LOST TO THE WORLD

by Libby Sternberg

  Make sure the children are as spotless as the house when he comes home….Turn off the washing machine and other noisy appliances so he’s greeted by soothing quiet…..Freshen your makeup and hair before he steps through the door….

  She’d not had the chance to follow these rules with Ernie. They’d been so young, so….unaware. She closed the magazine. It was simple, really. Just like a real job.

  Chapter Twenty

  SEAN LOOKED ANXIOUSLY at O’Brien’s closed door when he slipped into his desk chair. He’d overslept, dead tired from the day before, and he’d had trouble getting the boys dressed in time to go fetch Brigitta. He had to set his alarm earlier. On top of it all, he’d seen a story in the morning’s paper about the investigation, some human interest crap written by a turd reporter probably itching to move up. Just interviews with folks at the hospital, all of whom were wondering when this thing would wrap up and some worrying about how it would affect the lab’s work.

  Sal gave him the news that the NYU secretary had called back.

  “I didn’t know what to ask her,” he said, throwing a pencil on the desk. He was clearly unhappy with Sean’s tardiness. Even Sal had his limits. O’Brien must have said something. “So I just threw a bunch of questions at her about Hill and Lowenstein….”

  “And Jansen?”

  “Hell, no. What was I supposed to ask about him?”

  “About his ex, where she is…” Sean flipped through notes, trying to find his focus. No headache today, but he was beat and confused and mad at himself again. Sal knew about the babysitting Brigitta was doing and probably figured the two of them were really hitting it off. Crap.

  “Yeah, I been working on that. Can’t find his ex anywhere. Maybe she remarried.” Sal crossed his arms over his chest. “O’Brien was on my back, by the way. Wondering where you were, what was up with the case. He stood over my shoulder when I got the damned call.”

  That must have been bad. O’Brien’s imposing hulk casting a shadow over you while you try to sound like you know what you’re doing. Sean shouldn’t have left Sal without going over things. It was his job to shepherd the guy along.

  “What did you find out?” He couldn’t undo what was done. Might as well move forward.

  “Not much that I could see is worthwhile.” Sal opened his notebook and scanned his scribbled notes. “She just repeated what she wrote in the letter about Lowenstein, how he went to Germany, how some folks there had a few letters from him, thought he was coming back, and then boom, nothing until ’46 when some survivor of his family came over and let them know he’d been killed.” Sal spoke flatly, as if Sean didn’t deserve to hear what he’d found out.

  “What about Hill?”

  “She said he was a quiet man. Not many remembered him because he stayed in the background a lot. Worked a bunch of different things.”

  “Polio?”

  “Not so much. She said he had worked on it, was in the thick of it back in the ‘30s she was told. But that was before the—” He checked his notes—“the vaccine trials, she said. She said most of the people who knew him weren’t there any more.”

  “Vaccine trials? You mean the ones being planned now?”

  “No. Some other deal.”

  Sean said nothing. So, not many people knew Hill well. Just like at Hopkins. He kept to himself, was quiet. Sean heaved a sigh and pushed in closer to his desk.

  “We have to do some telephoning, buddy.” He smiled at Sal and was relieved to see his partner give him a grudging flicker back. “Did she tell you where Hill came from, where his family was from?”

  “Yeah. A little town in upstate New York. Cresskill or something like that.”

  “Near the cabin he rented.” Sean pointed to the phone. “Call the police there. See what you can find out about the Hill family.”

  “You mean families, don’t you? There’s gotta be a dozen of them.”

  “I was thinking two dozen.” He grinned, and now Sal responded with a broad smile in return.

  “All right. What am I looking for?”

  “Living relatives. Someone who can tell us something that might help us figure out why Hill changed his name.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to keep trying to find out who Dr. Jansen married and what happened to his wife.”

  Sal pulled a taped-together note from a file and held it up as if it were a prize catch in a fishing derby. “I found something else, partner.”

  The note. Susan had said something about a note. Julia had mailed it back to her.

  “….so when Schlager takes off, I walked in and there it was,” Sal was saying, but Sean was remembering Julia’s confused and sorrowful look the night before when she’d confessed to sending the returned note back to Susan. She’d probably guessed its contents.

  “I found that other gal’s letter with it. Julia Dell—she wrote Susan saying the postman couldn’t deliver it so she thought she’d send it back to Susan.” Sal looked Sean in the eye. “That’s odd, don’t you think? Why not just give it to the woman? It’s like she wanted the poor gal’s husband to open it.”

  Yes, she probably had wanted that. Susan was whole and Julia was not.

  The returned note was sad and sweet at the same time. Susan Schlager was expressing her affection for her boss, hoping he might return it. She thought they could meet for dinner one night, or coffee. She admired his dedication to his job but she thought he looked lonely, just like her. She wasn’t happy in her marriage and he shouldn’t feel guilty about “luering her away.” She must have been looking for the note in Lowenstein’s house, not realizing Julia had sent it back to her.

  “So Susan’s husband opened the note…” Sean said.

  “And socked her in the face is my guess,” Sal answered. “My guess is this was a pattern. He knocks her around. She leaves for a few days, maybe holes up at a hotel, or maybe she does have some aunt we couldn’t find. That’s why hubby ain’t worried when she goes missing. But he did look blue when I told him about the accident.”

  Sal paused when Sean didn’t comment. “It still could mean her husband was jealous, could mean he was jealous enough to—”

  Sean cut him off. “He didn’t see the note until after the murder.”

  “Maybe he suspected something.”

  “Then why wait to beat up the wife? More likely he would have offed the doc and then punched out the wife that night. She went into work the next day, bright as a daisy.” Sean swallowed. His throat was dry as he considered another possibility.

  “Or maybe,” Sal said, articulating what Sean didn’t want even to think, “it was that cripple. She’s all torn up inside. She’s mad at the doctor for not working on her problem. She finds out her pal Sue is keen on the fellow. It all boils over and…” He raised his arm as if wielding a weapon, a cane.

  “Her cane was clean,” Sean murmured.

  “Could have been new.”

  “No, it looked used. Just not used in that way.” But she had said they were strong. Strong enough to beat a man to death and show no mark? What were they made of? He scraped back his chair, impatient to do something. “I’m going to look at her boss again. That Dr. Jansen. Try to find his ex. She might know something about Hill.”

  He left before Sal could protest.

  ***

  “Thank you for the telegram about Dr. Hill’s death. I’m very sorry to hear he’s passed, and to hear of the terrible way in which he died. It must be very upsetting to you and everyone at the lab. No time is a good time for these things to happen, but this is worse than most. I’ve read the hopeful news of Dr. Salk’s work….

  “…. It seems as if almost everyone is gone now from the old group. Of course, I’m sure you heard the horrible rumors about my cousin by now. It’s really cruel the way some people speculate—as if they hoped he killed himself instead of being felled by a heart attack….”

  Sean found the note in a pile of recently-opened mail on the corner of Jansen’s de
sk. Or rather, Julia led him to it. Another note pointing to guilt. In Susan’s case, the guilt of loving a man other than her husband. And in Jansen’s case, the guilt of hiding his relationship with the deceased.

  Yes, Sean was glad to find it but unhappy that Julia was the one to lead him to it. Did she even realize what she was doing—setting people up? Exposing their sins, putting them in jeopardy?

  Most of the mail was related to the research, but this letter, on pretty linen stationery with a bluish hue, stood out, and Sean had reached for it first from the group when Julia had let him into the office. He even wondered if she herself had placed it on top after finding it in the doctor’s materials. She’d shown no discomfort when letting him in. If anything, her mood was eager, as if she wanted to please him.

  The note was signed simply, “Irene.” The envelope was gone. Sean looked around the desk, under it, even in the trash can. Nothing. The cleaning crew must have recently emptied the bin. Shit. He was so close.

  He needed to ask Julia some more questions about her cane or find someone who could tell him about such things. That had been the real reason for his visit despite what he’d told Sal, but she’d assumed he’d come to talk to Dr. Jansen, had told him he was out, and offered to let him in the doc’s office, so eager-like, so helpful.

  Ah, Julia. He rubbed his hand over his face. He wanted her to be…like Mary. Sweet and innocent.

  All right, then. There was still Jansen to pursue. Just because Julia was pointing to the doctor’s guilt didn’t mean Jansen was free from stain. The man was still keeping secrets. He’d let his ex-wife know of Hill’s death. He must have known the doctor’s name and never let on. Enough was enough. Sean was going to bring him in for questioning.

  ***

  Mrs. Wilcox had never heard of a Dr. Richard Hill but she promised to make inquiries about him and about “Irene Brodie.”

  Before leaving Hopkins, Sean stopped back at the lab one more time to see if Jansen had returned, but his office was still empty. Julia hadn’t heard from him either. Where was he? Julia couldn’t reach him on the phone, his housekeeper was away—nobody knew where he’d gone. Damn. Had he run?

  “You ever hear of an Irene Brodie?” he asked.

  She shook her head no, blushing and looking down. She’d seen the “Irene” on the signature.

  All right. Nobody knew the doc’s ex. And now he was gone. Running was a sure sign of guilt. An odd sense of relief flooded him as he said goodbye to Julia that day. If Jansen were guilty, she was off the hook.

  He hurried back to the station where he gave his info to Sal, who offered to check out the doc’s house. After Sal left, Sean had to spend a good hour talking alone to O’Brien, convincing him to let Sal head up to Cresskill, New York to investigate the vic’s life.

  O’Brien thought Sal was too “green” and was even willing to okay both their fares so Sean could show Sal the ropes on such an outing. Sean couldn’t leave his boys, though, so he had to offer multiple assurances that he’d coach Sal through what he should look for and stay in touch often.

  “Jesus Christ,” O’Brien said at that, “I’ll probably end up spending more on toll calls than the train fare would have cost the department.”

  Back at his desk, he was ready to leave for the day when his phone rang, his partner’s voice coming over the line and what sounded like a two-way radio squawking in the background.

  “Where are you?” Sean asked.

  “Hampden Cab Company. I ran into some neighbor of Jansen’s who told me the guy took off kind of in a hurry last night, with a suitcase like he was going away. Got one of these taxis.”

  “Where’d it take him?”

  “They just pulled the sheet for me—to his housekeeper’s house and then to the airport. He scrammed, for sure.”

  “But why the stop at the housekeeper’s?”

  “I’m heading there now. You wanna join me?”

  Sean looked at his watch and sighed. “Yeah. What’s that address again?”

  ***

  Sal might have wanted Sean to accompany him so he wouldn’t botch the interview, but there really was no need. The elderly Negro woman had no interest in covering for Jansen, even if he was innocent. She looked beyond Sean and Sal, checking to see if any big-shouldered cops were waiting to drag her away. Not that it would have taken more than Sean himself. She was only a little over five feet and frail as a bird.

  “I know your daughter’s boss came by here last night. What for?”

  “He picked up something. Something he had left with my girl.”

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know. I mean it was just papers. Files and such. I didn’t look at it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about that when we questioned you before?”

  “You didn’t ask about no papers. You just asked about where Dr. Jansen was at such-and-such a time and the like.” She had recovered her poise and looked him directly in the eye, daring him to bother her when all she was doing was what she was told.

  “When had he left these papers with you?”

  She thought for a moment, crossing her arms across her chest. “I don’t remember exactly. Last few days or so.”

  “Did he say why he needed you to keep them?”

  She shook her head. “Just said he couldn’t be leaving them about the lab or his house.”

  “If he comes back, you call me. You get to a neighbor’s phone and you call me.” Sean handed her a card with his number on it.

  Before he headed home to pack his bag and catch an overnight train to Cresskill, Sal told him he’d get the station to put some black-and-whites out looking for Jansen.

  ***

  “There you go, ma’am.”

  “Now it feels too tight.” Hope rose in her throat as the ring caught around her knuckle.

  “Let me see.” Will twisted the ring so hard she cried out, but he managed to push it into place. He held out her hand and smiled broadly. “That’s a beaut, if I do say so myself.”

  He looked up at the jeweler, an older man who owned his own shop on Belair Road. They’d caught him just before closing, and he’d worked on the ring while they waited. Julia didn’t want to look at the proprietor. She was afraid she’d see his true opinion of the ring in his eyes.

  “I don’t know, Will. My finger might get swollen.” She pulled her hand from his and rubbed the knuckle.

  The jeweler took another look. “Hmm…no, looks fine to me. That’s a heavy ring. Don’t want it loose. Could fall off easy.”

  “Thanks a lot, Bennie,” Will said.

  Bennie? The man’s name was Benjamin Schoor, and Will had never met him before this evening. Will always assumed a nickname when talking to people he hardly knew.

  “How much I owe you?”

  While Will settled with “Bennie,” Julia walked to the front of the shop and stared out at the street, busy with cars, lit by the piercing late-day sun. It was almost Easter. Soon, she and Helen and her mother would go to Holy Thursday and Good Friday services, and on Saturday they’d take food to be blessed.

  Will wanted her to come to his house for Easter dinner, but she’d avoided giving him a definite answer. If her father was home from the hospital, she’d want to spend that Sunday with her own family. Besides, Mrs. Beschmann was a nice enough woman, but she made Julia uncomfortable with her relentless insistence that Julia not lift a finger to help. Julia was never sure it was the woman’s excessive brand of hospitality or her desire to keep a cripple from overtiring herself. Either way, it grated.

  And she couldn’t possibly go to Easter dinner at the Beschmann household this year if she was thinking of ending her engagement with Will. She laughed at herself. She hadn’t even had the courage to fend off this visit to the jeweler’s. How on earth would she find the fortitude to beg off the marriage entirely? She was a fraud.

  “C’mon, honey.” Will looped his arm around her shoulder and lightly kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s go show your sist
er and mother. Let me see it again—it looks great!”

  ***

  An hour later, she bade Will farewell at the door. Her face ached from pretending to smile so much, smile when her sister and Mutti had admired the ring, smile when Will had joked about pawning it for a down payment on a new house, smile when he’d suggested they have a “real big engagement party.” Smile, smile, smile.

  She begged off sitting up with Helen and Mutti while they watched television and went to her room where she sat on the bed, staring into the twilight, wondering what to do and how to do it.

  She wanted to start fresh on something. On what? What was she even capable of doing that was fresh and different? She’d used up her share.

  It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been excited about starting her new job, about finding a beau, even, yes, having him propose to her. These had been accomplishments, just like going from bed to wheelchair and wheelchair to cane.

  When she’d first come out of the hospital, nearly a year after contracting polio, she’d felt born again, as if God had given her a second chance at life and she’d never take anything good or sweet for granted again.

  It had lasted for quite awhile, that feeling. In fact, nearly every small happiness at that time—from a mild, sunny day to her mother’s smile—had brought tears to her eyes. She had been so, so grateful just to be alive, and to only have the cane and brace.

  But over time, that thankfulness had faded. The brace rubbed and hurt, the cane was awkward, every task was harder, requiring accommodation and thought.

  It seemed cruel to have the good feeling fade, one more bitterness to swallow, her consolation disappearing. She couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened, but she’d lost her sense of new beginnings and become who she was now, a determined but often-frustrated polio.

  Yes, she was defined by the disease. It would forever describe her. She wasn’t just Julia Dell. She was the polio, Julia Dell.