"Thank you, Amy. You've been a big help. And you too, Mrs. Feathers."
When we were out of Amy's earshot she asked quietly, “Was it a robbery?"
"At this point we don't know what it was. Did you happen to see anyone leaving his house?"
"No, but I wasn't looking that way. Out back I saw one of the high-school boys was running in his shorts and undershirt, and the woman down the street was walking her beagle. The local rubbish men were doing their usual Saturday pickup, and I pretty much keep my eye on Amy when she's in the yard alone."
"So you didn't happen to see a snowman."
She smiled. “I think you have to be a five-year-old to see one in this heat."
I left them and drove over to Hugh Grossman's house. He was on the phone, notifying friends and family of Scott's death. In the living room, his wife Vicky was doing her best to ensure that young Todd's birthday party wouldn't be completely ruined. Grossman's sister Ethel had been joined by her husband Pete Norris, a truck driver who'd parked his rig in front of the house.
"Has Sheriff Lens been here?” I asked Vicky.
"Not yet. He said he was coming as soon as they finished at the crime scene.” The fact of Scott's death was finally getting through to her and I could see she was close to tears.
When I noticed Hugh was off the phone I went to speak with him. “Any idea who could have done this to your brother?"
"None at all. Most everyone in town liked Scott."
"Did he always keep his house locked up like that?"
"Not in this hot weather. Whoever killed him must have been afraid of being interrupted."
"Everyone has enemies, Hugh. Your brother must have had some too."
"Not outside the family."
I perked up. “What's that supposed to mean?"
Before he could answer, Sheriff Lens arrived with one of his deputies. Vicky hurried to intercept him, lest he dampen the celebration. Todd was busy playing a new game with his brother and seemed to take no notice of the sheriff.
"Am I in time for the birthday cake?” the sheriff asked Hugh.
Grossman smiled. “We'll always have a piece for you. Any news?"
"Nothing. The doorknobs and other likely surfaces were all wiped clean of prints."
Ethel Norris came over to join us. She was a slender woman who looked a bit like her brothers. “I don't know what you've been hearing, Sheriff, but I want you to know my husband wasn't even in town when Scott would have been killed. He just pulled in with his truck about a half-hour ago."
I remembered Hugh's remark of a moment earlier. “Was there trouble between them?"
She tossed her head as if dismissing my question, but then decided to answer it. “Pete's a truck driver. He's got a bum leg that kept him out of the service. Scott was always riding him about it, even though he'd never been in the army himself. It was such a little thing, but somehow it grew into a big thing."
"Not big enough for murder, surely."
"Of course not! I just wanted the sheriff to know."
She walked away and was immediately replaced by Vicky Grossman. “It's my son's eighth birthday, Sheriff, and it's been a bad day for everyone. Can't you save the questions till tomorrow?"
"All right,” he agreed.
I followed him outside and we sat in his car for a while, talking about the case. “Any ideas?” I asked.
"Not a one. A snowman, or someone dressed as a snowman, entered Scott Grossman's house and stabbed him, then just melted away, leaving both doors bolted from the inside and a window screen latched from inside."
"Maybe the snowman didn't kill him,” I suggested. “Maybe the snowman was Grossman himself."
"A suicide?"
"Well ... then we'd have to explain the missing weapon. And what happened to the snowman costume? And why didn't anyone but that little girl notice a snowman?"
"You always make everything so difficult, Doc."
I merely smiled. “Guess I'll head home and see how Samantha's doing."
"That's a wonderful name. It makes me smile when I say it."
"Me too."
* * * *
In the morning Annabel insisted we go to church. I'd never been a regular Sunday churchgoer, but since our marriage I've gone with her more frequently. “We have to think about the baptism,” she said. “And godparents."
"I'd want my nurse April as godmother,” I decided. “I'm godfather to her son, whom she named after me."
"Fine. How about Max for godfather?” Max Fortesque was our favorite restaurateur, owner of Max's Steak House, where we'd held our wedding reception.
I smiled. “That was quickly settled. If the minister's around maybe we can set the date."
"What about Scott Grossman's murder? Any leads?"
"Sure. It was supposed to be his nephew Todd's eighth birthday party. A neighbor girl thought she saw a snowman entering the house. Of course she didn't, but what did she see? Someone in a snowman costume that no one else noticed? And how'd the killer get out of the house?” I ran over what few details we knew.
"No one else was there?"
"No one except the cat in an upstairs bedroom. I don't know why Scott put her up there."
"I can answer that,” Annabel said. “You said he was having a party for young Todd. Scott mentioned once that Todd's allergic to cats. It's something that runs in that branch of the family."
"Do you know anything about Ethel's husband, the truck driver?"
"Pete Norris? I've never really met him, but I see him around. Sort of a loudmouth at times. I heard he and Scott had a skirmish at a family picnic last month."
"Anyone else who might have had reason to kill Scott?"
"No. Far as I know he didn't have any girlfriends who could feel jealous or jilted. If he did, he certainly kept it quiet."
After the service we spoke to Reverend Charters about the baptism and arranged a date for it. As we were about to leave he asked me, “Are you helping Sheriff Lens with the Grossman killing?"
"We talked about it,” I admitted. “Did you know Scott?"
"I know the whole family. I'll be doing the funeral service on Wednesday. Hugh and Vicky are parishioners, though I don't see them too often."
When we returned home I phoned the sheriff and learned that the autopsy was complete and Scott's body had been released to the funeral parlor. “It was a wide blade,” he told me. “Most likely one of the kitchen knives, but we haven't found it yet. Went right to the heart. He'd been dead about two hours when we found him."
"I'd better go over and see the family,” I decided.
It was a glum gathering at Hugh and Vicky's house as they waited for the visiting hours that evening. Mitch was doing his best to keep the conversation going with stories about the war in the Pacific. Young Todd was all ears, asking him about the naval battles he'd seen. Mitch was a handsome lad, looking as if he should still be in school rather than fighting a war half a world away. “In June I was on an escort carrier off Saipan,” he told us. “When my leave is over I have to go back to San Diego for a new assignment."
Too old for the draft, and never having served in the military, it was difficult for me to imagine what it must be like. The constant stress of warfare, with enemy planes and submarines on the prowl, would have to be unnerving even on shipboard where one was never face to face with the enemy.
"I hope the war is still on when I'm old enough to fight,” Todd told them after listening to his brother's adventures.
I prayed he'd never know what war was really like.
* * * *
Annabel and I went to the funeral parlor that evening. In those days it was common for the deceased to be laid out for viewing two or three days before the funeral. On our way out, Vicky who spoke to my wife about the dead man's cat. “Her name is just Meow,” she said. “Do you know a family that might like her? We'd take her ourselves, but with the boys’ allergies—"
Annabel glanced at me. “We could take her for a time, until I hear
of a family that would like a cat. She's a beauty."
I feared this might be the beginning of a permanent relationship, especially when Samantha grew a bit older, but I readily agreed.
"We'll be glad to take her. Where is she now?"
Vicky called to her sister-in-law. “Ethel, you have Meow, don't you?"
Ethel Norris joined us. “Sure. Have you found a home for her?"
"Dr. Sam and Annabel will take her for now."
"That's great. She's at our house. We'll be out of here at nine and you can come pick her up then if you'd like."
It was only twenty-five minutes, so we decided to wait. The Reverend Charters came by to lead a few prayers, and just before nine Jeanette Feathers slipped in. “Amy's home with her father,” she told us, “but I thought I should pay my respects. Scott was a good neighbor."
"Did he ever have Amy over to his house?"
"Oh no, I don't allow her to go in neighbors’ houses unless I'm along. But he was always pleasant when he saw her playing in our yard."
Todd had been spared the rigors of the funeral home, but his brother Mitch was there in his blue uniform, helping to greet the mourners. “When do you go back?” I asked him.
"After the funeral. The escort carrier I've been assigned to will be sailing from San Diego next week.” He grinned. “But I probably shouldn't be telling you that. Military secret."
"It's safe with me,” I assured him.
His father, Hugh, came over to join us. “Doesn't he look great in his uniform? His mother and I are so proud of him. It's too bad this terrible tragedy had to spoil his leave time."
"Any idea what might have happened to your brother?” I asked Hugh.
"I suppose it was a robbery. He didn't have an enemy in the world."
"The doors were all locked from the inside, and the window screen was fastened from inside, too. He may have let the killer in, but there was no way for him to get out.” I thought it best not to mention the snowman at this point.
"I hate to suggest it, but might he have committed suicide?"
"Had he ever hinted at it?"
"No, but sometimes he was depressed."
"What does your sister think?"
He snorted. “Ethel is just anxious to tell everyone that Pete was out of town when it happened."
"We're going over there now to pick up Scott's cat. Annabel and I will take care of it till we find it a proper home."
"That's good of you. Meow was Scott's only companion."
We followed Ethel and Pete from the funeral parlor to their modest home on the north side of town. “The rest of the family is coming over for a short while too,” she told us. “Vicky just has to pick up Todd at a neighbor's house."
When the family was assembled and Annabel was renewing her acquaintence with Meow, I went over to talk with young Todd.
"How was your birthday party?” I asked casually.
"Good, I guess. But I was sad for Uncle Scott."
"Did you see him often?"
"Sure. Sometimes he took care of me when Mom and Dad went out somewhere."
"Did you like him?"
He nodded. “We played games together."
"Did you get lots of good gifts for your birthday?"
"Mom and Dad gave me a bike, and Aunt Ethel and Uncle Pete gave me an Erector Set."
"Do you like to build snowmen in the winter?"
He grinned. “Sure, when there's enough snow."
"Did you ever see a snowman in the summertime?” I asked.
"Of course not! They'd melt!"
"Do you know that little girl, Amy, who lives near your uncle Scott?
"I don't have much to do with girls,” he told me. “I see her playing sometimes when I'm over there."
Annabel and I left a short time later with Meow. “She's a cute little thing,” my wife said, holding the cat up for a closer look. “But maybe we'll come up with a better name for her."
* * * *
On Monday, our good weather gave way to an overcast day with a threat of rain. I'd awakened that morning with an idea about the snowman murder, as I thought of it, and all through breakfast the idea gnawed at me. I phoned the office and told April I might be a bit late coming in.
Annabel and little Samantha had already left for the Ark when I drove over to Dakota Street once more. This time I wasn't interested in Scott Grossman's house so much as the contents of the backyard rubbish cans belonging to his neighbors. I'd checked a half-dozen of the closest ones when Jeanette Feathers appeared on the scene.
"Oh, it's you, Dr. Hawthorne. I saw someone looking through the rubbish and wondered what was going on."
"Pardon me, Jeanette. I should have asked you first. But the rubbish cans all seem to be empty."
"Sure. They pick it up here on Saturday afternoons."
"Of course. I should have remembered that."
"Want to come in for a cup of coffee?"
"Afraid I'm too busy for that today, but thanks for the invitation."
I headed out to the town dump, knowing it was a hopeless task. My Buick was beginning to sputter a bit and I only hoped it would last through another year. As a physician I had a high priority for a new car when one was available, but I hated to take one away from someone with an even greater need.
At the dump I asked the workers where I might find Saturday's rubbish. “You lose something?” one of them asked. “Hard to find anything in this mess."
"It would be a flat parcel, not too large, wrapped in white paper."
"What part of town did it come from?"
"Around Dakota Street."
"Saturday, you say?"
"That's right."
He led me over to the right side of the dump. “It would probably be somewhere in here. Nothing got picked up yesterday so it should be near the top."
I pawed through the mess for about fifteen minutes, pretty much convinced that I wouldn't find a thing. Then I spotted a bit of white paper such as butchers might use to wrap meat. I held my breath and tugged at it.
"Find what you're looking for?” the workman asked as I carefully unwrapped the paper.
"Yes,” I said, barely able to speak. “This is it. Thanks for your help."
* * * *
Late that afternoon, Sheriff Lens and I paid another visit to the funeral parlor. A restful smoking room was provided downstairs for family members and friends to take a breather from the upstairs commotion, and it was here that we found Mitch Grossman in his navy uniform. His face was buried in his hands, and I knew at once that this most baffling of mysteries had reached its conclusion.
"Do you want to tell us about it, Mitch?” I asked quietly, sitting down beside him.
"What, Doc?"
I opened my medical bag and took out the parcel wrapped in white paper. “We have this,” I said. “Do you want to tell us what happened?"
He was aghast at the sight of it, throwing up his hands as if to ward off some unspeakable horror. “How could you have that? How?"
"I dug around at the town dump until I found it.” I unfolded the white paper and showed him the white summer uniform he'd been wearing on Saturday. Across the front was a telltale splatter of dried blood. “Why did you kill your uncle, Mitch?"
"God help me, I had no other choice."
"Tell us about it,” Sheriff Lens urged.
"From the time I was eleven or twelve, he'd been—I don't know, putting his hands on me, things like that. He wanted me to do things."
"Did you tell your parents?” the sheriff asked.
"How could I? He was my father's brother. They'd have said I was imagining it."
"What happened Saturday?"
"He was having the birthday party for Todd and he suggested I come by early, before the party, so we could chat. I should have known what he wanted, but I'd been away. I thought he was over that. I arrived with my birthday gift for Todd, and he started in again, like I'd never been away. I told him to stop it. We were standing in the kitchen doorwa
y and he said something about Todd, how in a few more years Todd would be old enough. I—I just went crazy. I grabbed up one of the kitchen knives and drove it into his chest."
That was all. He started sobbing and I knew the rest of the story would be up to me. “Tell us how you knew, Doc,” the sheriff said.
"There were two things, the killer's entrance and his exit. The entrance, apparently, was observed by five-year-old Amy Feathers down the street. She had only an instant's glimpse, but she thought she saw a snowman. She even drew us a picture of his big round head. Of course it was no snowman in August. so I asked myself what it might have been. Could one of the birthday guests have arrived early with a gift? There were no white spheres in evidence in Scott's house, but there was a twelve-inch globe, positioned rather awkwardly on an end table with an antique lamp. It seemed the perfect gift to an eight-year-old boy from his brother in the navy far away."
"You mean Mitch arrived with the globe on his head?
"On his shoulder, actually. Right, Mitch? It was large enough to block out your head when seen from the side, wrapped in white paper. Little Amy's quick glimpse saw a figure in white with a globular white head. A snowman, of course, to someone with her limited experience."
"But why did he unwrap the birthday gift?” Sheriff Lens wanted to know. “He didn't need that globe for anything."
"He didn't need the globe, but he needed the paper.” I gestured toward the parcel in front of me. “Scott's blood splattered on his white uniform, and he couldn't leave the house wearing it. In those moments after the killing he was still hoping to cover up the crime and hide the body."
"What about the large area of wet carpet?"
I smiled slightly. “Where you thought the snowman melted? He was merely washing the blood from the carpet. Maybe he had some crazy idea of getting the body out of there before it was found. That was impossible, of course. He dragged the body into the kitchen, washed off the knife, washed the blood from the carpet, and took off his uniform."
"What? Are you telling me he left the house naked?"
"Of course not. He wrapped the bloody uniform in that white paper and ran out the back door, depositing it in one of the rubbish cans waiting to be emptied. Then he simply kept running home in his shorts and undershirt. With his boyish face, at least one neighbor mistook him for a high-school boy, perhaps practicing for the track team."
EQMM, November 2007 Page 7
