by Liz Turner
But if what he said was true, then Hallie didn’t have time to fill him in. She put a hand to her head, which had started to throb. “Do you what time her train was?” She asked.
“Why, no, I don’t,” Truman said. “I think she mentioned something about an evening train…she left here about an hour ago.”
Hallie thought quickly. One hour. Was that enough time for her to go to the hospital and shove me and steal the poetry book? Perhaps, but only barely. “Where is her hotel?” Hallie asked urgently.
“I believe she was staying in the Cape Cod Inn in the center of town,” Truman said, eyeing Hallie. “Now, wait a minute—”
But Hallie had already dashed outside. She began walking quickly toward town.
“Doctor Malone!” Truman called after her.
***
Hallie arrived at the inn shortly, a yellow and white building with bright green shutters. She was breathing heavily, and she was beginning to feel clammy all over. Beams of vague pain were radiating through her head. She knew she should rest a moment, maybe even go back to the hospital, but she was determined to find Mrs. Neumann. She bit her thumbnail to distract herself from the headache. Walking as composed as possible up to the reception desk, she informed the young woman working that she was to meet a Mrs. Neumann.
“Hmmm,” the woman said, peering over the log book. “There’s no one here by that name. Perhaps you are mistaken? Perhaps she was staying at a different hotel?”
Hallie had a flash of a hunch. “Oh, silly me,” she said. “Neumann is her maiden name—recently married. Her new name is Smith.”
The woman returned to look over the log and brightened. “Oh! Well then. Here we are. Room Eleven. Straight up the stairs to the left. Your other friend arrived earlier.”
Hallie was perplexed. Other friend? Who could possibly be visiting Mrs. Neumann right now? She concluded that the desk attendant must be mistaken, a mix up between the guests. Hallie thanked her and took the stairs two at a time. She made a left at the top and collided with someone. Hallie felt a pang of nausea at the sudden blow. Then she looked up and gasped.
“Watch it!” Mrs. Neumann growled, her mouth twisting grotesquely, before recognizing Hallie. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry, you work with Detective Truman, right?” The woman’s features transformed. She became suddenly, visibly upset. Putting a hand on her cheek, the woman began talking rapidly, her voice saturated with emotion. “Are you staying here, too? I’m sorry to have snapped at you like that. It’s just…I’ve been through quite a lot these past few days. All the travel, and then to arrive finally, and discover my husband has died mysteriously! All alone like that. I just cannot fathom his pain and fear. Oh—” she burst into tears, wailing intermittently. Hallie looked behind her. She was trailing a large trunk, clearly on her way to the train station. She breathed a sigh of relief—she had been just in time. But she had to admit, Hallie was thrown off by this sudden show of emotion; Mrs. Neumann appeared to be genuinely upset.
At that, Detective Truman came up the stairs, flanked by the three young officers assigned to the case. Hallie looked at him in surprise. He must have followed her. Was it because he was on her side? Or because he was trying to protect Mrs. Neumann? He’s probably thinking I’ve lost my marbles, Hallie thought. She didn’t blame him. Here she was, pale, sweaty, with an unexplained bruise across her forehead, confronting a grieving woman. She knew it wasn’t going to look any better once she started accusing the woman.
The black-haired officer assessed the situation with bewildered eyes and then led the sobbing Mrs. Neumann to a chair in the hallway and offered her a glass of water.
“Oh, thank you, that’d be lovely,” she answered, putting a shaking hand to her eyes.
“What’s, er, going on here?” Truman asked. He was looking at Hallie. She ignored him. The other two officers were rooted in place, seemingly unable to decide what was right in this situation. They looked back and forth from Hallie to Truman to Mrs. Neumann.
As the officer left to fetch the water, Hallie took a stand across from Mrs. Neumann. “So, Mrs. Neumann,” she began, careful to keep her tone professional. “You came here immediately after getting off the train from the international airport in Boston? You saw the photograph of your husband, asking about any information about him? When you got here, you identified the man we had known as John Smith, as your husband, Tobias Neumann?”
The woman looked at Hallie incredulously, her face streaked with tears. “Why, yes, yes, that’s right.” Shooting a pleading glance at Truman, she said, “I’ve already answered all of Detective Truman’s questions. Must I go through this all again?”
Truman himself was looking at Hallie, concerned. “…Yes, er, Doctor Malone, I do regret you weren’t here for Mrs. Neumann’s intake, but I think we ought to just let her be on her way now,” he said, faltering a bit.
“Right, of course, Detective Truman,” Hallie said, before quickly adding, “I’m just trying to get it all straight myself. You see, some things in Mrs. Neumann’s story just don’t quite add up for me.” She met Truman’s gaze. He didn’t yet know about the secret messages she had uncovered, but she was certain that if he did, he would agree with her that Mrs. Neumann’s questioning wasn’t quite over. She just had to convey it to him somehow before she escaped to the train station. That and find that poetry book! How was she to prove what she knew without it?
Mrs. Neumann wasn’t rattled. She began to cry anew. “I’m sorry, but I cannot stand for this,” she said, choking back her tears. “I’m going to leave, if it’s all the same to you. I’ve got a train to catch back to Boston.” She made to leave, gathering her pocketbook and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
But meanwhile, Hallie had jumped up and whispered something in Truman’s ear. His eyes grew wide. He stepped in front of Mrs. Neumann, with a calm authoritative hand outstretched in front of her. “Hold on just a minute. I think I do have a few more questions.”
With a pained look, Mrs. Neumann consented. She slumped back into the chair. “I assure you all, I don’t know anything.” Hallie detected a twinge of apprehension in her voice.
Hallie nodded at Truman and then began to speak. “Mrs. Neumann, why did you and your husband plan to arrive in the United States for your vacation on different dates?”
The woman sighed audibly. “As I explained to the detective already, we had planned to arrive together, of course. But then my sister fell ill, and I wanted to help her look after her children. Three young boys. And their father was killed in the war—I couldn’t just abandon her to go frolicking across a different country during her time of need. So, I told Tobias to go ahead without me, and I’d come over within a week, when my sister was feeling better.”
“I see,” Hallie nodded. She still wasn’t buying her story. She pressed further. “And your reasons for coming to our little town were?”
Mrs. Neumann’s face darkened a little. “Why, to join my husband. He had telephoned me to say he had seen a lovely boarding house just a few hours outside of Boston, by the beach. He said he would be staying there, and to meet him there.”
“But what were his reasons for coming to Massachusetts in the first place? Surely, there are beaches in Sweden,” Hallie countered.
“Honestly, I am not certain,” the woman answered, bowing her head. “I allowed him to plan much of this vacation. I wanted to see the United States, that is all. But I was caught up with my sister. This is where he wanted to go, I do not know why.”
Hallie frowned. Meeting Truman’s gaze, she could tell he was thinking the same thing: either this woman is a wonderful liar, or Hallie’s hunch was dead wrong.
“Were you aware, Mrs. Neumann, that your husband had gotten into an altercation the day before he died?” Truman interjected.
“And that we believe that altercation had something to do with his death?” Hallie added slyly.
“No,” Mrs. Neumann said, straightening uncomfortably. “I did not know that. I thought he
died… I thought he died of poisoning?” She looked at Truman to confirm.
Truman kept his face neutral. “He did,” he said calmly.
“I—I do not understand,” Mrs. Neumann replied, looking from Hallie to Truman. Her accent seemed to have become more pronounced, and she looked flustered.
Hallie knew they didn’t have enough information to arrest her right then. She had to trick her into confessing. She began to formulate a plan. Suddenly, she started swaying back and forth, and she put a hand on her head and took a firm grip on the forearm of one the young officers standing beside her. Everyone stopped and looked at her.
“Doctor Malone, are you alright?” asked Truman.
“Oh—yes, yes, I’m just a little faint that’s all. I’m a grown woman, I can handle it,” Hallie replied and managed a laugh. But Truman wouldn’t hear of it.
“I think you ought to sit down right away,” he said, looking at Mrs. Neumann hopefully.
Sighing, she rose. “By all means,” Mrs. Neumann said. “Like I said, I have to be going. I hope this means that your hysterical accusations are over.” She grabbed her pocketbook and stood, moving to let the young officer lead Hallie to the seat. Abruptly, Hallie’s feet slipped out from under her and she fell, right on Mrs. Neumann’s back. Mrs. Neumann went flying, just barely breaking her fall with her hands. In the shuffle, her pocketbook had somehow ended up overturned some feet away by the stairwell.
“Oh, oh!” Mrs. Neumann shouted angrily as she pulled herself up from the ground with an unexpected agility. “I am leaving this instant!” Then her face turned to horror.
Hallie had sprung up from the floor and was making her way to the overturned pocketbook. Triumphantly, she pulled something from the bag and exclaimed, “To where? Back to Europe with the cyanide canisters you stole?”
Mrs. Neumann blinked at Hallie, trying to regain her composure, but there was no mistaking the fear that had flashed over her face. Then she settled back into the hallway chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I do want to go back to Europe. But only to transport my husband’s body back home.”
Meanwhile, Detective Truman and the other officers were beginning to understand Hallie’s ruse. Truman went over to wear Hallie was standing. His eyes grew big. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to return to Europe so quickly as you had hoped,” Truman said, and motioned for the three officers to block the entrance to the stairway.
Now, a shade of fear fell undisguised over the woman’s face as she realized she had lost an ally in Truman. “Why wouldn’t I be able to, if I may ask?” She began clutching the arms of the chair tightly. “I have done nothing wrong,” she ventured.
Hallie brandished the poetry book that she had pulled from Mrs. Neumann’s bag. “You did, actually. Where did you get this?” she asked, her eyes flaring.
Mrs. Neumann didn’t speak for a moment. Finally, she said, “My husband gave it to me. He had one identical. We would read it when we were apart and feel close.”
Hallie flipped open the book. Several pages had been torn out—including those that Hallie had translated. All that remained were the pages of poetry. “And I suppose somehow the pages I translated earlier just disappeared?” Hallie was hoping to goad her into a confession, but she was growing worried that she truly didn’t have any proof. This woman was always one step ahead of her, ahead of everybody. Nonetheless, Hallie continued confidently, “Here’s what I think happened, Mrs. Neumann. After the interview with Detective Truman, he gave you your husband’s belongings we found. But you realized something was missing: the poetry book in which Tobias had been taking notes, the very item that would reveal everything if someone cracked the code. You are a sharp woman, Mrs. Neumann. You knew that the one person working on the case that wasn’t there this evening was me. So, you tracked me down, knocked me out, and stole the book.”
Truman and the other officers gaped at her. Truman, especially, was gazing at Hallie with concern. He hadn’t known about the episode in the hospital. But Hallie continued, undeterred. “The only thing I can’t quite make fit together is the timeline. How did you manage to get back here so fast?”
Neumann didn’t answer; in fact, Hallie noted, she seemed rather confused by this revelation. Just then, a muffled cry came from a room down the hallway. Hallie and Truman exchanged surprised glances. Truman gestured to his men to bring Mrs. Neumann with them to investigate. They did, holding tight to both sides of her.
“This is an outrage!” Mrs. Neumann insisted, even as they all entered the hotel room from which the cries were coming: Room Eleven. The cries intensified as they stepped inside. It was a comfortable suite, with a large four post bed and a sofa and chairs in the next room. Every wall was painted a pale yellow, and the floor was covered with thin, tan carpeting, giving Hallie the sensation that she had just entered inside a large, dim lightbulb. Mrs. Neumann must have pulled all the blinds shut. The group looked around—the room was empty.
Chapter 12
Mystery Solved
“M
mmmm!” came the same shrill cry, and this time, it was clear where it was coming from. Truman strode quickly to the closet and thrust open the doors. There was the quivering form of Eliza, the cook who had first greeted Hallie and Truman at the Beachside Boarding House. She no longer wore the gray kerchief—her hair was actually a brilliant blonde. She was apparently much younger than Hallie had originally guessed, most likely in her twenties. She was gagged with what appeared to be a woman’s stocking and was tied with rope to the desk chair. Her eyes held an expression of apprehension and confusion at finding all these people there at once.
“Eliza?” Hallie asked, shocked. Her mind worked quickly. How was it that Eliza is mixed up in this? Then it hit her. Hallie’s ear for accents had been nearly correct—Eliza wasn’t Dutch or German, but she was Swedish! Perhaps a relative? Or an accomplice? Rapidly, she removed the woman’s gag and untied her, awaiting the explanation. But instead of speaking, Eliza remained mute and still on the chair, her wide eyes fixed on Mrs. Neumann. “Eliza, can you tell us what happened?” Hallie asked softly.
But Mrs. Neumann interjected. “I can explain. I found this woman going through my things when I returned, and I admit, I panicked. To protect myself, I locked her in the closet!” The three officers looked at her in bewilderment, and then back at Truman, as though to inquire who to believe. Eliza herself was silent and did not contradict Mrs. Neumann’s story. Sensing her chance, Mrs. Neumann, added quickly, inflecting a sorrowful note into her voice, “I implore you all to believe me, when I say I have done nothing wrong.”
Hallie almost felt sorry for the woman, but she steeled herself. “I believe you have done something wrong, Mrs. Neumann,” she said quietly. “I think it was very wrong of you to double cross your own husband. To lure him to the woods and then carefully spray cyanide in his face, watch him die. I would say that murder is very wrong indeed, even for a spy like yourself.”
Mrs. Neumann flinched. But when she spoke, she spoke with a tone of someone who is amused by a child. “Oh, truly? Where would I even procure cyanide? Detective Truman, you don’t believe this raving woman’s accusations, do you? She’s clearly gone mad. I say, question this woman whom I caught pilfering through my things!” Though her voice was light, her pupils seemed to pulsate with a contained rage as she shifted her gaze between Hallie and Truman. She was beginning to appear a bit unhinged. Hallie was struck by how such a frail, small woman transformed in an instant into this fireball of angry energy. She seemed as though she might truly try to kill Truman if he disagreed with her. Yes, Hallie was aware of something sinister lurking within this woman, an instinct to kill, without hesitation. Self-preservation above all.
Truman looked at Hallie helplessly. But Hallie finally understood. Time to take her down, once and for all, she thought. “Let’s get straight to the point, Mrs. Neumann. It’s no use blaming poor Eliza here for your wrongdoing. I’ve cracked your husband’
s coded messages he was keeping in here—and I remember what they said even if you’ve destroyed them,” Hallie said, holding the poetry book in front of her face, as though to dare her to snatch it. “And now I know why he was really here.” Mrs. Neumann’s lips were set in defiance. Hallie continued, “He was on assignment. To get a hold of the aerosol cyanide cans used in this part of the country as they are particularly effective at ridding insects on the native apple trees.” Hallie paused momentarily. “The technology is new, developed by our agriculture scientists—formulated to kill insects. But I got to thinking that if someone wanted to, they could tweak the formula and the aerosol mechanism to make quite an effective mass-killing machine.”
All eyes were on Hallie. The three young officers were fascinated—they certainly hadn’t expected this case to turn into a real-life spy thriller, with murder, weapons of mass destruction, and kidnapping!
Truman continued where Hallie had left off, understanding what Hallie was getting at: the truth having clicked into place. And Hallie’s assurance had seemingly stunned Mrs. Neumann into silence. “Your husband was failing in his mission. After taking a room near the gardens where the spray was being used, he ran into some bad luck. Not only was the storage room for the canisters under strict lock and key, but the gardener outright refused to give him a canister or even talk about it with him. In fact, instead of keeping a low profile as planned, your husband nearly got into a fist fight with him!”