Out of Time

by Michael Z. Lewin

  Vera Edwards had been standing over her husband’s body, pointing the gun at him. Vera Edwards had said, clearly, coldly and challengingly, ‘Move now, you bastard,’ and when she had seen Wanda Edwards enter, she had raised the gun and said, ‘You want some too?’ Miss Edwards also testified that none of her sister-in-law’s clothing had been torn.

  This evidence conflicted with that of Mrs Edwards and of the houseboy. According to the houseboy it was he who had been first on the scene and Miss Edwards had arrived as much as two minutes after him. Mrs Edwards was sitting, with her clothes ripped and seemingly shocked, and the gun was on the floor where it was later found by the police. He testified that neither woman had said anything to the other but that after a moment, Mrs Edwards had risen and said, ‘I must telephone the police,’ and that she had then done this. Miss Edwards had stood looking at the body of her brother.

  The first policeman had arrived on the scene about half an hour after the call. None of the other servants had appeared in the room and eventually police went to wake them all. Old Mr Edwards was unwell and the police had been convinced not to wake him.

  In short testimony each servant confirmed that Mr and Mrs Edwards did not get along, that Miss Edwards loathed her brother’s wife and that they had been asleep when roused on the night.

  Although Benny Edwards was often ill-tempered and had abusive moods, the suggestion that he might have been more so than usual was supported by the fact that earlier in the evening he had learned from the family doctor that his wife was pregnant.

  The doctor testified that he had called at the Edwards house and asked to speak to Mrs Edwards. When he found that she was out, he had given his glad tidings to Mr Edwards.

  The doctor was astonished to hear Edwards respond by shouting that ‘it’ couldn’t be his.

  Wanda Edwards testified that her brother had complained frequently of his wife’s ‘coldness’ towards him, that he was fearful she was seeing other men and that she frequently insisted on going out alone. She conceded that the medical news had upset him, but denied that he had been out of control.

  Mr Edwards’ jealousy was confirmed by the head of the Horse Thief Detective Association. And by Normal Bates.

  Bates, an agency operative, had followed Mrs Edwards for more than four months and he had followed her on the night of the death. She had gone to a concert at the Indiana Theater. He had followed her inside and she had spoken to no one. He had then followed her back home. She had travelled each way by taxi.

  Normal Bates testified that in eighteen weeks of full-time surveillance he had seen nothing to suggest that Mrs Edwards was other than a faithful wife. He confirmed that she sometimes went places alone, but repeated that he had never seen anything which was in the slightest amiss.

  The defence concluded with Vera Edwards’ own testimony. In cross-examination she was harshly challenged about the paternity of her impending child, about her background and morality before marrying Bennett Edwards, about the reasons she married him. And about why her husband should be so quick and positive that a pregnancy had not been caused by him.

  Vera Edwards seemed to attempt to answer the questions clearly and decorously, but some very direct questioning forced her into the descriptions of her husband’s brutality and bestiality which had so incensed Normal Bates.

  It was clear that the jury believed Mrs Edwards rather than Miss Edwards. Picturing the innocent girl-like figure I knew from Charlie Carson’s snapshot, I found it easy to understand.

  Nevertheless, the transcript added to the questions I wanted to ask in the Belter household. For one thing, about the ‘coincidence’ that the houseboy employed by the Edwards had been Japanese, and named Mitsuki.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I called the Belters’ house. Douglas Belter answered after many rings. He said that the police had only just arrived, that Paula was in bed, that the police were insisting on talking to her, that things were chaotic.

  I told him I wanted to come out again, but that I would leave it until later. He hardly reacted.

  Which left me at home, waiting.

  I hate waiting when there are things I want to do. Killing time is worse than passing time. More like death. But I was let off the hook. Maude Simmons called. She sounded merry. I told her so.

  ‘A little too much to drink at lunch, Albert my old fruit,’ she said.

  ‘I see.’ I looked at my watch. ‘This man Ken Gay isn’t an old flame of yours by any chance?’

  ‘Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.’ She giggled.

  I have never heard her giggle before.

  As if noting the break in her customary façade, she said, ‘Which is more or less what he told me about your Vera Edwards.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She must be very rich. They give her the full Howard Hughes treatment.’

  ‘Come on, Maude. What are you saying?’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me anything about her at all. Well, that’s not quite accurate. He confirmed that they represent the Vera Edwards estate and he said that any message we cared to formulate would be passed on to the appropriate party or parties.’

  ‘He used the word “estate”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Doesn’t that mean that she is dead?’

  ‘He would neither confirm nor deny that conjecture.’

  ‘Did he go back on the word “estate” as if it had been, maybe, more informative than he intended?’

  ‘He said precisely what he meant to say. He’s that kind of man. He said that estate is the word he had been instructed to use – by the estate.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I had hoped for more.’

  ‘As the actress said to the circumcised bishop.’

  I was silent.

  ‘All work and no play,’ Maude said. Then she took a breath and said, ‘There is a little more.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He said that there was no point in trying to extract information from lesser members of the firm, because they wouldn’t know anything about this client or these clients. The records are off limits to everyone but partners and he prepares the correspondence himself.’

  ‘Did you hint that approaches might be made to other people in the firm?’

  ‘No. He knew that you asked about her yesterday morning and left a note. I don’t think he rates the ethical standards common in your profession. He’s warning you off sucking up to the secretaries.’

  ‘So the note isn’t going to get me anywhere.’

  ‘He said it was being dealt with.’

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  ‘The only other thing I have done is compile a list of people named Wert in Cass County.’

  ‘O.K. Give me that,’ I said. ‘I have some afternoon and I’ll make some telephone calls.’

  She dictated the list. It wasn’t very long.

  Before dialling a series of strangers in the vicinity of Logansport, I called Charlie Carson’s house.

  ‘He ain’t here. Who is it and what do you want?’

  I gave my name and said it was about one of his old photographs. ‘Is he at the club maybe?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s about pictures?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, maybe he just come through the door. I’ll go see.’

  Seeing didn’t take long.

  ‘I was out back,’ Carson said. ‘It’s where I get away from business and I don’t like to be disturbed by guys after money, that kind of thing.’

  ‘And singers wanting auditions,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. Then, ‘You want to know if I’ve figured out who the third couple in that picture was, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I ain’t. I been through the books and there ain’t nothing to cross reference on them. Sorry.’

  ‘If it’s not there, it’s not there. But there was also another favour I wanted to ask.’

  ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘I won
dered if you might be able to reconstruct Daisy Wines’ employment record during the years she worked for your father.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I suppose I can do that.’

  I said, ‘In particular I’m looking for the first date you have on her. I’m trying to establish when she came to Indianapolis. So if there’s anything before she actually worked, an audition or, anything, I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘O.K.’ Carson said cheerfully. ‘I’ll have a look.’

  I offered more than gratitude.

  He said, ‘We’ll see. So the picture is all right, huh?’

  ‘It’s in good shape,’ I said. ‘It meant I could show Daisy Wines’ daughter what her mother looked like.’

  ‘Ain’t that something,’ he said. I could visualise the huge man smiling. ‘Well, ain’t that something. Gladys will love that.’

  A telephone straw poll showed conclusively that none of the three Logansport Werts who answered their telephones would admit to knowing anything about a distant female relative named Vera, last seen in the mid-1930s.

  I worked hard on the phone, trying to establish how grateful I would be for information, photographs or leads of any kind. Grateful as in cash money.

  It was a risky precedent, this offering of money for things. I could see how I might grow to like it. It certainly made people more eager to listen to me. I received three promises to think about Vera Wert and to ask other members of family about her. The full list of Werts had four names. One had not answered.

  When I had finished I thought about the Belters again and began chewing my fingernails.

  In the end, I just went.

  I considered it possible that I would meet Miller and his entourage, but when I pulled into the spacious area in front of the garage, there were no other cars sitting in the light drizzle.

  I gathered my notebook, prepared myself for the possibility of a steely reception and marched up to the doorbell. I punched it with great authority. It cried back at me that I could have been another Sugar Ray.

  The door was answered by Tamae Mitsuki. She blinked a few times when she saw me. She said, ‘Come in, Mr Samson.’

  As I crossed the threshold, Paula Belter appeared in the hall asking, ‘What is it, the return of the fuzz?’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Belter.’

  She put her hands on her hips. ‘Doug is in bed. What do you think of that?’

  ‘I’m pleased you’re feeling well enough not to be fighting him for space,’ I said.’

  Forcefully she said, ‘I’ve been talking to the gentlemen of the police.’

  ‘Lieutenant Miller?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She looked at me. ‘No hint of how, or where, or why? No undercurrent of hostility from days he took you in and roughed you up?’

  I said, ‘Our acquaintance preceded his choice of profession. I’ve known him from school days.’

  ‘I see. The cameraderie of the less privileged classes.’

  ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘With your lieutenant and his sidekick? Like a house aflame. He was very polite and hardly even suggested that Tamae and I might have sneaked back into the Biarritz with loaded hypos hidden in our brassières.’

  ‘He likes to take a soft approach before he arrests someone for murder,’ I said.

  She sighed. ‘I know I’m being horrible. I’m being horrible, aren’t I, Tamae?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Belter.’

  ‘It is all such a strain. Do you think I could have a cup of camomile tea? That’s supposed to calm one, isn’t it? Would you like a beverage too, Mr Samson?’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ I said.

  ‘I promise it won’t be poisoned. And I’ll answer any question you care to put. But maybe I am being presumptuous. Is it me that you wanted to talk to?’

  ‘I would like to have a word with each of you,’ I said.

  ‘Each?’

  ‘You, your husband, and Mrs Mitsuki.’

  ‘Tamae, you’ve hit the big time. Questions of your very own.’

  Mrs Mitsuki stood looking at her employer. ‘Do be quiet, Mrs Belter,’ she said. Turning to me, she asked, ‘Are you sure you won’t have a cup of tea or coffee?’

  I said, ‘I’ll have a cup of camomile tea too, thank you.’

  We adjourned to the kitchen. It seemed almost home territory to me now.

  Tamae Mitsuki spent a few moments putting the tea and cups out and water on to boil but by the time I asked Mrs Belter my first question, Tamae was there to hear.

  The question was, ‘When, as exactly as you can recall it, did you last see the woman you knew as Auntie Vee?’

  ‘Exactly? You mean the day?’

  ‘If you can fix it.’

  I expected a flippant remark, a home sarcasm, but Paula Belter closed her eyes and appeared to think and then said, ‘I can see that green scarf She had it around her hair before she went outside. It was windy and . . . and maybe it was raining. Or, am I guessing?’

  ‘Was it day, or night? Had you seen her often before then or was it unusual?’

  ‘It was day that time,’ Paula Belter said. ‘I don’t know why but I remember it was—’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Good heavens.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My dolls’ house.’

  ‘Your—?’

  ‘I grew up with the most gorgeous dolls’ house.’ Her eyes showed the excitement and even the size of it. She spread her hands. ‘It was huge.’ She paused. ‘It is huge. It’s in the attic now. I saved it, in case I had daughters, but I never did. We tried it on the boys, but they weren’t interested.’

  She fell silent again, and I waited.

  She said, ‘What I’ve remembered is that Auntie Vee gave it to me. A Christmas present. It was all wrapped up in white paper with thin red lines and gold balls and three stripey ribbons and bows and it was as big as I was. I couldn’t believe it was for me when I saw it under the tree and. . . . And she was there when I unwrapped it.’ Paula Belter shook her head slowly. ‘I didn’t remember until now. She was there.’

  Paula Belter looked at me. Her voice was strong. She said, ‘That wasn’t, however, the last time I saw her, which is what you want to know. She brought things for the house. I remember tiny brass vases and plates and cups and saucers. Miniature cutlery. She brought things for it week after week. And we played with it, I remember a little Easter basket with tiny eggs.’ She grew shrill. ‘Oh God! How could I let my mind mislay all that? I played with those things for years!’ With fists, Paula Belter beat her temples.

  Mrs Mitsuki was impassive. Which eased the uncertainty I felt watching the woman beat herself. Shortly, Paula Belter stopped.

  ‘The last visit,’ she said again. ‘I don’t know exactly. I remember that she hadn’t come for a while, and that when Mom called me I ran like hell because I hoped Auntie Vee would have something new for the dolls’ house. But she didn’t. She brought dresses instead. Six or seven or eight or . . . I don’t know how many, but I remember she said to Mom, “And she’ll need some for winter”, and I thought that was peculiar because it wasn’t winter. It wasn’t even summer yet. But there were summer dresses too. I wore them when I started kindergarten. I remember that.’

  ‘Can you work out which year that would have been?’ I asked.

  There was a silent contemplation. ‘1940,’ she said after a while. ‘And Auntie Vee cried that day. I don’t remember about what, but I can see her, dabbing her eyes with the ends of her scarf I thought that was strange too, because she should have used a hanky.’

  Mrs Mitsuki rose from the table and by doing so gave us relief from the intensity of Paula Belter’s reminiscences. She poured boiling water into a small teapot and carried it on a tray back to the table. She stirred the contents of the pot and then poured a mild yellow liquid through a strainer into each of three cups.

  Paula Belter said to me, ‘I’m not always like this. Am I Tamae? Usually I’m quite steady, aren’
t I?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Belter,’ Tamae Mitsuki said.

  ‘All right, Mr Samson,’ Paula Belter said sharply. ‘What was it you wanted to ask Tamae?’ Suddenly there was a twinkle in her tired eyes.

  ‘I have another question for you,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, come on! Don’t be so stuffy! I won’t go away.’ She sipped from the hot weak liquid. ‘Don’t be a party pooper!’

  Mrs Mitsuki said, ‘What is it that you wanted to know, Mr Samson?’

  I acquiesced. I asked, ‘Just how common a name is Mitsuki among the Japanese in this country?’

  She looked at me for several seconds, before she said, ‘It’s not particularly common.’

  ‘Mrs Belter’s biological mother’s household had a Japanese houseboy named Koichi Mitsuki.’

  ‘My husband’s name was Koichi,’ Tamae Mitsuki said slowly.

  Paula Belter’s eyes opened as wide as strawberries. She put her tea on the table.

  ‘Was he from Indianapolis?’ I asked.

  ‘I met him in Los Angeles,’ Tamae said slowly. ‘I knew that he worked once for a family in Indianapolis, but he never told me about it.’

  ‘That’s surprising.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he was an important witness in the murder trial of Mrs Vera Edwards.’

  ‘He only ever said there had been trouble which cost him his job, that he told the truth when his employers wanted lies, so he was fired. But he never told me the circumstances.’

  ‘When did you meet him?’

  ‘In August of 1940.’

  ‘How long had he been in Los Angeles?’

  ‘Not long. A few weeks. His brother was in business with an uncle of mine and he was invited by my parents to our house.’

  ‘When did you marry?’

  ‘September 20th, 1940.’

  My face asked, ‘So soon?’

  ‘It was love at first sight,’ she said stonily.

  ‘And what happened to him?’