Who Killed Mr. Garland's Mistress?

by Forrest, Richard;

  Uncertainty crossed his face. Anger returned. “Goddamn it, Tavie! It was you on the phone. I know your voice, who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It must be a dream. This was real, the other a dream. The pain in her shoulder belied this, and she got out of bed. “I’d like a cigarette.”

  “I don’t have any. You know I’m trying to quit.”

  She found a stale package in the night table drawer and lit one. She inhaled deeply and slowly, desperately trying to grab for time to orient herself. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. About two, I guess. Now, what’s up?”

  “You were at Helen’s.” She made the statement and it hung in the air between them.

  Rob rubbed his eyes. “God, what a night. Your call, the car … I haven’t had that much to drink.”

  “You told me it was over with. Why, Rob? Why?”

  “You’re smothering me, Tavie. Is that what you want to hear? You cloy and smother me. We’ve been married twelve years, and outside of a couple of times, going to bed with you was like seducing a Vestal Virgin. Are you satisfied, is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “No. But what I expected.”

  She was fully awake now. Maggie Fitzgerald was not dead. She knew with certainty what had to be done. “You rotten bastard, I hope you rot in hell.” She kept her voice low. If there was to be a scene, she didn’t want to wake her mother or the children.

  Rob paced the room. “All right, Tavie. It’s out in the open now. We can face this like rational people, or we can make a mess. Which way do you want it?”

  “You weakling. You should have told me before, you never should have allowed her to come after me.”

  “That was a mistake, I didn’t realize …”

  “You didn’t realize … that’s the story of your life.”

  “Let’s not go on about it, Tavie. I’ve talked to Helen. I’m willing now to go through with a …”

  “You bastard!”

  She threw herself at him with such ferocity that her weight knocked him back against the dresser. Her fingernails dug into his cheek and raked across his face. He grabbed her hands and pulled them away from his face. She put her arms under his shirt and raked her nails across his back until he thrust her away so violently she sprawled across the bed.

  He stood over her, his chest heaving from exertion. “What’s the matter with you, you’ve gone crazy.”

  He started for the door. “I’ll sleep on the couch. We’ll talk about this tomorrow when you’re rational.” He unconsciously put his fingers against his cheek and looked with astonishment at the blood on their tips. “You’ve gone wild.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “I’m asking you for a divorce, Tavie. Think about that because I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

  “A divorce.” She began to laugh. The laughter and tears welled up until her whole body was wracked with paroxysms of laughter. Rob looked at her, and then went out slamming the door. “A divorce,” she said, and continued laughing.

  The dogs leaped toward the morning sun. The larger ones, from a standing position, were able to almost clear the six-foot-high run fence. Their deep barks were filled with a mock ferocity that changed to obsequious affection when Jay went into the run. The short heavy-set breeder pulled the dog’s ears and pummeled their sides as he kept up a running commentary with Tavie who stood near the run’s gate.

  “A Dane is by far the best breed for your purpose.” His enthusiasm and obvious affection for the large dog he was patting was infectious. The dog bared his teeth and stood tightly against Jay as his head was rubbed. “Dobermans are mean and shepherds are unpredictable.”

  “I wanted something along the lines of a guard dog,” Tavie said.

  “A true guard dog is for commercial or military purposes. They’re strictly one-man dogs, and are dangerous in a home situation. I don’t think you’d want the gas-meter reader torn to shreds.”

  “I’m not worried about meter readers. My husband travels a great deal, I’ve gotten uneasy being at home alone.”

  “Then a Dane is the breed for you. Here, look at this fellow.” He led a half-grown Dane from the run and over to Tavie. “Get acquainted with him. He’s nine months old, half-grown, his name is Neal.”

  Tavie fondled the dog and thought of Rob’s leaving the house this morning. As she prepared breakfast for the children he’d stuck his head in the door and said he’d call later in the day. Without waiting for an answer, or a cup of coffee, he’d stormed out. She heard the Ford’s tires squeal as he quickly forced it out of the driveway.

  The local morning news had no mention of Helen. Surely they’d traced the call, certainly the operator heard the gun fire. Tavie had left the phone off the hook purposely, hoping for a quick discovery of the body.

  The pattern of her usual mornings had continued. The children had gone to school, she’d had coffee with her mother, and by nine was in a cab headed toward Sunvale Kennels.

  “This dog is only half-grown?” Tavie said to Jay.

  “Yes. A Dane doesn’t reach full growth until the end of the second year. Look at his paws. I’d say he’s about two-thirds full stature.”

  “Even now, he’s the biggest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “I think he’ll be perfect for your needs. His size and bark will scare off any intruder, and yet he’ll be a big puppy with your children. As soon as he’s used to you, you’ll have instant loyalty.”

  Sunvale Kennels specialized in Danes and attack dogs. She had selected the name from the phone book early this morning, and on the phone Jay had waxed so enthusiastic about his breed that she’d made an immediate appointment. Under the circumstances, it hardly paid for her to wait. Now, for the past fifteen minutes she’d been getting a lecture on the care and feeding of Great Danes.

  “I’ll take him,” she said.

  “Fine. You won’t be sorry. He’s had all his shots of course, let me clip his toes for you.”

  “Oh, no. I’ll have to be doing it, let me do it at home.”

  “Well, if you’re sure?”

  “If I have any trouble I’ll bring him back tomorrow.”

  “O.K., let me get a collar and some other items for you.”

  The cab driver seemed on the point of mutiny as she walked toward the waiting car with Neal on a leash. “You’re kidding, Lady,” he said. “That’s not a dog, that’s a horse.”

  As they drove toward her house she began to relax. A burden had been lifted, an evil thing expurgated, and now she was cleansed. The fall was beginning to reach its height of color, which reminded her that she’d have to work very hard on her poetry if she were to have anything published this fall. Perhaps her autumn poem would use a cleansing theme … how the year was stripped of all its trappings as nature prepared for a rebirth of all living things. The words began to form, vague phrases and meter were almost within her grasp.

  In her kitchen she began to prepare a meal for the dog. First, a box to put his dish on. A Dane shouldn’t bend all the way to the floor, Jay had told her, misshapes the neck. She mixed dog chow with lukewarm water as her mother entered.

  “You’ve had two calls, Octavia. A Mr. Haversham and Jack Warren. They both seemed very eager to speak with you. What is that beast?”

  “The newest member of the family. His name is Neal. Do you like him?”

  “I don’t know. Will he bite?”

  “The breed is supposed to be very friendly. I had better return those calls.”

  She went upstairs to the bedroom phone and sat on the edge of the bed. Surely something had happened by this time. Best to get it over with. She dialed the newspaper and asked for Will.

  “Haversham here.”

  “Tavie, Will. Is anything the matter?”

  “Christ, Hon. You know it. Helen’s been murdered.”

  “What?”

  “They found the body late last night. She’d been shot to death in her dining
room, that’s all I know now.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “All right, listen. Don’t get upset. I’m assigned to the story. I’ll call you back later. The radio people are already out there, try that for details.”

  “Will, it frightens me, it really scares me.”

  “Don’t get upset. It’ll be all right, sit tight and I’ll call you later.”

  He hung up and she sat staring at the silent phone. The phone rang, and she picked it up, knowing who it would be.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Is that you, Tavie? Jack.”

  “Let me tell you something, Mr. Warren. I want you to forget what happened the other night at the club. And I don’t want you calling me again.”

  “Wait … listen …”

  “I had too much to drink and was very vulnerable. It meant nothing, do you …”

  “For God’s sake, Tavie, listen to me. It’s about Rob.”

  “You told him.”

  “No. Rob’s been arrested. Helen Fraser was killed last night, and they’ve just arrested Rob.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, but he asked that I call you and then his lawyer …”

  “It can’t be …” She hung up the phone abruptly. Jack’s next call would be to Miriam, and she’d be over here before the hour was up. Tavie turned on the bedside clock radio and searched the dial for a newscast.

  “The brutally murdered body of convicted killer, Helen Fraser, was discovered early this morning by state police after they had been notified by an alert telephone operator. State Police Captain, Rocco Hubert, theorized to station WDAR that the shotgun killing was sexually motivated. At this time a large group of police specialists are gathering physical evidence from the crime scene.

  “Four years ago Mrs. Fraser was convicted of killing her husband, Air Force Major Donald Fraser, in their luxurious Braxton home. She was subsequently sentenced to the State Correctional Center for Women on a manslaughter charge and released less than a year ago.

  “Captain Hubert declined to reveal the names of any suspects, but did say that an abandoned car had been discovered with what is believed to be the murder weapon. An arrest is expected shortly. Keep tuned to WDAR for later developments.”

  She switched off the radio.

  Eugene Gordon drove as he spoke, with meticulous care and a studied concentration. Tavie, sitting at the far edge of the seat knew they were very near Helen’s house. They passed the gas station where she had made the phone call. “How much further is it?” she asked.

  “Approximately four and a half miles. Octavia, I think you should know that if we don’t clear up this misunderstanding shortly, Robert could be indicted. We will probably need to hire trial counsel.”

  “Won’t you represent him, Eugene?”

  “I’m afraid I’m much more at home with a real estate closing than a felony trial. I can hardly remember the last time I went to court on a criminal matter. The firm has never gotten into that type of practice. We’ll act as co-counsel, of course, and I can recommend a good trial man for the court work.”

  “Thank you, Eugene. What happens to Rob now?”

  “Today we’ll go before the circuit court and they will bind Rob over to superior court and the grand jury. They’ll set bail and …”

  “Bail? On a murder charge.”

  “Oh, yes. Rob is a responsible member of the community with strong family ties, and since the death penalty has been set aside, even murder is a bailable offense. I don’t want to get your hopes up, Octavia. Bail will probably be set at 100,000 dollars.”

  “A hundred thousand …” The panic that had begun to rise subsided. In quickly analyzing their assets, she doubted that they amounted to that much.

  Eugene Gordon was becoming very indignant. “We’ll sue of course. I have always wanted to take a good case through the courts against the state. False arrest … Yes, it will be an excellent case. Why, I’ve known you and Rob since you moved to Connecticut and we closed your house.”

  He bent forward and unconsciously speeded up as he contemplated the civil suit.

  The red brick jail faced the town green. She’d passed through this small town a dozen times, and this very building an equal number of times. She had never dreamed that the building was still in use, and in fact, had thought it was maintained as local color for the pretty green with its very New Englandlike atmosphere.

  They were able to park in back of the building, and entered through the rear entrance, up a short flight of wooden steps. The ancient corridor cut straight through to the front door; off the corridor were a line of offices with small wooden signs hanging overhead to identify each appropriate town office. Toward the front of the building was the police department. Eugene asked her to wait, and she took a seat on a low wooden bench.

  She imagined that the cells were upstairs, as from the outside the upstairs windows appeared barred. In five minutes Eugene reappeared followed by one of the largest men Tavie had ever seen.

  “Octavia, this is Captain Rocco Hubert of the state police. He’s asked if you would mind answering a few questions for him. Of course, I’ll be present.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Garland.” Rocco Hubert offered his hand which Tavie shook mechanically. She felt extremely diminutive before this man who she judged must be at least six-foot-six and weigh close to 300 pounds. His civilian clothes seemed to fit well, he must have them tailored. She noticed that he didn’t seem fat, just big, his neck growing trunklike from massive shoulders.

  “Is there a vacant office where we can have some privacy, Captain?” Eugene asked.

  “I always use the voter registration office, except during election time.” He led them down the hallway and into one of the smaller offices. Captain Hubert moved with the grace of a large, precision-honed machine … each part perfectly attuned with every other. The office held a group of file cabinets, a desk, and two old wooden chairs. Eugene immediately occupied the desk and took a legal pad from his attaché case. The Captain and Tavie each sat in the chairs. She had to smile to herself over Eugene’s appropriating the desk. He’d obviously been at many corporate meetings where dominant position was established early.

  Eugene pointed his pen at the captain. “Now, I remember. You played tackle for Yale. Runner-up for All-American. Rocco Hubert, of course.”

  The captain laughed. “Ancient history. And one season with the Atlantic Coast League. Then, I discovered my weakness. I hate to hurt people. I wanted to be an accountant, but they laughed when I walked in to apply for a job. Size does have its disadvantages. I ended up with a choice, beer salesman or the police. I naïvely thought the state police gave out speeding tickets all day long.” He shrugged. “The vagaries of life.”

  Tavie and Eugene both laughed. They couldn’t help but like this large man who seemed filled with benign kindness toward the world. “What can I tell you, Captain?” Tavie said.

  “Just routine matters. I do want to record it, if that’s all right with you, Counselor?”

  “It’s not admissible,” Eugene said.

  “I know. But I’ve got a lousy memory, it makes for better accuracy. That’s the accountant in me. As usual, I forgot the machine. If you’ll pardon me, it’s just outside in the car.”

  Moving lightly, he left the room. Tavie looked at Eugene. “What do I tell him?”

  “The truth, Octavia. Try and hedge and you’ll only harm Robert.”

  The captain returned carrying a small cassette player that Tavie knew was exactly the model she used to transcribe Helen’s tapes. He quickly set up the machine and lay the microphone on the tabletop pointed in her direction.

  “Now, Mrs. Garland. If you’ll identify yourself, and tell me what you were doing on the night of the murder. We’ll try and make this as painless as possible.”

  “I’m Octavia Garland, thirty-five. I live at ninety-four Penly Drive, West Hartford. I am married to Robert Garland. I went to bed early that night.” She stopped and looked
at the police captain. “What else?”

  “That’s fine. You’re very cooperative. Now, let’s see. You were home that night. You went to bed early. Who else was in the house besides your husband?”

  She looked over at Eugene who was busily making notes. He looked up at her and nodded affirmatively. She continued. “My mother is staying with us, she was there, and of course my two children. My husband wasn’t home.”

  “Where was your husband?”

  “He … he was on a business trip.”

  “A business trip?”

  She looked over imploringly at Eugene. “I’ll answer that, Captain,” Eugene said. “We will establish Mr. Garland’s whereabouts at a later time. We accede for the moment that Mrs. Garland thought he was on a business trip.”

  “I see.” Rocco Hubert stared at the ceiling a moment and pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “No, of course not,” Tavie said.

  “After you went to bed, Mrs. Garland, when did you next see your husband?”

  “Late at night, or early in the morning. He came in and awakened me.”

  “What was his mental or emotional attitude at that time?”

  “She doesn’t have to answer that, Captain.”

  “You’re right, Counselor. I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll try and make this as brief as possible. I know you’re upset, Mrs. Garland. Now, let’s see … Oh, the shotgun. We found that you bought it … the day before the murder.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I …”

  Eugene interjected hurriedly. “Pardon me, Captain. Mrs. Garland admits to buying a shotgun.”

  “Yes,” Tavie said. “At one of the sporting goods places in town. At …”

  “French’s,” Rocco Hubert said.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” His voice was more abrupt.

  “I … my husband asked me to.”

  “Half the homes in this state have shotguns, Captain,” Eugene said.