The Passover Murder

by Lee Harris

But she didn’t forget. When she finished her cup, she said, “Let’s go look,” and I followed her to the back of the apartment. “Marilyn?” she called. “Go into the kitchen and have some tea. Chris and I are looking for something.”

  “Finished already?” Marilyn said, opening the door of the bedroom.

  “Almost,” Sylvie said. “There’s cookies and tea. You know where the cups are.”

  Sylvie went right to her closet and pulled out a box that was on the floor. Dust covered the top and she made a sound of annoyance but didn’t bother to remove it. She took the top off and laid it carefully on the floor without disturbing the dust. The box was square and was marked “Bergdorf Goodman,” and I guessed it had belonged to her sister.

  “I have a few of Iris’s things here. Let me see if the address book is there.” She poked around without finding anything, then began to remove mementos of her sister, envelopes of photos, a silk scarf, a small hat with a veil that must have come from the forties or fifties, a leather belt, a framed picture of an unsmiling couple in clothes from early in the century. “My parents,” she said, looking at it for a moment. “I should keep it out, shouldn’t I?” She put it on her dresser and came back to the box.

  “This is the book she kept by the telephone,” she said, pulling out a worn binder about four by six inches. “Let’s see if Shirley’s in it.” She flipped to F and I saw her run her finger down the page. “I don’t see it here,” she said.

  “Maybe it’s under her married name.”

  “I don’t remember her married name.”

  “Could I look through the book?”

  Sylvie shook her head. “I guess it’s not here.”

  “She might have put it under the S’s.”

  She flipped the pages. “Oh, there’s lots of S’s here. Let’s see. You’re right, Chris. Shirley. It’s the first one on the page.”

  I had my pencil handy. “That’s wonderful, Sylvie. Is the last name there?”

  “Finster Mandelbaum. Three seven eight Prince Street, Teaneck, New Jersey. And here’s the phone number.” She recited it, then closed the book. “I guess you came to the right place.” She smiled and put the book in a dresser drawer.

  “Thank you very much, Sylvie.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t help you now.”

  “You’ve been a big help. I really appreciate it.”

  “Let’s have some more tea.”

  * * *

  “So it was there all along,” Marilyn said. “And she knew it, didn’t she?”

  “She went right to the box. I wonder what changed her mind.”

  “Sylvie’s a funny one. She’s always been that way. Sometimes you think you can push her around, make her do whatever you want her to, and other times she’s as stubborn as my father. Maybe she liked you. Maybe she found out Shirley’s been dead for years so it didn’t hurt to give you the information.”

  “I’ll call her tonight.” I looked at my watch. “Marilyn, I know this isn’t on our itinerary for today, but it’s almost four and the four-to-twelve security guard at the oil yards comes on soon. Would you mind driving over there? It’s not far and I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Why not?”

  I directed her and she was surprised at how close the yards were.

  “I thought someone in Sylvie’s family might have driven by the oil yards and knew where they were.”

  “And killed Iris? I don’t think so. Her son’s a nice person. He was living up in Boston around that time. What would ever make him want to kill Iris?”

  “Somebody must have had a reason.”

  She parked the car just as the security guards changed. We waited until the early one left, then walked over to the shack. I knocked.

  “Come on in.”

  The man inside was a handsome Hispanic in his mid-forties, tall with skin that looked lightly tanned and a build that he took care of. “Help you ladies?”

  I introduced us and started to tell him why we were there.

  “I think I’ll wait outside,” Marilyn said. “The heat’s a little too much for me.”

  “I won’t be long,” I promised.

  “It is pretty warm, isn’t it? But after my rounds, it’s nice to come back inside. You were saying about the body.”

  “Did you find her?”

  “Well, I heard the dog barking. I was on my rounds and realized there was a lot of noise. I went over to see what was wrong and I saw the body.”

  “What was your first impression?” I asked.

  “That she’d been dead for a while, that she’d been beaten. I didn’t have a cellular phone at that time, so I ran back to the shack and called the police. The two kids with the dog were pretty shook up, and I told them to come around and sit in my shack. The cops came pretty quick.”

  “You’re here from four to twelve?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess you don’t know if her body was dumped during your tour.”

  “Coulda been on mine, coulda been on the next guy’s. I don’t think it happened during the day.”

  “Had you ever seen her before?”

  “Never. You better believe the cops talked to me for a long time.”

  “Is there anyone who worked here who could have known her?”

  “You mean like the other security guards? It’s possible, but I don’t think so. One of those guys is dead now. The other retired.”

  “Do most of you hold this job for a long time?”

  “Most, yeah, but not all. We have guys come on and they just can’t take it. Some of them last a week, some of them last a year. They just find out it’s not for them and they quit.”

  “Do any names come back to you, Mr. Castro? People that might have worked here around the time the body was found or just before that?”

  “That’s a tough one,” he said. “Going back that far. There was a guy named Mauer or something like that. Stayed maybe six months. I remember him because he was taking courses during the day, and that’s what I do. But he got a degree and left.”

  I wrote the name down, mostly because it began with M. “Anyone else?”

  “Uh, guy named Scott was here for a while, midnight to eight. There was a Gordon, a Giordano. I couldn’t tell you if they were here before or after, but none of them lasted. You have to have a certain temperament to work midnight to eight. It’s not easy.”

  “I couldn’t do it myself,” I admitted. “What kind of courses do you take?”

  “I took a degree. Now I’m working on my M.B.A. Someday I’ll go into business for myself.” He smiled. He was a handsome man with perfect teeth.

  “Thank you for your time.”

  “It’s nice to talk to someone. You got any more questions, I’m here Monday through Friday.”

  I thanked him again and went outside. Marilyn was standing near the sidewalk.

  “Get anything?”

  “I don’t think so, but I had to ask. Does the name Mauer mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Nobody Iris ever knew?”

  “Not that she told me about.”

  We got in the car. “Well, there’s Shirley Finster Mandelbaum and a return trip to Mrs. Garganus.”

  “And then all the leads are dry.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Mauer,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

  23

  Hoping Shirley was still at the same number, I dialed it and a man answered. “May I speak to Mrs. Mandelbaum?” I said.

  “Who is this?”

  “Christine Bennett.”

  “Are you selling something?”

  It was that time of night, not long after the dinner hour, and I didn’t blame him for asking. “No I’m not. It’s a personal call.”

  “Just a minute.”

  The sounds were not intelligible, but a moment later a thin female voice said, “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Mandelbaum, my name is Christine Bennett.”

  “Could you speak up,
please? I don’t hear too well.”

  I repeated my name louder. “Iris Grodnik’s niece, Marilyn, asked me to look into her murder.”

  “Oh, you’re the one Sylvie said would be calling.”

  So Sylvie had gotten there first. “Sylvie gave me your name this afternoon. I wonder if I could come over and talk to you.”

  “It would be a wasted trip. I don’t know what I could tell you. Iris was my best friend since kindergarten. I told the police everything I knew, which was nothing. They said she was downstairs in the street the night of the seder and someone came along and took her away. They never found him.”

  “Mrs. Mandelbaum, did Iris know anyone whose name was Mauer?”

  “Bauer?” she said.

  “No, Mauer.” I spelled it for her.

  “She never told me. But she had friends at work, and there were people she knew in the building she lived in.”

  “Did she talk to you about her boss?”

  “Mr. Garganus? She loved him.”

  “Do you mean he was her boyfriend?”

  “Oh no.” She laughed a tinkly little laugh. “I mean she thought he was a wonderful man to work for.”

  “Did you know Iris quit her job about a week before she was killed?”

  There was a silence. I had hit her with a tough question. I clung to the phone, hoping she would say something new, something I hadn’t heard from anyone else. “She didn’t really quit,” she said hesitantly. “She expected to go back.”

  I felt a rush of success. “But she told you she was leaving GAR for a while.”

  “She told me. It was a little sudden. She was going away somewhere. She was—she was doing a favor for someone.”

  “Do you know for whom? Or where she was going?”

  “Maybe she was going to Europe. When she told me, it wasn’t settled yet.”

  “Do you know who she was doing the favor for?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, Miss—”

  “Chris. Chris Bennett. Mrs. Mandelbaum, someone murdered your best friend. I want to bring him to justice.”

  “They didn’t kill her,” she said mysteriously. “They were good people. Iris told me things she didn’t tell anyone else because we were such good friends and she trusted me to keep a secret. It isn’t right for me to say what it was. It had nothing to do with her, believe me. It was just a favor she was doing.”

  “Mrs. Mandelbaum, do you have a pencil? I’d like to give you my phone number.”

  “There’s nothing more I can tell you. It won’t bring Iris back and it could hurt somebody who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Please write it down,” I said. I dictated the number, then said my name again.

  “OK,” she said lightly. “It’s right here where I’ll see it. Maybe I’ll think of something.”

  “Thank you.” It wasn’t a matter of thinking of something; it was deciding to tell me. I had been right about her. She knew everything.

  Eileen called before Jack came home. “Feeling any better?” I asked.

  “I do. I’ve heard from Taffy. I think we have to talk, and we can’t do this over the phone.”

  “I agree. Being in the same room would be better. If you think you can manage it.”

  “I think we can. Could we use your living room?”

  I took a breath before answering. “Sure. Do you want me here or should I get in my car and disappear?”

  “I’d like you there, Chris. Will you do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get back to you and we’ll make an appointment. I know you teach on Tuesday so we’ll make it some other day. I don’t want my brother around. He goes ballistic when I mention Taffy.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s because he has your best interests at heart.”

  “Whatever. We’ll make it a weekday.”

  I told her I would be available.

  I made a quick call before I left for the college on Tuesday morning. Cathy Holloway came on the line and I told her who I was.

  “Yes, Chris. How are you? Have you found out who killed Iris?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve dug up a lot of old information. I wanted to ask you about the Garganuses’ son.”

  “They had a son?” she said. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, I thought they did. You think they didn’t?”

  “They had a daughter. I never heard about a son.”

  “I see.”

  “It was very tragic. They tried to hush it up, but I’m pretty sure she committed suicide. She was a girl with a lot of problems. Some of the older people here had heard gossip.”

  “Would you share it with me?”

  “Just that when she was younger she was troubled, alcohol, drugs, the usual.”

  I swallowed hard at her characterization of the daughter’s troubles. “Do you remember when she died?”

  “Five or six years ago. It could be more. I think Mr. Garganus died about a year later. It really broke him up. He tried very hard with her. Both of them did.”

  “Was she their only child?”

  “I never heard of any other. Unless there’s a son I don’t know about.”

  “I may be wrong on that, Cathy. But thanks very much. You’ve got me thinking along a new line, and that may be for the best.” I looked at my watch, said a quick good-bye, and ran off to teach my class.

  We were talking about the English Romantic poets that morning, and I always enjoyed the reactions of my female students to some of the sentiments that group of poets expressed. Shelley’s frequent weeping did not go over well with most classes, but Ozymandias held its own. Keats, my personal favorite, fared better, especially when they realized how young he was when he died, an age that most of them would achieve in a few years and I had left behind. It’s always a pleasure when they discover a wonderful line whose origin was unknown until they opened their book and found it there. “Beauty is truth,” “the alien corn,” “Here lies one whose name was writ in water,” and my favorite, “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.” When we read and discuss some of these poems, I see a lot of smiles on otherwise sullen or neutral faces, which accounts for a lot of my joy in teaching this course.

  I had a satisfying lunch in the cafeteria, sampling the products of the food service department. While they sometimes forgot to salt the soup, an easily remedied oversight, their food was always well prepared and interesting, and I treated myself to a wedge of warm blueberry pie for dessert.

  The poems were still ringing in my ear as I drove to New York. I let my mind wander beyond the words and the sentiments, resting for a while on Eileen and Taffy and Taffy’s sister, on Shirley Finster Mandelbaum, who may have given me the tiny opening I needed to push forward. There was still a lot that was missing, a lot I couldn’t explain, and maybe there was no Grodnik family secret beyond Iris’s long-ago marriage, and if they were holding anything else back, it might have nothing whatever to do with the killing of Iris.

  I got into New York before the time I estimated school would be out and found a place across the street from the Garganus home to wait. It’s hard to be unobtrusive on a street that has few passersby and I find it easier to walk than to stand, so I kept moving around, standing only when motion sickness threatened. I had no idea whether Erin would come home in a taxi, a limousine, a car, or on foot. Was her grandmother nervous enough about her welfare to forbid her to walk? Of course, I didn’t know what school she was coming from, and although there were some good private schools in the area, there were others a great enough distance away that she would need some kind of transportation.

  But although plenty of cars went down the street, none stopped in front of the Garganus house, and when I was starting to think that Erin had stayed after school for sports or some other activity, she drifted down the block like a happy waif, her books in a canvas backpack that was probably the height of style but looked a little ratty to me. She walked slowly, half dreaming, and had I been closer, I would not have been s
urprised to hear her singing.

  I crossed the street and walked towards her, but she seemed oblivious until we nearly collided.

  “Hi, Erin,” I said, “I’m Chris Bennett. I talked to you and your grandmother last week.”

  “Oh, hi. I remember. It was the day I was home sick.”

  “That’s right. You just coming home from school?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”

  “Beautiful. How old are you, Erin?”

  “Fifteen and a half. You live around here?”

  “No. I just needed to ask your grandmother something. Can I come in with you?”

  “Sure. She should be home. If not, she’ll be back soon.” We had reached the front door with its gleaming brass trim and she rang the bell.

  The door was opened by a maid in uniform who smiled at Erin and looked questioningly at me.

  “Hi, Elena. Grandma home?”

  “She’s upstairs.”

  “This is Chris. She has to see Gram. It’s OK.”

  Elena’s face showed that she didn’t agree with my acceptability, but I scooted in and followed Erin up the beautiful stairs to the beautiful living room.

  “Hi, Gram,” Erin said, dashing lightly across the rug to where her grandmother sat reading. They kissed and Erin said, “Chris is here. She wants to talk to you again. I’m gonna do my homework so I can go to Jennifer’s tonight and work on the language project.”

  Mrs. Garganus gave her a smile and then looked at me sourly. “We have nothing to talk about, Miss Bennett,” she said when Erin had bounded up the stairs.

  “I think we do. I think your husband saw Iris Grodnik the night she died.”

  “Miss Bennett, this is absurd. Miss Grodnik no longer worked for GAR. What would my husband need to talk to her about?”

  “You tell me.”

  “There is nothing to tell you because they had nothing to talk about.” Her pretty face was grim and she touched a gold choker at her neck as though to reassure herself that it was still there.

  “Erin’s about fifteen and a half, isn’t she?” I said.

  Her face came alive. “What business is that of yours?”

  “I think Erin and Iris Grodnik had a connection.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Erin was born after Iris died. There is no connection.”