As Steele pulled the patrol car into the driveway, Charlie Osborne came out to meet him. A senior at East Hampton High School, he had a summer job at Pratt’s Service Station, which kept the gas pumps open all night during the summer season.
“Thanks for droppin’ by, Chief,” said Charlie with a handshake. “I called as soon as I heard the news.”
“When was that?” Steele wanted to know.
“Over breakfast,” the young man replied. “Ma heard it last night from Mrs. Edwards down street. I ’spect she woulda told me right then, only she was asleep by the time I got off work. I do the late shift from Friday to Sunday nights. Actually Ma thought maybe it was just a rumor, ’cause everybody was sure Pollock done it, what with her bein’ in his car. But I said wait a minute, maybe there’s somethin’ to it.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Come up on the porch and set while I give you the scoop,” said Charlie, and the two men retired to a matching pair of rockers.
“You know Friday’s the busiest night,” Charlie began, “with all the city folks headed out here wantin’ to gas up for the weekend. And Sunday they’re all goin’ in the opposite direction, gassin’ up again for the trip back, so that’s pretty busy, too. Plenty of out-of-town plates pullin’ in and out all night.
“Saturday night’s a lot quieter, mostly local customers, a few day-trippers on the way home. Last Saturday, a little after ten it was, a guy pulls up to the pump and asks where the men’s room is. He’s holdin’ a hankie to his cheek, and it’s soaked with blood. ‘That’s a nasty cut,’ I says, and he says, ‘Yeah, I fell in the parking lot, right on my face. I need to clean it up.’ So I point him to the john and ask if he wants gas. He says sure, fill ’er up, but don’t bother with under the hood ’cause he’s in a rush, and anyway it’s a rental.”
“Do you remember which cheek?”
“The left one, on the window side. Anyway, I pumped the gas while he was in the john. When he came out he was still holdin’ the hankie on his face, but it looked like he’d washed it out and soaked it in cold water. When he took his hand down to pay me, I got a good look at the damage. He had two nasty scratches right across his cheek, like this.” Charlie ran his fingertips along his cheekbone.
“I told him she took six gallons and he owed me a buck fifty. He handed me two bucks and said to keep the change. That’s another reason I remember him—not many city folks are good tippers.”
“How do you know he was from the city?”
“His plates. They had a KN prefix, that’s Kings County—Brooklyn. I don’t remember the numbers, but he said it was a rental, so it shouldn’t be too hard to trace. He wasn’t kiddin’ when he said he was in a hurry. He pulled out real quick and gunned it, goin’ west, to my surprise.”
“How so?”
“The only strangers headed west on a Saturday night are the day-trippers, almost always fishermen with tackle or families who been to the beach or the farm stands, so their cars’re loaded with stuff. His car had nothin’ in it but him, and he was wearin’ city clothes, not country casual. Looked more like a businessman than a tourist.”
Steele complimented Osborne on his excellent memory and remarkable eye for detail. “You’re on the ball, Charlie. If I ever get the budget for a detective, you should definitely apply.”
Forty-nine.
“Hello, Izzy, it’s Lee. I just had a meeting with Gerry about the will, and he told me something that surprised and confused me.”
After Weinstock left, she had gone straight to the phone. Fortunately her brother was at home, so she didn’t have to spend hours wondering why he had told her that he couldn’t get to East Hampton until Sunday and that there was no longer any point in going after he heard about the car crash from Alfonso.
“I thought the terms of Jackson’s will were clear,” Irving replied. “Was there some problem with the wording? It’s not like Gerry to leave anything ambiguous or open to interpretation.”
“No, no, nothing like that.” She was hesitant, trying to figure out how to phrase the question.
“Was he unfavorable to the idea of my taking over the Pollock estate in case of your death or disability? You told him I had agreed, didn’t you? Surely he wouldn’t object to that.”
“No, of course not. It’s not about Jackson’s will, or mine.” Better just put it out there and see what he says.
“Izzy, were you in East Hampton last Saturday?”
The question was met with a momentary silence. He certainly was not prepared for it. How could she possibly know? He decided to obfuscate.
“What makes you think I was?”
“Gerry says he saw you.”
Impossible. Only two people had seen him face-to-face, and Weinstock wasn’t one of them. And the two who did see him didn’t know him from Adam.
“He must have seen someone who looks like me.” Evasive, but not a bald-faced lie. He was playing for time.
“That’s what I told him,” said Lee, “but he insisted it was you. He said you were at the filling station when he pulled in to get gas. You were in the car ahead of him.”
Irving’s mind was in turmoil. Jesus fucking Christ, of all the rotten coincidences, how improbable is that one? Yes, there was a car behind me, but what were the chances that the guy in it was someone who knew me? Late at night on the highway, in a town I hardly ever visit, that was the last thing I would have expected.
“I’m sorry to contradict Gerry, but he’s wrong. I told you I couldn’t get a rental car on Saturday, so how could I have been buying gas in East Hampton that night?”
Now it was Lee’s turn to go silent. She hadn’t mentioned the time of day Gerry said he saw her brother. She felt a little stab of pain in her chest as the implication registered. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to confront it directly.
“You couldn’t, could you? Not without a car, obviously. I guess Gerry was imagining things. He did say it was quite late, and he’d driven all the way out from the city and was probably tired. I guess that explains it.”
Irving sounded relieved. “That’s right. Just a case of mistaken identity. Happens all the time. You’d be surprised how often.”
After she hung up, Lee retreated to the kitchen for more coffee, cigarettes, and mental turbulence. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with, she now had to confront the likelihood that her brother, her most trusted ally and emotional lifeline, had lied to her. That he had come out on Saturday after all. That he needed to deny it, but why? He had been so insistent that she still held out hope he was telling the truth and it was all a mistake. As of now she only had Gerry’s word for it. If she could confirm his story, if anyone else had seen Izzy, then at least she would know for sure. She decided to call around.
It was a fruitless exercise. None of her friends had seen him since earlier in the summer, before she left for Europe. He didn’t come out often, since he and Jackson didn’t get along, and when he did show up it was usually because Lee was at her wit’s end and needed someone to run interference for her.
His presence had a salutary effect on Jackson, who was a bit afraid of him. Even though Irving was sixteen years older and going to pot around the middle, he was taller by a couple of inches and built like a wrestler. In his condition Jackson was no match for him and he knew it.
He could brawl with his artist friends, since they pulled their punches and it was all in good fun, but with Irving it would be serious, so when he was around, Jackson steered clear of any confrontation, spending most of the time in his studio, out with the dogs, or over at the General Store shooting the breeze with Dan Miller and drinking beer with his Bonacker buddies. But he’d been avoiding them lately, not wanting them to see how frail he was, physically and emotionally.
And besides, once Lee was out of the picture he had Ruth to keep him occupied.
Fifty.
Ger
ry Weinstock returned to the family’s summer cottage on the other side of Fireplace Road to find his wife and children piling beach chairs, inner tubes, pails, shovels, towels, and a folding sunshade into the Packard. With a large lunch basket already stocked and waiting on the kitchen table, he didn’t have to ask where they were going, or for how long.
The beach at nearby Louse Point was a family favorite. With a long, shallow slope out into Gardiner’s Bay, no rough waves or undertow, the water was perfect for youngsters. Margaret was sure to find other mothers to gossip with, and the kids would have lots of playmates.
“Coming with us, Gerry?” she called as he entered the kitchen. “I’ve packed plenty of food.” He joined her at the table, where she was filling the Thermos with lemonade. He caressed her cheek and kissed her, just warmly enough to distract her while he stole a cookie from the pile she was about to wrap.
“Naughty boy, you’ll spoil your lunch,” she scolded, grinning indulgently. “Now get changed if you’re coming.”
“I think I’ll skip the beach today, Mags,” he said. “I want to make a few notes after my conversation with Lee. She wants me to draw up her will, and it needs to be done right away to protect her interests. I should get on it while the terms she wants are fresh in my mind.”
Margaret was disappointed, but inclined to be sympathetic to Lee’s demands on her husband’s time and attention. “I understand, Gerry. My heart goes out to her. She must be going through hell emotionally, losing Jackson in such a terrible way, and then that girl’s murder on top of it. At least Jackson’s been cleared of that.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I was over at the General Store getting some stuff for lunch, and Mrs. Collins was in there, talking to Dan. She said the police have ruled out Jackson as the killer. Apparently the poor girl struggled with her attacker and scratched him, probably on his face. They found skin under her nails. Jackson didn’t have a wound like that, so they’re looking for someone else.”
Gerry sat down at the table. “A face wound, you say. I wonder . . .”
But in his lawyerly way, and knowing how tales get around, Gerry first needed to check that it wasn’t just a rumor. He went to the front hall and telephoned the police station.
Fred Tucker confirmed the story. “That’s right, Mr. Weinstock, we believe Miss Metzger scratched whoever strangled her—most likely a man, but not Mr. Pollock. He had to be strong enough to crush her windpipe, but not before she clawed at him. Most likely got him on the face or neck. That’s not consistent with Mr. Pollock’s injuries.”
But it is consistent with an injury I saw, said Gerry to himself. And I saw it on the night, and around the time, Edith Metzger died.
“If it isn’t confidential, Mr. Tucker, can you tell me if there are any suspects?”
“I can’t say, Mr. Weinstock, but you bein’ a family friend, I can tell you that the chief interviewed somebody this morning. Not a suspect, but somebody who may have information.”
Gerry paused, then came to a decision. “Is Chief Steele in? I’d like to speak to him.”
“No, sir, he’s still out. But we have a detective from the city helping us out. She knows the details. I’ll ask her to call you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tucker. I’ll be at home.” He gave the clerk his number.
Instead of returning directly to the station, Harry Steele had decided to report his findings to the Fitzgeralds. Once again he caught them finishing a leisurely breakfast and planning a day out. They had only three more left before their vacation ended and they returned to the city on Tuesday.
“I’m not gonna keep you,” he told them, “but I could use your advice about a new development. The bait landed us a fish, and I’m hoping to reel him in. Only first I have to find out what kind of fish he is.”
“You’re being very cryptic,” said Fitz, “and I wouldn’t know a cod from a catfish, but if we can help, just say the word.”
Steele recounted his interview with Charlie Osborne.
“I’ll tell you, that boy’s got the sharpest eyes in town. He even got a partial on the license plate. Do you think you could have someone at your precinct check the car rental places in Brooklyn? Just call around and see who booked a car last Saturday?”
“Sure,” said Fitz. “Can’t be too many outfits, they’re probably all in the Yellow Pages. Only problem would be if it’s just a local garage, or if he rented it for more than one day—in other words, he already had it before Saturday and didn’t turn it in right away. But we’ll start with the assumption that it was a rental agency and a one-day deal and see if we get lucky.”
He went inside and emerged with some change for the pay phone. “I wouldn’t want Millie Dayton spreading this around,” he remarked. “She’s a pretty effective broadcaster.”
Steele chuckled. “You’re not kiddin’. But I told Mrs. Pollock the good news myself. Didn’t want her learnin’ it secondhand. And she’s had enough bad news to last her a lifetime.”
“That was thoughtful,” said Nita. Even though she’d never met the woman, and had heard enough about her to form a somewhat negative opinion, she hated to think of her dealing with the possibility that her late husband was a murderer.
“I’ll have the clerk call you directly,” Fitz told Steele. “No need to go through me. Besides, we can’t hang around here all day. TJ wants to go on a fishing expedition of his own, a real one. We’re thinking of driving out to Montauk and renting a boat and some tackle so all three of us can try our luck.”
“Well,” said Steele rather sheepishly. “I hate to delay your family outing, but I wasn’t to ask Nita another favor.” A collective groan went up from the Fitzgeralds. “Maybe it won’t take all that long,” he added. “I got a radio call from Fred that a city fella named Gerard Weinstock wants to talk to me, and maybe has some information about the case. I thought Nita might talk to him instead.”
“Of course,” Nita replied. “I’ll go to the pay phone with Fitz.” Steele gave her the number and said he’d wait for her report.
“You’ll be on your way to Montauk in no time,” he assured them. “Gosman’s Dock will have everything you need. Tell Bob Gosman I sent you. That way he’ll charge you the local price.”
“Thank you for calling, Detective Diaz,” Gerry began. He recognized her name from the article in the Star. “I understand you’re helping out with the Metzger investigation. I’m an attorney. Lee Pollock is one of my clients, as well as a neighbor in Springs. That’s how I met her and Jackson. My family has a place almost opposite theirs on Fireplace Road. Over the years we’ve become good friends, and I wrote Jackson’s last will and testament. Lee and I had a conference this morning about the estate, and something came up that prompted my call to Chief Steele.”
Nita detected the hesitancy in Weinstock’s voice. “How’s that, sir?”
“It’s a bit awkward, considering my close personal and professional relationship with Lee. It would be helpful if you could share some information about your latest line of inquiry. About the search for a suspect other than Jackson, I mean. My wife heard about it this morning, and she told me.”
“What kind of information?”
“Do you have a line on anyone?”
He knows something, guessed Nita, or thinks he might. Her years of experience had given her a keen ear for hidden meanings. She decided to draw Weinstock out.
“It’s possible we do, Mr. Weinstock. As you must have heard, we haven’t much to go on, only the assumption that the killer was wounded in a certain way. We think he was scratched on the face. It seems a man answering that description was seen around the time in question.”
“What time was that?”
“A little after ten last Saturday night.”
“Have you identified the man?”
Nita laid her cards on the table. “Can you help us with that, sir?”
Weinstock was taken aback. Had he been so transparent? Apparently he had. He felt like one of the mercenary clients he walked through the intricacies of contracts, wills, and other complex legal agreements, probing their motives until they admitted to hidden agendas. But he was not about to drop his professional discretion.
“As I said, I’m in an awkward position. My client’s interests come first, and I need to consider how best they may be served. Please answer another question for me.”
“If I can without compromising the investigation,” Nita replied.
“Where was the suspect seen?”
“Pratt’s Service Station on Montauk Highway.”
Gerry’s heart sank. “Thank you, Detective Diaz. I appreciate your being so forthcoming. I need to verify something, and I’ll report back as soon as possible.” He rang off.
The suspicion that had been nagging at him since he spoke to Fred Tucker had been confirmed.
Fifty-one.
He tried phoning Lee, but the line was busy. He decided to walk across—better to talk to her in person anyway. It was not going to be an easy conversation.
He found her in the front parlor, wearing a housedress now but still in her slippers, sitting at the table with her address book on the blotter next to the phone. She had been working her way through it in an effort to find out if anyone had seen Irving on Saturday, which is why the line was perpetually engaged.
More than one of her friends had told her the news of Jackson’s exoneration, so it was clear that the word had spread widely.
An Accidental Corpse Page 19