Catch a Falling Knife

by Alan Cook

  “I’m Frank. Good, because I was just having some. Wait here while I get another cup.”

  I protested that I could get it, but by that time he had wheeled himself with surprising efficiency into the next room and disappeared around the corner. The elegance of the hardwood floor was accented by the high ceiling. A graceful archway opened in the wall between this room and the next, which appeared to be the dining room. This must have been a classy house in its time.

  Example of male humor: A colleague of Albert’s liked to point out the old and the infirm people to Albert and then state, “That’s you in three years.” I hoped that Frank Scott wasn’t me in three years.

  Mr. Scott returned, carrying a cup, spoon and a sugar container on a small tray on his lap. He transferred the tray to a low table and said, “I didn’t know whether you take sugar in your tea.”

  “I drink it straight,” I said.

  “Me too. I hope you’ll excuse the lack of furniture and the bare floor, but it makes it easier for me to get around.”

  “Do you live alone?” I asked. I was used to the multi-level support services of Silver Acres, designed to care for residents in various stages of need, and wondered how somebody considerably more physically challenged than I was could live without them.

  “A woman comes in each morning and helps me with breakfast, a shower and makes my bed. Then I get Meals on Wheels delivered to me. That takes care of lunch and dinner. I manage. Where do you live?”

  “In Chapel Hill—Silver Acres.”

  “I’ve heard of it. From what I’ve heard, it’s a great place to live.”

  “I like it.”

  “I wish I could afford to live there.”

  Although he grinned when he said it I suspected that wasn’t far from the truth. “Let me tell you why I came,” I said, not wanting to talk old folks’ talk. “I…I’m doing some checking into the murder of Elise Hoffman.”

  Tears welled up in Mr. Scott’s eyes. He said, “I’m sorry; I can’t help it. This happens to me, sometimes, usually for no reason. But I loved Elise like a daughter…or I guess a granddaughter would be more appropriate.”

  He found a handkerchief in the pocket of his flannel shirt, took off his glasses and dabbed at his eyes.

  I said, “I didn’t mean to bring back sad memories. It’s just that from something June told me I thought you might have seen Elise fairly often.”

  Mr. Scott regained control of his emotions and looked at me. He said, “Yes, Elise came to see me sometimes.”

  “Like maybe, in the evenings?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, she had a job near here…”

  “Do you know what she did?”

  Taken by surprise, I said, “Yes.”

  “Well, I do too, so we might as well quit tiptoeing. Elise danced at Club Cavalier. She went by the name of the Shooting Star.”

  “So she told you?”

  “She practiced her routines here. With the wood floor and the high ceiling, this place was perfect. All I’m missing is a pole. I videotaped her so she could see how she looked. Would you like to see a tape?”

  “Uh…no, that’s okay.”

  “She was dressed, if that’s what you’re worried about. She usually practiced in a leotard.”

  “Well, hold on to the tapes. The police might want to see them.”

  “The police? I have nothing to say to the police.”

  “Is that why you haven’t contacted them?”

  “Look, Mrs….Lillian. I don’t know any of the people Elise knew. I have no idea who killed her. There is nothing I can tell the police that they don’t already know.”

  I didn’t want to make an enemy out of him. I said, “Uh, Frank, have you been following the story in the newspapers?”

  “Avidly. Although I have to use a magnifying glass to read it. As I said, Elise was like a granddaughter to me and I desperately want the killer brought to justice.”

  “Then you must know that until yesterday the newspapers were saying that Elise’s roommate, Donna, was the Shooting Star.”

  “But then again, you can’t believe everything you read in the paper. I figured the police knew more than they were giving out.”

  There was no point in trying to make him admit he’d made a mistake by not going to the police. I said, “You don’t live very far from Club Cavalier. Elise usually went somewhere between her shows there. I was wondering if there was any chance that she came here.”

  Frank smiled and asked, “Are you a detective?”

  “By accident, not by profession.”

  “Well, vocation or avocation, you seem to know what you’re doing. Elise did come here. She said she preferred my company to that of the people at the Club. And I must say I preferred her company to that of just about anybody. Except, perhaps, her mother. When she came we talked some, of course, but she usually did homework. She was a good student.”

  So she came here wearing her costume?”

  “Underneath her jacket. If she got too warm she would unbutton her jacket. But her costume covered her at least as much as the bikinis girls wear on the beaches these days.”

  Before she started taking it off. “How did you feel about her dancing at Club Cavalier?”

  “My next guess is that you’re a psychologist because you’re asking me how I feel. Am I right?”

  “Well, actually, I’m a mathematician. I was a professor at Duke.”

  “I was a plumber.”

  “In many ways, a much more practical type of job. We could use a plumber in our family.”

  Frank gave a husky laugh and said, “But getting back to how I felt about Elise dancing. You say you know June. Do you also know Elise’s father, Eric?”

  “Yes,” I said, stopping myself from elaborating since I felt he was about to tell me something important.

  “Then maybe you know about the relationship between Elise and Eric.”

  “I understand they had their differences.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Elise had a mind of her own, something Eric couldn’t tolerate. June did too, but she gave up her independence for Eric. When June has to let off steam she comes to see me. But Elise hadn’t learned how to get along with the people she disagreed with, yet. That comes with age, I guess, if it ever does. Anyway, to get back to your question, dancing at Club Cavalier was a way for Elise to let off steam.

  “I told her that the job could be dangerous, but I didn’t want to lose her friendship so I didn’t actively oppose her. As I mentioned, I let her practice here. Somehow, I figured that because I lived close to the Club I could help protect her from any danger associated with it. Unfortunately, I failed to do that.”

  Frank got out his handkerchief again and wiped his eyes.

  “Did Elise come here the night she…was killed?” I asked.

  “She came here between her shows. She was in good spirits. She told me about a singing job she had lined up for the summer with some group. It was the same group she had sung with last summer.”

  “But she didn’t come here after her last show.”

  “No, she didn’t. That puzzled me because she usually did.”

  “So you would wait up for her.”

  “That wasn’t a problem; I have trouble sleeping, anyway.”

  “How did she get home?”

  “Somebody picked her up here.”

  “Do you know who picked her up?”

  “She never mentioned any names, but I gather her roommate usually picked her up.”

  “Donna?”

  “Yes, I believe that’s her name. She never came in and Elise never introduced her to me. Elise would sit on the couch, doing homework, and watch out the window. When the car came she would leave.”

  “Did you see the car?”

  “I caught a glimpse of it from time to time, but my eyesight isn’t that good so I couldn’t tell you what make it was, if that’s what you want to know.”

  I had a delicate question.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but did Elise ever smoke marijuana here?”

  Frank smiled. “The only drugs I allow in this house are the ones that keep me alive. I read that she had been smoking before she was killed so that isn’t a big shock to me.”

  “Did you ever get the idea that she had been smoking it before she got here?”

  “No. And I have children who were young in the sixties so I know the odor of pot well. It smells like burning rope. Elise was always on her best behavior with me.”

  I refilled our cups from the china teapot and said, “Excuse me for asking all these questions, but you’re being very helpful. Do you mind if I ask a few more?”

  “If it will help catch Elise’s killer. I’d rather talk to you than the police.”

  Gallantry will win you points, I thought. In spite of his physical problems, Frank had a pleasant way about him. No wonder June and Elise liked him. “Do you know whether June knew that Elise was the Shooting Star?”

  “Elise told me neither of her parents knew. And June never mentioned it to me. She usually confided in me so she probably would have said something if she had known.”

  “So the night June picked Elise up here you were sworn to secrecy.”

  “June told you about that, did she? I was wondering how you had learned about me. Yes, I didn’t like to keep secrets from June, but I also knew it was important that Eric not find out, if possible.”

  “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but if Eric had found out about Elise being the Shooting Star, what do you think he would have done?”

  “That question has haunted me. I keep forcing myself not to think about it.”

  Chapter 28

  I still didn’t know for sure who had given Elise a ride back to her apartment the night she was killed. She must have been picked up either in the parking lot at Club Cavalier, or nearby, since she hadn’t gone to Frank’s house.

  I was convinced that Eric couldn’t have picked her up. How about Donna? Apparently, Donna was the designated picker-upper. That would help to explain how she knew as much as she did about Elise’s dancing. Of course, just the fact that she was Elise’s roommate explained that.

  I had heard from Burt that Donna and her boyfriend disagreed as to when she had left him that evening. It was somewhere between 10 and 10:30 p.m., depending on which one you asked, but that range was wide enough to explain any number of scenarios. They also disagreed on when she had arrived at his place. He said it was later than she did. Burt had also said that “boyfriend” appeared to be too strong a word for their relationship. The guy had told the police they were just friends.

  If Donna had driven Elise back to the apartment, Donna would have been there when Eric was there. She would have been there when Eric killed Elise. Why hadn’t Eric killed Donna at the same time? And if Donna had managed to escape, why hadn’t she told the police? Questions for which I had no answers.

  Mark was still at work when I arrived back at my apartment so I called Wesley. Wesley had a computer and he was conversant with the Internet. He told me to come on over.

  “Okay, what’s the URL of the website?” Wesley asked when we were seated in front of his computer.

  “You mean the address?” I was beginning to catch on to the lingo. I produced the piece of paper on which I had carefully recorded the address of Eric’s infamous website.

  Wesley typed it in and a screen appeared announcing the crusade against the destroyers of family values. The license numbers of the cars of the offending citizens, the ones who had visited Club Cavalier and other strip clubs in the Bethany area, were conveniently displayed by date.

  Somebody had been maintaining the site since Elise’s death because the numbers collected on the day she was killed were posted. Apparently, Eric had found it in his heart to continue his good works.

  I had also brought the license plate number of Donna’s car. I had written that down the first time I saw her car. We scanned the list for Club Cavalier on the date of Elise’s murder, but it wasn’t there. We did a search to see if it appeared anywhere in the database for any date. We came up empty.

  “What is Mark’s license plate number?” Wesley asked.

  The question surprised me. “Why do you ask?”

  “Aren’t you even faintly curious as to whether he was at Club Cavalier on that particular evening?”

  “I am completely convinced that he wasn’t, but I know his number.”

  If I had said anything else I would have had to acknowledge that deep down inside me I had some nagging doubts about Mark’s innocence. And if I didn’t check for his license number now those doubts might not go away. I wouldn’t admit to Wesley that I had any trepidation about making the check, but I hesitated long enough so that he probably had a suspicion.

  I had memorized Mark’s license plate number because he had been driving me around some of the time and I wanted to be able to locate his car when it was parked. My mathematical background helps me to memorize numbers, such as those on license plates. I memorize the letters on license plates by making unlikely acronyms out of them. For example, ZUP might stand for “zipped up pajamas.” I gave Mark’s license plate information to Wesley.

  “Nope. It’s not there,” Wesley said, after a search.

  “That’s good news,” I said, my tone understating my relief. But Eric and Ted had only recorded license plate numbers up to the time they went into Club Cavalier that evening. If either Donna or Mark or anybody else, for that matter, had showed up around 10 o’clock or later they wouldn’t have been recorded.”

  “Perhaps you’ve done all you can on this murder,” Wesley said. “Maybe it’s time to rest and let the police handle it. You missed the bridge club again today. The chess club meets tomorrow afternoon. Maybe it’s time for you to get back into society.”

  Wesley had taken a greater interest in my well-being since our friendship had deepened. I tended to agree with him. I had helped to dig up enough evidence to point the finger of suspicion away from Mark. What else could I do?

  ***

  Back in my own apartment, I decided to take Wesley’s advice and put the murder behind me. What had I done in the afternoons back when I was living a normal life? Sometimes I took a short nap. I didn’t feel sleepy. I read magazines like Reader’s Digest. I picked up the latest copy, which I hadn’t looked at yet. Maybe it would have a heart-warming story about somebody who had survived a disaster by overcoming overwhelming odds.

  I read some of the jokes and anecdotes because I couldn’t concentrate on anything longer. The stories in the “Life in these United States” section didn’t make me laugh. “Humor in Uniform” wasn’t humorous. I tossed the magazine aside and went looking for the poems I had copied from Donna’s personal notebook.

  After a five-minute search I found the poems underneath a pile of papers on top of my small desk. I carried them to my sunroom and sat on the sofa, basking in the afternoon rays that streamed through the wall-to-wall windows on three sides. I read all the poems I had copied and then read them again. I came back to one and read it for a third time. It was one Tess and I had puzzled over before. It had no title—none of the poems had—and it went like this:

  Will I shoot seven or eleven?

  Will I find a jewel that gleams?

  Will you lend your wand to me

  So I can wave it at my dreams?

  Keep it, Lady Luck.

  Each lass is Satan’s earthly prize.

  He makes angels run amuck

  And blinds them with his laser eyes.

  There was something wrong with this poem. At least, it wasn’t like Donna’s other poems, which were laid out in neat patterns. For example, the two limericks she had written, one about Elise and the other about Mark. The first four lines of this poem were smooth enough, but the line, “Keep it, Lady Luck,” was jarringly out of place.

  Perhaps Donna did that for emphasis, to call the reader’s attention to it. Poets, writers, were known t
o use various tricks. It was not a happy poem. Apparently, it was about unfulfilled dreams and the lure of sin. Girls had always dreamed; some girls were tempted to do things society didn’t approve of. Some wrote poems about their dreams and temptations. So what was new or different about this poem?

  In the limerick about Elise, Elise’s name had been spelled out by the first letters of each line, but no word in my dictionary started with three w’s. My field was mathematics and logic, not literature. I needed help. Sandra taught English. When did she get home from school?

  I called her number. She didn’t answer so I left her a message, saying that I was on my way over to her place.

  ***

  Sandra’s condo was located not far from Silver Acres and I had been to it quite often so I had no trouble getting there. The condominiums were wooden, two-story buildings, on a cul-de-sac. They didn’t have garages so the owners parked on the street. Fortunately, there was a space next to Sandra’s little red Toyota; I pulled in there.

  I was happy to see that she was home now as I was too antsy to mount a stakeout. I went up the walkway and two concrete steps to the front door. These buildings were quite new and in good repair. Everything worked, including the doorbell, although this one’s ring had only two notes instead of the four notes of Frank Scott’s bell.

  Sandra opened the door after a short pause and said, “Hi, Gogi,” as if she was surprised to see me.

  She still had her teaching clothes on, consisting of a long skirt and a tailored blouse, and her long blond hair was in a pedagogical bun. She must have just arrived home and not checked her telephone messages yet.

  I kissed her, apologized for barging in on her and told her I needed help.

  “Give me five minutes to change my clothes and I’ll be right with you,” Sandra said. “Winston can entertain you while you wait.”

  She called, “Winston, Great-Grandma is here.”

  Sandra went up the stairs and a minute later Winston walked down them, holding on to the handrail, just like a grownup. He had a Dr. Seuss book in one hand.

  “Hi Great-Grandma,” Winston said, “how is your blue car?”

  “My blue car is fine,” I said, catching him and giving him a kiss. “Would you like me to read you the book?”