The Starry Night of Death

by Lawrence J Epstein

  Normally, I’d be furious at such a statement. But then I just took it.

  “It’s good you think that, Jimmy. That will keep you far away from Long Island.”

  “I’m going to call.”

  “That’s our agreement. You be sober and call and Mary Jo can make up her mind about speaking to you.”

  “I’m not a bad guy.”

  “People grow up, Jimmy. It’s your turn.”

  I called him a cab and told him to pick up his car the following day. I waited until the car arrived and he stepped in before offering a sad smile into the night as I watched him disappear down the street. I wasn’t sure if the smile was for him or for me.

  As I watched, I decided to practice my burglary skills.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  She lived in an apartment building in Port Jefferson Station. The building had a red brick front. There was no doorman. This wasn’t an expensive New York City place across from Central Park. This was for middle-class single working people in the suburbs.

  I was reluctant to go inside. To the world, Joni Burns was a paralegal, Shepardizing, writing briefs, working on trusts, and so on. To me, she was a final hope, the last possible suspect in a world where the others had disappeared. If there was no evidence against her in the apartment, I faced the real possibility of failing my father. Flanagan sometimes argued that my father hadn’t suffered for his moral failures. The law had missed him. Flanagan said when he thought about my father and some others like him, he wished that a medieval God of vengeance and justice would sort things out in the afterlife.

  But I had to worry about this life.

  I couldn’t see a way to climb up to the top of the building or to enter through one of the windows. I did see one of the windows was opened, but it was at an odd angle, one impossible to get to.

  I went to the front of the building and waited for someone to come out the front door. I was standing on the side of the door so I would be able to spot anyone leaving. Then someone did. A young woman, professional, charcoal skirt and jacket, briefcase, black hair pulled back and held by a red ribbon. The black glasses topped the image perfectly.

  As she stepped outside, I began walking, and then stopped suddenly. I was ten paces in front of her. I reached into my pockets, made an ambiguous sound of frustration, and began looking on the ground.

  I pretended that I saw her then.

  “Hi,” I smiled.

  No smile back, but she did stop.

  “I can’t find my keys, and unbelievably my car refuses to drive by itself.”

  She looked for a few seconds with me for the keys that didn’t exist. It’s a good thing she didn’t hear the keys I did have jangling in my pocket.

  Finally, I said. “Thanks. I give up. I...Oh, my God. I couldn’t have locked the apartment door. Now I am worried. Do you know the number in the office?”

  She shook her head.

  “Come on,” she said, “I’ll let you in. Just don’t tell anyone.”

  “I’m not going to make myself look like a fool. Trust me.”

  She smiled.

  Then she did unlock the door.

  “Good luck. I don’t recognize you. Are you new here?”

  “Last week. Barry Metzger. And, really, thank you. You get the Good Neighbor award for the week.”

  “No problem.”

  She opened the door and said, “I’m in 3-G. Stop by for a cocktail one night.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “That’s not what they say at my office.”

  “Then they just don’t know.”

  Joni Burns lived on the fifth floor. I climbed the stairs, keeping my head down even though I didn’t pass any other people.

  I opened the door leading to the fifth floor and looked around. The blessed sound of utter silence. I got out some device Betsy had given me. I had practiced on my own front door.

  Then I walked over to Joni Burns’ apartment. I was much better than I feared. I opened the door quickly.

  The apartment was easy to search. I called her Joni in my mind since we knew each other, what with her being a tenant and me being a thief in her apartment. Joni was extraordinarily neat. I found a desk and sat in the chair, calmly looking through each drawer, hoping one would be locked, a guarantee that it contained what I was looking for. But all the drawers were unlocked. I began to take out folders. I couldn’t find anything unusual. All legal stuff that bored me.

  I thought I saw an interesting folder. It had a red sticker on it.

  I focused my mind.

  That turned out to be stupid.

  “If you’re looking for food, you’re really in the wrong place.”

  My head snapped up and around.

  Joni was standing there.

  She was also holding a revolver. Very steadily. This was not a nervous paralegal. The good part of that was that she wouldn’t shoot me by mistake. The really bad part was that she knew what she was doing.

  “I don’t recognize the model,” I said.

  “No, you wouldn’t. It’s brand new. An Anderson Wheeler Mark VII.”

  “Oh. That’s just what I thought.”

  “Indeed. That was very perceptive of you. The company’s headquartered in London. I got an early model. I can assure you it works very well. Did I mention my father was quite a marksman? With no sons, guess who he taught to shoot?”

  “I can guess.”

  “Mr. Ryle, I have some bad news for you.”

  “I’m not completely sure I want to hear it. I can see plenty of bad news right in front of me.”

  “Indeed. But this is worse news. I don’t specialize in criminal law, but once in a while a friend comes along who asks questions. I won’t take you through the whole story. I’m not sure your nervous system could take it. At any rate, I have several other revolvers. One of them cannot be traced. Can you imagine how I could use it?”

  “You could shoot me and then get your untraceable revolver, put it in my hand and shoot at the wall. You’d have a perfect case of self-defense and I’d be unable to say you were wrong since I’d be dead.”

  “Very good. You do your father proud. Of course, you’d be dead. Caught robbing my apartment. A sad ending for a promising young man. I don’t suppose it would do Congressman Lucey much good. I don’t suppose it would help your father stuck in jail as he is. All in all, Mr. Ryle, you seem to be in a very bad way indeed.”

  “And yet you didn’t shoot me immediately. Maybe you want to talk.”

  “What could you do for me, Mr. Ryle?”

  “Clear your name. You are on a police list of suspects. If I’m shot in your apartment, your name isn’t going to disappear from that list. Oh, no. It’s going to jump to the top of the list. And the police aren’t stupid. They know me. I have friends and connections.”

  “And what could those connections do for me?”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want to be taken off the suspect list.”

  “If I can prove you’re innocent then you will be off. You could help me.”

  “Maybe. I also want out of here. I want you to get me into a major law school nearby. Maybe Columbia or NYU.”

  “Or Brooklyn or Fordham or one like them. I can’t do much about Columbia, Miss Burns.”

  “You have that kind of influence?”

  “I do. I assume your grades and test scores are good.”

  “They are. How about a scholarship?”

  “Maybe. You have good experience.”

  “How exactly can you get me in?”

  “The Congressman can make a call. I have a friend in the D.A.’s office. He’s very influential. He can make one call and you’re in. With all due modesty, I know some people myself. When you put that kind of a team together, you’ll be an expert in the law in no time. But no one can get you in if you don’t deserve it. I won’t do that. What I can do is point out the obvious, that you merit serious consideration. I won’t try to get you in if you couldn’t ha
ve gotten in on your own.”

  “I already am an expert in the law.”

  “Then law school will be easy.”

  “Let’s say we agree, Mr. Ryle. How do I know you’ll keep your word when this revolver is down and you walk out of here?”

  “You don’t know. You have to trust me. Like I have to trust you.”

  “Just a minute.”

  She returned with some kind of movie camera and filmed me at her desk.

  “Go through it.”

  I did, pretending to open drawers and take out letters.

  “All right,” she said. “What can I do to convince you I didn’t kill Mrs. Spring?”

  “Tell me who did.”

  “I have no idea. That’s your job. I was home. Unfortunately alone. In many ways.”

  “You’ve shown me you know how to use a revolver. That’s a point against you.”

  “I have no motive.”

  “Yes, you do, Joni. I feel as though I can call you Joni now and you can call me Danny.”

  “What’s this motive that you think I have?”

  “You love Mr. Spring. Maybe with his wife gone you thought you had a chance with him.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yes.”

  “I...I...”

  “Take it easy, Joni. I know what a killer looks like inside. I was brought up by one. I’ve been around them all my life. You can shoot targets, but you can’t shoot people. My guess is that you can’t shoot animals, either.”

  She shook her head.

  “My father shot deer and ducks and some others. He was very good. He tried to interest me. I once stayed in a duck blind. It was freezing. I refused to shoot. I thought my father would be angry, but he wasn’t. He understood.”

  “But you see, Joni, how this puts me in a bad place. I’m not sure what to do.”

  She shrugged.

  “There’s a rule in law, Mr. Ryle...”

  “Danny.”

  “There’s a rule in law and in much else, Danny. When you find yourself in the middle of a maze and you’re lost, just stop. Don’t keep going. You’ll get more lost. Instead, you forget what you’ve done and you start at the beginning. Don’t take anything for granted. I don’t know what it is, but the answer will come to you. You’re a smart guy.”

  “I bet you say that to all the men you’re ready to shoot.”

  “I like it when a woman is in control.”

  “Yeah. It’s wonderful.”

  She put the revolver down.

  “You can go, Danny. And by the way the revolver wasn’t loaded. I’d never take a chance that it would accidentally go off.”

  I nodded, got up, and walked out of the apartment.

  Eight lives to go.

  I needed a little relief to prepare to start over.

  I needed to see Natalie’s shining eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sometimes I try to fast-forward lives. I sat in the restaurant opposite Natalie. The waiter had made a big fuss over her, telling her every option on the menu as slowly as he could and standing as close to her as socially acceptable. The various Italian options were all tempting. She made the order. The waiter was in ecstasy.

  I stared at her, imagining picture after picture of her aging. It’s difficult to be sure. Sometimes people age well. The emergence of middle age and the beginning of old age look good on them. Their faces adapt well. I imagined that Natalie wouldn’t be one of those people. I looked at her. She was distracted by the people around her. I thought her face’s flesh would sag in important places, her eyes would no longer be a china blue. They would cease to shine. Wrinkles would criss-cross her face in unflattering patterns.

  The logic of all this was that Natalie would become less attractive to me. But I decided she would remain very attractive. My imagined exercise made her fascinating, as though the secret of age lay within that face.

  “What are you staring at, Danny?”

  “I was trying to imagine you getting older.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say to me. I never want to get older. I don’t like old people. I don’t like how they’re bent over. I don’t like what happens to their hair. I want to go out when I’m young and beautiful. Marilyn Monroe can be three hundred but she’ll always be young.”

  “That’s strange, Natalie. I decided that you’ll be fascinating no matter how you look.”

  “You’re crazy, Danny. You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman. You think a man wants us to get old? Ha.”

  “I wish my mother had had a chance to get older.”

  “Don’t be sentimental, Danny. Life is too tough for that.”

  Her imagined wrinkles got deeper and more vicious.

  “Tell me about your case, Danny. Did you decide who killed Mrs. Spring?”

  “I don’t even have suspects.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Every case has suspects.”

  The waiter brought our food. He started with Natalie, naturally. He said he brought out some fresh rolls the restaurant was just trying out. There would be no charge, of course.

  Natalie liked such treatment, and I wondered if I could get used to being with her while men gave her such attention.

  We started eating. Since hot, Italian food is my favorite, it was not a burden at the moment to worry about Natalie.

  After we had eaten a bit, she said, “So, you were saying how difficult it is to have no suspects.”

  “I think my father’s being in jail has been like a blindfold for my eyes. I just can’t see clearly. I’ve been focusing on Mrs. Spring’s killing. I’m thinking of looking at the death of the law partner. That may yield some clues.”

  “Haven’t the police been looking?”

  “Sure. They’re doing as well as I am. The killer is clever. Unfortunately.”

  “Will you keep me up to date? I love a mystery.”

  “It’s not just a mystery. It’s two murders, Natalie. Two people are dead.”

  “I know. But I didn’t know them. So to me it’s just a puzzle, like one of those John Dickson Carr locked room mysteries.”

  “Where did that come from? How do you know Carr, Natalie?”

  She shrugged. “I know I’m just dumb. How can a pretty girl have a brain? How can she read books with all those pages and all those words?”

  “I didn’t say that—though, to be fair, you did tell me when we first met that you didn’t read any more than you had to.”

  She made a face before explaining: “My father likes British and American mysteries from the thirties and forties. He introduced me to them.”

  “I’m impressed,” I said.

  I suddenly realized that we were well on our way to completing the meal and all she had talked about was the Spring murder. I would have thought she’d want to talk about our future as a couple.

  A little experiment was in order.

  “Let’s talk about us, Natalie.”

  “Oh, of course. I think about you all the time, Danny. I think you’d make a cute husband.”

  While I’m always ready for a compliment, I’m also not blind. There are a large number of far better-looking men Natalie could have paired off with.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about us,” she said. “But you’re in the middle of a murder case. That’s exciting. Tell me. If you had to pick one suspect, even if you don’t have a suspect, who would it be?”

  I stared at her.

  Now I was curious.

  “You’re more objective than I am, Natalie. I could use the objectivity. If you were me, who would you be looking at?’

  “I guess Spring and the neighbor have an alibi. I would have looked at Buzzy Young if he hadn’t been shot dead.”

  “I’m impressed that you remember his name, Natalie.”

  “I told you. I’m really interested.”

  “You haven’t said who you’d look at.”

  “You’re acting as though the same
person killed Mrs. Spring and Buzzy. But what if Buzzy killed her? Say they had a romance. And her brother or sister learned this and got revenge by killing him. See, Danny? Two killers. That’s what I think led you off the trail.”

  “You could be right. I admit I didn’t think of any of that. I’ll have to investigate it.”

  Natalie and I shared a dessert. I caught her looking at me, and I think I understood what was going through her mind. I tried to decide how I needed to react.

  “Let’s go for a ride after dinner, Danny.”

  “Don’t you want to go home?”

  “Sure I do. And I want you to go with me. After the drive.”

  There it was. The choice. I wished my mind was working better. I needed maybe ten more I.Q. points. Then I would have been fine.

  “Sure, Natalie.”

  We rode up to a beach and then back to her apartment.

  “Don’t just sit there, Danny. Get a move on.”

  Biology had 50 points. But a crawling logic and concern had 60.

  “I’ve got to get home, Natalie.”

  “Casanova would be disappointed.”

  “In two days, we’ll go to dinner again and I’ll give Casanova a few lessons.”

  We kissed. I tried to read the kiss. Casanova would have been deeply disappointed.

  I watched as Natalie got out.

  I went home and called Cromwell.

  I wanted to take a burning hot shower.

  Instead, I collapsed into bed and slept until early the next morning when the call came from the prison.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Yes,” I said, “I’ll accept the call.”

  “Danny, are you there?”

  “Yes, Dad. It’s very early.”

  “You always did oversleep.”

  “Are you okay? You’re not hurt again, are you?”

  “Me? Oh sure. I’m fine except for being locked up for a crime I didn’t commit. But I called first to say hello and also because I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “What’s that, Dad?”

  “It’s a song.”

  “I know it’s early, Dad, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I know the Bing Crosby and Andrews Sisters’ version.”