by Helen Jacey
He had mentioned Linda having an alibi. Now the fact the office was no longer a crime scene. Sonia had her own cop insiders, obviously.
I said, ‘The secretary? Getting her to open up is gonna take some figuring out.’
‘You can report back after the funeral, unless something urgent crops up.’
‘Why don’t I make friends with her there? Then follow up? It might be more natural.’
‘You might have other fish to fry there.’
We shook hands and the cool but amiable Joseph left.
I sat at Barney’s desk and took a look for myself. The handwriting of the late Mr. Minski was barely legible. Three blackmail cases? Whoever was being squeezed out there in the big city no longer had Todd Minski to depend on.
Maybe I should contact them and offer my services?
I checked the clock. Almost four thirty. If I hurried, I could drive to Hunter’s apartment and see if Pauline Dobson was still there.
I didn’t relish going back to the scene of the crime. But my mission now, beyond helping Dolly, was to impress Sonia. Me and Barney needed the work.
My hair now was practically dry. I shoved it in a hairnet and pulled a beret over it.
I went down by the stairs, slipped out of the side entrance and jumped into Mabel. Funny how just a few steps out of the office can give you an idea. I looked in the mirror to redo my lipstick. I didn’t need to persuade Pauline Dobson.
I just needed to bribe her.
28
‘Oh, gimme a break! I’m her pal!’ I growled.
Under the uniform, Bogdan was an artist earning a crust as a doorman. He had hidden his sketchbook as soon as I entered. But not in time to prevent me seeing his muse—a girl with a turned-up nose and soft eyes, in the pose of one of those religious icons.
I’d come prepared. In my arms, a big white cake box tied up with a pink ribbon. All part of the ruse.
‘Serena who?’
‘Serena Jenkins.’
‘You look like reporter.’ His eyes narrowed with suspicion. At my pants, the hairnet, the bare face, the whole working girl demeanor.
‘No! I’m her friend. Why the hell would I be a reporter anyway? What reporter lugs something like this around? Take a look!’
I put the cake box down and began to untie the ribbon. ‘It’s her birthday. She’s had a real tough time, lately, so I wanted to surprise her at work.’
‘Her birthday?’
‘Yes! She’s a Capricorn. Hard working, loyal. Very upset by everything that happened. You know she could lose her job now? Would you just let me surprise her? Perk her up.’
I opened the lid, and Bogdan peered inside. His eyes widened.
I’d stopped at a French patisserie in Larchmont Village on the way here and picked up a cake. The hearts and flowers in pink, yellow and gold reminded me of one of those mesmerizing antique porcelain clocks covered in ceramic flowers and gilt.
‘I didn’t know it was Pauline’s birthday.’ Bogdan was clearly soft on her, his voice a little remorseful.
‘Let me give it to her, maybe she’ll cut you a slice. How about that?’
‘All right. Go. As it is her birthday.’ He nodded to the elevator.
I smiled. ‘Thanks.’
It was eerie walking along the same corridor, strange knowing exactly what door to knock on. Last time, I had come at great risk to myself. This time was down a few notches on the danger scale, though not exactly a breeze.
I rang the bell and waited.
I hoped the clean-up team had done a good job. Heaving over the cake would sure mess the plan up.
Nobody answered. Strange, Bogdan sounded like he knew she was up here. I rang again.
Finally, the door opened a crack. Pauline Dobson was about eighteen. She had a round face and soft brown curls flecked with gold. A little snub nose and a cupid’s mouth, which I’d only seen on paper downstairs.
Bogdan’s muse.
‘Wrong place. I’m not expecting anything.’
‘You ain’t Pauline Dobson? Delivery from a Brad…. Oh, shoot. I left his details in the truck. Know a Brad, ma’am?’
Pauline looked a little hassled. ‘Brad?’
‘Want me to bring it in for ya?’
Pauline hesitated, but I barged through. She closed the door behind me. ‘I only saw Brad an hour ago. He never said anything about this.’
I was back in the same lobby. The same hallway. Paintings, heavy oil landscapes of harbors and countryside, had been taken down and were now propped up against the plinth.I could only smell lemon and pine. Good.
‘Guess he wanted to surprise you. Is it your birthday, or something?’
‘No. It’s not. This way, please.’
I followed her down to the far end, past doors to the other rooms, all shut. I hadn’t got this far last time. I passed the bedroom where Hunter had been slain. I shuddered slightly, remembering the corpse.
‘Coming or going?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Looks like you’re moving. In or out?’
‘Oh, out.’ She opened a far door into a luxurious kitchen, wall-to-wall apricot and black tiles. Chrome handles adorned the cupboards. The worktops were a pale peach marble. They had never been used. Barney would approve of a makeover like this for our kitchenette.
Pauline stood against the door. ‘Set it down there.’
‘Nice pad.’ I whistled, lowering the cake.
‘It’s my boss’s place. He died.’ She was young enough to want to get it off her chest. ‘I’ve got to pack it all up.’
‘You quittin’?’
She nodded. ‘End of this week.’ Then she flushed, unable to contain herself. ‘They didn’t even pay me for the whole month.’
‘That’s too bad. Maybe that’s why this Brad’s giving you a cake, huh? Want to take a look?’
She shrugged. I untied the bow and took off the lid.
‘Take a look at that! He must sure have the hots for you.’
Pauline didn’t look thrilled.
‘What’s the problem? Watching your figure?’
She squirmed. ‘I just don’t get it.’
I pulled out the twenty dollars rolled in my pocket. ‘Then maybe you can get this.’ I slapped it on the marble worktop.
Pauline looked at the money. ‘What’s that?’
‘Look, I know who you worked for and I know he was bumped off. I need information, you’re gonna need some bucks.’
Terror spread over her face. ‘Is this a trick?’
‘C’mon, Pauline. You can’t get in any more trouble. They already fired you, right?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Just a friend helping the innocent.’
‘You mean the crazy girl who did this?’
‘I thought in America you were innocent until found guilty. Or am I in a different country?’
‘I can’t say anything to anyone. The cops said I shouldn’t. They warned me people might come here. We aren’t supposed to let anyone in.’ Her eyes filled with tears of rage. ‘This is the most horrible time of my life!’
I was still chasing Flannery’s shadow.
Pauline’s dam suddenly burst. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, and she shook, arms crossed, clutching her elbows.
‘Hey, hey, calm down. Take a deep breath. Nobody’s getting you in trouble. I don’t want anyone to know about us talking any more than you do.’ My voice was soothing, convincingly caring.
Pauline sniffed, gulping her tears back. I was on the right track with the big sister act.
‘Look. I’m helping Dolly Perkins because she deserves a shot at real justice. Us talking doesn’t change anything you said to the detectives. You’re a truthful person and that’s good. I really don’t want to get you in trouble. It’s just maybe you can tell me some other things, things you may have forgotten about. Something that could help Dolly Perkins.’ I saw a box of tissues on a tiled shelf above the stove and handed her one.
‘Bogdan saw you. H
e can tell the cops, then they’ll ask me about you!’ She blew her nose, noisily.
‘Relax. Bogdan thinks I’m delivering a cake for your birthday and I’m your pal Serena. Just remember to give him a piece of cake. Keep him sweet.’
Her eyes widened. ‘My birthday’s not till next week.’
I put another ten bucks on the counter. ‘A gift. From me.’
She glanced at the notes, then back to me. I said, ‘Let me ask you something easy. Did you know Hunter was having an affair?’
She shook her head but there was something else. Something off.
‘So, he loved his wife? Guess she’s the one firing you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. His brother came to see me. But she doesn’t like me anyway. I only met her a couple of times.’
‘How long have you been working for Hunter?’
‘Two months.’
‘Oh, not long at all!’
That was a surprise. But it also explained why Pauline had been so desperate to knock on the door when Linda Hunter sent her here on Christmas Eve. To impress, be dutiful to the boss’s cold wife.
But it also meant maybe she didn’t know a thing about his sideshow with Dolly, and I’d just wasted money on Pauline’s birthday. ‘Who was his secretary before you?’
‘I never met her. Agnes something.’
‘So there was a gap between his secretaries?’
Pauline shrugged.
‘How did you get this job, anyway?’
‘Through an advertisement in the paper. I called a lady. Tells me to come here.’
‘A lady? You know her name?’
She shook her head.
‘I don’t remember. I never met her. She sounded real nice, said she’d meet me here. I came here, but it was just Mr. Hunter. Alone. He offered me the job on the spot.’
I bet he did. I was beginning to guess Hunter liked them young and cute and he had someone procuring them for him.
‘Was he a good boss?’
She avoided my eye.
‘What is it?’
‘Sure. He liked me.’
That wasn’t what I’d asked.
‘But what was he like to work for?’ I had no measure of Hunter whatsoever. Did he laugh? Was he witty? Was he caring? Who was he, as a man?
She shifted from one foot to the other. ‘He was…fine.’
‘Fine?’ I sensed she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to go about it.
I sighed. My hip was sore. ‘Can we sit down anywhere? I got a bad leg.’
Her eyes gleamed with sympathy. ‘Sure. My office.’
We left the kitchen and she opened the door on the left. It was a small room, with a desk and chair. Files had been piled into boxes. More framed prints against the walls. A filing cabinet stood in the corner. Another chair was pushed against the window. I sat down on that. Pauline didn’t go behind the desk but hovered in the doorway.
‘Did Mr. Hunter have any business troubles?’
‘I don’t think so. He was real busy setting up a foundation. The Ronald Hunter Foundation.’
‘To do what?’ Her angle on this might be useful.
‘Help veterans. Build retirement homes, clinics. That kind of thing. I liked that part of the job. My brother was injured real bad in the war. He’s never gonna be the same again.’
‘Sorry about that. So sounds like this was a good job?’
Pauline averted her eyes again. ‘He dictated letters, got me to run errands…’
And? What isn’t she telling you?
‘But what?’
She met my eyes. ‘A week before he died, he did something.’
‘What did he do?’
She let out a long sigh. ‘You promise you won’t say? I didn’t tell anybody this.’ She was desperate to get it out. I was encouraging. ‘I won’t say a word.’
‘You just can’t. Promise me?’
‘Of course.’
‘I thought it was a mistake at first. I was filing documents away in the filing cabinet. He was behind me. He touched me. Apologized. But then it happened again, the same day. And the way he looked, I knew something wasn’t right.’
‘He touched you where? On your ass?’
She nodded.
‘He do anything else?’
‘No. But I didn’t want to work in case he did it again. The terrible thing is that when he died, I was so relieved! It’s awful, but I was!’
‘You sure you didn’t say any of this to the detective?’
‘Not a word! I’m so ashamed. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I shouldn’t even be telling you. I don’t know who you are!’ She started to cry again. I should be big sisterly now but I wanted facts.
‘So you had no idea about Dolly Perkins being his girlfriend?’
She shook her head, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. ‘When I read about her, I figured maybe he’d done the same thing to her that he did to me. And maybe she got mad.’
Kill a guy because he forced you into something? Some women would. And they’d go to jail forever.
I wanted to know more about the previous secretary. Pauline said she didn’t know how long she was with him. She only found out her name by accident—Hunter had called her “Agnes” one day. ‘He apologized for it. Said she was the girl before me.’
‘I wish I could talk to her,’ I said, thinking aloud.
Pauline went over to the filing cabinet. She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. ‘I found this at the back. It could be where she lives.’
It had a handwritten name and address on. Distinctive loopy writing. But that wasn’t what stood out. I read, and I blinked. I read it again.
Agnes Hunniford, The Miracle Mile Hotel.
Someone who worked for Hunter lived at my place of residence! Was she one of the career girls who would return after the holiday?
‘You can keep it. I was just gonna toss it.’
‘Did Flannery ask about the other secretaries?’
I knew the answer. He wouldn’t bother. Pauline shook her head.
I slipped the paper in my purse. ‘Listen, you’ve been real helpful. You’re better off out of this situation anyway.’
Pauline nodded.
‘If I need to see you again, where can I find you?’
She wrote something down and gave it to me with doe eyes, like I really was her big sister.
When I re-entered the lobby, Bogdan was bent over his sketch. He didn’t even hear me. Was it bad for Pauline that she now had to give him some cake? Would he get the wrong idea, or was he just a nice guy with a crush?
Who the hell knew?
I drove away. I felt sickened—by fragile girls who were trapped in jobs, by guys who had it all, expected it all. A guy who groped his secretary wouldn’t stay satisfied with that for long. Soon he’d have wanted more.
Soon she’d have had to give it to him or run.
And there were enough desperadoes like Dolly to stroke these guys’ egos in the hope they’d get a better life.
Rich men and pretty girls. All those marriages in which the ugly old rich guy marries the young pretty thing. It’s his right.
The rules of the game—he stays rich, she stays young and pretty.
Everybody’s happy. Or pretends to be.
Linda Hunter came from money, so it was only right she wouldn’t marry a pauper. But she wasn’t so young and maybe that was eating her up.
Or could it be Hunter had another mistress who had gotten jealous?
Alternatively, Pauline Dobson might just be a great actress and I’d just been reeled in. Her expressions of concern outside the block that night could have been totally fake. And now she was feeding me this line about groping. Maybe she was the wacko who resented Dolly?
What about Agnes Hunniford? Was she another one he had groped and then taken to bed? Or had she wanted to play the game?
I drove fast, winding down the window.
I was suddenly glad my job was only to report to Sonia. Glad it w
asn’t my job to build the case, to work anything out. Glad it was Sonia’s job to save Dolly.
Not mine.
29
Early evening, I raced upstairs to the fourth floor and pounded on Alberta’s door. She answered, in a housecoat and rubber gloves. ‘What is it?’
‘Agnes Hunniford. She worked for Ronald Hunter.’ I explained she was his secretary. ‘Does she live here?’
Alberta thought about it. Recognition slowly dawned in her eyes. She said Agnes was a quiet girl, who rented a single room and kept herself to herself. She wasn’t one of the party girls. She was sure Agnes had left. ‘You want to come in?’
I said no. She was being polite. It was obvious she was busy with chores.
‘Mrs. Loeb will know more. She might even know where she lives now. She stays in touch with some of the girls after they leave.’
She said the receptionist would be back in early January.
‘Can’t we call her?’ I asked. ‘It’s kind of important.’