by Janet Dawson
“Little pitchers got big ears.” Colluci pointed at Annabel, hunched over the table, layering cookies atop one another like round bricks. “Want me to take the kid to the living room?”
Not until he’d had a chance to question her, Niebuhr thought. If he let her out of his sight, back to the living room and her father’s control, he wouldn’t get the opportunity again. “I think she’ll be all right here.” Niebuhr and the housekeeper sat down at the table. He turned to a new page in his notebook. “Where do you live, Mrs. Hsu?”
“Waverly Place.” She gave him the address, a narrow street, not much more than a back alley, in Chinatown.
“How long have you worked for the Dunlins?”
“Nine years. Since Annabel was a baby.” She patted the little girl’s shoulder.
He listened as she described that morning’s routine. After she’d walked Annabel to school, she’d had a cup of tea. “Then I fixed Mrs. Dunlin’s breakfast. She sleeps late. I took her tray upstairs around ten o’clock.”
There was disapproval in the housekeeper’s voice. Niebuhr couldn’t blame her. Mrs. Hsu probably had a husband and children of her own, but she left her own home early in the morning to get another woman’s child off to school while that woman lingered in bed.
“She told me to put the tray on the nightstand. That’s all she said. Then I went to Annabel’s room. I changed the sheets on her bed and took them downstairs to wash. I do laundry several times a week, but always on Fridays.”
Niebuhr smiled. “Do you fold things as soon as they come out of the dryer? My wife does.”
Mrs. Hsu nodded. “Yes, right away. It keeps them from wrinkling. Then I made almond cookies. Annabel’s favorite.”
Colluci looked exasperated. “Let’s get back to Mrs. Dunlin. When did you see her again? Did she say anything about her plans for the day?”
“No, she didn’t,” Mrs. Hsu said. “I saw her when I took the clean sheets upstairs. She asked when I was going grocery shopping. I said, when I finished the laundry. She went downstairs. I made her bed and straightened up the bedroom and bathroom. I put out fresh towels and rugs and took the others downstairs to wash. She was at her desk, in the living room. When I went to tell her I was leaving, she was still there.” She hesitated, face guarded. “I didn’t see her again, until...”
“What time did you go shopping?” Niebuhr asked.
“I didn’t notice the time.”
“You left the garage door open,” Colluci said. “Guess you didn’t notice that, either.”
Mrs. Hsu didn’t respond. She glanced out to the hall, then she looked down at her hands. Niebuhr got up and walked to the half-open kitchen door. Dunlin stood at the study door. Eavesdropping? His proximity made the housekeeper uneasy. Niebuhr was sure Dunlin was no picnic to work for, but Mrs. Hsu’s reaction piqued his curiosity. Was she afraid of Dunlin all the time? Or just now?
Niebuhr shut the door and resumed his seat. “You did leave the garage door open.”
“I thought I closed it. Sometimes when I push the button it doesn’t close.”
“You didn’t finish the laundry,” Niebuhr said. “You left towels in the dryer. Why didn’t you fold them, the way you usually do?”
Her mouth tightened. “I was running late. The dryer wasn’t finished and the towels were damp. I still had the groceries to buy. I have so much to do on Fridays.”
Niebuhr had a feeling it wasn’t like Lily Hsu to deviate from her established routine. Had she rushed out of the Dunlin house in a tearing hurry, propelled by something other than her work load, anxious to get away from something, or someone, she’d seen or heard? But what? Mrs. Hsu hadn’t told him everything, he was sure of it.
Mulcahy opened the kitchen door. “They’re getting ready to move the body. The husband’s spitting nails, doesn’t want you talking to the kid. He called his mouthpiece.”
Colluci leaned over Niebuhr, his voice low. “Where are you going with this?”
“Stall the husband,” Niebuhr said. Mulcahy nodded and left the kitchen. The detectives went out to the porch. “Something’s off. The housekeeper’s holding back. Dunlin doesn’t seem that upset about his wife’s death.”
“The housekeeper’s Chinese,” Colluci said. “They seem like they’re stonewalling even when they’re not. Yeah, the husband doesn’t act like he’s all that broken up about his dead wife. But that doesn’t mean he killed her. Could be all kinds of explanations. Maybe he’s the kind that doesn’t show his feelings. Maybe he’s in shock.”
“Or maybe he’s just a cold, arrogant bastard.”
“Don’t let personal get in the way of your job,” Colluci warned. “Besides, he’s alibied five ways from Sunday. He was at his office all day. This guy Brinker vouches for him, and probably a whole lot of other people, too. End of story.”
“He can’t have been in meetings the whole time. He could have slipped out.”
“How would he get here? The Caddy was parked in the garage. Someone would have noticed him taking it out. You heard Brinker. There was a truck parked behind the Caddy. It had to be moved before he could come home this afternoon.”
“Mrs. Hsu gets to work on the cable car.” Niebuhr was thinking out loud. “Dunlin could have hopped on a cable car, right in front of his building.”
“Motive and opportunity, Gary. I’m not convinced he had the opportunity. Motive? We don’t have one. Why would he kill his wife?”
“I’ll talk to the kid now,” Niebuhr said.
“What do you think you’re going to get from her? She’s upset about her mom. You heard Mulcahy. Dunlin’s pissed. He’s calling his lawyer.”
“Distract him. Get a list of people he was with in all those meetings. That will buy me some time to talk with the girl.”
“I’ll do what I can. Make the most of it.”
When Colluci had gone, Niebuhr sat down again. He knew a parent should be with the little girl while he questioned her. But her mother was dead and he had concerns about her father. Besides, he’d already figured out that Lily Hsu was more of a parent to the child than the other adults in this household. He’d been watching Annabel from the corner of his eye as he questioned Mrs. Hsu. The little girl had been carefully layering the cookies row by row, but she’d been listening, absorbing words like a sponge took in water.
“Hello, Annabel. My name’s Gary. I’m a policeman. I’d like to ask you some questions. Will you answer them for me?” She nodded. “Why’d you leave school today?”
“I wanted to be home with Lily. I hate that school. I have more fun with Lily. She’s teaching me Chinese.” Annabel rattled off a few words. “That means, how are you, I am fine.” Mrs. Hsu smiled, as Annabel drank some milk and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
“Very good. So you came home alone?”
“I’m not supposed to. I said I had a tummy ache. The teacher took me to Old Prune Face.”
Niebuhr grinned. “Old Prune Face?”
“Miss Simpson, the principal. She called home but there wasn’t any answer. Then she called Aunt Rebecca and the line was busy. Miss Simpson said I had to wait. But I sneaked out and came home anyway.” Annabel looked pleased with herself at having put one over on Old Prune Face. “The garage door was open. Sometimes it doesn’t close, like Lily said. Then she swears in Chinese.”
“Does she?” Niebuhr glanced at Mrs. Hsu, amused at the thought of the housekeeper ripping off a few curses. “So you came in the back way. Were both the cars gone?” Annabel nodded. “How did you get inside the house?”
“Lily hides a key under the back stairs. She wasn’t here. I had cookies and milk. Then I decided to go upstairs to my room and read. I went out to the hall. Mother’s pineapples were on the floor. Some of them were broken.” Annabel stopped. Her eyes blinked as she whispered, “Mother was broken, too. She had blood in her hair.”
“What happened then?” he asked.
“Aunt Rebecca got here. She grabbed me and took me to Father’s study and told m
e not to move an inch. But I got tired of waiting.”
“Waiting for your aunt? What was she doing?”
“She talked on the phone,” Annabel said. “To Father. Then Miss Simpson called, looking for me. Aunt Rebecca chewed her out because I wasn’t at school. Then Aunt Rebecca talked to the police. They came to the house. But that was after she went upstairs.”
“Really? Your aunt went upstairs?” Niebuhr leaned forward. Mrs. Megarris had omitted this information from her statement. “Did you actually see her go upstairs?”
Annabel shook her head. “No. But I heard her walking around. She must have used the bathroom. Water was running.”
“How long was she up there?”
“I dunno.” Annabel’s mouth quivered. “She came downstairs and yelled at me. I cried.”
“That wasn’t very nice of your aunt, to yell at you,” Niebuhr said. “Why did she do that?”
“Because I didn’t stay in the study like she told me,” Annabel said. “I got up and went to Mother’s desk. Then Aunt Rebecca yelled at me. I was scared and I dropped the envelope. The one on Mother’s desk, with my father’s name on it. Aunt Rebecca put it in a bag when she came downstairs with the shopping bags. I dunno why she brought those with her. Lily keeps bags in the hall closet.”
Mrs. Megarris had neglected to mention a number of things. “Was Aunt Rebecca wearing a coat when you first saw her?”
“A raincoat and gloves. She wasn’t wearing them when she came back downstairs. She took the shopping bags outside and put them in the trunk of her car.”
A picture formed in Niebuhr’s mind, of Rebecca Megarris in her raincoat and gloves, upstairs. Cleaning up a crime scene? Removing evidence? What was in those bags, now stashed in her car trunk?
“Aunt Rebecca went outside and came back again,” Annabel said. “She was sorry for yelling at me. She talked on the phone, to my father and the police. Then the police came.”
“You said she talked to your father and the police,” Niebuhr said. “Was that before she went upstairs? Or after?” Annabel looked confused now. If Mrs. Megarris had called the police before going upstairs, the time sequence didn’t make sense. Once she’d notified the dispatcher that her sister-in-law was dead, the uniformed officers had arrived a few minutes later, followed by the photographer and the techs. He and Colluci got here about twenty minutes after the uniforms. That was on the record. Rebecca Megarris made one call to the police. But how many times had she called her brother?
“Annabel, this is really important. Did your aunt talk with your father once or twice? One time before she went outside and one time after?”
“I dunno. Maybe I got it mixed up.”
Niebuhr hid his disappointment. Was the child confused about the order of things? Was she telling the truth? Or spinning a fanciful yarn? If what Annabel said was true... Big if. Could he take at face value the statement of a nine-year-old girl who’d just said that maybe she got her story mixed up?
Colluci opened the kitchen door. “Okay, you’re done. The body’s gone. I held Dunlin off as long as I could, but his lawyer just got here. I hope you got something useful.”
Niebuhr turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Hsu, Mr. Dunlin wanted you to pack some of Annabel’s things so she can stay with her aunt.”
“I won’t go!” Annabel shouted. She swept her hand across the table and the wall of cookies she’d built went flying. The empty glass hit the floor and broke. Colluci picked up the pieces and deposited them on a dishtowel.
“I want to stay with Lily. I won’t go.”
“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like,” Niebuhr said. “This is one of those times. It’s temporary. You’ll come home when things settle down.”
In the hall, the attorney went on the attack, jowls quivering as he wielded a lash of indignation and threats. “The chief will hear about this. You’re way over the line, Inspector. You’ve overstepped the bounds of decency. Grandstanding, trying to make something out of a tragic accident, interrogating a nine-year-old child who’s grief-stricken and confused at the loss of her mother.”
As far as Niebuhr could see, Annabel was more upset by the prospect of being separated from Lily Hsu. He ignored the lawyer, heading upstairs. On the second floor, Mrs. Hsu let go of Annabel’s hand and opened the door to a big storage closet. When she switched on the light, she hesitated and frowned. Then she reached for a small case, turned off the light, and closed the door. She led Annabel to her room.
In the master bedroom Niebuhr looked around one more time, waiting for insights that didn’t come. He turned and saw Annabel and Mrs. Hsu in the hallway. The housekeeper carried the suitcase in her right hand and something colorful in her left, a carousel with black-and-white horses under a red-and-yellow canopy.
“What have you got there?”
Mrs. Hsu stepped into the bedroom, handing him the object. “Annabel’s music box. Her mother gave it to her. It plays a waltz from a show called Carousel.” Mrs. Hsu glanced at the bathroom. She frowned, as she had when she’d looked in the closet.
Something was off, Niebuhr was sure of it, and the housekeeper had noticed. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” he asked, hoping to break through her resistance. She shook her head. He sighed and turned the key on the bottom of the carousel. The music tinkled in three-quarter time.
29
“Dunlin killed his wife upstairs, probably in the bathroom,” Niebuhr said. “Hit her on the head and tossed her body down the stairs to make it look like she fell. He—or Mrs. Megarris—cleaned up the blood, then arranged that shoe on the step, maybe even pulled the thread loose from the carpet runner, so it would look like an accident.”
“I had lunch with Lily Hsu this afternoon.” Lindsey relayed the details of her conversation with the former housekeeper. “The towels were the wrong color. She noticed it right away. She cleaned the bathroom earlier, and put out green towels. But the towels you saw weren’t the right shade of green. They were light green. The towels she put out were darker, moss green. Only the woman who changed those towels would notice the difference. The first set disappeared.”
“Into Mrs. Megarris’s car,” Niebuhr said. “Why didn’t Mrs. Hsu tell me this?”
“She was afraid of him,” Lindsey said. “He must have noticed the garage door was closed when he arrived—and open when he left. He’d have guessed Mrs. Hsu was in the house. She was terrified. So she kept quiet. When he fired her six weeks later, he gave her a very generous severance payment, a payoff to keep her mouth shut. She also said Dunlin changed clothes after the murder. Mrs. Hsu told me he was wearing light gray pinstripes that morning and charcoal gray that afternoon.”
“I know,” Niebuhr said. “I talked with the garage attendant, to verify Dunlin’s story about a delivery truck parked behind his Cadillac that afternoon. The guy mentioned the two different suits. Dunlin claimed he spilled food on his trousers, put on an extra suit he kept at the office, and sent the stained clothes to the cleaners. I checked that, too. The man who cleaned the suit said the stain was tomato sauce. I think Dunlin changed clothes there at the house and the bloodstained suit left the house with Mrs. Megarris.”
“Dunlin sneaked out of the building.” Lindsey opened the third folder and pulled out Annabel’s sketches. “There’s a way to get from the basement to the building next door.”
Niebuhr nodded. “He caught the California Street cable car to the end of the line and walked home. After he killed his wife, he reversed the trip. But none of the cable car gripmen remembered him. I couldn’t prove it. Dunlin had clout. He was a well-connected businessman with friends in high places, state and local politicians, including the mayor and the chief of police. When a certain homicide inspector started asking questions about his alibi, Dunlin called his friends. With me pulled off the case, Dunlin got the result he’d orchestrated. Accidental death. Case closed. On the books anyway. But not for me. I kept nosing around, whenever I could. Dunlin killed his wife for the o
ldest reason in the book. She was leaving him for another man. He figured if he couldn’t have her, no one else could. I found Mrs. Dunlin’s lover, several years later. He told me they’d planned to meet that Friday. She’d take a cab to Union Square, where his car was parked in the garage. They’d drive to Reno, so she could get a divorce. Then on to his new job in New York City, leaving the husband and kid in San Francisco. Motherhood no longer figured into her plans. I got the feeling it never did.”
Poor Annabel. Two emotionally distant parents, and only Lily Hsu and her almond cookies for consolation. Even Lily had been taken from her, fired a short time later.
“Mrs. Dunlin didn’t show up at the meeting place,” Niebuhr said. “Her lover called the house. I answered the phone and he hung up. That made me wonder. That and the crime scene and what Annabel told me. But...” His smile was wry. “Who’s going to believe a nine-year-old girl, distraught over the death of her mother?”
“She was more upset at being separated from Lily Hsu,” Lindsey said.
“It’s a homicide cop’s job to speak for the dead. When the cop gets muzzled, the dead don’t get justice.” Niebuhr rattled the ice cubes in his glass. To Lindsey it sounded like the rattle of old, unquiet bones.
30
Lindsey was early for her lunch appointment with Rod Llewellyn on Wednesday. Right now both he and Claire were occupied with the board meeting. She hoped to see Nina, if her daughter had simmered down enough to talk.
Lindsey’s cell phone rang. She looked at the number on the screen. The incoming call was from Flor. Again. Flor had already left two impatient messages, one each on Lindsey’s home answering machine and on the cell phone. Lindsey was now past the twenty-four-hour ultimatum Flor had given her. But she wasn’t ready to talk with Flor yet. She had to tell Gretchen and Doug about Nat, that someone else had a claim on the child they considered theirs. But first Lindsey had to deal with her own child.