A Darker Shade of Blood

by Lawrence J Epstein

  “It was a holy mess. The case went to the jury. Katie was found not guilty. That means there are no other suspects except for Ken. His lawyer told me he will be arrested tomorrow. The lawyer said you stopped the arrest for a day, Mr. Ryle.”

  “I’m doing my best, Mrs. Lucey.”

  “You’ll excuse me, but it doesn’t sound as though you are. Surely, there are other blackmail victims.”

  “We found one. He didn’t do it.”

  “If there was one, there were probably others. You’ve just got to find the one who killed the Park woman.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lucey. I really am.”

  Katie Lucey walked downstairs. She was smiling. Her trial was over. She could afford to smile.

  “Danny, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to speak with you, in fact.”

  “Good. I’m making myself some tea. Come sit with me in the kitchen. We’ll leave Gertrude alone with her sorrows.”

  Gertrude Lucey looked as though she was going to jump out of her chair and attack Katie.

  We went into the kitchen and I sat down. Katie got some chocolate cookies and put them on a plate. She finished making the tea and sat down beside me.

  “I heard you’re a free woman,” I said.

  “I wish there were a song praising double jeopardy.”

  I didn’t know much about the law but I thought I recalled hearing that it was possible that someone found not guilty could be tried again under certain circumstances. But I was unsure I was right, so I didn’t raise the possibility.

  Katie Lucey smiled at me. She was enjoying herself. “The realization that you can’t be tried again, that it’s really over, is a staggering feeling. My lawyer told me Lizzie Borden had been declared not guilty of killing her parents. After that, Lizzie said she was the happiest woman anywhere in the whole world. I can understand that. I think she killed her parents, and yet there she was completely free. She couldn’t be tried for their murders ever again.”

  Katie Lucey laughed.

  “I think she thought how clever she was to get away with it, to have fooled the jury. They thought no woman could ever be that brutal, that only a man could be so vicious. You know what I think went through her mind, Danny?”

  “What do you think, Mrs. Lucey?”

  “Katie. Please.”

  “I’ll stick with Mrs. Lucey.”

  “If you insist. Anyway, I think Lizzie Borden wanted to try it again. To get away with murder once more. There must have been an indescribable excitement. And maybe she did, Danny, and was successful. That’s why we never heard about it. There’s a certain sense of invincibility, of being smarter, or maybe just more clever, than everyone else in the world. That leads to an impulse to do it again. Do you understand that, Danny?”

  “Honestly, I don’t.”

  “I thought what with your father and all, you would grasp that impulse to kill.”

  “I don’t feel it at all.”

  “You’re missing out on one of the interesting dimensions of being human.” She checked her watch. “You’ll excuse me, Danny, I’ve got to get dressed.”

  “You meeting the police?”

  She laughed.

  “Heavens, no. I’m going to the office of Trigger O’Dell.”

  “He’s quite a character,” I said.

  “I find him utterly charming. But this is business.”

  I knew the business, but I didn’t say anything.

  “You’re very valuable to my husband, Danny. I’ve heard you’ve been very valuable to everyone you worked for. Tell me, what are your plans?”

  “I think my two colleagues and I are going to start a business. We’re thinking of opening a restaurant.”

  “Really? I hadn’t heard that.”

  No wonder she hadn’t heard it. I was lying to her.

  “That’s too bad, Danny. I was hoping that perhaps we might one day work together. Who knows what the future will bring?”

  “Just about no one knows, Mrs. Lucey.”

  She got up to prepare for her meeting with Trigger.

  I went back to see Gertrude Lucey. I signaled that she should be quiet and wait. We listened to some music and eventually Katie Lucey left.

  “I swear I have daydreams of a piano falling off a roof and landing on her.”

  “That’s some daydream, Mrs. Lucey.”

  “I always had a good imagination. Can you help me, Mr. Ryle?”

  “I can promise you I’m trying.”

  “So you’re not giving up?”

  “Certainly not.”

  The phone rang.

  “Do you want me to get that?” I asked.

  “Please. I’m much more willing to get up than my legs are.”

  It was Betsy.

  “Just a minute,” I said. I turned to Mrs. Lucey. “The call is for me. May I take it here?”

  “Of course. I think of you almost as another son except that you never ask me for money.”

  “You still give it to me.”

  “That’s what mothers do.”

  “Hi, Betsy. What’s up?”

  She spoke to me. I interrupted her to get a pen and my pad out. I always carry a pen and pad. I’d make a good bookie.

  “Okay. Start at the beginning, Betsy.”

  She told me the whole story. I interrupted to ask her questions. I made her repeat parts of what she had to say three times.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I used to be a cop,” she said. “I’ve got it right.”

  “I never doubted you.”

  I was set now.

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Lucey.”

  “You’re not running away from home, are you, Mr. Ryle? I need you.”

  “I’m not running anywhere. I promise you I’ll be back.”

  “Will you bring some good news back with you?”

  “Some. But also some bad news.”

  She looked resigned. She had learned to endure pain, failure, and unhappiness with grace.

  I pictured her face in my mind as I walked out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I arranged to meet Al Flanagan at his office. He, as always, had his priorities. He said he was sending an assistant out to a deli. He asked what I wanted for lunch. He said he was having the pastrami. I may have uttered a few words about his weight, but visions of pastrami evidently blocked his hearing. I ordered an extra lean corned beef on rye with cole slaw on the sandwich. He told me he would never go to a restaurant with me again.

  I called Betsy. She was bringing the gentleman that she and Ari had found.

  We were gathered in a conference room. I will say Flanagan had enough food for a small army and was generous in offering some to everyone. We ate first. Flanagan eyed the stranger we had brought along, but his pastrami was so satisfying that he found the sort of patience that eluded him in normal life.

  When we were all done and the table cleared, Flanagan said to me, “All right, Danny. You said you had a story. Let’s hear it.”

  “The story is in two parts, Al.” I pointed. “This is Mr. Rizzoli. Carl Rizzoli. He lives in East Setauket.”

  “I just love meeting new people at work, Ryle.”

  “This one you’ll be glad you have met. Mr. Rizzoli goes to the Emma Clark Library every Thursday morning for chess club. He says he’s not very good but goes for the social aspect. I played him and he’s very good.”

  “A three year old would be good against you.”

  “That may be,” I said, “But it’s not relevant. What is relevant is that Mr. Rizzoli stays in the library after lunch every Thursday.”

  “Why?” Flanagan asked.

  I nodded to Rizzoli, who said, “I live alone. I go to my apartment and I’ve got nobody to speak to. At my age, there’s walls and tv and not much else. So I stay in the library.”

  Flanagan nodded. “I think you’ve shown me a picture of my future. I don’t like it. Go on.”

  It was my
turn again. “Mr. Rizzoli was in the library on the day Marilyn Park was killed.”

  “How interesting.”

  “What is interesting, Flanagan, is that he is very observant. Luckily for Congressman-elect Lucey. Get the timing, Flanagan. The esteemed Medical Examiner of Suffolk County is a national expert.”

  “So he keeps telling me.”

  I ignored Flanagan. “And this expert is certain the death took place between one and three.”

  “All right.”

  “Mr. Rizzoli was seated at a table. He went to the newspapers and reference section and kept bringing back papers and books to read.

  “While Mr. Rizzoli was seated at a desk, Ken Lucey was in a room where the library board meets. He was at a table writing on a yellow pad for several hours. It’s downstairs. He went there for privacy. One of the staff let him use it.”

  Flanagan opened his mouth to speak. I knew what he was going to say.

  “Before you ask, Flanagan, the staff member does remember letting Congressman-elect Lucey into the room. But she says she didn’t see him again and doesn’t know how long he stayed. I knew getting her account wouldn’t be enough. So I kept digging.”

  Flanagan motioned for me to continue.

  “So Congressman-elect Lucey was in this private room away from public view. But as he was writing, he realized he needed a reference book. He got up and went upstairs.

  “He wouldn’t have an alibi if he hadn’t needed that book. No one saw him writing because he was alone. But he went by the reference section to the books to get the information he needed.”

  “And that’s when Mr. Rizzoli here saw him.”

  I nodded.

  “And exactly how is Mr. Rizzoli sure of the time?”

  Again I nodded at Rizzoli.

  “I check the time very regularly. I leave the library every Thursday at four. I want to beat the five o’clock traffic, and I stop off to buy some dinner on the way home. The clock hits four, and I’m out of there. I check my watch frequently and compulsively.”

  “So you saw a guy walking past you. One time. How do you know it was Lucey?”

  “He walked by me two times, Mr. Flanagan. Once when he was looking for the book and also on the way back. I’m a pretty good observer. But the new Congressman has been all over the news for months. I remember thinking how lucky I was to see him.”

  Flanagan looked up at me.

  “Send Mr. Rizzoli out of the room for a minute, please.”

  Betsy took him into the hallway.

  “This guy a nut or is he okay?” Flanagan asked.

  “He’s a retired high school history teacher.”

  A nod.

  “I’m going to check. I assume you did. Any record?”

  “A career criminal, Flanagan. He once got a speeding ticket. He was over the speed limit by two miles an hour. It was when the police were in contract negotiations and trying to make a point by giving everyone tickets if they were one mile over the limit.”

  “Yeah. I remember. Anything else?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I even checked juvie.”

  “Those records are sealed.”

  “Not to bribes.”

  “Are you saying some people here are corrupt?”

  “Absolutely not. I just wanted to save you time.”

  “Psychological problems?”

  “Not according to his principal or other teachers we spoke with. I can’t say we had a lot of time. But he sounds smart and nice.”

  “What about his sight? He admits to being old, which is obvious.”

  “He was right next to Lucey as the Congressman-elect walked by. He wasn’t a hundred yards away. Check his prescription if you want. I didn’t have time to administer a test.”

  Flanagan called in an assistant. “Beller, stand over there in the corner. When I tell you, put three fingers up in front of your stomach.”

  Rizzoli was called back into the room, but stopped at the door.

  “Okay, Mr. Rizzoli, you see that man over there?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s he wearing?”

  “An inexpensive gray suit, white shirt, blue tie. He’s clean-shaven. I’d say forty, forty-five. Five-ten. Maybe two hundred pounds. I’m not so good with weight.”

  “Okay, Beller, do what I said.”

  Beller did.

  “Mr. Rizzoli, how many fingers is Mr. Beller holding up?”

  “Three.”

  “Thank you, Beller. You can go.”

  When we were all ready, I said, “You will make sure Congressman-elect Lucey isn’t arrested?”

  “Sure. The cops will be delighted. They’ll say I did a great job of clearing not only their best suspect but also their only one.”

  Flanagan sighed.

  “Yeah. He’s free. I never saw him as much of a killer anyway. So, Ryle, you’ve taken us here. How about taking us a little further, and tell us all who the real killer is?”

  “I can do that, Flanagan. Only there’s a small problem.”

  “Is it really small or is it big?”

  “Big.”

  Another sigh.

  “Should I have this taken down?”

  “No. Just listen. You won’t be able to do anything about it.”

  “Wonderful. All right, Ryle. Solve the murder for us.”

  “It starts with a plot. The plot comes from ambition and a deeply unhappy marriage.”

  “You’re not pitching to a Hollywood studio here, Ryle. I want names.”

  “Sorry.”

  I took a drink of water.

  “Katie Lucey was deeply disappointed in life.”

  “Do you know this or are you making it up?”

  “It’s a sensible conclusion.”

  “We’re talking about the law here, Ryle. You’re not Hemingway.”

  “Let me tell it my way. You hear it the way you want.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “So Katie Lucey was desperately unhappy. She tried to feel better by adopting a baby. They were turned down and did an illegal adoption. The mother of the baby tried to blackmail them. All this came during a time when her husband was launching a very successful political career. There was Katie Lucey. Sad and depressed while the husband she hated was about to be famous and powerful. It was more than she could take.

  “So she hatched a very careful plan. First, she started an affair with Trigger O’Dell.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “We’ll get there. Remember that I’m telling the story.”

  “Right. Go to it.”

  “We have interviewed a motel owner who said that Trigger and Mrs. Lucey were at the motel once a week for two months.”

  “Trigger has been in every motel once a week.”

  “Be that as it may, but we’re talking about this one.”

  “Go ahead, Ryle.”

  “With that step taken, it was time for the next step. Mrs. Lucey got her husband to use a particular carving knife. Maybe she told him to practice for Thanksgiving. I don’t know how, but she got him to use it. Then she wore latex gloves so her fingerprints wouldn’t get on the knife and she put it in a bag.

  “And now it was time for the crime. This took a lot of careful timing. It took luck. A fender bender and her plan is gone. But her luck held. As far as I can tell, here’s the chronology. The real story may be slightly different, but it won’t be too different.

  “The morning of the crime, she suggests to Ken he go to a relatively private place, like a library. She hopes no one will recognize him there or not precisely remember the time if they do. Or that she can discredit anyone who does remember him. She tells her husband to be home at precisely three-thirty, that she has a surprise.

  “As her plan begins, Katie Lucey goes to a pay phone. She calls Marilyn Park and says she and her husband are willing to pay the blackmail. She tells Park to be at her home at three o’clock.

  “Then she goes to a motel and rents a room. This is a different motel
from the one she went to with Trigger. That threw me off. I thought she would use the same one. But Ari found this one. So she rents the room. She goes back to her home.

  “Marilyn Park arrives. Again wearing latex gloves, Katie kills her using the knife with her husband’s fingerprints. She then takes one of her husband’s shirts, wipes it in the blood and puts it with the bloody knife in the bag. She puts the bag somewhere, maybe in the closet under a pile of clothes.

  “And that’s when I called to say I was going over there. It’s perfect. It’s a gift.”

  “Wait, Ryle. If she killed Park, she was really bloody herself.”

  “Yes, she was. So she took a prepared set of clean clothes and drove back to the motel where she had rented a room. Since she had already checked in, she drove directly to the room, waited to make sure no one was around, and went inside. She showered and scrubbed the blood off and changed her clothes. I’m guessing she put the dirty clothes in some dumpster and drove back home. She waited outside until she saw her husband’s car. She let him go inside the home. Then she followed. To her husband, it looks as though she couldn’t possibly have done it because he found the body and she doesn’t have a spot of blood on her.

  “He rushes out and I arrive. I saw him leaving in fact. And now the great charade can begin.”

  “But why does she confess?”

  “Katie Lucey has one big problem, Flanagan. As she sees it, for the rest of her life the police can at any moment knock on her door and arrest her for the murder.”

  “Unless they can’t.”

  “That’s right, Flanagan. Unless they can’t. Unless she is tried and found not guilty. Then, without going into the deep weeds of double jeopardy, she understands it in a simple way to mean she can never be arrested again if she’s found not guilty. So she says she did the murder. She wants a trial.

  “So she tells me she killed Park. She makes it clear that she’s supposedly lying to save her family. And idiot that I am, I fall for it. I tell her she’s innocent and shouldn’t take the blame.”

  Flanagan held up his hands. “Hold on. Before you go on with the story, I don’t see the motive yet. All she’ll have is a dead blackmailer. Is that it? The motive was to stop having to pay blackmail?”

  “That’s one small part, Flanagan. But there was something much, much bigger.”

  “All right, then, go on.”