“No, no, I’ll get it. Don’t worry about it.”
So I didn’t. Instead, once he was out of sight, I took the little white packet out of my pocket and dropped its contents into my glass, watching the crushed pills dissolve in what was left of the liquid. I stirred the wine with one finger, then picked up the bottle and topped off the glass, picking it up, wiping off the bottom with my hand and putting Ted’s glass in the middle of the spill. Never mix, never worry. The Riesling had a slightly darker color than most whites, a stronger, fruitier taste, too. It was one of my favorites, perfect for a variety of occasions.
Ted wiped the table with a damp cloth, then again with a dry one, wiping the bottom of the glass as I had a moment earlier.
“You found her?” Shaking his head. “You are amazing.”
“To me,” I said, lifting my glass.
He lifted his as well, touching it to mine. “To you,” he said.
And we each took a sip. In truth, I took a sip. Ted was nervous. He took a swig.
“What’s that smell?” I said, wrinkling up my nose.
He looked at the glass in his hand, then at mine, then back at me. “I don’t…”
“Glue?” I watched his face to assess exactly how good an actor he was. Everything perfect, except the eyes.
“Oh,” he said, “of course. You’re right. The odor always lingers, no matter how carefully you wash. I got that commercial. They’re always gluing things on me, a bigger nose, sideburns, a bald pate, something. I’m so used to it, I don’t even smell it. Now, don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Tell me how you found her.”
I sighed, took another sip of wine. It wasn’t the kind I bought, that was for sure. It probably cost three or four times as much. “This is wonderful,” I told him.
He looked down at his glass, then took another few swallows. “Yes, one of my favorites,” he said.
“Then we have that in common. At least, it would be if I could afford it.”
“The commercial work,” he said, leaning toward me, using a stage whisper, as if we were in a crowded restaurant and he wanted to be overheard by people at the next table. “It’s not terribly dignified, but it does pay the rent.” He sat back and took another sip. “So she’s back?” he asked. “She’s here?”
I wrinkled my nose again. “They use that glue for beards, too, right? Bushy eyebrows, mustaches, stuff like that?”
Frowning. “Yes.” Nervous. Taking another drink.
“Here, let me top that off for you,” I said. And like a good little boy, he drained the glass to make room for his refill. “A little extra hair here and there, a jacket that’s too big, maybe a cap, some old beat-up boots, your own mother wouldn’t know you, would she? So what’s the deal, you just get the old clothes at Housing Works, then toss them before you come home, is that how it works? Maybe the Salvation Army. Their stuff is crappier. Cheaper, too. Am I right? You know, I’ve done a bit of this myself. I’d have to, wouldn’t I, going undercover as a hooker, a homeless person, whatever’s necessary to get the job done. It’s kind of fun actually, fooling people like that. I find it quite a turn-on.”
He stared for a moment, then he put down his glass.
“You didn’t find her. You’re just fucking around with me, aren’t you?”
“I did find her. And I’m not just fucking around with you. I’m dead serious.”
“The kid’s talking, is that it?”
“Not exactly. But she is communicating nonetheless.”
“What did she say?” Wondering perhaps if she’d seen him waiting across the street that last day, if she’d recognized him despite the getup.
I shook my head. “It’s not what she said. It’s what she drew. But you already saw that, Madison’s completed drawing. It was on my lap when I was sitting out front and you were on your way to, what was it you said? A shoot? A commercial? Well, whatever. So now we both know that Madison was only expressing her feelings. She hadn’t threatened Dr. Bechman at all. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Leaning forward, I answered his question slowly so that he’d get the full meaning of what I was about to tell him. “Actually,” I said, “by now, someone else is talking, someone who knows a lot more than Madison. Madison only knows what she didn’t do. But Louise Peach knows everything, doesn’t she, and by now, she’s making it patently clear to the detectives who did what. By the way, what exactly is the connection, older sister, aunt, second cousin?”
Ted stood and took a step toward me. Dashiell stood, too, but Ted didn’t notice, and by then, it no longer mattered. His legs, legs that usually worked so much harder and so much better than anyone else’s, were no longer doing what he wanted them to.
“Sit down, Ted. It’s all over,” watching his left shin bang into the coffee table, then seeing him stumble backwards, ending up in exactly the same place he’d been before. “Answer my questions or don’t, it’s all the same at this point. Your cousin is already in custody and I’m sure she’s giving everything a nice little spin.” I paused to let that sink in.
“My aunt,” he said, blinking as if something had gotten into both eyes at once, beginning to lose the battle with the double dose of Ambien I’d put in his drink, the same drug Dr. Edelstein had given Ms. Peach, saying it would help her with her bad knee.
“Ah, your father’s sister. It’s always good to see that family values are alive and well, even here in tough old New York.”
He was trying to make a fist but his fingers weren’t working any better than his legs had a moment earlier.
“I always thought that if you’re going to get caught anyway, it’s always a good idea to go down first, before your partner. That way, you can put the blame where it truly belongs. That way you get to be the one offered the deal for cooperating.” I shrugged. “Better luck next time,” I told him, even though it was too soon for Louise Peach to be cutting a deal. She was as dead to the world as Ted would soon be.
But when I looked at the smug expression on his face, Ted sure he was going to get the last laugh, I realized my mistake.
“She doesn’t know,” I said. “You never told her it was you who killed Bechman. She really does think it was Madison. And you never told her about shutting up Celia for good either. Damn. You had me fooled, your aunt fooled, too.” I shook my head. “By the way, I hope whatever you put into my wine mixes well with what I dropped in.” I watched my words register on his face, no acting this time, sure I got the last laugh after all.
I put my glass down and leaned toward him. “I bet you never thought it would go this far, when the whole thing started, did you? First Bechman and then Celia. That’s how it is. You take that first step off the path and then in no time everything is out of control, out of your control, that is. And then one day you have to look at yourself in the mirror and you have to ask yourself, was it worth it?” I shook my head. “Was it, Ted?”
But he didn’t answer me. He was barely moving now, his hands as heavy as lead, his legs like two sawn logs, his eyes getting glassy, his lids drooping the way one of Madison’s did. I glanced back at the posters of Ted in costume, then pulled out my cell phone and dialed the precinct.
CHAPTER 35
It was eight-thirty by the time I went upstairs and knocked on Leon’s door. If he was surprised to see me, it didn’t show.
“Where’s Madison?” I asked, still standing in the doorway, waiting for Leon to move out of the way so that I could go in.
“Reading in her room,” he said.
I nodded.
“Do you want to see her?” he asked.
“Not just yet, Leon. I’d like to talk to you first.”
He stood looking at me before standing aside so that I could walk in. There was music coming from Madison’s room, the first time I’d heard that, the first time I’d heard her do anything that made noise. I guess that’s why she hadn’t heard me knock, and for now, though I’d avoided this conversati
on as long as I could, I was glad she hadn’t heard me. I was glad I could talk to Leon alone.
We walked into the living room. Leon sat on the daybed. I sat on the love seat.
“I have a lot to tell you, Leon, maybe too much. I don’t know how much of it, how much of the detail, you’re going to want to hear, so I’m going to tell you the bottom line first. I had a lead about Sally, something old. I had, I thought, the slimmest chance on earth of finding her, but I promised you I’d try my best and I always try to keep my promises. When you and Madison took care of Dashiell, I was in Florida looking for Sally.”
He never moved while I spoke, not his hands, not his posture, not anything on his face. Somehow, I thought, it would have been easier if he looked heartbroken, if he showed hope, if I could see what he was feeling in any way. But that didn’t happen. Not yet anyway.
“I found her,” I said. “So at least we know she’s alive.”
“At least? What does that mean?”
“She’s not going to come back, Leon. If I went back now, or you did, she wouldn’t be there.”
For a moment, we just sat there, Leon staring into his lap, me wishing I were somewhere else, anywhere but where I was.
Then I asked him how much he wanted to know, and he said he wanted to know everything. So I told him how Sally had left the house to walk the dog because she needed to get out and didn’t want to be questioned. I told him how she kept walking, how she kept delaying going home. I told him about Paul, the truck driver, and about Sally going down to the Keys, to the place where she got pregnant with Madison. I told him, as best I could, about the life she was leading, a life with as few demands on her as was possible, a dead-end off-the-books job for subsistence, a library card in another name I was sure, the ocean across the road, her only companion the dog.
“She still has Roy?” he asked. And for a moment, Leon Spector came to life. She hadn’t thrown everything of him away. At least she had his dog.
“She does,” I said.
I took the digital camera out of my pocket and showed him the pictures, Roy waiting at the shore, as focused as if he were holding a flock, and then Sally, her mask still on, Roy swimming out toward her.
“That’s all?”
“I couldn’t take more. It would have made her run sooner. I wanted, at least,” there it was again, “to get the story for you. I thought you’d want to know what had happened.” Thinking there was no way I could tell this that wouldn’t be like driving a knife into his heart, no way at all.
But Leon was no longer looking at me. He was looking past me, toward the far end of the living room. I turned, and there was Madison.
She was wearing pajamas, but she had a baseball cap on and work boots that were several sizes too big for her feet. She wasn’t wearing dark glasses and I could see that the droopy eyelid was a tiny bit less droopy, which was good, but the other eye was twitching like crazy and her cheeks were jumping as well. But the worst of it was her right arm, slightly bent and jerking, completely out of control.
I looked back at Leon. He seemed paralyzed. He’d just heard that his missing wife was alive and well and not returning. And his daughter had heard it as well.
When I saw that Leon wasn’t moving, I got up and walked over to Madison, putting my arms around her and holding her close. I thought she might kick me, struggle to get away, punch me, bite me, but she didn’t. She went limp, so much so that I thought if I let go, she’d land in a heap on the floor. So I didn’t let go. I held tight, the arm jerking against my side, her eyelid twitching so hard that I could feel it through my shirt. And then Leon was there, too. I stepped back and he picked her up, as if she were a baby, carrying her back to the couch, sitting down with Madison on his lap, her head against his chest, her face hidden by her father’s arms.
Leon was bending, whispering in her ear. Then her arm stopped moving, but she stayed with her face buried in his chest. When Leon looked at me again, I began to speak, quietly, calmly.
“You hired me to find Sally and bring her back in the hope that her return would inspire Madison to start speaking again so that she could tell us what happened that terrible day with Dr. Bechman. I know you both wanted more, and God knows, you deserve more, but the point was exonerating Madison,” I said, “and that’s done.”
Now Madison turned, and they were both looking at me.
“It seems Dr. Bechman needed more money than he was making, and he needed it not to show up with his regular income. Through Ms. Peach, he was selling narcotics, painkillers, to Ms. Peach’s nephew, who was then selling the drugs at work and in the park. My best guess is that Dr. Bechman had a change of heart, and when the nephew came for the next batch of prescriptions, that would have been shortly after Madison’s last appointment, he told the nephew that it was all over, that he could no longer supply him with the prescriptions that would get him the drugs to sell. The nephew fell into a murderous rage and there on the desk was the hypodermic needle full of Botox that the doctor had had ready for Madison.”
I stopped and waited, Madison blinking, Leon staring.
“I’m sorry to tell you that you know the person who did this,” I said, telling them it was Ted and how he’d used his knowledge of makeup and costume to help him pull it off.
I didn’t say much more. I didn’t want to talk about Celia in front of Madison. I didn’t want to talk about Jim at all, unless Leon pressed me sometime to find out how I knew about the place in Florida and what had happened there. I thought I’d said enough for now, perhaps too much for both of them to absorb. I thought that would take weeks, maybe months, until they made peace with everything they’d just learned.
When I stood up to go, it was so quiet for that moment, we could have been in Madame Tussauds wax museum. But then Leon thanked me and asked about the money. I told him the last few days were on the house, not what he’d hired me to do, and that I’d send a bill for the rest.
They both walked me to the door, but when I opened it to leave, Madison stepped into the hall, waiting for me and Dash, pulling the door closed behind her.
I waited, thinking she might say something now that there was no longer any point to keeping silent. But she didn’t. She made no comment. She didn’t go back inside either. She just stood in front of me looking up into my face. I put my arms around her and pulled her close.
“It wasn’t because of anything you did,” I whispered. “Or didn’t do. It wasn’t your fault.”
After a long while, she stepped back, reaching behind her for the door, glancing down at Dashiell once before backing inside and closing it. I walked down the stairs to the first floor. There was yellow crime scene tape across Ted’s door, forming an X.
I’d wanted to ask him what had happened that last day with Bechman. It obviously wasn’t planned. You can’t plan to kill someone by finding a hypodermic full of Botox to inject into his heart. The cops were right about one thing. The crime had happened in the heat of passion. Had the needle not been there, there would have been some other weapon of opportunity, a bookend, a letter opener, even bare hands, and the strength that comes from uncontainable rage. Whatever it was, whatever he’d picked up to use as a weapon, once he started, he would have had to finish the job. He was a careful man, not one to leave someone around who knew he’d committed a crime, someone who might one day need to soothe his own guilty mind by confessing all to the appropriate authorities.
Had Celia convinced Bechman that they had to manage their finances another way, a way that one day they wouldn’t be ashamed to tell their daughter about? Or had it been the doctor’s idea to stop cold? Had he simply asked himself what on earth he’d been thinking, getting involved in the illegal trafficking of controlled substances? Had he come to his senses, not knowing it was all too late, and had he wondered what I’d been wondering while waiting for the detectives to arrive, how he’d become the man he now was and what had happened to the man he once was? How he’d forgotten the oath he’d taken years before? In tho
se last days, perhaps seeing clearly for the first time in years, had he asked himself the question that was now on my mind: what the hell had happened to first do no harm?
It was dark out, as dark as it ever gets in New York City. I felt a wave of sadness, the kind I felt when my own mother disappeared and I didn’t know for what seemed like ages if I’d ever see her again. I didn’t think it was true that time healed all wounds. But somehow most people found a way to live despite them.
I was halfway home when my phone rang.
“Alexander,” I said.
There was no response, only eloquent silence. I was passing the Bleecker Street playground. I found an empty bench and sat, Dash hopping up next to me, my arm around him, the line open, the phone to my ear, waiting.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Kudos and gratitude to Stephen Joubert for designing and maintaining my Web site and making it an informative and fun place to visit, www.CarolLeaBenjamin.com, just in case you find yourself in front of a computer one day with a little time on your hands.
Boundless gratitude is due my agent, Gail Hochman, who goes to the ends of the earth for her authors. And for careful attention to detail and taking good care of her authors—and this author’s dog, Flash—my thanks to my editor, Sarah Durand, and to Diana Tynan in publicity.
And since even on bad days I always get great reviews from my dogs, I thank Eugene Sheninger for two of my three, Flash and Peep. I’m not sure whom to thank for Dexter. Someone left him on the side of the road when he was a wee lad and a few weeks later we found each other at the ASPCA and since then have been making sure no one would leave either of us on the side of the road again.
About the Author
CAROL LEA BENJAMIN is a noted author about, and trainer of, dogs. Her award-winning books on dog behavior and training include Mother Knows Best: The Natural Way to Train Your Dog, Second-Hand Dog, and Dog Training in Ten Minutes. A former detective, Benjamin blends her knowledge of dogs with her real life experiences to create the Rachel Alexander Mystery series. Recently honored by the International Association of Canine Professionals with election to their Hall of Fame, she lives in Greenwich Village with her husband and three dogs, Dexter, Flash, and Peep. Visit her website at www.CarolLeaBenjamin.com.
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