“Grim business, murder,” Max said.
On the beach highway near a curve in the highway, Helen pointed to a low sign, “Police.” Max turned the rental car at the street, leading them away from God’s beauty. As if in the thrall of their trip back in time, the station-house doorway sported twin antique glass globes lighting the black letters of the word, ‘Police’ atop each column.
Max parked behind the building. The gray day and the old walls of the station finally worked their depressing enchantment on Helen’s spirits. “I half expect one of the shuttered windows to be opened with the bonneted old witch yelling, ’Peter Grimes, Peter Grimes.’”
Max stepped out of the car. “In the opera, wasn’t the murderer hounded into killing an innocent boy?” Max held his umbrella over the two women.
Helen loved being close enough to smell his Irish Spring soap. “I wonder,” she said, “if Mrs. Bianco inadvertently forced a dangerous person, a drug addict like Marilyn, to kill her.”
Sister nodded. “… if only to gain her freedom.”
“I left the lights on.” Max announced handing the umbrella to Helen and racing back to the car.
Watching him run back to the car, another chilling thought crossed Helen’s mind: Huge Max Hunt and his impenetrable hide would never belong to her. She whispered to Sister, “Max will never be mine. I’m too immature.”
“He does seem too wily to be caught easily.”
Helen wanted to be loved above anyone else by him, to be admired by him, even to be esteemed. “It’s hopeless. What do I have to offer a man of his experience?
“Innocence,” Sister whispered back and Helen believed her.
The back door of the station opened and a woman officer called to them, “Helen Costello?” Helen didn’t respond quickly enough and the policewoman repeated, “Helen Costello?”
A little shocked at the similarity to her previous thoughts about the Peter Grimes opera, Helen raised an arm in reply. “I’m here.”
“Come in before you drown. I’m Orange Creeper. Officer Creeper to you all.”
“Officer,” Max said.
Helen dared not ask the origin of her name, as they were ushered into the station’s back door. She introduced her companions as the Mother Superior of the convent where Marilyn Helms was last seen and her partner and fellow deputy, Max Hunt.
However, as Helen climbed the ancient steps to the officer’s second floor room, she prayed silently to herself about an entirely different matter. She asked God to find her a good man if Max was wrong for her. ‘Lord. One I can love with all my heart, with confidence and trust in your will.’
Officer Creeper wore a white military-looking uniform. Helen hoped her own black suit and turtleneck appeared professional enough. Sister wrinkled her nose as if she noticed the smell of tobacco, too. Did it come from the entrance hall, or was Officer Creeper addicted to smoking?
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Max, Helen and Sister searched for Marilyn’s grandmother’s house among the line of houses facing the Atlantic Ocean.
Max pointed. “There is only one house painted purple.”
Helen called Officer Creeper on her cell phone. They waited patiently for the police to arrive and take Marilyn Helms into custody. Then, they followed the squad car back to the police station. After speaking to Captain Tedler in Ann Arbor, Officer Creeper allowed the newly sworn deputies to question Marilyn with some reservations. “I don’t know enough about the case to ask pertinent questions.”
Sister patted Helen’s shoulder. “If you need me, pull your left ear lobe and I’ll knock on the door.”
In the small interrogation room, Marilyn Helm’s belligerence surprised Max. The woman was a head taller and maybe three times Helen’s girth. Helen set her briefcase next to her chair and opened the clasp in case she needed swift access to her weapon. Max didn’t carry a gun.
“I don’t understand why you upset my poor grandmother.” Marilyn tapped her chubby fingers on the steel tabletop. “Has my lawyer arrived?”
Max unbuttoned his suit jacket in the warm Cape May questioning room. “Should we wait for your lawyer?” He tried to appear relaxed, able to wait until doomsday.
Marilyn squirmed. Her stomach growled in the silent room. “Could I answer something and go home?”
Helen switched on the taping machine. “Why are your fingerprints on Sally Bianco’s car?”
“They’re not.” Marilyn seemed too sure of that.
“Did you remember to wipe off the gear shift when you ditched Sally’s Honda in the ocean?” Max noted Marilyn’s eyes flicked from the incriminating oversight.
Marilyn rubbed her wrists as if the handcuffs were just removed or awaiting her. “Could I have something to drink? I was in the middle of lunch, when the police arrested me. Are you at least going to tell me the charges?”
“Murder.” Helen said and waited for the word to sink into the woman’s massive bulk.
“I haven’t killed anyone. I only blackmailed three criminals. I’m a nurse. We help people, not kill them. We’re not doctors. Sally Bianco said they were culpable. Sharon Daley will tell you; we did everything we could for those patients.” Marilyn started to cry.
Max wondered if he misjudged the tears. Were they contrite? The water jettisoned out of Marilyn’s besieged brain could be caused by anger and frustration at being discovered. “We found your dog,” Max said, asking God’s forgiveness for being cruel.
“What makes you think he’s my dog?”
“He was with you at the convent.” Helen said. “Mother Superior is waiting outside, if you want to talk to her about Rufus.”
Suddenly, Marilyn stood, knocking her chair to the floor as she lunged across the table at Helen. Helen felt Marilyn’s fist graze her curls as she ducked to retrieve her gun. She stuck the gun between Marilyn’s eyes. “Sit back down or I’ll blow your head off.” Marilyn’s right fist slammed into Helen’s left ear. Helen fell sideways off her chair. She fired her gun away from Marilyn and Max’s general direction. “Stop!”
“Shoot me!” Marilyn shouted, looming over Helen’s sprawled body. “You chicken-shit!”
Blows rained down on Helen, who tucked her arms and her loaded gun over her face. Max grabbed Marilyn from behind, lifting her off the floor.
Marilyn kicked a chair over on top of Helen. “Shoot me. Put me out of my misery!”
Through increasing consciousness of pain and real fear, Helen heard the room’s door open. Officer Creeper struck Marilyn’s head with her nightstick. Max let go of the woman and Marilyn fell like a giant tree.
Sister James Marine assisted Helen to the chair she had righted. “Are you seriously hurt? Bleeding?”
“My ribs,” Helen couldn’t help but moan.
“Call an ambulance!” Max shouted. Then he whispered as he stroked Helen’s forehead. “We’ll check you out at the hospital.”
“Let me put my gun away,” Helen said, but fainted as she dropped the gun back into her briefcase.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Second Wednesday in May, 2008
Ann Arbor Police Station
Max turned toward Captain Tedler’s open office door a moment before Helen entered. He wondered if he had smelled her perfume, what alerted him to her presence. She stood at the threshold, hands on her hips.
“Say hello to Captain Tedler.” Max couldn’t help teasing.
His mood lightened with the sight of her. Helen’s navy blue suit was trimmed with light blue piping along the lapels. Fluorescent rainbows danced off her blonde curls. She could have been wearing sackcloth as far as Max was concerned. He thanked God his partner, his friend, had not been seriously injured in Cape May.
Captain Tedler offered Helen a paper cup of coffee. “We searched Dr. Cornell’s house. I read his diary. Dr. Cornell’s son is here to tell us what he knows of Marilyn’s blackmailing scheme.”
“Hi, Max.” Helen’s genuine smile warmed Max’s heart, more than it should have. Max had n
oticed for the first time that Helen wrinkled her nose before smiling, as if she might sneeze.
“Could we talk to him?” Her face turned serious. “Sister stayed in Cape May, in case we need more answers from Marilyn.”
“Did Marilyn confess?” Captain Tedler asked.
Helen shook her head. “She lawyered up, but she’s open to a deal.”
“For murder?” Max didn’t want to hear about any such arrangement.
“She says nurses never hurt other human beings.” Helen turned to set her coffee cup down. Max caught sight of the large bruise on Helen’s left cheek. “But she admitted,” Helen continued, “Rufus was her dog, before she blew her top.”
“She obviously took Sally’s car to Cape May.” Captain Tedler shifted papers on his desk. “But the DA thinks we need more evidence for a trial for murder.”
“I am coming with you to talk to Jason Cornell?” Max rose to accompany Helen.
Captain Tedler waved for them to go. “I’ll be listening.”
When they entered the interrogation room, Jason Cornell clicked his cowboy boots like a German officer. He wore a denim shirt with a leather string tie. After introductions, he went to the heart of the matter. “I know Marilyn Helms was blackmailing my dad, but I never knew why.”
Max took his time arranging himself at the table. “Your father thought he was negligent when a patient of his died at St. Anthony’s Hospital, after they stopped using his services as a consultant.”
“Someone died?”
“Jean Bacon.” Helen remained standing. She walked from the table to the door and back again. Her shoulders were tense as if her ribs still pained her. Her heels made sharp jabbing sounds on the tiled floor. “Miss Bacon was diabetic. The nurse in charge swears Dr. Cornell would not have been able to reverse what was clearly a gradual decline.”
“Then why did he pay the money?” Jason asked.
“He might not have wanted a scandal.” Max couldn’t keep his hands from his hair. He really wanted to touch Helen. “Or, Doctors Whidbey and Handler colluded to keep him ignorant of the facts. They might have wanted to give Marilyn Helms a third blackmail victim to share the financial burden.”
Jason shined the knees of his jeans. “We always thought he was a skin-flint, not helping with our college expenses. Mother went without things she might have enjoyed. My father spent money on himself: bagpipes, trips for out-of-state lessons. Our home was huge to keep up appearances. Colleagues can harass you into doing things their way. I wish he had owned more courage.”
“Captain Tedler tried not to rummage about too much in our search of his belongings.” Helen said. “Did you read his diary?”
“No. Should I?”
“I think you would find out how much he thought of his children.” Max said. “According to Captain Tedler, your father thought you were the happiest. You raise horses?”
“I do. Thank you for your kindness in this matter.”
“We won’t be needing you further.” Max said.
“Even if Dr. Whidbey and Dr. Handler claim my father was part of the mess?”
“We can guarantee we intend to keep your father’s name out of the newspapers.” Helen sat down finally as Dr. Cornell’s son left the room.
Max stayed behind, too. “I should have prevented Marilyn from injuring you.”
“Marilyn might decide to plead insanity for Sally’s murder.” Helen held her side.
Max felt the sand from Iraq descend from some inner cache. His eyes smarted and his nose itched. “I let you down.”
Helen stood up and moved behind him, pressed his head against her breasts. “You are my truest friend. You could never disappoint me.”
Max let himself be comforted by her closeness. He knew he didn’t deserve her tenderness. He took her hand and kissed it, not noticing his tears also anointed her ring finger.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Helen withdrew her hand, stared at the teardrops. “Max,” she said, moved at his concern.
Abruptly, Max’s mood changed. The lines of his face soured his expression. He stood and faced her. “I need to speak to your dad.”
“Come to supper.” Helen wanted to cheer him up. His seriousness unnerved her. “George will be there. You know how much George loves you.”
“He hates me.”
She thought he might actually be ready to weep again. “No. No. He doesn’t Max. He’s just flexing his new half-brother muscles.”
Max didn’t say anything. He acted as if he’d just realized she owned a face, staring as if he needed to attach a name. He seemed confused as conflicting emotions held him sway. She straightened her jacket in the interrogation room’s two-way mirror. There wasn’t a fly sitting on her nose. She cocked her head, preparing to ask him what had just happened. She could tell he wouldn’t answer.
He turned his back to her, missed a beat and then produced his well-rehearsed smile. “I’m starving. What is your mother cooking tonight?”
“She doesn’t issue menus for the day.”
Max laughed, so Helen tucked her worries away.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Second Wednesday in May, 2008
Costello Residence
George Clemmons was sitting on the front steps of Helen’s home. Max stuck out his hand to show he harbored no hard feelings. “Hello, George.” George didn’t shake his hand. Max felt his temper rising. He’d kick this interfering baggage into the next county if he wasn’t careful.
Helen sat down next to the lump and put her arm around George’s shoulder.
George looked up at Max as if he should explain. “Helen’s mother is weeping and her dad asked me to wait out here.”
“What did you say to her? She’s the nicest woman on the planet, besides her daughter.” Max wanted to hit something, anything. He picked up a pot of geraniums to pitch at George, but Helen gently took the weapon away from him.
“Dad will come back out.” She patted the stone step next to her as if Max should make nice.
“George must have said something awful.” Max tried not to shout.
“I didn’t say a word.” George shook his head. “She took one look at me and burst into tears.”
“You idiot,” Max said. “Your probably look like your father.”
“I guess that’s the trouble.” George appealed to Helen. “Should I go home?”
Max was all for that, but Helen insisted George stay. She left them sitting there like two mismatched bookends while she went into the house to find out how matters stood.
George seemed to need conversation. “Mr. Costello said you two have solved Sally Bianco’s murder case.”
Max looked at the kid. Was this jerk going to stay in his life? As soon as Mr. Costello had time to listen to him, Max was sure he wouldn’t be invited back to Helen’s home. Finally Helen opened the front door and ushered the two of them into the living room.
Julia Costello held out her hand for George. “I don’t know why I was so shocked today. When you were here for Mrs. Bianco’s funeral, I didn’t react at all. You see, your father always wore a red baseball cap when we dated. I think that’s what triggered my outburst. You’re very welcome here and I do apologize.
George threw the red hat he was holding behind him, as if to toss it out the door. Instead the bill of the cap hit Max right in the eye.
“Oh, Max.” Helen recognized Max was trying not to swear a blue streak. “Dad, check Max’s eye.”
“Sit down, you giant.” Mr. Costello pushed him into a chair and took a good look into Max’s watering eye. “You’re all right. Nothing a good helping of orange duck won’t fix.”
Helen could see Max’s mouth water with the thought of food. He wiped his tearing eyes and smiled. “No injury, no foul.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Helen’s mother motioned for George to sit next to Helen. Max was seated across from them. Usually Helen could peg Max’s moods, at least to the positive or negative side of a chart, but today she re
garded him warily. Under stress, his PTSD loomed into his awareness. She disagreed with his private assessment of the ailment. Even if his parents died a violent death, Max must have been affected deeply by the war. She should try harder to make him open up to vent the horrid tales; but dinner with her newly found half-brother hardly seemed the time to assure Max a comfortable enough environment to render his war experiences.
But, George broached the subject just as Max finished his first bite of roast duck. “Max, a fair number of my company’s investors are veterans.”
“Which war?” Max asked, intent on his plate.
Andrew coughed. “Hey, we were recently given a graphic example of Max’s capacity to handle stress. Why don’t we wait to discuss his war experiences after the table is cleared?”
Max waved his free hand. “I’m okay. I served in the first Iraq war.”
George seemed to try to back out of the discussion, after Andrew’s warning. “Most of these guys are younger than you.”
“Any signs of PTSD?” Max asked. George nodded. He filled his mouth and tried to avoid answering. But Max was like a cat waiting for a mouse to spring away from his gaze. Julia tried to pass Max more orange sauce, but he waved her away without breaking eye contact with George.
“A few.” George admitted. “They attend a group session at the VA.”
“I heard it helps to talk about events – with other veterans.” Max began to attack his plate again. “Details are not conducive to good digestion.”
“Of course,” George said.
Helen thanked God the subject was closed. George blushed with as much color as she did. A shared family trait, no doubt. “Max, we haven’t told George about the trial we’re going to be involved with.”
“The murder trial,” Andrew offered.
Max shook his head. “I doubt Handler will serve any time for endangering Larry Schneider’s life.”
“What about Sally’s murderer?” Julia asked.
Helen touched her left ear gingerly. “Marilyn Helms may not admit to blackmailing Handler unless she can get off with manslaughter.”
George reached for the sauce ladle. “You and Max live more exciting lives than my girlfriend, Mitzi, and I do.”
Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 03 - The Recorder's Way Page 10
