“Well, you didn’t ask us,” Corcoran said, “which is just as well. Although we might have been able to get that information, it would have required the equivalent of a search warrant, and I probably would have needed more from you than just your suspicion of Mrs. Kleinberg.”
“Yes, I realize that, so we did not ask. Instead I asked D…I asked someone else who had access to these pharmacy records.”
Corcoran and Jenkins both now looked like they were going to say something, but both stopped themselves. Corcoran looked over at Jenkins and gave a tiny shake of his head, and Jenkins nodded slightly in understanding. Corcoran then smiled at us and said, “Okay, we won’t ask who. But how did you know what pharmacy would have Mrs. Kleinberg’s records?”
“I didn’t know. But as she had lived in this state for many years before coming to the Home, and just about everywhere in the state is one of those big Superior Drug Mart stores, I thought there was a good chance that is where Fannie got her prescriptions.”
“Hmm. Isn’t that where Daniel Gold works?”
“I suppose it is. But we are not going to talk about that, yes?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Please continue.”
“Well, it turned out Fannie had indeed bought her prescriptions from a Superior Drug store. So maybe you can guess what else I found out?”
Jenkins spoke up again. “That Mrs. Kleinberg had taken sibutramine?” I am becoming all the time more impressed with sourpuss Jenkins.
“Yes, exactly. It was prescribed to her for weight loss, before it was banned and people were warned not to take it, because of the way it affects heart rhythm. I asked Da…I looked up what was said about it at the time, and they said it was especially not to be taken with any other medicine that also affects heart rhythm, because it could be fatal. And of course zipar…zi-pra-si-done—that is hard for me to say—affects heart rhythm. It was one of the drugs people taking sibutramine were specifically warned not to take with it, and especially not to take one near the time of taking the other. Anyone taking it would know of this danger.”
“You’re sure of this?” Corcoran asked.
“I saw the actual warning label.”
“Yes, of course. So we have more circumstantial evidence, although I admit it’s pretty strong. I don’t suppose you found any…any what we might call direct evidence? Like a confession? Or a smoking gun? Or in this case a bottle of pills?”
Mrs. K laughed slightly. “You remember I told you there was another way we considered to get this evidence of the pills? I might have been able to hand you the pills she used, provided she had kept them around. It would, of course, have been narishkeit, stupidity, on her part, but as you said regarding finding those pills at Daniel’s house, criminals often do such stupid things, almost like keeping a souvenir of their crime. But we did not go that way, so I cannot hand you the pills. But you say a confession? I may have something just as good.”
Corcoran suddenly put up his hand. “You know, Mrs. Kaplan, this is all both fascinating and instructive. You are making an excellent case. I think before you go on, I’ll get myself some coffee. Would you ladies like some? No? Tea perhaps? Certainly. Jenkins, give me a hand here.”
They both left the office, and I do not think it was just to get coffee. They had left the door open, and I could see they were having what you would call an animated conversation in the outer office, after which Jenkins went to get the drinks but Corcoran went over to his secretary’s desk and made a telephone call. A few minutes later they both were back, Jenkins carrying a tray with mugs of coffee and tea on it. We each took our drinks, took a few sips, and then Corcoran said, “That’s better. Now, Mrs. Kaplan, if you will continue?”
“Certainly. I think you were saying it would be nice to have maybe a confession by Fannie. I had the same thought, because I knew we still did not have much more than the kind of evidence you had—and I guess I pooh-poohed—against Daniel. But of course I was not meshugge enough to think Fannie would simply tell me, yes, she killed her sister. So I borrowed Ida’s new telephone.”
“You were going to get her to confess on the telephone?” Corcoran said. “I don’t get it.”
“Wait and you will see. At first I thought I would do what those detectives in the television stories do—you know, they confront the suspect and accuse them and the guilty one says something like, ‘Okay, I admit it. You’ve got me. But you can’t prove it.’ Or maybe he tries to run away, or even attacks the detective. Something like that which proves his guilt. But I realized that usually it does not happen that way in real life. If I were to accuse Fannie, she would just deny it. Why shouldn’t she, especially if I really cannot prove it. And then she would be aware she has been found out and would destroy whatever evidence there was, or maybe try to escape.”
“So what did you do?”
“As I said, I borrowed Ida’s new telephone. It is one of those smart telephones that does everything.”
“Like one of those knives,” I put in. I don’t think anyone knew what I was talking about, from how they looked at me.
“And one of the things Ida said it would do was to make a recording. Even with pictures if I wanted. So I thought I shall go and talk to Fannie in private. Accuse her of killing Vera. Maybe she will admit it to me, saying I cannot prove it, maybe not. But whatever she says, I will be recording it on Ida’s telephone.”
“Very clever,” Corcoran said. “You’d be, in effect, wearing a wire.”
“Is that what they call it? This telephone doesn’t have any wires. Anyway, as I told you, I did not really think Fannie would admit her crime to me, alone or not. Again, why should she? But I thought I might just get her to say something just as incriminating.”
At this point, Mrs. K took my telephone out of her pocket and put it on Corcoran’s desk. She touched this place and that, and right away we were hearing what took place when she visited Fannie. I think perhaps it would be clearer if I just insert here for you what they call the transcript of the conversation. It was made by the police and later used at Fannie’s trial, and the police were nice enough to let me borrow it.
Mrs. Kaplan: Hello, Fannie dear. May I come in for a moment?
Frances Kleinberg: Sure. What’s up?
K: Do you remember that I told you about those two medicines that combined to cause your sister’s death?
F: Yes, what about them?
K: Well, Fannie, it occurred to me that you probably were, well, a bissel overweight at one time.
F: So what if I was? What’s the point?
K: Well, I thought you might at that time have had a prescription for that weight-loss drug that someone gave to Vera…you know?
F: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
K: I mean, if you used to take that medicine…
F: You’re crazy, you know that? Look, I have never taken sibutramine in my life. And even if I had, it would have been a helluva long time ago. But I didn’t. And you must be getting pretty desperate to save that precious Daniel to have the bloody nerve to come here and accuse me of killing my own sister.
That is enough. You get the idea. Fannie then threw Mrs. K out of her apartment, using some very bad language. It gives me chills to read this again and realize that Fannie might have done more than swear at her and throw her out. She was lucky.
Anyway, when Mrs. K finishes, Jenkins says, “I may be missing something, but all I heard was Mrs. Kleinberg denying she gave the fatal medicine to her sister.” To Corcoran, he asked, “Did you hear anything else?”
Corcoran was thoughtful. He rubbed his chin. It was like he was trying to figure out a good riddle. Which in a way he was. Then he said to Mrs. K, “Has it got something to do with…with what she knew?”
Mrs. K almost beamed with pleasure. “You are very sharp, Inspector. That is indeed the point. I am quite certain neither Ida nor I ever mentioned to Fannie the name of the drug that killed her sister. You had told us not to give out many details, and that was one thing I
did not mention to anyone, and I doubt other residents knew it either, unless one of you told them. Or Daniel did. And I am sure he did not.”
“No, no, we didn’t let that out, I’m sure.” Corcoran scratched his head and shook it a bit. Finally he said, “Is there anything else you want to add? For example, how do you explain the pills found in Daniel’s house?”
“Oh, that is easy. For a week after Vera’s death, Daniel was sitting shiva at his home. He was in mourning. And much of that time, Fannie was there too, as was quite proper. So she had more than enough opportunity to plant that bottle of pills in the back of Daniel’s medicine cabinet, where she hoped it would be found by the police.”
“You think she expected us to search Daniel’s house?”
“Not necessarily, but there was no harm in putting the pills there just in case. In fact, I’ll bet she had some plan to tip the police off in some way in case they didn’t get the idea on their own.”
“Yes, I see,” Corcoran said. “Anything else?”
Mrs. K shook her head. “No, that’s all. It is my opinion that if the evidence against Daniel is like a trout in the milk, that against Fannie is more like a shark in the soup.”
Corcoran laughed. “And is that kosher, Mrs. Kaplan? I thought mixing meat and milk was not permitted for Jews.”
“Yes, it is perfectly kosher. Fish is not the same as meat. Just look at the piles of lox and cream cheese at any bar mitzvah.”
“Yes, I’ve actually seen that. All right, you’ve made your point, as usual. As you can understand, we will have to check out these things you’ve told us. In fact, I’ve already got the wheels turning, including bringing Mrs. Kleinberg in for questioning.” Aha! That is what he was doing on the telephone while Jenkins was getting the drinks. He had obviously heard enough by then. “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll be getting a search warrant for her apartment. If what you tell me checks out, well, I think we can drop our case against Daniel Gold. And he’ll have you to thank for it.
“And Mrs. Kaplan, I have to say I’m now glad you completely ignored my request that you and Mrs. Berkowitz drop your…your investigation. By now I really should have known better.” This sounded very much like what the police usually said to Mr. Sherlock Holmes after they had told him to “butt out,” as Mrs. K had put it, and he had then solved the case for them.
“Thank you very much, Inspector,” Mrs. K said graciously. “Ida and I are very pleased we were able to help. I will wait to hear what you find out.”
We all stood up. Jenkins was scratching his head. Suddenly he put out his hand to shake Mrs. K’s and said, “I’ve gotta admit that was pretty damn impressive, Mrs. Kaplan.”
Such a statement coming from the shlumper Jenkins was even more impressive, if you ask me.
—
As we left the police building, feeling many pounds lighter than when we entered, I said to Mrs. K, “Tell me, Rose: when you said you might consider asking the burglar lady to help us again, what did you have in mind? Surely not that she would sneak into the Superior Drug Mart store and steal the records?”
Mrs. K laughed. “No, nothing like that. If I could not get the prescription records somehow, I wanted her to enter Fannie’s room and look for the bottle of diet pills from which she gave one to Vera.”
“You thought she would still have that bottle?”
“Well, as we just were saying, it’s not uncommon for the criminal to make a mistake like that, to overlook or leave behind some evidence of his crime, perhaps because he was so sure he would not be suspected or caught. I thought it was a chance worth taking. But I am glad we did not have to take it.”
“As am I,” I said. I thought it very unlikely Fannie would have made such a mistake. To be honest, however, I can tell you now that when the police eventually searched Fannie’s apartment, they did indeed find a bottle with the remaining pills. She had put some in Daniel’s house, but she had kept the prescription bottle from which they came, even with its label. It was very careless of Fannie, especially after it seemed Mrs. K suspected her, but no doubt she either forgot she still had the pills, or she dismissed Mrs. K as a busybody no one would believe, especially because she still seemed to lack both a motive and an opportunity. But as Mrs. K would say, her being guilty was not the impossible of Mr. Sherlock Holmes’s famous advice.
It was just the improbable that turned out to be the truth.
—
We walked a little farther before I thought of something else. “One other thing I forgot to ask, Rose. Where did this cousin Erik fit in? I mean, was he at the Home or not? Did he also try to kill Vera?”
Mrs. K stopped and turned to me. “I’m so sorry, Ida. I completely forgot to tell you. Inspector Corcoran telephoned me yesterday and said the police had picked up Erik Weiss somewhere in town here and questioned him. He admitted coming to the Home on Yom Kippur. It turns out he was not a murderer, just a shnorrer—a moocher—every family has one. He wanted to ask Vera for money. He hoped he could make her feel guilty enough, especially on the Day of Atonement, for testifying against him that she would give him something, maybe just to make him go away. Anyway, when he found out she was so sick, he figured he would not be able to carry out his plan and left.”
“And the police believed him?”
“Yes, I think so. It was never very likely that he gave Vera the medicine anyway, was it? How would he do it? Where would he get sibutramine, unless perhaps he too once had taken it?” She was getting very good at saying the name now. “But mostly, what would he gain, except revenge? He was not in the will, whatever happened to Daniel. And he was not known as a violent criminal, just an embezzler. So yes, I think they believed him.
“And now that Daniel will be inheriting almost all of Vera’s money, no doubt he will be the next relative the shnorrer Erik visits. And if I know Daniel, he will give him something. A kind heart he has.”
And so it was back to the Julius and Rebecca Cohen Home for Jewish Seniors. Like most such places, it can be rather dull and unexciting much of the time.
But life there is never boring for too long when your best friend is Rose Kaplan.
For Analee and Elliot
Acknowledgments
My thanks to my editor, Dana Isaacson, whose many excellent suggestions made this book much better, and to the entire production staff at Alibi. Thanks also to Drs. Ray and Vita Pliskow, my “medical consultants,” and of course my wife, Analee, always the first reader and best critic of my efforts.
BY MARK REUTLINGER
Mrs. Kaplan and the Matzoh Ball of Death
A Pain in the Tuchis
PHOTO: © ANALEE REUTLINGER
MARK REUTLINGER is the author of the novel Made in China, as well as the first Mrs. Kaplan Mystery, Mrs. Kaplan and the Matzoh Ball of Death. A professor of law emeritus at Seattle University, Reutlinger was born in San Francisco, graduated from UC Berkeley, and now lives with his wife, Analee, in University Place, Washington.
markreutlinger.com
@markreutlinger
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