The cafeteria was noisy, but she chose a small table adjacent to one where five women she had seen at the trial were discussing the events of the morning. They all had gray hair and appeared to be well into their seventies. Because of the noise, they were all speaking in loud voices. What she heard was not unexpected. “I think she did it,” one woman was saying. “I mean I’m almost positive she did it. My grandmother had Alzheimer’s and my mother almost had a nervous breakdown taking care of her. Nana was the sweetest, gentlest, most fun person you would ever know. But toward the end she was suspicious of everybody, thought my mother was trying to kill her, and spitting out her medicine. It was a mercy when she died because then we could remember how wonderful she had been, and have many a laugh over how funny she was.”
“Was your mother ever tempted to kill her, Louise?”
“Oh, of course not,” Louise answered in a shocked tone.
“But you believe Betsy Grant did kill her husband?”
“Yes, I do. I mean, think about it. Her husband got the Alzheimer’s when he was about fifty years old. She was only thirty-three. You could tell she was at the end of her rope. If you ask me, Betsy Grant is a really nice person, but she just snapped.”
A third woman at the table spoke up. “And don’t forget, not only would she inherit a lot of money, but she was seeing another guy. I read somewhere that love and money are two of the biggest reasons why people get murdered. And Betsy Grant had both those reasons.”
A fourth woman was shaking her head. “What about the son? His father spoiled him rotten and then Betsy talked him into limiting his allowance. It sounded like he’s in debt up to his eyeballs. He only gets out of debt when his father is dead.”
“But they looked into him, and he was definitely in the city overnight.”
“Couldn’t he get someone to do it for him?”
“He would need to know the alarm and he would need to have a key.”
“And he didn’t know before that night that the caregiver was going to all of a sudden get sick and go home.”
“He’s no prize, but I don’t think he was involved.”
“Let’s take a vote. Did she do it or did he do it?”
Delaney winced as she heard the vote go four to one against Betsy.
• • •
The first two witnesses at the trial that afternoon were the wives of the two doctors who accompanied their husbands to the dinner party the night Edward Grant died. In essence they simply repeated what Alan Grant had testified earlier about that evening.
The third witness was Josie Mason. In her early thirties, she testified that she had been dating Alan Grant on and off for the past two years. On March 21st of last year she met him at a bar in New York City at about 10 P.M. He told her that he had dinner at his father’s home earlier that evening. She stated that at approximately midnight they walked to her apartment a few blocks away and that he spent the night with her.
Mason said that she was absolutely certain that he had not left her apartment during the night. She said that he left at about eight o’clock the next morning. She further indicated that detectives from the prosecutor’s office had come to the superintendent of her building and had obtained surveillance tape showing them walking into her building that night and him leaving the next morning.
When court was adjourned, Delaney went straight to the office to prepare for the 6 P.M. broadcast. She reviewed the film footage of Betsy Grant entering the courthouse and leaving it. The late afternoon film showed the stress on Betsy Grant’s face and the slump of her carriage.
She looks as though she’s too tired to stand up straight, Delaney thought with a sudden rush of compassion. I hope to God that some friends will be there for her when she gets home.
16
Betsy’s housekeeper, Carmen Sanchez, was the first witness on the stand the next morning. Her hands clammy, her voice quivering, she stated her name and her hometown and answered initial questions about how she came to be the housekeeper at the Grants’ home in Alpine.
“I started working for Dr. Ted right after his first wife died,” Carmen answered.
“How long ago was that?”
“Nineteen years ago.”
“And how many years after you started working for Dr. Ted Grant did he remarry?”
“Two years later.” Without being asked, Carmen said enthusiastically, “You can’t imagine the difference in Dr. Ted. He was so happy. His first dear wife had been ill with cancer for many years.”
“Ms. Sanchez, please answer only the question you are asked,” the judge directed.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carmen said apologetically. “It’s just when I think about Dr. Ted and Miss Betsy and the way they looked at each other—”
This time the judge’s voice was a little more firm. “Ms. Sanchez, again please do not elaborate on your answers.”
“Oh, Your Honor, I’m so sorry,” Carmen apologized. She looked at the prosecutor and sighed, “I knew I wouldn’t be good at this.”
“Ms. Sanchez, the evening before Dr. Grant’s death, were you all at the house?”
“Yes, Miss Betsy was having a birthday dinner for Dr. Ted and I cooked and served it.”
“At some point during the evening, did Dr. Grant get very upset?”
“Yes, but I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard the commotion and I ran to the dining room. I could see he was very upset and then Dr. Clifton, Alan Grant and Angela took him to the bedroom.”
“What did you do next?”
“Well, Dr. Ted had fallen against the table and some of the plates and glasses were broken. I cleaned up the mess and I said I would bring out coffee and cake, but nobody wanted it. I finished up and left. By then the guests were starting to say good-bye and I think they left right after me.”
“Were you aware that Angela Watts went home at some point during the evening?”
“Yes, she didn’t feel well and wanted to sleep at her own house.”
“Did Mrs. Grant ask you to stay over because Angela Watts would not be there during the night?”
“I offered to stay over, but she thanked me and said it wasn’t necessary.”
“Ms. Sanchez, what time did you enter the Grant home the morning of Dr. Grant’s death?”
“I always arrive right around eight thirty.”
“Was 8:30 A.M. the time you arrived on the day Dr. Grant was found dead?”
“Well, I got stuck behind a school bus, so it was about twenty of nine.”
Carmen glanced her way and Betsy gave her an encouraging smile. Oh, God help her, Betsy thought.
The prosecutor continued. “You arrived at the house at 8:40 A.M. the morning that Dr. Grant was found dead?”
Just answer the question, Carmen thought. “Yes, I did.”
“When you entered the house, who was there?”
“The police officer was in the bedroom. So was Angela Watts, the caregiver. And so was Miss Betsy. Angela told me that Dr. Ted was dead.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went upstairs to the master bedroom.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to help. It was the only thing I could think of. I was sure that Miss Betsy would want to go back to her old bedroom now that Dr. Ted was gone. I knew she would be much more comfortable upstairs.”
“What did you do in that room?”
“I changed the sheets. Made sure her bathroom was in perfect order. I dusted and I vacuumed.”
“Before the morning when Dr. Ted was found dead, when was the last time you were in that room?”
“Oh, I always went up once a week to be sure that it was kept up.”
“So, when was the last time you actually attended to that room before Dr. Grant’s death?”
“I cleaned that room only the day before.”
Carmen paused. She was about to volunteer that she had remembered there had been some dirt on the rug, but she also remembered the judge’s warning to onl
y answer the question. I don’t know how I missed seeing that dirt on the carpet the day before Dr. Ted died, she thought. But I think I know what happened. The window washing people were in right after I vacuumed the week before.
“After you finished tidying the room, what did you do?”
“I went downstairs and made coffee. I tried to get Miss Betsy to have something to eat, but she would only take the coffee. Angela and I stayed with her in the breakfast room when the funeral director took away Dr. Ted’s body.”
“What was Mrs. Grant’s demeanor?”
“What?” Carmen asked.
“What was Mrs. Grant’s emotional state at that time?”
“She was so quiet. She stood at the window watching Dr. Grant’s body being placed in the hearse.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“She said, ‘It’s over. Thank God it’s over.’ ”
I didn’t say that, Betsy remembered. I said, “Thank God for him it’s over.”
“No further questions,” the prosecutor said.
Robert Maynard stood up. “No questions, Your Honor.”
Judge Roth turned to the jury and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the testimony for this week is finished. We will resume next Tuesday morning at nine o’clock.”
17
At 8 A.M. on Tuesday a juror called the judge’s chambers and very apologetically indicated that she was sick with bronchitis. She stated that she thought she would be better by the next day. After discussions with the attorneys about whether to excuse her and continue or cancel the day’s proceedings, the judge reluctantly decided to postpone the trial until the following day.
18
The 6 P.M. news that evening was dominated by the breaking story that Steven Harwin, the twenty-one-year-old son of prominent film director Lucas Harwin, had been found dead of a drug overdose in his Soho apartment. The tragedy was compounded by the fact that Steven had survived leukemia when he was in his teens and had become an ardent fund-raiser for leukemia research. He had started a “Five Dollars a Month” fund that now had three hundred thousand supporters. Only a week before he died, he had spoken at a fund-raiser, saying, “My generation has got to step up to the plate and get involved in helping to find a cure for cancer.”
“What a horrible waste,” Delaney murmured to Don as they sat side by side in the anchors’ seats waiting for their signal to go on air.
“I just heard that a guy I went to college with did the same thing” was Don’s quiet answer. “Thirty-six years old and with two kids. I just wish we could round up all the dealers and ship them to Mars.”
“I do too.”
The commercials were over. “And now to our sports desk,” Don began as he turned to the sports commentator, Rick Johnson. “What are the prospects for the Giants this season, Rick?”
When the newscast was over Delaney began her usual walk home. A lot of times she joined friends for dinner at one of the nearby restaurants, but this evening was not one of them. She wanted some quiet time. Being in her own apartment was always comforting when she was going into one of her “need to know” episodes of wanting to find her birth mother.
She knew that the periodic craving had resumed when the feature about the reunited son and mother was aired, and it had been deepened by her discussion of the subject with Alvirah and Willy at Patsy’s Restaurant. I wonder if Alvirah was serious about doing some of her own research, she thought as she passed Sixth Avenue. Then she smiled involuntarily. If Alvirah Meehan said she was going to do something, she’s doing it, she decided. Well, who knows? Maybe she will find some way to trace the midwife.
Immediately cheered by the thought, she turned her mind to the trial. The prosecution was doing a very good job of piling up evidence that certainly seemed to point to Betsy Grant as the murderer of her husband. The defense had a hard sell on their hands with Alan Grant because the prosecution could prove that he spent the night in New York.
But where was the pestle? Delaney asked herself. Granted, Betsy would have had ample time to get rid of it. But where? According to everything that had come out in the newspapers, after he received the call from the funeral director, the medical examiner had contacted the police and reported the suspicious fracture. The police had immediately obtained a warrant and returned to the house, which they searched thoroughly, along with the grounds. But, of course, there had been at least thirty hours between the time that Dr. Grant’s body had first arrived at the funeral home, the discovery of his injured skull, the autopsy by the medical examiner, the police application for a search warrant and then the actual search of the home.
What about the housekeeper? There was something about her on the stand. Was it just that she was terribly nervous and trying to rephrase her answers? The way the judge kept reminding her to only answer the questions had obviously rattled her.
As she waited for the light to change, Delaney felt a hand slip under her arm and a familiar voice ask, “Can I buy you dinner, ma’am?”
Startled, she looked up. It was Jonathan Cruise, whom she had met at a friend’s wedding in Boston two months ago. He was an investigative reporter for the Washington Post, and they had realized they had much in common. They had gone out to dinner when he was in Manhattan visiting his sister a month ago. He had called to say how much he enjoyed being with her and that had been that. This was the first time she had seen or heard from him since then. But she had thought of him often and realized how disappointed she was that he didn’t care enough to call again.
She had changed into sneakers for the walk home and realized how tall he seemed, then remembered that on the two other occasions she had been with him she had been wearing heels, and then he’d been only an inch or two taller. His jet-black hair showed a few slivers of silver, and she remembered that he had told her he probably would have white hair by the time he was forty. “Happened to my father,” he had said matter-of-factly. “But maybe it will make me look distinguished.”
All this ran through Delaney’s mind as she glanced up at him.
“Jon. Are you in the habit of popping up out of the blue?” she asked.
His smile was warm and easy, brightening a face that in repose could seem stern.
“No, not really. I got in from Washington at five o’clock. I checked the station and knew that you’d be on air tonight. My grand plan was to be waiting outside the studio door when you came out, but the traffic killed that idea. It would have been just my luck if you had plans for tonight. Do you?”
“I guess I do now,” Delaney said with a smile.
19
Alvirah and Willy put 22 Oak Street, Philadelphia, in the navigation system and drove to Pennsylvania.
“Honey, you’ve got to remember that from the looks of the aerial view, that house is gone,” Willy warned again as the dashboard map showed that they were two miles from their destination.
“That doesn’t matter,” Alvirah said, easily dismissing the potential obstacle. “There’s always a way to get information if you just start sniffing around. And don’t forget, even if the original buildings are gone, some of the residents from twenty-six years ago might still be in the area.”
It was on the tip of Willy’s tongue to repeat the fact that the address was no longer a home but a business of some sort, but he decided against it. It was just that he knew Alvirah was throwing herself heart and soul into finding Delaney’s birth mother and knew how disappointed she would be if she failed to do it.
Oak Street turned out to be in a shabby area where older, small one-family homes were gradually being torn down and replaced by warehouse-type businesses.
22 Oak Street was now a three-story building with a sign that read SAM’S DISCOUNT TILE FACTORY. The front window showed displays of tiles of every color and shape. They could see that inside the store there were at least two clerks and four customers.
“Leave it to me,” Alvirah murmured as she pulled open the door.
An older man with thinning hair w
earing a pin with the name “Sam” on it came rapidly toward them.
“Welcome to Sam’s Discount Tile Factory,” he said, his voice warm, his smile seemingly genuine. “What can I do to help you?”
“I’m not going to waste your time pretending to be a buyer,” Alvirah said, “even though when I looked at those beautiful tiles in the window they made me realize that our kitchen looks outdated.”
Oh come on, Alvirah, Willy thought, we don’t need to redo the kitchen. At least I hope not.
Sam smiled again. “I hear that from a lot of our customers. They come in because they saw our ad. They think they’re just curious but then they decide they really want to redo their kitchen or bathroom. Maybe you’re one of those people.”
“Maybe I am,” Alvirah agreed heartily. “But if you’ve got just a minute or two . . .”
Again Sam’s agreeable smile. “Of course.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Sixteen years.”
“Is this the building you bought?”
“No. We bought the two houses next to each other that were for sale, then took them down and put up this building.”
“By any chance do you remember the names of the people you bought the properties from?”
“I remember the name of one of them, Cora Banks. That was some mess.”
“Why?” Alvirah almost could not contain her excitement.
“She had told us that she was an RN. But right after she sold the property to us and before we had taken it down, a policeman showed up with a warrant for her arrest. It seems that she was a midwife who had been delivering and then selling babies.”
“Do you know if she was ever arrested?”
“I don’t think she was. She got out of town too fast.”
And that’s that, Willy thought.
After thanking Sam for talking to them, Alvirah told him she’d like to take a look at his selection of tiles.
As Time Goes By Page 7
