“That is acceptable,” Mrs. Lucey said. She sipped from a cup. “I am convinced Mr. Ryle will soon find the real killer.”
I thought it best to remain still.
“What happens next, Mr. Edwards?”
“Whether she’s granted bail or not, the next step is an arraignment. Mrs. Lucey appears in court. The charges against her are read. This is a crucial moment for a plea is entered at an arraignment. I’m trying to convince Mrs. Lucey to plead not guilty.”
“She’s an idiot.”
“Perhaps.”
“Is the trial next, Mr. Edwards?”
“No. There are still several stages. The preliminary hearing. An ADA, an assistant district attorney, presents the available evidence. The ADA’s job is to provide convincing evidence that Mrs. Lucey committed the murder. The judge may, in theory, conclude that there isn’t enough evidence. If that happens the charges are dropped. But don’t get your hopes up. Again, that confession is all-important.
“There is a second arraignment. Then there is a pre-trial hearing where I will offer motions. I will ask for the case to be dismissed for lack of evidence despite the so-called confession which I will say was brought on by deep emotional pressure. If that fails, I will see if we can work out some sort of plea bargain.
“And then, Mrs. Lucey, comes the trial. You’re very familiar with that.”
“And if we lose?”
“If we lose, we appeal. The problem with an appeal is that no new arguments may be entered. No new evidence can be given. No witnesses can be called.”
“What in Heaven’s name do you do then?”
Donald Edwards gave a small smile, filled with compassion for an ignorant client.
“You directly challenge the verdict. It’s only if the judge thinks the jury has made a mistake that the verdict can be overturned.”
“That’s not likely, is it Mr. Edwards?”
“Sadly, it is not.”
“So my daughter-in-law will be going to jail.”
“I have a few tricks.”
“Expensive ones, Mr. Edwards.”
The lawyer smiled and left.
Mrs. Lucey sat in her chair and looked lost. Betsy, Ari, and I pulled chairs around her. It looked like a war council.
“Where are you in finding a suspect, Mr. Ryle?”
“I’m disappointed to tell you that we’re not in a good place. We can’t even name other suspects at this point. We’re continuing to look for others that Miss Park blackmailed, but we’re not certain they exist and if they do who and where they are.”
“That is very discouraging, Mr. Ryle. I expected better of you.”
“We’re not stopping. Betsy is experienced in this area from her days on the police force. We’re still confident we will find someone.”
“You still think my son killed her, don’t you?”
“That’s where the evidence points, Mrs. Lucey. When it points somewhere else, that’s who I’ll think of as the killer.”
“He’s in his office now, trying to act as though this is a sideshow. He’s going to Washington next month. We did cancel our annual Thanksgiving dinner.” There was a pause. “I hope she doesn’t get bail. I don’t want to see her again. Tell me once more why she didn’t do it, Mr. Ryle.”
“Let me start by saying I’m operating from the premise that you asked me to start from. Namely, that someone outside the family killed Miss Park. Because of that, I haven’t examined your son and daughter-in-law in detail or done a timeline for them. But, in general, from what we know the facts are as we have discussed. Congressman-elect Lucey was in the house alone with Miss Park. He says he came home and she was dead. I can’t figure out why a killer would kill her in the house or take her there.”
“Maybe it was to frame Kenneth or blame him.”
“It would be easier to frame him at a place the killer could control. Say in a motel room and get your son there. Why take a chance at being caught or being seen in the house?”
“Whose side are you on, Mr. Ryle?”
“I’m on your side, Mrs. Lucey, and being on your side means telling you the truth.”
“I don’t always like the truth very much.”
“Neither do I. But there it is. And we have to live with it.”
“All right, so Kenneth is in the house and Miss Park’s body is there.”
“He’s with the body and his wife enters the house. I know this because I came soon after and I saw your son driving away. Katie heard my car and looked out the curtain. She evidently saw me and deliberately went over to the body and made herself bloody. Then she confessed as soon as I came into the house.”
“I’m still completely baffled, Mr. Ryle. Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. From what you and others have told me about her, she would never do that. She might have arranged for the body to be taken away and buried. She might have asked me to do that.”
“That’s gruesome. You would know what to do in those circumstances?”
“I’ve had some experiences in that area.”
“You are a very strange young man, Mr. Ryle.”
“That’s for sure. Anyway, that would have been the easiest way out. If someone was trying to blame Congressman-elect Lucey, he couldn’t say anything about a missing body without getting himself into all kinds of trouble. And that’s why I’m confused. There was an easy alternative. She didn’t have to take the blame to protect her husband and her family. No one except her husband knew about the body.”
“The killer did.”
“Okay, Mrs. Lucey, yes the killer, if there is a real killer from outside.”
“I hadn’t thought of all that. But then again I have absolutely no experience in getting rid of bodies.”
I felt an idea floating around in my mind. But the minute my mind tried to grab it, that elusive idea disappeared. I waited for a few seconds for it to reappear, but it was gone. I had to hope that it would come back.
“Ari and I have an appointment, Mrs. Lucey. I promise you we will find a suspect if there is one to be found.”
She didn’t answer. She just nodded as though her ability to speak had temporarily abandoned her.
We drove to the Rabbi’s house and the whole way I kept thinking about the idea that had disappeared. It was hiding in my head. I didn’t know how to search around for it.
We arrived at the Temple and found our way back to the Rabbi’s study.
I was shocked.
He actually looked better.
I asked him why. It was an impolite question, but his appearance shook away the normal censor I have inside me.
The Rabbi smiled.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Rabbi said, “I have a secret helper. I don’t know who he or she is or why they would help.”
“What did they do?” I asked.
“One day last week I get a call. There would be an ambulance the next day. It would take me to New York. I was to get medical help. There would be no cost to me. I was going to see some experts. I don’t know if you remember, but a couple of years ago Memorial Hospital merged with the Sloan-Kettering Institute. They are certainly among the top cancer treatment centers in the world. When I got there I was taken to a room with three specialists. I mean they were waiting for me. It was like some surreal movie. I didn’t know what to say. They gave me tests. They had access to all my records. They changed the medicines I was taking and the dosage. They said the medicines weren’t wrong, but they had the latest and best.”
“Did they know who helped you?”
“Either they didn’t or they wouldn’t tell me.”
“So what was the result?”
“It’s too early, but I’m going there the day before Thanksgiving. All I can tell you is I feel much better and my own doctor said all my vital signs were much better. I can’t say yet that there is a miracle. I’m probably still going to die in a few months, but I’ll feel much better during those months. That’s more important th
an I can tell you. And I can’t even thank the person. I imagine it’s one or a few of my congregants. Maybe some of my rabbinic colleagues. They’ve been praying for me, and maybe they wanted to supplement the prayers. Okay, enough about me. Ari, you wanted to see me.”
Ari nodded. “You were very helpful the last time we spoke, Rabbi. I really do feel better.”
The Rabbi was good. He stayed silent, letting Ari tell his story in his own way.
“The thing is, Rabbi, I’ve never thought much inside. I mean I grew up. I knew what it meant to be Israeli. From the time I was five, I wanted to join a special unit of the IDF.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“The Israel Defense Forces. Most of the country is obliged to fight.” Ari turned back to the Rabbi. “See? I had my meaning. And I still believe in Israel. It overlaps my soul.”
“But...?”
“It’s a nation. It’s my nation. It’s a great nation. Only the world is bigger than a nation. I want to find meaning in the whole world.”
“You and all the rest of humanity.”
“How do you do it, Rabbi?”
The Rabbi held up a hand, palm facing out.
“Me? I look into childrens’ eyes.
“Where should I start, Rabbi?”
“I think you should start with the most important question for you. What keeps you up nights? I don’t have a list of answers for you, Ari. I can stand with you as you think through what pains you. Maybe I can from time to time give you suggestions. You can always call me.”
“Is it easy for you, Rabbi?”
“A Rabbi means being a teacher. I study, but I’m as confused a human as you are, Ari. No. It is not easy at all. Sometimes I fool myself and think it’s easy. And then the world comes along to remind me that it’s not easy at all. People come to me for answers. A doctor is supposed to have answers about the body, and a Rabbi is supposed to have answers about the soul. Maybe doctors do have answers. I just have questions. I tell people those questions and let them think about their own answers.”
“It must have been really difficult when you found out about the cancer.”
“You have no idea, Ari.”
I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt sympathy for everyone in the world who was confused or felt sad and lost.
We said good-bye to the Rabbi and went home.
Betsy was waiting for us.
“You look much better, Ari.”
“I feel better. As though the pain is normal and all right.”
I put my hand on his shoulder.
Betsy smiled. “Don’t get too much rest. I think I found something.”
“Another blackmail victim?” My voice was rising.
“It’s okay to be excited for now, Danny. I think I’ve got a lead. But the truth is, I’m not sure.”
“You have a sixth sense for this, Betsy.”
“Maybe.”
“Okay,” I said. “Tell us what is going on.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Betsy’s face was shining like a sunrise.
“Just as you asked, Danny, and like I knew, I’ve been checking Marilyn Park’s bank records. I got thrown off because there weren’t deposits every week or every month. The payments were irregular.”
“From one guy?”
“Yes. He was paying her a few hundred at a time. It looked as though he paid her whenever he could afford it. It could have been for a car or something, but I don’t think so. So it’s a maybe.”
“All right, Betsy. Who’s our lucky suspect?”
“His name is George Moss. He’s an assistant principal at Walden Junior High School in Waterbend.” She handed me the address.
“It’s not far,” I said. “We need to check it out.”
“Not so fast. I called the school and Mr. Moss resigned and left the school.”
“But you, clever detective that you are, got his home address.”
“I did, but what do we say? Especially now with Marilyn Park dead? We have no proof of the nature of their relationship much less that she was blackmailing him.”
Ari spoke up. “We have to break into his house and search it for information.”
“I’m not doing that,” Betsy said. “I used to be a cop. I used to get angry at cops who talked about breaking the law for a higher purpose.”
They both looked at me.
“We could try to talk to him,” I mumbled. “Of course, then, all we’re doing is alerting him that he’s under suspicion. Then he might search all his papers and burn or get rid of any evidence. He doesn’t have to say anything. If he’s smart he won’t. Or if he’s not so bright he can say the money was a gift or have some reason to explain it. He wouldn’t in that case question about how we got her bank records. Which, by the way, Betsy, was also illegal.”
“It wasn’t breaking and entering. I vote for bringing our suspicions to the police.”
“I vote for talking to the guy. Scaring him really until he talks.”
“I’m going into his house,” I said.
“Maybe you can get a corner cell with a view,” Betsy said.
I didn’t answer.
Ari and I drove over to his house. It seemed empty. There was some space on the right hand side provided by a row of trees.
I went home.
We sat around the table.
“Look, Danny, he’s not working. He and his wife live alone. The children are gone. There’s no certainty he’s going to go out when you want to break in. I don’t imagine you’re thinking of breaking in while they’re there.”
“No. That’s way too dangerous.”
“Then how do you get them out?”
“What do you know about this guy?”
“Not much. I talked to a couple of teachers They all said sort of the same thing. He’s overweight. His ties are too short. He has somewhere between a crew cut and departing hair. He’s in charge of discipline, and so he yells a lot. He likes the Mets. Correction. He loves the Mets.”
“Are there any pets?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Does he like movies?”
“Everybody likes movies.”
“Find out what’s playing near him.”
Ari had a paper. He looked at it and said, “First Blood is a good one. He’d like that. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Ari, go to the theater. Get two tickets for a performance tomorrow night. Or whatever they do to put the tickets aside. I don’t know. Just so two places are reserved.”
“All right, Danny.”
“What if they have plans?”
“Well then, Betsy, my plan won’t work. Every plan falls apart once you start. We just have to hope.”
We waited for Ari to call from the theater. He had the tickets.
“Okay. Tell the theater to hold them for Mr. and Mrs. George Moss tomorrow night.”
“So now what are you going to do, Danny? Slip the tickets under their door?”
“Yes, sort of.”
I sat down by the phone, picked it up, and called George Moss’s number.
A man answered.
“Hello, is the George Moss home ready to receive a prize?” My voice sounded like some horrible salesman’s.
“I’m Mr. Moss. Who is this?”
“Johnny West from WART, Art Radio.” I hoped he didn’t notice that the call letters spelled out “wart,” guaranteeing that no station would use those letters. He didn’t say anything, so I continued. “If you can answer one question, you get a prize.”
“What’s the question?”
“All right, Mr. Moss. You sound like a smart guy.” I couldn’t stand the phony sound of my own voice. “The Mets played their first game on April 11, 1962. The question is: who was the first batter for the Mets?”
I had thought of making a simpler question, but I had a back-up if he didn’t get it. I’d say the prize was a car but as a consolation he’d get two tickets to the movie.
But Mo
ss was a true Mets fan.
“Richie Ashburn batted first. He flew out to center field.”
“You’re right, Mr. Moss. We’ve got two tickets for you to a showing of the hit movie First Blood tomorrow night at the Royale Theater. Just ask for the tickets when you get to the theater. They’ll be waiting for you. And, I’m not supposed to say this, but you know your stuff. There will be a special surprise gift presented to you after the movie is over. Trust me, you’re going to love this prize.” I had to make sure he’d go and stay through the whole movie. I hoped a surprise at the end would lure and keep him there.
I congratulated him again and hung up.
The next evening Ari and I went back to the house about a half hour after the film had been scheduled to begin. Ari, who had planned detailed operations, called the theater to make sure the film had started.
We went around to the side of the house.
Then crawled to the back.
Ari’s training proved useful. He got the back door open without having to break the door or any window.
We got inside and I called out.
“Mr. Moss? Electric company.”
There was no sound. In particular, there was no sound of a dog barking.
We looked around the house. I found the desk where Moss kept all his notes. I pulled at all the drawers. The bottom right one was locked. I whispered to Ari to come over and open it, which he did in a few seconds.
There were bank records.
There were also letters with a rubber band around them. There must have been five letters. All from Marilyn Park. I took the letters without reading them, looked quickly for other materials, and ran with Ari out of the house.
I drove because I feared if Ari did the cops would stop us for reckless endangerment of the entire County.
We walked inside.
I held up the bundle of letters.
Betsy nodded.
The three of us sat down at the table. We each took a letter and began reading. Then we exchanged letters. Betsy put them in chronological order.
“This stuff wasn’t exactly legally obtained, but we can push him now,” I said.
It was clear from the letters that originally Moss had hired her. They met in a motel parking lot but stayed in her car. He paid her after she performed her services. Once, though, she taped him with a portable recorder. One of the letters demanded payment or she would tell his wife and family and former co-workers the whole story. She even evidently sent a copy of a recording. She must have hidden the tape recorder in her car. I got angry with myself for not looking further. I might have found a copy of the tape.
A Darker Shade of Blood Page 8
