by Lee Harris
“I agree. She ought to remember Jamieson and maybe she knows the truth about him.”
Dodie reached into the still-open pocketbook. “I have her address.” She pulled out a notepad covered in burgundy leather and turned a couple of small pages. Then she wrote on a clean page, tore it out, and handed it to me. “I gather the mother has had a few husbands. That’s her current name.”
She had written “Sally Holland” and an address in New Jersey. “Have you called her?” I asked.
“No. I didn’t see any reason to. Tina hadn’t told me about looking for Jamieson. She was a little mysterious about what she was going to see Ken Buckley about. I thought, maybe—”
“I understand.”
“Are you up to this? Talking to the Holland woman?”
I had been trying to calculate whether to take Eddie with me or go by myself. But either way, someone had to talk to Tina’s mother. “I’ll go.”
“How soon?”
“I’ll try tomorrow. I teach on Tuesday and I can’t miss the first class of the semester.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow night then.” She closed her bag.
“Tell me one thing,” I said. “Why did you come to me? Why did you tell me all this?”
“I trusted you. You didn’t appear to have an ulterior motive. I was sure you hadn’t killed anyone, and you seemed to have uncovered some interesting tidbits. When I talked to Tina that last night, it was clear she had lied to the police and you had told the truth. And maybe—I don’t know—maybe I just didn’t know where else to turn.”
“I’ll do my best. I know how important this is to you.”
She stood and put her scarf back on, covering her beautiful hair except for a little on her forehead. Then she put the tinted glasses back on although it was already dark out.
“When did you hear about Tina’s murder?” I asked.
“When I was nearly home.” She stopped, as if trying to recall. “I took the first ferry to Bay Shore that morning. I hadn’t eaten anything so I stopped somewhere—I can’t even remember where—and had a big breakfast. I made some notes, the names of lawyers I know who might be able to handle this better than 1.1 was there for quite a while. Before I got on the highway, I stopped again at a farmers’ market and bought some fresh fruits and vegetables.”
“So it took you a long time to get home.”
“Much longer than usual. I had the radio on in the car and before I got to my apartment, they mentioned it. All I could think of was that everyone in that house knew I’d been to see Tina the night before, and the last I’d seen her she was off on her bicycle. I had no idea where she’d been killed or how. But someone was bound to make a connection between us. I decided not to go home.”
I opened the door of the office and looked out. From time to time during our talk I had heard sounds, mostly laughter, from another room. It was Sunday night and I assumed the residents were watching a movie in the game room. No one was around. I walked Dodie to the front door and we shook hands. The last I saw of her, her silk scarf was blowing in the breeze.
—
“The picture is certainly filling in,” Jack said. We had come home in two separate cars, chatted with Elsie for a while, and now we were sipping coffee in the family room with Eddie safely upstairs in his crib.
“And Ken Buckley turns out to be a man of conscience. I think his wife must have known all about this, don’t you?”
“It’s likely. If he told her he was talking to Murchison about diverting some funds to Jamieson’s heirs, she probably knows what happened that night.”
“And the Hersheys have to know. They’re the ones who called Ken in the first place.”
“It was to everyone’s advantage to keep the secret. There’s no statute of limitations on murder, and there’s been no investigation to determine whether the death of Jamieson was murder or self-defense or any one of a whole lot of other possible charges. Everyone involved is potentially liable as co-conspirators, actual suspects, or material witnesses.”
“Poor Mrs. Norris. She was so sure she hadn’t left anything on that stove. But she had to accept what the fire department’s investigation turned up.”
“Phony investigation,” Jack corrected me. “They started with the result, not with the search, and worked back from there.”
I looked at my watch. “I guess I’d better get this over with. I have to call and see if Tina’s mother is home and if-1 can come over tomorrow.”
“Good luck.”
I dialed, half hoping she wouldn’t answer. Talking to the mother of a murdered child filled me with dread. But she answered the phone and I told her my name and plunged into my mission.
“I knew your daughter, Mrs. Holland,” I said. “She was staying at a house across the street from ours on Fire Island. I just came home today.”
“You were there?” She sounded surprised. “You were there when she—when Tina died?”
“Yes, I was. I wonder if I could drive out and talk to you tomorrow. Will you be home?”
“I can be home, sure. When do you want to come?”
“It’ll take me a couple of hours. About eleven?”
“I’ll be there.”
I let my breath out as I got off the phone. I had forgotten to ask whether Tina had been buried yet, but surely the funeral couldn’t be tomorrow or she wouldn’t have made the appointment.
“All set?” Jack asked.
“Yes. I’ll just call Elsie and let her know it’ll be a long day.”
25
Jack works the ten-to-six in the detective squad at the Sixty-fifth Precinct in Brooklyn. It gives us a chance to have breakfast together, for him to see Eddie for a while before he leaves. Monday through Thursday he goes to evening law school, and that Monday was the day the fall semester began. He had taken care of registration and books before we left for Fire Island, so he was all set when he kissed us good-bye.
I was feeling a little sad to see him go. We had had two wonderful weeks together, and three months of having him home at a normal hour. I would miss his company at dinner, not to mention his cooking, and all those little times during the day when we had enjoyed being in the same room at the same time. There was something very final about the first day of work after Labor Day, the first day of school, the first time you put your headlights on to come home at night.
But I had a place to go and I got moving fast, leaving a telephone message for Melanie that I might not be back in time to see her but I would if I could. Then I scooped up Eddie and the bag that always went with him, and drove to Elsie’s house.
—
It was a long drive just to get to the George Washington Bridge, which crosses the Hudson River into New Jersey. Then it was another long drive to Sally Holland’s town just outside of New Brunswick. I missed my intended eleven o’clock arrival and needed directions when I got off the New Jersey Turnpike, but I found her house at last. It was a small, one-story house on a street of similar houses. A cousin of hers opened the door and showed me into the family room where Sally Holland was sitting and watching television. When we’d introduced ourselves and I had expressed my sympathy, she turned off the set.
She was a thin woman in her forties with the same coloring as her daughter. She looked sad and drab. She was wearing a pair of gray slacks and a black cotton sweater and only some bright red lipstick gave her any color.
“Mrs. Holland,” I began, “do you know why Tina went to Fire Island this summer?”
“To have fun. Why does anyone go?”
“Most people go for that reason. Tina went to track down someone she’d known in her childhood.” I watched her eyes. First they looked distant; then they brightened.
“Who would that be?” she asked carefully.
“Someone she thought of as Uncle Bill.”
“Billy,” the woman whispered. “She was looking for Billy.”
“I believe his name was William Jamieson.”
“Yeah, that’s who he was
, Bill Jamieson. She never forgot him.”
“She thought he might be her father.”
Sally Holland shook her head. “Bill wasn’t her father. He was a friend. I met him in a funny way and we got to be friends. I was good to him and he was good to us. Up to a point.”
“Did you know him long?”
“Oh, yeah. Years.”
“Was he a boyfriend?”
“At the beginning, maybe. Then it cooled off. He’d go away and come back. If he needed a place to stay for a while, I’d give him a bed to sleep in.”
“What kind of person was he?” I asked. “Was he ever violent?”
“He could slap you around a little. What man doesn’t?” She smiled as though we were sharing a secret. It made me feel very uneasy. “But he could be nice, too. And he liked Tina. He used to bring her things, toys, a hat from Texas once. I think he even got her a new bike.”
“You knew he was going to Fire Island that last time you saw him, didn’t you?”
“He told me he was going. Said he’d met a girl somewheres, she was going to be there. They couldn’t go together for some reason. I think she lived in one place and he lived somewhere else. So he got a ride or took the train. The Long Island Railroad, maybe?”
“I think that goes out there.”
“Then you take a boat, right?”
“Yes.”
“Sounded nice to me. It was all beaches and ocean. You could spend the day on the beach and maybe have a picnic.”
“Do you remember what day he went out?”
“How could I remember after such a long time? It was a holiday, I think. The Fourth of July, maybe.” She thought about it. “Maybe it was Labor Day.”
“And then what happened?”
“That was it. Nothing happened. I never saw him again.”
“Did you try calling him?”
“There was nowhere to call. Sometimes he stayed with me, sometimes he stayed with a friend. He probably stayed with girlfriends, too, when that worked out.”
“I guess Tina must’ve been upset.”
“Oh, yeah. She wanted her Uncle Billy something awful. But I told her, ‘He’s gone, honey. Let’s hope he’s happy wherever he is.’ ” She stopped and looked as if something had just clicked. “You know where he is?”
“Not exactly, but I may know why you never heard from him again.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” She squeezed her hands together and her face looked bleak. “I knew it. I knew it years ago. He would’ve called. He would’ve dropped in, ’specially if he needed something. Like I said, I was good to him.”
“I think he’s dead, Mrs. Holland. I don’t know for sure but I—”
“He’s dead. I know it.” She patted her chest to show me where she knew it best.
“You must have told Tina where he went on that last trip.”
“I could’ve. I don’t remember. Maybe I said it a while ago. I can’t even remember where he went, except that it was Fire Island.”
“She was trying to find out what happened to him. She wrote in a notebook that she thought Bill was her father.”
“He wasn’t.”
“I understand, but that’s what she thought. She wanted to know what happened to him. She asked around to see if there were any drownings that summer or if anyone got hurt in a fight.”
“Is that why she was killed? Because she was looking for Bill?”
“I think it’s connected. I’m not sure exactly how. I found something out, just last night. I learned that William Jamieson wasn’t his real name.”
“So that’s it,” she said, as though something had just made sense after a long time. “He said to me once—I met someone named Jamieson and I asked Bill if he could be related, and he said he wasn’t related to anyone named Jamieson, and I said, ‘How can that be? You’ve got a dad and you’ve got brothers and sisters. You gotta have relatives with that name.’ But he said he didn’t, and I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. So I let it alone.”
“Do you have any idea what his real name was?”
“He never said a word. He never even said Bill wasn’t his real name.”
“If we knew his real name,” I said carefully, “it might give us a clue to who killed Tina.”
“How’s that?” she said.
“Tina was asking questions and poking around all summer. It’s kind of complicated, but her death may be connected with another murder a few days earlier, and both of them may be connected to Bill’s death fifteen years ago.”
“Fifteen years ago. Is it that long already?”
“Yes. If we could just find out who Bill really was, where he came from, who his family is, maybe we could find some answers.”
She was silent for a minute. She folded and refolded her hands. “He left some things here. I gave away the clothes a long time ago because I figured if he came back, they wouldn’t fit him anymore anyway, but there’s a couple of other things if I can just find them. You want to take a look?”
“I’d like to.”
She got up and I followed her to a door in the kitchen that led to the basement. We went downstairs and she walked over to an assortment of cartons and suitcases that filled a corner. I couldn’t imagine how she could find anything, but it turned out that many of the boxes were labeled and after a few minutes, she pulled one out.
“Maybe in here,” she said, “but I can’t promise.”
We opened it and she fished around inside. The first thing she pulled out was a pair of small pink satin ballet slippers, tied together. She held them and looked at them, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I wanted her to be a dancer,” she said. “She was so delicate and beautiful.”
“Maybe this isn’t the time,” I said softly.
“If I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it.” She set the slippers aside and went back to her rummaging. “Here’s something.” She pulled an old brown envelope out and handed it to me. “These are papers I found after he left. Take a look. Maybe something’s inside with his real name on it.”
The envelope was about nine by twelve, and inside was an assortment of papers, including minuscule want ad clippings from a newspaper. Whether he had applied for the jobs or just thought about it, I couldn’t tell. They weren’t marked in any way. There was a small snapshot of himself with Tina and Sally, possibly in this very backyard. He was a good-looking, dark-haired young man with strong arms and shoulders. I handed it to her and she said, “Oh, look at that,” and held it a little distance from her face, as though she were becoming farsighted and needed her glasses.
It was the only picture in the envelope, but there were a couple of letters, all addressed to William Jamieson at this address, that looked like form rejections for jobs. There was an empty key ring with a plastic bottle of beer hanging from it, and at the bottom I found a small penknife with a ring at one end so you could hang it from a chain or key ring. Engraved on it was the name “Buzzy.” I showed it to her.
“I never saw that before.” She took it in her hand, looked at it, opened it and closed it.
“Everything seems to be addressed to William Jamieson,” I said. Just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, I spilled everything in the envelope out onto the top of a closed carton. A folded yellow sheet of lined paper was hidden between two of the typewritten letters. I unfolded it and spread it out. It was handwritten in pencil, a letter that began, “Dear Buzzy.”
“This is something,” I said. “Listen.
‘Dear Buzzy,
Hope things are working out for you. It’s a cold winter here and the snows pretty hi. Did you get that job at the warehouse? That kind of work pays pretty good and its a good place to get started. Maybe you’l get to be president of the compny some day. Ha, ha. Give us a call. Mother misses you a lot. Me too.
Your loving Dad’ ”
“So his real name was Buzzy?”
“Probably his nickname. It’s not going to help very much. May I take this with me? I pr
omise I’ll get it back to you.”
“Sure, take it. What’m I gonna do with it? Put it back in the box?”
I refolded it and we went back upstairs. I didn’t see anything further that I could do here. I hadn’t learned much and had made her more upset than she’d been when I walked in the house. “Have you had the funeral yet?” I asked.
“It was Saturday. They didn’t keep her long, and I didn’t want to wait till today. So it’s over.”
“Thank you for helping out. If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.” I wrote down my name and address, as I always did, and gave it to her.
“You came a long way,” she said.
“I want to find out who killed Tina.”
“You know he took one of her earrings?” She sounded very angry.
“I heard. You may get that back.”
“I’d like to. She loved those earrings. They were real diamonds. My husband gave them to her when she turned twenty-one.”
“If it turns up, I’m sure they’ll return it to you.”
I picked up my bag and put the yellow letter in it. Then we walked to the front door.
“I don’t know if I should tell you this,” Sally Holland said. “It’s about Bill. He only told me because we were friends and he trusted me.”
I looked at her, wondering what she had to say.
“The day I met him—he told me this a long time later—I picked him up at a bus stop. I never did anything like that before but I was in a good mood about something, and he was standing there with this little bag and he didn’t look dangerous or anything, so I stopped the car and asked him if I could give him a lift.” She kind of smiled and for a moment her face lost its forlornness. “It was a lucky day for both of us. He told me afterwards he’d just gotten out of prison.”
“He was in prison? Here in New Jersey?”
“Yeah. Trenton State. That’s south of here. They let him out that morning and he hitchhiked from there. It was just our luck that I was driving by.”