brookstone said, “I think you’re saying DeWeldt hired McCall and Alvarez to kill Jackie Whitney.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Lucille said. “Don’t listen to anything he says, Manny. I’ll make sure you have a great lawyer in case these detectives decide to believe this nonsense.”
“I would never kill anyone,” Manny said, staring into the floor.
“This is all just part of Mr. Landau’s fantasy,” Lucille said. “He’s convinced that Jackie acquired some damaging information about Henry, which prompted Henry to have Jackie murdered.”
“You got anything to back up your theory?” Kalijero said. “Or are you just talking out of your ass?”
I leaned back against the office door. “Jackie Whitney comes home from Palm Springs between four and five P.M., on Saturday, May sixteenth. Lenny, the swing-shift doorman, is on duty. He has the good fortune of loading Jackie’s suitcases onto a luggage cart in order to bring them up to her residence. Lenny leaves her apartment with the empty luggage cart and twenty extra dollars in his pocket. When Lenny’s shift ends at eleven o’clock, Mar
v, the graveyard shift doorman, comes on duty.”
“Bring McCall into your story,” Brookstone said.
I said to Manny, “When I suggested to you that DeWeldt might be up to something regarding Lucille, you were concerned because you remembered the way DeWeldt tried to bilk Gloria’s estate out of tens of thousands of dollars. That’s why you wanted to be here.”
Manny looked at Lucille. “I’m sorry, Lucille,” he said. “It must seem strange that I’m here.”
“Not so strange,” I said. “You care about your friends—or people you consider your friends. That’s just the way you are, Manny, which is why you have no reason to hide anything.”
Manny looked at me with sad, imploring eyes. “Why’re you doing this to me, Mr. Landau?” he said. “I’m not hiding anything. What would I be hiding?”
“Jackie Whitney’s building has three doormen,” I said. “When there’s an uncovered shift, the extra hours are first offered to one of the other doormen. If nobody wants the overtime, an agency covers the shift. Is that correct?”
“That’s what usually happens.”
“On the evening of May sixteenth, Marv is in the hospital recovering from pneumonia. Lenny is expecting an agency doorman to arrive at eleven, but he’s late. Being a Saturday night and Lenny being a young guy, he isn’t going to wait around. So he goes home unaware that the substitute doorman never shows up the night Jackie Whitney is murdered.”
“You don’t know for sure when she was murdered,” Brookstone said. “The coroner didn’t rule out the seventeenth or eighteenth.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I could be wrong about when Jackie died just as I could be wrong about the graveyard shift going uncovered Saturday night, May sixteenth. In fact, I know I’m wrong because I called the agency and they told me the order was canceled—by Manny Alvarez.”
“That’s right!” Manny said. “I remember now. I decided I wouldn’t mind getting some overtime.”
“When did you call the agency to cancel?”
Manny’s eyes darted around. “In the morning sometime, I think.”
“You’re sure it was the morning?”
“Stop treating him like a criminal!” Lucille said. “Manny, you should go—”
“I wouldn’t leave just yet,” Brookstone said, surprising the hell out of me. “All I need is reasonable suspicion to detain someone.”
“But you’re free to go if you’d like, Lucille,” I said.
She looked at Manny then at the two detectives. “I’m staying. For Manny’s sake. If I know anything, it’s that the police can’t be trusted.”
“Maybe I called the agency later in the day,” Manny said. “I can’t be sure.”
“Maybe you called the agency much later in the day,” I said.
Manny stood up. “Y-you can’t really think I killed her, right?”
“If these detectives think you’re not being truthful, they’re going to wonder why.”
Manny stepped toward Brookstone and Kalijero. “Maybe it was much later in the day. I might’ve called the agency that evening.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this when I first questioned you?” Brookstone said.
“I don’t know,” Manny said quietly. He walked back to his chair. “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”
“Don’t say another word,” Lucille said. She walked to Manny’s side, knelt down, whispered in his ear. Brookstone and Kalijero started mumbling angrily at each other. I walked over to them.
“What?” I said.
“I’m handling this, Landau,” Kalijero said.
“Get Alvarez to talk about McCall,” Brookstone said, “or I’m gonna take him in right now.”
“You agreed to let me tell—”
“That son of a bitch was in the victim’s apartment with Kessler—”
“Arrest him now and he lawyers up, dumbass!”
Kalijero shoved me hard in the chest, knocking me backward into a display table. Stacks of Furry BFF brochures fell to the floor. Lucille glanced my way then walked back to her chair.
I approached Manny. “Since I’m the cynical type,” I said, “I’m going to wonder if overtime was the true reason that Manny decided to work the graveyard shift.” I put my hand on Manny’s shoulder. “What do you think, Manny?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I said, “Around two o’clock Sunday morning, May seventeenth, Dr. Kessler returned to retrieve some personal items from Jackie Whitney’s apartment. He asked Linda Napier to meet him in the lobby. Since you were working the graveyard shift that night, Manny, you ended up accompanying both of them to Jackie Whitney’s apartment. Did that escape your memory?”
Manny stood, shoved his hands into his pockets, stepped away, then turned back to me. “Dr. Kessler showed up in a panic,” Manny said. “He had this frightening look in his eyes. He said he had a key and was going up to Jackie’s apartment. He wasn’t asking me, he was telling me. He seemed really desperate and scary. His breath reeked of alcohol. I thought it better to just go along with him than call the police. And Linda was there. With all of us present, I thought maybe Jackie wouldn’t be too upset if she discovered us.”
“The three of you entered the apartment,” I said. “Then what?”
“Linda and I stood in the hallway outside of Jackie’s bedroom while Dr. Kessler retrieved his belongings from the guest bedroom. A few minutes later, we were gone.”
“That’s risky behavior, isn’t it?” I said. “I mean, you could be fired for entering a resident’s home uninvited, no less bringing in a couple of other people. You must’ve been pretty confident you wouldn’t be caught.”
Manny looked down, slid his foot back and forth across the floor. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was foolish.” He looked at me. “But Dr. Kessler had a key to her apartment! I didn’t want to take a chance—”
“Did he show you the key?”
“Of course.”
“You were protecting Jackie Whitney,” I said. “You didn’t want to take the chance of Dr. Kessler coming back on his own. Who knew what he was capable of?”
Manny sat back down. “Dr. Kessler was acting very, very scary.”
“Although there’s one detail you left out,” I said. “Linda Napier walked into the building first. She told Dr. Kessler she saw you coming out of the residents’ elevator shortly after she arrived.”
“What? Why? For what? I had no reason! I never did that.”
“Were you in Jackie Whitney’s apartment before Dr. Kessler or Linda Napier got there?”
Manny jumped out of his chair, approached the two detectives holding his hands palms up. “I didn’t kill anyone. They’re trying to make me look bad. I swear to God Almighty! I swear on the lives of my children! I didn’t kill anyone!”
Lucille walked out from behind her desk, stood about a foot from Manny. “They can’t touch you with this,” she said to Manny, making sure everyone heard. “It’s all hearsay because—”
“Because Linda Napier is dead,” I said, “and Dr. Kessler is just repeating what Linda allegedly told him. But we can check the CCTV video and see if—oh, wait a minute. There’s a gap in the time stamp from eleven-fifteen Saturday night to about eight o’clock the next morning.” I looked at Lucille and said, “Detectives Brookstone and Kalijero, I want you to ignore everything I said about Manny coming out of the elevator. Hearsay is inadmissible in court and the CCTV had unfortunately malfunctioned.”
Chapter 34
“Manny,” Brookstone said, “tell us about McCall. What’s McCall’s connection to DeWeldt?”
“Henry has no connection to that woman,” Lucille said.
“DeWeldt is evil and greedy,” Alvarez said. He had returned to staring at the floor.
“You’re right!” I said. “He even sucked Lucille into his slimy trap.”
Lucille gave me a savage look then said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let’s talk about mon
ey, that greatest of motivators,” I said then removed several papers from the accordion file. “An associate of mine did a little detective work for me. He got the treasurer of Furry BFF to check the pledged donation amounts against the money actually deposited into the Furry BFF account.”
“The shelter has an independent auditor,” Lucille said. “They keep track of these things and have never found anything out of the ordinary.”
“No doubt that’s been the case since you’ve worked here, Lucille. But just for fun, I’m gonna wonder out loud how truly independent the auditor was? I mean, what if the auditor had some kind of association with a scumbag like Henry DeWeldt?”
“Henry provided the seed money to build this place!” Lucille said. “Over a million dollars.”
“What’s your point?” Kalijero said.
“Nonprofits try to maintain the smallest paid staff possible,” I said, “so employees often end up wearing more than one hat. For example, development director Lucille Mackenzie is the chief fundraiser, but she also assists the treasurer with administrative tasks—like depositing checks.”
“What are you suggesting?” Lucille said.
Brookstone sighed loudly and said, “What do you got on DeWeldt? And don’t tell me cat fur.”
“Here you go, Brookie. DeWeldt is such a sneaky bastard that Lucille didn’t even realize she was depositing donation checks into an account under the name of—wait for it—Henry DeWeldt!”
The detectives cast their eyeballs upon Lucille. She leaned back in her chair. “Oh, stop looking at me like that!” she said. “I’m sure there’s a logical reason. He’s on the board of directors, after all.”
“The real issue,” I said, “is the ten percent discrepancy between what ended up in Furry BFF’s operating account and the original donations Lucille deposited.”
“I endorsed and deposited every donation check exactly how it was received!” Lucille said.
“What does the treasurer say about it?” Kalijero said.
“She wanted to call the police, but my associate suggested he be allowed to get all the facts first.” I looked at Lucille. “So we don’t jump to conclusions.”
Doubt in the 2nd Degree Page 22
