The Childish Churl (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 15)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Moving into the dining room, I said, "I'm not really tired."

  "Me, neither," replied Carter.

  We'd both slept in our seats on the way back. We'd put Marnie and Alex in the bedroom that was in the aft of the plane after explaining that it was quite likely that J. Edgar Hoover had slept on that bed. We'd bought the Fireman from the F.B.I. earlier in the year. It had once been Hoover's personal airplane. It had also been rigged with all sorts of listening devices but Mike and his crew had found them all. Marnie had rolled her eyes and declared that Hitler, himself, could have slept on the bed for all she cared. To demonstrate her point, she fell back on the bed, kicked off her shoes, closed her eyes, and promptly fell asleep.

  I asked, "How about a fire?"

  In the dark, I could see Carter smile. He kissed my forehead and moved over to the fireplace.

  I walked over to the garden door and opened it, letting in the cool night air. I moved to the hi-fi cabinet and turned it on so it could warm up. Taking out our favorite Jo Stafford album, I put the record on the turntable. As she sang about autumn in New York, I walked over to Carter who was building the logs in the fireplace. He said, "The only problem with being on our own is that we don't have anyone cleaning out the ashes on a daily basis."

  I leaned over and kissed him on the temple. "I'll take care of it tomorrow."

  He nodded. After pushing some rolled-up newspaper under the logs, he lit a match and set them alight. The warm light of the fire filled the room. I stood and looked up at the ceiling, watching the light dance on the wood panel ceiling.

  I was turning to say something to Carter when I suddenly realized someone was stretched out on the sofa. I blinked a couple of times, not believing what I was seeing. It was Mrs. Grossman.

  I walked over to the switch plate by the garden door and turned all the lights on. As the room lit up, Carter, who was stoking the fire, said, "Hey! I thought this room looked best by firelight."

  I said, "It does," as I walked back to the sofa. From what I could see, I was pretty sure she was dead.

  He stood and stretched. Turning to me, he asked, "Then why—?" He suddenly saw the body. "Damn."

  "Yeah." I knelt next to her. Her left hand was hanging off the sofa. Her fingers were wrapped around the grip of a .35 revolver. She was wearing a simple red linen dress. In the center, between her breasts, was a burn hole. Her eyes were open and they looked startled, as if she wasn't sure she could believe that she'd actually taken her own life. I looked up at Carter.

  He said, "We're going to do this the right way. I'm calling Mike." He walked over to the office.

  As I looked at the way the hand was holding the gun, I said, "Use your handkerchief when you open the door and pick up the receiver."

  "Right."

  I called out, "And tell him to call Anita and check on her."

  . . .

  Even though we were in the Central District, someone decided it would be a good idea to send Lieutenant Rostenkowski from the North District. I was beginning to suspect that his unofficial job assignment included wrangling us.

  Mike and Greg arrived before he did. We all stood on the front stoop and waited for Rostenkowski.

  "On the one night that there's no one in the house for probably the first time since you were born." That was Mike.

  "I know. And that ain't a suicide."

  "How'd you know?" asked Greg as he sipped from a paper cup of coffee. They'd stopped and picked up enough for all of us.

  "Her left hand is wrapped tightly around the grip. And there's no blood anywhere."

  Greg nodded. "How did whoever get in?"

  Carter said, "I left the front door unlocked."

  "Do you usually do that?"

  "Nope. I forgot about it. I've never had to think about it. There's always been someone in the house since we moved in. The only other time we were alone was the day we moved in when all the old staff left. Mrs. Kopek showed up the next day and, by the time we got home that evening, everyone was already in place."

  Greg nodded.

  Right then, a '48 Ford pulled up across the street and parked at the curb. Anita jumped out of the car, her turquoise coat flapping in the wind and a yellow scarf covering her hair, and bounded across the dark street. "What happened?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes full of worry.

  I said, "Someone killed Mrs. Grossman and brought her body here."

  Mike asked, "Where is Alicia?"

  Anita put her hand on her mouth and took a moment to catch her breath. "She's at the dorm. Or that's where she said she was going this afternoon. We had, um, lunch at my apartment and she said she wanted to get back to study for a test on Monday. We were planning on meeting for dinner in Oakland on Monday night." She shook her head. "Do you think she did it?"

  Mike said, "We don't know. But it looks that way."

  Greg gently asked, "What about the fight you had with Mrs. Grossman on Wednesday afternoon?"

  That was news to me. At that time, we had been out on The Flirtatious Captain with Marnie and Alex, the kids, and our out-of-town guests. I watched Anita's reaction as it changed from worry to fear and then switched to anger. "You can't think—"

  "It's not what we think, it's what the police think," said Mike.

  She nodded and took a calming breath. Putting her right hand on her hip and her left hand on her forehead, she said, "Yes, we had a fight. Mrs. Grossman stormed in demanding to talk to me. Andy Anderson happened to be there. He pushed us into Nick's office and stood by me as she told me how I was destroying Alicia's life. She was so angry that she turned purple. I was afraid she was going to have a heart attack or something."

  "How did it end?" I asked.

  "She stormed out, spitting at me."

  I nodded. "Do you have an alibi for yesterday after Alicia left?"

  Right then, an unmarked police car pulled up behind Anita's. Lieutenant Dan Rostenkowski stepped out of the passenger side. He was chomping on an unlit cigar and looking annoyed. A handsome, dark-haired patrol officer got out from the driver's side. As the lieutenant came around the back end of the car, he growled, "You stay here, Morano."

  The cop folded his arms and nodded with a smirk. "Gladly, Lieutenant."

  As the lieutenant walked across the street, he said, "You are all such big pains in my fat ass." He said it with a grin. I noticed his overcoat was buttoned wrong. He had probably gotten dressed in the dark. As he came up the steps, I could smell alcohol. I wondered if he'd even been awake when the call came in.

  Mike offered his hand and the lieutenant shook. "What's the score, Robertson?"

  Mike gave him the facts. When he was done, he said, "There's no blood anywhere. It wasn't a suicide. It's supposed to look like one, though."

  Rostenkowski chomped on his cigar for a couple of beats. He looked up at Carter. "You left the door unlocked?"

  Carter pursed his lips and nodded. "Just forgot."

  Looking around the neighborhood, Rostenkowski asked, "You forgot?"

  I said, "You've been here before, Lieutenant. There's always someone in the house. We gave the staff the week off starting last Saturday. They don't get back until tonight."

  The lieutenant had taken out a pad and pencil. He was thumping the pencil on the pad in rhythm as I was talking. When I was done, he just nodded and then looked at Anita. "A gal? Never seen you before."

  Mike said, "This is Anita Wilson. She works for us."

  "Got a P.I. license?" asked the lieutenant.

  She nodded and fumbled through her purse. Pulling out her wallet, her hands shaking, she opened it and showed her license to the lieutenant.

  He nodded, still thumping his pencil. "Why are you here?" He looked up at Greg and grinned. "I know why you're here, Holland."

  Greg lifted his cup to the lieutenant, but didn't say anything.

  Mike said, "Anita has been—"

  "She's got a mouth. I asked you a question, miss."

  That seemed to hit Anita the wrong way. She smartly p
ut her wallet back in her purse and said, "I am here, lieutenant, because I've been going with the dead woman's daughter and I am a likely suspect."

  "That the case?" grinned the lieutenant.

  "Yes. Shall I tell you what I know?"

  He crossed his arms. "Go right ahead."

  She walked him through how she'd met Alicia, how they had seen each other several times in the last week, and recounted what Mrs. Grossman had said to her.

  Her forthrightness seemed to impress the lieutenant. As she spoke, he stopped thumping his pencil. When she was done, he said, "Thank you, Miss Wilson. I have two questions for you before I go inside and have a look around."

  "Yes?"

  "You seem to know Alicia Grossman as well as anyone here. Is she capable of murdering her mother?"

  Anita thought for a moment and then sighed. "Yes, I believe she is."

  "Could she have carried her mother's body into the house?"

  Anita nodded. "Her mother weighed, at most, ninety pounds. Alicia was very strong. She played lacrosse."

  The lieutenant politely lifted his hat at her. "Thank you."

  With that, he moved up the steps and walked towards the door. He took out his handkerchief and used it to push the door open. Before he walked inside, he stopped and said, "Robertson, I've got some crime scene guys on the way. Let 'em know I'm in here, will you?"

  "Will do, Lieutenant."

  . . .

  "We found well over fifty unique sets of fingerprints," said Rostenkowski with a sigh. We were all standing in the kitchen, sipping coffee. I had made some in the percolator and was wondering if we had enough eggs for breakfast.

  The crime scene crew had come and gone. A photographer had been through. The body had been removed. And the sun was up.

  I said, "We had a wedding here on Saturday a week ago."

  Looking at me, Rostenkowski nodded. "Right. So, it would be good if we could find the murderer without having to match prints. That could take a month."

  I leaned against the counter. "If you don't mind me asking, what did the Berkeley police tell you?"

  "Alicia Grossman hasn't been seen in the dorm since she had breakfast there on Saturday morning. One of her classmates said Alicia had told her she was coming into the City after she finished eating."

  Anita said, "She arrived at my apartment at half past 10."

  Greg looked at me. "Did she have access to a car?"

  I shook my head. "Not that I know of." The phone rang at that moment. There was an extension on the wall by the back door. I hooked my thumb at it and said, "Knock yourself out, Lieutenant."

  He grinned, walked over, and picked it up. "Rostenkowski here." He nodded. "Thanks for calling me back, sergeant. What can you tell me?" He pulled out his pad and pencil and began to scribble. "I see. And your men went inside the house? Any—" He nodded and scribbled some more. After about a minute, he said. "You did?" He looked up at me for a brief moment. "Fine. Thank you, sergeant." He put the receiver on the hook and walked back to where he'd left his cup.

  He took a sip and then said, "Nothing out of place at the Grossman house in Mill Valley. The car is gone. They're getting the plate for me and will call back when they have it. We can then put out an A.P.B. on it and, hopefully, find it."

  He took another sip and looked at me. "They interviewed this Janice Lyon. She said Alicia was at her house in the late afternoon and that she called you. Janice claims Alicia talked to you. Is that possible?"

  I shook my head. "At that time, we were out in the middle of nowhere in Texas."

  "Texas?"

  I nodded as Mike said, "Remember those children I called you about last Saturday?"

  Rostenkowski nodded as he drained his cup.

  Mike continued, "Nick and Carter flew them to Texas so they could live with the father's relatives."

  The lieutenant was thoughtful. "Who was Alicia talking to?"

  I snapped my fingers and said, "The service," as I walked over to the phone and dialed the number for our answering service.

  Carter snorted. "Of course. The phone must still roll over to the service if no one answers it."

  A female voice asked, "Yes, Mrs. Kopek?"

  I laughed. "This is actually Nick Williams for once. Do you have any messages for me?"

  "Yes, sir. We have several. Shall I read them to you?"

  "Well, can you hold onto whatever you have for the time being? Mrs. Kopek will be back tomorrow night and will call in then. Can you check and see if there's one from yesterday that was for me? It would have been from an Alicia Grossman."

  "One moment, sir."

  I waited for a moment and looked down at the floor. I could see that I had done a terrible job at keeping the kitchen clean. There were crumbs all over the place. I realized they were from some cookies that the kids had been eating on Wednesday night. We'd come back to the house after going out on the bay and had hamburger sandwiches and frankfurters with cookies for dessert.

  "Mr. Williams?"

  "Yes?"

  "I do have one like that. It was left at 6:05 p.m. yesterday afternoon. Shall I read it to you?"

  "Please."

  She paused and said, "Oh my. This can't be right."

  "What is it?"

  "Well, this is the sort of thing we normally would never take. I don't know why Miss Rochester would have written it down. Oh, wait." There was another pause. "I see. On the back, I see a note from Miss Rochester saying that it was supposed to be a riddle and that you would know what it meant. I find it rather tasteless, myself."

  "What does it say?" I could feel a knot building in my stomach.

  "'Please tell Anita I'm sorry. I just couldn't take it anymore. Mother did what she shouldn't have done and Father is gone. When I'm done, I'll just drown myself in the lake. Thank you for helping us. We won't bother you again.'"

  I took a deep breath and said, "Please hold onto that note. You might also want to tell Miss Rochester that the police will be calling to ask her about the details of that call."

  "Oh my. That's why—"

  I said, "Exactly," as I put the phone on the hook.

  . . .

  I called Maria to come by and take Anita home. She was the only friend that any of us knew she had. Both Maria and Frankie showed up. They promised to stay with her for the next couple of days and left.

  Rostenkowski put in a call to Lieutenant Thomas over at Mission station to tell him about the note. After a lot of bullshit nonsense, Thomas finally agreed to close the case pending confirmation that Alicia Grossman had killed herself. For whatever reason, I was relieved that he was as much of an ass to Rostenkowski as he was to me.

  The lieutenant then got on the phone and started calling all the area police departments to tell them to look for a submerged green Pontiac Chieftain. Within fifteen minutes, the Oakland police called and said that a car matching that description had been pulled out of Lake Merritt at around 1 in the morning. A witness had seen it go in just past midnight and had called the police. There had been a body. It was female. With dark hair. Approximately 20 years old.

  Once it was clear that there was no one left to identify the body, I volunteered Carter and me to head over to Oakland and do the job. Rostenkowski, to his credit, asked to come with us, not as a cop, but as a friend. We told him to go get started on his paperwork. Mike and Greg decided they would go with us, instead. At around nine in the morning, we piled in the Roadmaster and set out, but only after Carter ran back up the stairs and locked the front door.

  Since it was a Sunday morning, the air was clear. The sky was blue and it was on the warm side. There was no traffic as we crossed the Bay Bridge and made our way to downtown Oakland.

  As we passed through the Yerba Buena Tunnel, Greg asked, "If this is Alicia Grossman, why did she leave her mother's body at your house?"

  Mike said, "I was wondering about that, too."

  Carter added, "What I want to know is why Nick's name was on Mr. Grossman's body."


  I sighed. "If Mrs. Grossman killed her husband, she may have put my name on his body as a way of trying to throw suspicion on me."

  "Why?" asked Greg.

  I replied, "I really don't know. There's so much about this case that we may never know."

  Mike added, "Because of Lieutenant Thomas at Mission. I'm surprised that he let Rostenkowski convince him to close the case."

  I nodded. "As for why Alicia brought her mother's body to our house, the only thing I can come up with is that we're about halfway between Mill Valley and Oakland. She would have driven across the bridge, followed Lombard to Van Ness, and then made a right on California."

  "Right," said Greg, "but why turn on California? Why not just take Market down to the Bay Bridge entrance?"

  Carter said, "Because I think she wanted us to help her."

  "Us?" I asked, looking over at my husband in the passenger seat.

  "Sure."

  I slowed down to pay the quarter toll. Once we were through, I asked, "Why?"

  "Because I think she was hoping we could help her. That we could help her figure out what to do." He paused and didn't speak for a few moments. Finally, he said, "I think she'd changed her mind about killing herself. When we weren't home and she figured out the front door was unlocked, she decided to carry her mother's body inside and leave it there."

  Greg asked, "Right there on the street?"

  I nodded. "Carter could be right. Our street is quiet at night."

  "If you're right, there must have been a lot going on in that family," said Mike. "I've seen some crazy things but dropping off a corpse takes a lot of effort and, I would imagine, a desire to leave a message."

  I nodded. "She left a message alright."

  "What?" asked Greg.

  "Fuck you," said Carter. "That was the message."

  . . .

  When we got to the morgue, there was an Oakland P.D. police captain waiting to meet us. After introducing himself as Captain William Green, he asked, "Are you sure there are no relatives?"

  I nodded. "Her parents have both been murdered."

  He grimaced. "That's tough. We assumed this was a suicide."

  "Check with Lieutenant Rostenkowski at North Station," said Mike, "but I think it's a safe assumption."