The Valentine's Day Murder

by Lee Harris

“And then there’s the red scarf,” Joseph said. “It makes me wonder. How did the red scarf manage to get on the ice?”

  “I think we all assumed that it was used by one person to help another stay out of the water.”

  “Unsuccessfully.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Then why didn’t it go down with the drowning man?”

  I had no answer. “He would have clung to it, wouldn’t he?”

  “It seems to me that would be the instinctive thing to do, to hang on to the lifeline, even after the other person let go or was dragged into the water himself. Something about that scarf troubles me, Chris. Did Matty toss it to one of the other men as he started to go down? Did neither of the others pick it up, and it just lay on the ice the rest of the night? Or did something else happen, perhaps something very sinister that no one has thought of, that caused the death of those two men and perhaps the third?”

  “Involving the scarf?”

  “Yes, somehow.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” I said.

  Joseph smiled and moved the papers off to one side. “Now, what can you tell me about the Brooks family?”

  “Well,” I said, knowing that this was the moment, “it’s expanding. I’m pregnant, Joseph.”

  “That’s wonderful, Chris. I couldn’t want better news. Then this may be your last case for a long time.”

  “I rather think so. I’d like to continue teaching if I can find a suitable sitter. It’s only one morning a week, and I think it’ll be good to keep my own life going. And maybe I can continue doing some work for Arnold at home. But another case? I don’t really see how I could.”

  “Whatever you decide, I know it’ll be the right thing. And I’m very pleased. May I tell the sisters?”

  “Of course.”

  She looked at her watch, a serviceable stainless steel case with a large, round face. “I took the luxury of driving in. I think I’d better get going before everyone else in New York starts for home.”

  “Let’s walk together. My car is around the corner.”

  By chance we were in the same garage. I let Joseph get her car first. Then I retrieved mine and started for home, Matty’s red scarf waving in the back of my mind.

  17

  It was too late in the day to think about dashing off to Connecticut to walk around the cemetery. Cemeteries close about five o’clock, and it would take the better part of two hours to get from Manhattan to where I had been on Monday. So I drove home and arrived in time to say good-bye to my builders.

  There was a message from Carlotta on the answering machine, and I called her back right away. A ticket would be waiting for me at La Guardia, and she would be at the Buffalo airport to meet me. We were on.

  When Jack came home from his law school classes, we sat at the kitchen table, and while he ate, I told him about my afternoon with Joseph.

  “For a woman who looks on the bright side of life, Sister Joseph sure picks up on the dark and ugly,” he said.

  “But it looks like she may be onto something. I’d been thinking about the switching of a dead body for a live one, about kidnapping the living child, about some crazy adoption scheme, all that kind of stuff. It was messy, and there were so many loose ends that I couldn’t put together. What she suggested may be right. And there aren’t many loose ends.”

  “Except what, if anything, it has to do with three guys crossing a frozen lake thirty years later.”

  “Maybe there isn’t any connection, Jack. If you took a person at random and looked into his past, you might find out all sorts of pleasant and unpleasant things about him.”

  “Baggage.”

  “Right. And it might have nothing to do with whether he mows his lawn or screams at his kids.”

  “Sounds like you’re arguing the opposite side. You’re usually telling me how much our history is a part of our present.”

  I waved it off. “Just showing you I can go either way. Maybe nothing’s there. It isn’t really the crossing of the lake; it’s the bullet in Matty. If those men had just fallen through the ice, it would be an accident. Something else happened; that’s what makes this so interesting. I hope this Mr. Kazmarek tells us something useful tomorrow.”

  “Get him his chocolate?”

  “A whole pound. Want a piece? I’m starting to think a pound of chocolate may not be the best thing for an old man to eat.”

  “No thanks. Gotta watch my midsection. I don’t want my kid to think I’m fat.”

  I got up from the table and kissed him on my way to the sink. I hadn’t even felt the baby move yet, and it was changing our lives.

  Carlotta met me at the same time and the same place at the Buffalo airport, and we went downstairs to the luggage area like veterans. From there we drove to a restaurant in suburban Buffalo for lunch. The retirement home that Stanley Kazmarek lived in was also on the outskirts of the city, and by the time we got there, it was just about two. I wasn’t sure whether he would even remember that we had an appointment.

  There was a front desk with a phone board and what looked like a computer screen, and a woman with a smile waiting for us.

  “I’m here to see Stanley Kazmarek,” I said.

  “Oh, yes. He did say he was expecting a lady. You can go right up. It’s number three-C.”

  “I’ve brought him some chocolate. Do you know if he has any dietary restrictions?”

  “Let me check with the dietician.” She dialed a number and held a brief conversation. “She says he’s sound as can be, but no one should overindulge.”

  I considered that a message to me. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  “Thanks for asking.”

  We went upstairs and rang his doorbell. I could hear him inside, singing something I couldn’t recognize.

  Suddenly the door was pulled open. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Mr. Kazmarek, I’m Christine Bennett. We talked on the phone the other day.”

  “Was that you who called?”

  “Yes, it was. This is my friend, Carlotta French.”

  “You from the insurance company?”

  “No, sir. We’re trying to find the people who used to live in your house in Buffalo.”

  “Sure, sure. Come in. You got something for me?” His eyes were sparkling in anticipation. He was a paunchy man, not much taller than I. He wore a pair of corduroy pants, a gray shirt with no tie, and a very rumpled jacket that was missing a button. We followed him into a small living room that could not have accommodated many more guests and sat on a sofa just big enough for two. He plumped into a worn chair that faced the television set.

  “I brought you some chocolate, Mr. Kazmarek.”

  He leaned forward for it. “I like chocolate. I don’t get much anymore. Not since my wife died.”

  I wondered whether he was aware that you could buy it for yourself. “Mr. Kazmarek, do you remember the people who rented the upstairs flat when you owned your house?”

  He ignored me. He peered into the bag with its foil lining, then pulled out a chunk of chocolate. His lips moved into a smile. He took a bite out of it with difficulty, then sat back and enjoyed it. Carlotta and I watched. He never offered us any, never thanked us, never even acknowledged that we were there. He seemed transported to another place. Finally, he folded down the top of the bag and set it aside.

  “Who did you say you were?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled in a questioning frown.

  “I’m Chris Bennett. This is Carlotta French. We’re trying to find the people who rented the flat above yours in the house you owned.”

  “The one over by Starin?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Nice house,” he said. “Big rooms. We raised our kids there. This place is so small.” He looked around claustrophobically. “I still think we shouldn’ta moved but my wife, she said it was too much to take care of and she didn’t want the responsibility.”

  “The people upstairs,” I said. “Do you remember them?”
>
  “Yeah. They had a bunch of girls. One of them had a nice voice. She used to sing all the time.”

  “Do you remember who lived there before that family moved in?”

  “Before the one with the girls?”

  “Yes.”

  He made a face, trying to remember. “There was some folks lived there a long time. What was their name? Had a boy and a girl, I think.”

  “Do you remember their name?”

  “With an L. Lit—, Lip—, Lish—. I wish I could remember it. Lipchinski! That’s it. They were the Lipchinskis.”

  I wrote it down, as near as I could spell it. “A husband and wife?” I asked.

  “A whole family, the mother, the father, the sister, the brother.”

  “Was the boy’s name Val?”

  “Val?”

  “Yes, like Valentine.”

  “A boy named Valentine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never heard of him. The Lipchinski boy was a name like John. Nice boy. Terrible thing, what happened to him.”

  I could feel Carlotta tense. “What happened to him?” I asked.

  “Went into the army after high school. Got killed in an accident. I remember it like it was yesterday.” He seemed sure of himself now. “We went to the funeral, Mary and me. Funny you should bring that up. I haven’t thought of that boy for years.”

  I gave him a minute to work through his memories. “Maybe the people I’m looking for were before the Lipchinskis,” I said, knowing that I was going back too far.

  “Before them? There wasn’t anybody before them.”

  “About twenty years ago,” I said, picking a time when Val would have been in high school.

  “Twenty years ago? What am I now—eighty-three?”

  “About that,” I said.

  “So I was sixty. I don’t remember. Besides, the Lipchinskis lived there when we bought the house. That boy was born there. If my wife was alive, she could tell you all about it.”

  I felt a wave of disappointment pass through me. He seemed to know what he was talking about. If he had a name or date slightly wrong, he was still doing well. “Mr. Kazmarek, there was a boy who went to Bennett High School about twenty years ago and he gave your address as his home.”

  “My house?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t mean John?”

  “No, not John.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. You think they had company living with them or something?”

  “Do you remember that?”

  Suddenly his face brightened. “I know what you mean. You mean that crazy bunch who lived in the attic.”

  “There were people living in the attic?”

  “We fixed it up. We thought maybe we could use the space. Put a bathroom up there and everything.”

  Carlotta, who had not said a word since we sat down, put her hand over mine.

  “Do you remember who lived there?” I asked.

  “A woman and a coupla boys. It wasn’t legal, that apartment. You’re not gonna get me in trouble, are you?”

  “Not at all. I’m not interested in the apartment. I’m interested in the woman and the boys. Do you remember their names?”

  “Nah. My wife could tell you. She handled all that. I kept out of the way.”

  “What did the woman look like?” I asked.

  “Stout, gray hair pulled back in a bun. Heavy accent. I couldn’t make head or tail of what she said. Mary took care of it. Mary took care of everything,” he said sadly.

  From chocolate to tenants, I thought. “Do you remember the boys’ names?”

  “Never knew ’em. Sometimes they were there, sometimes they weren’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They would go away somewheres. Don’t ask me where. They just picked up and left on Friday, came back on Monday. They were a crazy bunch. No father, no mother.”

  “I thought you said there was—”

  “An old woman. Leastways she looked old, too old to be their mother. I don’t know. How old do I look to you?”

  “You look like you’re in good health, Mr. Kazmarek,” I said, not wanting to get into a guessing game. “I wouldn’t think you’re as old as you said.”

  “What did I say? Eighty-three?”

  “That’s what you said.”

  He looked inside the bag again and broke off another piece of chocolate. I started to get nervous. “Good stuff,” he said. “My wife used to get me chocolate all the time. She used to bake chocolate cakes for me. Nobody does that anymore.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I hope you save some for later.”

  “Oh, sure. Save a little for later.”

  “Would you remember the name of that old woman if you heard it?” I asked.

  “I might.”

  “Was it Krassky?”

  “Krassky?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Do you know what country she was from?”

  He shrugged.

  “How long did she live there?”

  “Coupla years. My wife could tell you exactly. She kept the records.”

  I wanted to ask if they had left a forwarding address, but I knew it was hopeless. “Were they good tenants?” I asked instead, just to see if I could get him to talk about them.

  “They paid on time. That’s all I cared about. The boys made some noise running around. The Lipchinskis complained, but the Lipchinskis made their own noise. Ain’t much you can do about noise.”

  I turned to Carlotta. “I guess that’s it. Anything you want to ask?”

  “What did the boys look like?”

  “Big,” he said. “Like football players. Polite, too. Always nice to me and my wife.”

  “Do you think one of them could have been named Val?”

  “Could be,” he said. “But I couldn’t swear to it.”

  Even if he had sworn to it, I would have been skeptical. We shook his hand and left.

  18

  “Val really lived there,” Carlotta said, as we walked out to the car. “We’ve really found a place in the past that we can tie to him.”

  “But we don’t have a name, and since the apartment was illegal, there’s no record anywhere that they ever lived there. And the nurse I spoke to in Connecticut said the aide who was suspected of killing the child was thirty or thirty-five. Even if she was off by five or six years, a sixty-year old man wouldn’t call her old ten years later.”

  “Maybe she just gained weight, dressed like a frump, and had graying hair.”

  “I suppose so,” I said without conviction.

  “I wish his wife were still alive. She’d probably remember everything that ever happened.”

  “It looked that way, didn’t it? It’s funny how dependent he was on her. He probably thinks his clothes wear out because she died.”

  “They probably do. Val and I have always been very independent. He goes out and buys his shirts and ties without help. It’s one reason I can’t tell you if anything’s missing.”

  “Carlotta, there are a few things I want to check that my friend suggested to me yesterday. She thinks it’s odd that Bambi had a funeral before Clark’s body was found.”

  “So do I. But the police were sure all three men were dead. They said as much.”

  “I also find it hard to believe that Matty didn’t leave any address for his mother. Annie said she lived in England and they weren’t in contact with each other. Even if they’d had a falling out, wouldn’t he have some way of reaching his own mother?”

  “Val didn’t,” Carlotta said shortly.

  “He must have known, then. Somehow he must have found out that his mother was a killer, and he severed his relationship with her. It’s too weird. We’re still missing a lot of pieces. Tell me, who paid the credit card bills in your family?”

  “Val did. He had software on his computer where he could tick off the deductibles, so I just turned everything over
to him.”

  “Then you never saw his bills?”

  “There wasn’t any need to.”

  “Let’s take a look when we get home. He may have made phone calls and charged them to credit cards. If he knew you never looked at his charges, it was a safe way to keep them secret from you.”

  “I hate the idea of his keeping secrets.”

  “You want to find him, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “I know where the records are. We’ll look when we get home.”

  By the time we got there it was late afternoon. Carlotta went directly to Val’s office and opened a drawer in his filing cabinet. She pulled out a folder marked TAXES and gave it to me.

  “This is how he did it,” she said. “When a bill was paid, he chucked it into the folder. At the end of the year, when it was complete, he went through it if he had to. Things may be grouped into categories like mortgage payments, utilities, gasoline, and that kind of thing. I really don’t know. I took the file for last year and gave it to our accountant without looking at it. It was just too painful. The telephone bills that you looked through are all there. After Val disappeared, nothing was added to the computer records, but this is all the raw data.”

  I took it and sat down with the folder on my lap. I took a quick look at this year’s pre-Valentine’s Day bills. There was almost nothing. January bills would have come in February. One telephone bill went through the beginning of February, and I had looked at that on my last visit. But there was also an American Express bill and a couple of other credit card bills. I went over every item and found no phone calls.

  Then I started looking at last December and earlier. Month after month, bill after bill listed no phone calls. If he charged calls, he made them with a telephone credit card and they all appeared on his monthly statement. There was nothing here to help me.

  I suddenly felt frustration that bordered on anger. I needed a name. Mr. Kazmarek had given me nothing except an indication that Val could have lived at his address twenty years ago. If the people in the attic had a telephone, and I assumed they did, it could have been in any name in the book. If the woman had moved, she was untraceable without a name. For all I knew, she might still live in Buffalo, and Val might have called her daily without a toll charge. He might have visited her on his lunch hour. She and I might have brushed shoulders on the street, and how would I know?