by Warren Adler
I was careful to say that nothing forensically indicated that the man had fallen or was pushed. There were no contusions, bruises, or any other signs that might have resulted from a hard push or a fierce struggle. As near as I can determine the only logical explanation for his death was that he propelled forward into the path of the moving train.”
“Propelled forward?” Izzy questioned. “Self-propelled or pushed?”
“Either,” Barton said, nodding. “At the mercy of the laws of gravity.”
Fiona cut Izzy a victorious glance.
“If I had knowledge of that detail, I would have put it in my report,” Dr. Barton said.
“We’re the ones who should have informed you. Right, Fi?”
She nodded.
Dr. Barton smiled and raised a hand in protest.
“No offense taken, Officer. Indeed, I congratulate you on your deductive skills.” He turned to Fiona. “You’ve got yourself a smart partner, Fiona.”
“Be careful, Doc. I don’t need a swelled head to contend with. Fact is Izzy’s ‘eureka moment’ has opened up yet another can of worms. The popular assumption is that the man was murdered.”
“By Presidential fiat,” Izzy added.
“I don’t live in a vacuum, Officer.”
“Have you got a best guess, Dr. Barton?” Izzy asked.
Fiona smiled.
“He never has a best guess. All he knows is what the dead tell him.”
“They whisper in my ear.”
“He likes to make jokes about his profession, says it keeps him sane.”
“All I want is the emmis, Dr. Barton.”
He looked at Fiona with some confusion.
“It’s a Yiddish word meaning the truth,” Fiona said, “the real skinny. He’s Jewish.”
“Mazel tov,” Dr. Barton said, showing no surprise. “As I said, I don’t live in a vacuum.”
“Okay, then, the emmis.”
Putting aside the banter, Dr. Barton, who had deconstructed his finger cathedral, reconstructed it again.
“I have seen the results of suicides who jumped both feet-first and headfirst in front of moving trains and vehicles. If he jumped from a high place, like a high window or a bridge, for example, the way he fell would be arbitrary, depending on such factors as height and wind. In this case, I could not be definitive. He simply went over like a falling tree.”
“So he could have been pushed?” Izzy pressed.
“As I said,” Dr. Barton said.
“Then it is a possibility?” Fiona posed.
“Of course. The one thing I cannot get into is what his thoughts were at the time of death. That is one area that is still a mystery to us humble coroners. I understand there was no note.”
“That is not unusual,” Fiona said. “Although….” She paused.
“It would be helpful if you made the knee finding an addendum, Dr. Barton,” Izzy said. “We might need that fact someday, and it would save the possibility of exhumation.”
“The way this case is going, I wouldn’t rule that out,” Fiona said. “We’re in the eye of a storm here. If we don’t crack this case to everyone’s one hundred percent satisfaction, expect a firestorm. Worse, we might find ourselves the scapegoats in a political brouhaha.” Fiona suddenly was assailed by memories of the night before. “If this case stays open without absolute closure, expect nothing but harassment. Above all, Doc, stay away from reporters.”
“As always, Fi,” Dr. Barton said.
Chapter 13
“So now we know,” Izzy said as they drove.
“Know what?”
“That he was using his game time for other purposes.”
“But why would he lie to his best friend?” Fiona asked out loud.
Izzy pondered the question.
“Maybe he didn’t.”
Without another word, Izzy, who was driving, made a U-turn and headed for the Senate Office Building.
Perkins was in the middle of a staff meeting that he was running and was annoyed at their intrusion.
“You could have called,” he snapped. He was obviously in a foul mood. His office was filled with staff and colleagues, and he led them out to the hallway.
“This won’t take long,” Fiona said.
“It better not,” he snapped.
“When did you say Burns first told you about his knee problem?”
He seemed exasperated by the question.
“I think I told you that.”
“Then tell it again,” Fiona said. This was not a morning for tolerance.
Perkins stared at her for a moment, read the irritation in her expression, sighed, and seemed to surrender. He thought for a moment.
“Nine, ten months before he was….”
“Before he died.” Fiona said.
She was on his case now. Izzy remained silent.
“Yes, before he died.”
“Did he play after that?”
“It was sporadic. He wore a knee brace.”
“Did it affect his game?”
“I don’t think so. We competed like kids, and we split our wins about evenly.”
“Did he limp after the games when he played with his knee brace?”
“I think so. Sometimes. I didn’t pay much attention.”
“He told you that he might need arthroscopic surgery?”
“Yes, he did.”
“When you played, Mr. Perkins,” Izzy suddenly interjected, “did you suit up at the club?”
“Of course, we did. We both had lockers.”
Izzy and Fiona exchanged glances. Perkins caught the movement and shook his head.
“Why are you asking these questions? Are you implying that he was faking his knee problem?” He shook his head. “Why would he lie about that?”
Ignoring his question, Fiona pressed on.
“When he cancelled, how much notice did he give you?”
“Sometimes a couple of days, then sometimes….”
He paused, his brows knitting as if he were searching his memory.
“There were times when he called when it was too late to find another partner. Really riled me, but he told me he was just in too much pain to play. I was pissed, but I understood. He was very apologetic. I could never believe he was lying, not to me. We were buddies, childhood friends. No way.”
His eyes met Fiona’s stare.
“You guys. Are you going to blame the victim for his demise? Is that the setup? You’re just going to go round and round.”
He looked downward and shook his head from side to side.
“Anyway you look at it, I believe he was, as the expression goes, whacked.”
Suddenly emboldened, he raised a finger in front of Fiona’s nose.
“Senator Bauman is going to call for an investigation by the Senate. We were working on the strategy when you barged in. I know, I know. You’re just doing your job. I’m not faulting you. But this I’m sure of, you’re misguided.” He nodded. “This was no suicide and no accident. I knew Adam longer and better than anyone in town. Believe me, he would never lie to me—never! He got killed because he was working on something, something big, something incriminating to you know whom.”
“Like what?” Fiona pressed. “Enlighten me.”
“I wish I knew. But sooner or later we’ll find out, won’t we?”
“Thanks for your time,” Fiona snapped, her eyes narrowing. She was conscious of offering him a thin smile. She turned away and began to move down the corridor with Izzy. Suddenly, she turned and moved back to where Perkins was standing, just in front of the office door he was about to open.
“Here’s something for your cud, pal. Autopsy showed no knee injury. None.”
She turned, not waiting for him to react. She did not look back.
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***
Getting into Burns’ locker at the Army and Navy Club proved easier than they had expected. The attendant was well aware that Burns had died and opened his locker with a spare key.
They entered the locker room. A couple of men in various states of undress looked at them curiously. Fiona nodded appreciatively to a naked man, who winked and smiled.
“Made my day, lady!”
“I’m a cop,” Fiona replied, showing her badge.
The man shrugged and turned away.
“We should have emptied it earlier,” the attendant said as he put a spare key into the locker slot. “Got to read the obits to stay ahead. Big demand for these lockers.”
He peered into the locker, and they carefully searched through the contents.
It did not surprise them to find three knee braces and an assortment of fake moustaches and drug store spectacles tucked away in a letter-sized envelope, and of course, the expected athletic gear; two squash rackets, shorts, underpants, jock strap, T-shirt, sneakers, and socks. They carefully searched through everything for any obvious evidence before bagging the items.
“We’ll give the lab a shot at these,” Fiona said, “and see what the missus has to say.”
***
They called Mrs. Burns on her cell and found her sitting in the stands in the field outside the school building watching her daughter at soccer practice. Fiona had seen the daughter in grieving mode a week before. A tall, attractive, blonde girl, she looked graceful and concentrated as she moved. A male coach was running them through various exercises. They wore yellow uniforms with blue trim and blue numbers. When Mrs. Burns saw them, she nodded, turned briefly, then went back to watching her daughter.
“I guess she’s out there, Mrs. Burns.”
“Yes, she is.”
The coach blew a whistle, and the girls gathered round. Mrs. Burns turned to them.
“Poor kid. I thought this was the best therapy. Unfortunately, it cuts into my day. Adam had been the designated family driver, carpooling for practice and games. Now, I’ve got to be the chauffeur when my turn comes up. Plays hell with my business, but Lisa needs me more than ever. I’m hoping that soccer will keep her mind off… off… you know.” She shook her head and looked out again on the field. “They’re very competitive. She didn’t want to lose her starting position as striker.”
Fiona nodded but had no idea what that meant. Soccer was not the game in her day or now.
They watched the drill for a few moments. There seemed to be some sort of an altercation on the field. Two girls were fighting on the ground. The coach pulled them apart and gave each one a pointed lecture. They couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he was angry. Mrs. Burns stood up, watching the situation with unusual intensity.
“It goes on and on,” Mrs. Burns muttered.
“What?” Izzy asked.
“Unfortunately, one of them is my daughter. For some reason, Deirdre McGrath and Lisa have developed a bitter antagonism to each other. I don’t get it. They used to be the best of friends. They’re the two best players on the team, both strikers, high scorers. The team is at the top of its league. When the game starts, you’d think they were bosom buddies.”
The practice began again on the field, and Mrs. Burns sat down.
“Months ago they were inseparable.” She turned toward Fiona and Izzy. “What is it with teenage girls?”
“I’ve got one, Mrs. Burns,” Izzy said. “The boy is no sweat. But the girl….” He shook his head. “They say that most parents live through it. I wonder.”
“We do the best we can,” Mrs. Burns sighed. “But this… what happened with Adam has not helped. She’s much edgier than she was.”
They sat down on either side of Mrs. Burns.
“More questions?” Mrs. Burns asked, keeping her eye on the field. The girls began lining up for goal kicks.
“I’m sorry about this, but….”
“I know. It’s your job.” She said dismissively, still not turning to face them. “I suppose I have little choice but to cooperate, even though you know where I stand on your prospects.”
“Yes, we do, Mrs. Burns,” Fiona said. “We do appreciate your cooperation. Some of our questions may seem… well… unimportant, but we’ve got to explore every little detail.”
“I won’t stand in your way,” Mrs. Burns muttered. “Although I’d appreciate a little advance notice. This is neither the time nor the place.” She waved her hand. “Okay, okay. Fire away.”
“Did Mr. Burns ever complain about knee problems?”
She turned toward Fiona, her expression confused.
“You’re kidding?”
“He had this regular squash game with Jack Perkins,” Fiona said, ignoring her obvious irritation at the question.
“Yes, he did,” she said, suddenly becoming more forthcoming. “Jack was one of his oldest friends. We used to see a lot of Jack and Shelly. Then they got divorced, and we sort of drifted away. Happens.”
“Too bad,” Fiona said in fake sympathy.
“Shelly is delightful. I got a beautiful letter from her yesterday.”
“How long has it been since, well… since you got together as couples?”
She thought for a moment, keeping her eyes on the court.
“I don’t know, maybe a year or less. We used to go out for dinner every few weeks. I guess we just got busy, or they did. We all have different agendas.” She cut Fiona a confused look. “What is so relevant about that?”
“Nothing really,” Fiona said. “Forgive me. That’s not what I came here to ask. I wanted to ask about Adam’s knee problem.”
“That again.”
“Perkins said that he sometimes wore a knee brace during their squash games.” She studiously avoided any mention of Burns canceling games.
“So what’s so important about that?” Mrs. Burns said, shaking her head with skepticism. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. Knee problem? Not that I know of. As for wearing a knee brace, it’s news to me, and I’ve never heard him complain about his knees. I don’t get it.”
At that moment, the coach’s whistle blew, and Lisa Burns came over to her mother, wiping her face with a towel. She ignored Fiona and Izzy.
“That stupid Deirdre McGrath! Always screwing things up. She’ll try anything. I can’t stand her.”
“Who started it this time?” Mrs. Burns asked.
“She did. Always saying nasty things.”
“Like what?” Mrs. Burns asked.
“Things,” Lisa shrugged. “Calls me a klutz! Always comes up with an insult. Thinks she’s hot… you know what I mean? Just because her mother’s a big-shot judge.”
“Grin and bear it, darling,” Mrs. Burns said soothingly. “Don’t let her upset you.”
“She’s just so angry at me all the time, causing trouble with her big mouth! Sometimes the coach blames me.”
“Shall I talk to her parents?”
“A lot of good that does.”
“I just don’t get it,” Mrs. Burns said.
“Neither do I, Mom.”
Fiona noted that one of the players, a dark-haired girl with short hair, hands on hips in an arrogant stance, was staring at them from the field.
“Deirdre’s become a bitch, Mom. I can’t stand her.”
“You used to be such great friends.”
“Use’ ta, yeah.”
The whistle blew again, and Lisa hurried to the coach’s side, and the goal drill began again.
“They used to be such good friends,” Mrs. Burns repeated. “I did manage to talk to her mother, Judge McGrath—court of appeals, very devoted to her daughter, carpooled in our group, busy lady. Her dad’s a doctor. She commiserated, but these kids live on their own planet.” She looked toward the girls going through their practice paces. �
��Poor kid. Adam and she were like that.” She crossed her fingers. “But even he was baffled when the kids fell out.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. We’ll blunder through as always.”
Fiona waited through her explanation. A parent’s first obligation is to their children. She decided to maintain a polite silence until Mrs. Burns’ ruminations concluded and she could continue her interrogation.
“So you’re saying that to your knowledge Mr. Burns never had a knee problem?”
“Not that I knew of, and I would know, wouldn’t I? He never complained, never limped. If he wore a knee brace when he played squash, so he wore a knee brace.”
“And there were no knee braces around the house,” Fiona pressed.
“Is this a trivia question?” she sighed. “No, I never saw a knee brace around the house.”
Her attention turned suddenly to the field where the girls were now running around in quick strides while the coach threw the soccer ball in front of them, which they moved forward then kicked toward the goal.
“Somebody is giving you a lot of stuff about Adam,” Mrs. Burns said. “Predictable. Chase the red herrings, folks. It won’t matter. The real truth will come out sooner or later.”
The coach blew a whistle calling an end to practice, and the girls put on yellow athletic pants and jackets on which was sewn the school name and a soccer-ball logo. Then they gathered around the coach again, embraced each other, and belted out a school pep cheer, then the group broke up and scattered.
Mrs. Burns stood as her daughter came closer.
“That it? I’m carpooling some of the kids.”
She turned suddenly to face Fiona.
“For the moment,” Fiona said, standing up.
Chapter 14
They had barely driven out of the school parking lot when Izzy glanced into his rearview mirror.
“We have a tail,” he said.