by Blake Banner
I nodded and said, “Define it for me.”
“Whatever his share of the company was worth—millions of dollars—plus the fact that their brother was bringing continued shame down on the family. That’s two motives in one.”
I thought about that for a moment, then turned the key in the ignition. The big old cat growled and I pulled away.
“We’ll have to go and talk to them. Their names are in the file. I’m surprised none of this came up in the original investigation.”
“Maybe it did and Martinez decided it was a dead end.”
I made a noise that meant I wasn’t convinced, then added, “Anyway, let’s see what the Indispensable Joy can tell us. Something tells me she holds things together.”
“Somebody better. It’s beginning to feel like the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party ’round here.”
The Church of the Sacred Apocalypse was precisely where Mary had said it would be, and after only a couple of minutes, I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. It was an oddly sinister building to look at, in yellowish brick with sharp gables and narrow windows. There were not many cars in the parking lot, but as we approached the main entrance on White Plaines, we became aware of a desultory stream of people approaching in ones, twos and threes from all directions, like a congregation of zombies. They gravitated toward the broad forecourt of the temple, then climbed its thirteen steps to the large, arched red doors, which now stood open.
We followed them up and stepped into the cavernous half-light of the great nave. For a moment, all I could see in the gloom, having come from the glare outside, was the thin, luminous forms, in violent reds and deep blues and yellows, of the stained glass windows at the far end of the temple. Then my eyes adjusted and Dehan took my arm and pointed.
“Over there.”
Down the aisle on the right hand side, I could now make out a door that stood open, and a scraggly line of people who were making their way through that door. We followed.
What we found on the other side was a large hall with wooden floors and a high ceiling. Twenty or thirty benches stood in long rows across the room, populated by hunched men and women bent with serious concentration over bowls and plates of food. At the far end, a long table was set out with hot food, soup, baked potatoes, pizza and hamburgers. There was a line forming, from the door, around the room and up to that table, where Joy and a couple of other women were dispensing the food to the hungry, the destitute and the marginalized: those specimens society cannot use to generate revenue, so it uses them to generate charity instead.
She saw us approaching, smiled and waved. She had a quick word with one of the women helping by her side and came around to greet us. The smile was still there. “I thought I might see you in here. You ain’t comin’ for the food, are you? I hope not! Or maybe you brought some food!”
Dehan was observing her with a curious smile. I made a noise that might have been a laugh or a snort. “None of the above, I’m afraid. We just hoped we could ask you some questions about Al.”
“Al? Aloysius?” She shook her head. “That poor man. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body, but he had strayed so far from the righteous path…” She sighed and smiled at us both in turn. “But you don’t want to hear that kind of thing, do you? You have a job to do and you’d like the facts. Come on into the little lounge over here, and I’ll tell you what I can.”
I saw Dehan’s eyebrows rise up toward her hairline. “Hallelujah.”
Joy laughed and playfully slapped her arm. “Did old Dr. E give you a hard time? He can talk! Sweet Jesus!” She laughed out loud and crossed herself. “Can that man talk!”
We weaved our way through the tables toward a door in the far wall, which had a red plaque on it that said, ‘Private’. As we arrived, Joy pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked it. Glancing at Dehan, she said, “May the Lord forgive us, but sometimes we just need to get away from…”
She pushed the door open and ushered us in. It was a featureless room, twenty feet square, with a small kitchen and a couple of nests of chairs scattered around a couple of coffee tables. Joy stepped in after us and closed and locked the door behind her. She stood a moment. “Well, away from all the suffering and the unhappiness. I know we should shoulder it with the strength of Jesus in our hearts, but sometimes we are weak and we just need to get away and have a cup of tea!” She laughed, but it sounded strained.
I smiled at her. “I’m sure, Joy.”
“But listen to me going on about my woes and you are here to ask me some important questions. Sit, sit. Can I make you some coffee? We have some lemonade…”
I shook my head. “No, thank you, Joy. We just have a couple of simple questions and we’ll let you get on.”
We all three sat around a low, round table. Joy sat forward, with her elbows on her knees, and unconsciously we imitated her pose. Dehan spoke first.
“Dr. Epstein said that you had more contact with Al than he had…”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “That is not exactly accurate. Dr. Epstein was his psychiatrist, and they had known each other for a very long time. Dr. Epstein had a lot of respect for Aloysius. Al had been a very intelligent man at one time, I am sure Dr. E told you all about that.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Poor Al strayed a long way from the path, and there really was no way for him to be cured, not with modern science, anyway. So we prayed—Dr. Epstein didn’t pray! He claims he is a godless atheist!” She threw her head back and laughed. “But Mary and me, and our brothers and sisters at the church, we all prayed. Often, I would ask the congregation to pray for poor Al, to find a way back.”
Dehan raised an eyebrow. “So did you spend more time with him?”
She shook her head. “No, the doctor had his sessions on a regular basis, and they would have long talks sometimes. They were like old friends. But I would help Al out with small, practical things. I helped him to get his house. We had to go and see a lawyer to persuade the trust…” She hesitated.
I nodded. “We know about the trust.”
“His brothers, Maximilian and Justinian, and his sister Annunziata, they didn’t want to release the money from the trust to allow him to have a place to live. They said he should go to a residence or a shelter. So we hired a lawyer and put pressure on them—I think Dr. Epstein threatened to go to the press and make a scandal, so in the end, they agreed to buy the house so that he could live in it for the duration of his life.”
I rubbed my chin with my palm. “You took care of that for him? That must have been tough, a lot of work.”
“The Lord helps us get through.”
“Al must have been very grateful.”
She smiled with what looked like genuine affection and her eyes became abstracted. “He was always very grateful. In as much as he could understand what was happening, he was grateful to us for the help we gave him, but what he was truly grateful for was the friendship and the love that we gave him. He was a lost soul, clinging to us with his fingertips. I only hope the Lord took him to His bosom when he died. I am sure he did. I want to believe that.”
Dehan cleared her throat. “Joy, I know you’re busy, but do you think you could talk us through what happened that night, the night of his birthday?”
She took a very deep breath and gazed away at the wall. “Well, let me see. It was twelve years ago, so I might be a little hazy on the details, but I seem to remember he came in about two or three o’clock in the afternoon. He was not great at keeping up with his medication, and sometimes we had to chase him up. But he would always make a point of turning up on his birthday, as though he had no idea what day it was, and always with the pretext of collecting his medication!” She leaned back in the chair, laughing with real pleasure.
“Well, of course Mary and I would always make a cake for him and surprise him with it, and he always looked so pleased! I remember he used actually to laugh, and then cry, like a gigantic baby. Poor, sweet Aloysius.”
I s
at back and crossed my legs. “So on that day he stayed late?”
She raised her eyebrows and drew breath, like she was about to say something, but changed her mind. Then she let the breath out in a sigh. “You know, Dr. Epstein comes across as this big, noisy, angry man, but really it is a front. He has a huge heart, and his practice thrives because he is so compassionate. Half of his patients treat his practice as a drop in! I am not exaggerating. And you know what he says? He tells me, ‘Joy, what people need in this world is love, not therapy. Love.’ And he calls himself an atheist!” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I am not sure if he is a hippie in disguise or just a saint. But he never kicks anybody out. He insists that his office must be quiet, and a peaceful place for his clients to go and speak to him, but aside from that, there are no rules except love and be kind.”
I glanced at Dehan to see if she had a question. She was frowning and listening hard. I said, “So what happened?”
“He stayed. He was feeling so happy, and everyone who came or left said ‘Happy birthday, Al!’ to him, so he sat there. Sometimes I would chat to him, mostly he just sat quietly.”
Dehan asked, “So at what time did he leave?”
Joy thought for a bit, giving her head little shakes. “I honestly can’t remember. It was November 23rd…”
I nodded. “Friday, November 23rd.”
She echoed my nod. “And it was dusk outside when he left, so…” She shrugged. “Four-thirty?”
“OK. So, how long after he left did he call?”
“Not long. Not long at all. Do please remember it was twelve years ago, and with the best will in the world…” She trailed off, staring up at the ceiling. “Not more than twenty minutes, probably more like fifteen.”
Dehan said, “So basically he got in and went straight to the phone to call you.”
“From the distress in his voice, I would say that is probably right.”
Dehan’s frown deepened. “If he was that distressed, why didn’t you call the cops, take some action…?”
For a moment, Joy seemed to fold in on herself. She retained her smile, but the happiness had gone from it, her shoulders seemed to slump forward and she sagged. She stared at the floor, then looked back at Dehan. “It’s a question that has tormented me every day since he was killed. And to you, looking in from the outside, it’s a question that makes perfect sense. But honestly, Detective Dehan, ask any professional in this line of work and they will tell you the same thing.”
She paused, reading Dehan’s face. Dehan’s face said that Dehan still didn’t get it. So Joy explained it. “Do you know how many panicking phone calls we get in a week? Do you know how many of them turn out to be fantasies? More to the point, Detective Dehan, if Mrs. H called me and said she had a gang of youths trying to break in, I would call the police instantly, because Mrs. H suffers from OCD, but she is not delusional. But if Mr. B called, I could not make such a simple judgment, because Mr. B is paranoid and a schizophrenic who is constantly hearing voices that warn him that people are coming for him.”
“Had Al made that kind of call before?”
“Many times.” She sighed. “And of course it was complicated by the fact that there was a gang of kids…” She hesitated. “They were not a ‘gang’ in the sense we understand the word in the Bronx!” She gave a small laugh. “They were just five or six young teenagers who had nothing better to do than hang around the streets making a noise. They often used to taunt Aloysius because he…” She spread her hands. “He stood out in a crowd! He was huge, and his breathing was heavy and labored, and he was very blond with very blue eyes… They noticed him, and this one boy used to taunt him, call him a freak. We talked to the local police about it and they said they’d keep an eye on the boys, but the fact was they had no record of serious violence or breaking and entering…”
I said, “But Ned did try to break into his house. He got his fingers broken doing it.”
She nodded. “I know. Good for Al. But nobody could have seen that coming, and believe me, the precinct would not thank us for reporting every panicky call we receive. Your boys are stretched to breaking point as it is. This…” For a moment, there was real distress in her eyes. “This is Babylon! So hard sometimes to know what is best to do.”
I nodded. “It was a difficult call. I wouldn’t like to have to make it.”
“I told him I would call the police and ask them to pass by and make sure he was OK. With one thing and another, I simply forgot. I had half made up my mind to pass by his house on my way home to make sure he was OK. As it was, by the time I left, I had to rush to get to the church. So I told myself I’d drop in on the way home. But again, it was late and, may the Lord forgive me, Mary and I had been looking forward to watching a film. I can’t even remember what it was… but I had made a cake and we had promised each other we would watch it together. I remember I got home at ten fifteen or ten twenty-five or thereabouts, just as it was starting. Mary was making a big fuss.” The smile faded from her face. “If I hadn’t been so selfish, who knows? Maybe Al would still be with us today.”
Dehan sat forward with her elbows on her knees. “Or you wouldn’t. Don’t think of it that way, Joy. You’re not responsible for his death, whoever killed him is. You are responsible for giving him a lot of happiness while he lived.”
Tears flooded Joy’s eyes. She nodded. “Thank you, dear.”
I smiled and stood. “I think we’re about done for now, Joy. Thanks for your help.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to add anything to what I told your detective before.”
“Fresh eyes, fresh ears… Who knows?”
I winked and she smiled. “Yes, who knows…?”
FIVE
“Take a walk with me.”
I said it staring up at the clear blue June sky above the Sacred Church of the Apocalypse. Dehan was standing with her hand on the car door, waiting for me to open it. “OK…”
I beckoned her toward Gleason Avenue. “Walk and talk.”
She bounced a couple of strides to catch up with me, then fell into step. “Walk and talk, huh? OK, well, first impressions: Epstein and Joy are out of their minds, but oddly grounded and sane. Above all, they are good people—capital ‘G’ good, for real, and I think Al was damned lucky to have them.” I drew breath and she raised a finger. “I’m rambling, sorting chaff from seed. You said walk and talk, I’m walking and I’m talking. I’m rambling.”
“That’s good. That’s funny. Rambling. I like it.”
“Shut up. So, Ned. Local patrol uniforms thought he was basically harmless because at—what was he? Eighteen?—he still hadn’t got into serious trouble. But that’s like saying a girl can’t get pregnant because she’s a virgin.”
“What?”
She nodded and shrugged, spreading her hands in a Mexican kind of way. “Well, you’re a virgin until you’re not, right? And then you get pregnant! It’s the same with crime. You’re innocent until you commit a crime. Then you’re guilty!”
“Wow…”
“The fact is that he got his fingers broken trying to break into Al’s house. We both know he wasn’t going in to wish him a happy birthday. You said there was a rumor going around that he had a shady, wild past and fortune hidden somewhere in his house. Well, we just found out the wild, shady past was more than a rumor. Maybe the money was too. Maybe Ned found that out. So it’s a slam-dunk that Ned was after that money.”
“He had a broken hand.”
She waved an impatient hand at me. “This is the Bwanx, white boy! These are tough kids. I grew up in this kind of neighborhood. They’re hard-ass.” I sighed and she went on loudly, “However, I take your point that it’s hard to stab somebody with precision if you have a broken hand. But he might not have come back alone. In fact, he almost certainly did not. He came back with a pal or two. One had a gun, the other had a knife with a big blade.”
We had reached the corner of Virginia Avenue and Ellis. It was leafy and shaded. O
n the far side, there was a five-story apartment block. It had once been red brick, but the bricks had weathered to a dull reddish gray. At the corner, the steel shutters were down over what had once been the deli. The premises were for let. Next door to them, the green upholstery store was still there. I pointed down Ellis.
“It’s the second house after the apartment block.”
We strolled the fifty yards to the house. The front yard was overgrown with weeds. The drapes were closed and through the glass, you could see they had become bleached by the sun. The upstairs window looked pretty much the same. There was a low iron gate that gave access to a driveway and a garage at the back. It was closed with a deadbolt and a padlock. I vaulted it and walked down the drive to the back of the house. It was the same as the front. Everything was closed: door, windows, drapes.
As I walked back up the path toward the gate, I saw Dehan climbing the steps to the house next door, and as I drew a little closer, I saw that she was talking to a woman of about fifty in jeans and a sweatshirt, standing on the porch. I vaulted the gate again and joined them, pulling my badge from my jacket pocket.
“Detective John Stone, we’re from the local precinct. Do you happen to know who lives next door?”
The woman shook her head, absently wiping her hands with a tea towel.
“No, I was just telling your partner, there ain’t nobody lived there for ten, maybe twelve years.”
Dehan asked, “Were you here back then, ma’am?”
“We been here over twenty-five years.”
I cut in. “Since Al Chester lived here? Nobody moved in after he died?”
“Nobody. It was real sad. House standin’ empty like that, with nobody in it, to make it a home.”
Dehan asked her, “Did you know Al much?”
The woman smiled. “Well, we was a bit scared of him to begin with, and we didn’t thank Joy for movin’ him in at first, but when you got to know him, he was as sweet and gentle as you could wish.”