Dear Sister Dead, page 7
Find nothing.
I sagged down on the bed, no longer caring if I wrinkled it and left traces of my presence. The chippy next door would tell him I’d been here anyway.
I looked around, taking in my surroundings. It was impossible for any normal person to live in this barren an environment. There had to be ...
Hmm.
What about ...? I tapped the firm mattress beneath me. What about under the mattress? It was the classic hiding place for anything worth secreting. How could I have not thought of it before?
I stood up and started pressing my hands down on the mattress, feeling for bumps and finding plenty, but none of them hard or oddly shaped. Feeling increasingly foolish and frustrated, I dropped down to my knees and started shoving my right arm under the mattress. That got me absolutely nowhere.
Not until I saw what was under the bed.
“What you found, you did put it back, didn’t you?” Sam asked.
“Of course, I did. I’m a snoop, not a thief.”
Sam and I were sitting in his office, the door closed. I’d been in such a hurry to share the news of my discovery that I hadn’t even bothered to take off my coat. I slipped out of it now, letting it slide into folds around my waist.
Sam leaned forward, his fingers steepled, pondering the news I’d brought him. “Five hundred smackeroos, huh?”
“To the dollar. I counted it twice.”
“And tell me again, you found it where?”
“In a fake bible. The pages had been glued together and then the center hollowed out.”
“Hmph-hmph-hmph. Such disrespect.” Sam shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking. “Big bills?” he asked.
“Nope. Small, dirty, and used.”
“So, he didn’t get the cash from a bank.”
“I’m wondering whether he stole it.”
“Embezzled it from Levy’s church?”
“Yup.”
“But if that’s the case,” Sam began. “If that’s why Levy fired him, then why he didn’t report him to the police?”
“He might’ve wanted to but he would’ve worried about the scandal. Respect and reputation—they’re like currency to men like Levy. He had to claw and scratch his way to the top. He treasures respectability the way other men treasure gold. His very livelihood depends on his capacity to command respect. Even the whiff of dirty dealings could’ve cost him a whole lot more than however much Slocum stole.”
“So, he just let him walk away?”
“Apparently. He just let him go. But it looks like Slocum wasn’t interested in going anywhere.”
“You mean what the secretary said?”
“According to her, Slocum wasn’t about to let bygones be bygones.”
“So, you think he killed Vera to retaliate against Levy?”
“It would fit.”
“But why not kill Levy?”
“Because, to a certain kind of low-life, that wouldn’t have been enough.”
Blackie was on the phone when I walked in. He waved me to sit down. I gathered from his half of the phone conversation that he was getting a report from his dentist.
“That was my dentist,” he said upon hanging up.
“I gathered.”
“Says I got a big cavity.”
“You need to get it fixed.”
“Nah.” He waved a hand. “It’ll keep.”
I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I’ve seen bigger and tougher men than Blackie to quail at the very thought of sitting in the dentist’s chair.
“How’re your pearly whites doing?” he asked.
“Mighty fine, if I say so myself,” I said and flashed a toothy grin to prove my point .
He gave a grunt. It said it all. “I take it you’re here about the Kincaid case.”
“Yup.”
“Like I’m just supposed to hand over anything and everything I’ve got, to you, a reporter?”
“Come on, Blackie. You know I’ll share. I always share.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Well, OK, almost always,” I said.
“So, your appearance here today, it means you’ve come bearing gifts?”
“To share. Gifts to share. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“All right.” He narrowed his eyes. “Let’s share. You’ll share yours, first. Then, maybe, I’ll think about sharing mine.”
I forced a smile. The fact was, Blackie and I needed one another. We undoubtedly had one of the oddest relationship in New York City law enforcement — a male white Irish cop sharing tips with a female colored reporter. Sometimes, it didn’t work out so well, but most of the time, it did. It’s just that every now and then Blackie felt the need to clarify just who was in charge. When that happened, I just had to grin and bear it.
I launched into a recital of the information about the accountant. Blackie listened politely for a couple of minutes, then held up his hand.
“If that’s all you’ve got, then you’ve got nothing to exchange. I know about him already.”
“Oh, do you?”
“A lady came in this morning, told me all about it, how she saw Vera Kincaid getting into the man’s car and everything. She didn’t give us his name but we were able to figure it out fast enough.”
Now, it was my turn to narrow my eyes. “This lady, her name wouldn’t happen to be Ethel Jones, now would it?”
He cocked his head. “And what if it was? Why? Is she not reliable.?”
“Oh, she’s reliable, all right. As solid as Manhattan granite. But the only reason—and I do say ‘only’ reason—she came in here to talk to you was because she talked to me first and I convinced her to. So, you owe me for that one.”
“Is that right? You wouldn’t be trying to pull a fast one on me now, would you?”
“How else would I know it was her if I hadn’t talk to her first? She told me she was reluctant to talk to the police because her husband was against it. Said he didn’t want her mixed up in such a thing. I had a little chat with her and I guess whatever I said, it caused a change of heart. So, the I.O.U’s is on you, Blackie.”
“All right. All right. Sheesh! I shoulda known. Don’t none of your people ever come into this station to volunteer nothing.”
“You said she came in this morning?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’ve had the information for a while. What’ve you got on him?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
He shook his head. “The man’s a ghost. There’s a paper trail going back five years and then it stops. It’s like he came out of nowhere. There’s nothing on him. Not a thing.”
Hmm. It was easy to start over in those days, to create a whole new identity. All you had to do was cross state lines and give yourself a new name. you could effectively disappear from one state to the other. Take on a new name. It was simple. The fact that he had a past, or rather a lack of one, indicated that he had something to hide.
“Well, surely that must move him up your suspect’s list,” I said.
“Oh, he’s up there, all right. Not only does he have a disappearing past, but he’s seems to have disappeared himself.”
“You’re telling me that there’s no records of this man’s existence prior to five years ago and that now he’s also missing? Blackie, he was the last man seen with Vera.”
“That’s only the half of it. We went to his apartment and found at last five hundred dollars in cash.”
I puckered my lips in the form of a whistle. “Any indication of where the money came from?”
He shook his head. “Not a one.”
“Maybe he stole it from the church. Maybe those accounting irregularities were actually a matter of stealing.”
He nodded. “It would fit.”
Back home that evening, I made a cup of tea, then curled up before the living room fire and settled down to think.
Nate Slocum. Levy’s secretary said he’d fired Slocum because Slocum had ‘messed up the books.’ She hadn’t mentioned any embezzlement or supposed affair between Slocum and Vera.
But she wouldn’t have, of course, out of loyalty.
What was bothering me? I tapped my teaspoon against my lips. The problem was simple. Privately, I had jumped to the conclusion that her not mentioning an affair was proof that such an affair did not exist. And I’d done so because I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want to believe that Vera would do such a thing.
But who was I to judge her? Suppose she had been having an affair with Slocum? Her brother said he’d seen her with a man, their heads bent in intimate conversation, and Ethel Jones had identified that man as the church accountant. Could both have been wrong?
I took another sip of soup, then set the tea aside, frowning.
No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that Vera would step out on Levy. I’d bring myself to the edge of accepting it—right up to the edge—then back away. It wasn’t just that she loved Levy; she loved herself, respected herself too much to do something like that. It was even harder to believe that she would’ve gone with someone who might’ve even been stealing from her church.
Suppose Del Ray and Ethel were wrong, not in what they saw, but in how they interpreted it? We only had their suspicions that she’d been having an affair. Beyond that, we had nothing. No proof of anything—
You don’t want to believe they’re right, said an inner voice, one that sounded an awful lot like Sam’s.
No, I don’t, I answered. It don’t make sense. That’s what it is. It just don’t make no kinda sense.
But if they weren’t having an affair, Sam’s voice prodded, then why was she meeting up with him? Especially that last time. Why did she agree to go meet a man she knew her husband had fired? There’s one obvious reason, right? She was having an affair with him and couldn’t stay away.
Then Ethel’s voice chimed in: Why maybe she was trying to end it, you know, and he didn’t want to let her. Maybe, he got angry, killed her in a fit of passion.
I rubbed the side of my face. If I could just bring myself to the point of accepting the possibility that Vera’s was cheating, then I still had to ponder—
Or maybe, just maybe, Sam’s voice broke in, she didn’t know about the embezzling, if that’s what it was.
But she must have, I thought automatically. Levy would’ve told her.
Would he? Sam’s voice asked.
Why wouldn’t he?
The question echoed in my mind. I gave my head a little shake. The thought that he wouldn’t have told her that he’d fired Slocum—now that really made no sense. So, he had told her. He would have. He must have. And she’d gone to see Slocum anyway, knowing what she knew, that her husband had fired him.
Sounds like a woman in love to me, Sam’s voice said.
Or a woman who was trying to end it, Ethel’s voice said.
There’s no proof, I reminded them both. It’s all supposition. All theory.
Sam’s voice went on. Of course, if you admit to the possibility that she was having an affair, then you must ask whether Levy knew about it.
A scene flashed before my eyes. Of Levy confronting her and she admitting to it. Of Levy demanding that she break it off, and her agreeing to do it, then deciding to meet with Slocum that one last time, to break the news to him in person.
And then, of course, the meeting itself ... it all going quite wrong.
I leaned my face into my hands and covered my eyes. Was I choosing to be blind? Refusing to see what was right before me?
Once again, Sam’s voice came, this time not to challenge but comfort me. It’s OK, Lanie. It’s OK to discover that you didn’t know someone as well as you thought you did.
Something else occurred to me, some thought that hovered on the edge of my thoughts. I reached for it, had almost gotten it, when the doorbell rang.
CHAPTER 10
I glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was after seven. Who in the world would be knocking on my door at this time of night? I got up, slipped to the window, and drew back the curtain. My visitor’s identity surprised me. I dropped the curtain and hurried to let her in. She stepped inside with a cold gust of wind behind her.
“Miss Lanie, I’m sorry to bother you this time of night.”
“No, that’s fine, Beulah.” I waved her in and closed the door. “Come in.”
I led her into the living room and offered her something warm to drink, but she demurred.
“I’m not here to stay long,” she said. “It’s that I thought, well, I have something to show you.”
“Oh?” I was curious. “Please,” I gestured toward the other armchair, “take a seat.”
She glanced at the chair, as if embarrassed and uncomfortable. Sitting down implied that she was my social equal. She had been taught that she was not. She perched carefully on the edge of the chair cushion, a compromise I suppose between actually making herself comfortable and refusing my invitation all together.
I settled in the chair opposite her. “So, what’s ...?”
Her face became quite serious. “Mr. Levy, he’s got me getting Miss Vera’s things together. He’s gonna donate him, I guess.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“I guess.” She frowned. “This morning, I was going through Miss Vera’s closet, taking out her dresses, you know, and laying them out. And then I got to take down her hat boxes. You know, she had them all in boxes up on a shelf in her closet.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I found something. Letters.” She paused, her expressive gaze sombre. “I know I shouldn’t have looked at them, miss. I know that, but I can’t say’s I’m sorry I did. If I hadna looked, then I wouldna known what they are, how important they are.”
“These letters. They’re to Miss Vera?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And they’re all from the same person?”
She nodded gravely.
“And that person, who might it be?”
I practically held my breath, waiting for her to answer.
She parted her lips to respond, then hesitated. Instead of telling me, she opened her large clutch, reached in with white gloved hands and came out holding a packet of plain white envelopes held together by a pink ribbon. Mutely, she handed them to me.
They were plain in quality, not cheap but not expensive, either. And blank on the outside. No information as to the sender or the recipient, not even a name.
“There’s no address,” I said.
“They didn’t arrive by post. A boy always brought them.”
“The same boy?”
“No, a different one, every time.”
So, an attempt to obscure the identity of the sender.
“Were you always there when the letters arrived?”
“I think so. I opened the door the first time. After that, she wouldn’t let me open the door no more. Said I had enough to do and she could take care of that herself. So I didn’t open the door to him, but when I heard that bell ring, I’d sometimes peep out the window. Even if I didn’t, I could tell when she got one of them letters. She was always real quiet after that.”
I felt the envelopes, rubbed my thumb across them. They were thin, nearly flat. So, whatever missives they contained must’ve been brief and to the point. All had already been sliced open. I regarded her thoughtfully. I didn’t mean for my expression to be in any way accusative, but she must’ve read it that way.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it sounds like I was spying on her—maybe, I was—but I knew something wasn’t right with her. I could feel it.”
“And so you went looking for the letters?”
“Oh, I was telling the truth, ma’am. Mr. Levy, he does have met pulling all her things together for to give away, but yes’m, I was wondering if I’d come across those letters along the way. And I did.”
“And now you’re here with them.”
“Yes.”
“What would you like me to do with them?”
Her forehead puckered with worry. “I trust you, miss, to do what’s right.”
“Suppose I gave them to the police?”
She swallowed hard and said, “I guess ... if that’s what you think is right, then ...”
It wasn’t. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the letters but giving them to the police wasn’t it.
“I’ll make sure they’re treated with respect,” I said.
“Please don’t let ‘em get splashed all over the papers,” she said, “but do do something about them.”
Splashed all over the papers.
No doubt this is what she feared would happen if the police got hold of them. Yet, here she was, giving them to me, a reporter. It seemed contradictory, on the face of it. But if you looked at it from another angle, I suppose, it made sense, an intuitive, instinctive kind of sense. She was trying to get ahead of the story, to control it by controlling who knew what and when they knew it.
But just in case she didn’t know what I did for a living, though I could hardly think how that was possible, I said, “You do know that I work for a newspaper?”
“Oh, yes’m. I do. I also know that you were one of Miss Vera’s dearest friends. Maybe, you didn’t see each other all that often, but I heard her say she always knew you were there for her. She thought of you like a sister.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
Kind words, meant kindly, but they provoked a wave of guilt. I should’ve made more time to see Vera. I should’ve been there when she needed me.
I was curious about something. “You didn’t consider giving them to the reverend? After all, he is—“
“No, miss. You can’t do that—“
“Oh, I won’t,” I said quickly. “It just strikes me that you didn’t.”
She dropped her gaze, then after a moment nodded. “I’m sorry, miss, but I didn’t want to see him hurt no more. He ain’t been the same since it happened.”
“Of course.”
She dug a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her eyes. “You know, something went wrong in that house. It even before Miss Vera died. I could feel it.”
