Murder Saves Face

by Haughton Murphy

  “If the story you heard is correct,” Parkes said, “I must say I’m at a dead loss to finger the culprit. I’ve never heard even the hint of any funny business involving Straus or Heyworth or Richardson. Of course, Reuben, you know what it’s like being the Executive Partner. You’re the last one to hear anything. Except when sex is involved, I’d expect the word to get around pretty fast—even to me.”

  “How are we going to get to the bottom of this one, Charlie?”

  “Let me make some inquiries. Discreet inquiries. I just hope I can do it without everybody and his brother hearing about it.”

  Frost knew that, in keeping with recent tradition at Chase & Ward, Parkes had an informal “executive committee”—Keith Merritt, Rod Crutcher and Simon Isaacs—that he consulted on thorny issues. He was sure this was where Parkes’ “inquiries” would be directed. Even though the “committee” was often not as tight-lipped as it might be, he thought they would keep the matter of Mr. X, whoever he was, under wraps, given the circumstances. He told Parkes this, and the Executive Partner seemed reassured.

  “You know, Reuben, I was about to call you,” Parkes said.

  “I’m not sure you sounded that way.”

  “I am a bit groggy, you’re right. But I had an idea I wanted to try out on you. I’m not trying to duck anything, but wouldn’t it make more sense for you to see Merriman’s parents than for me to do it? Somebody’s got to—we may be crusty bastards at Chase & Ward but we’re not completely heartless, at least I hope we’re not. I’m the logical one, I realize, but since you’re our star detective, shouldn’t you see them? Maybe you could turn a meeting with them to good advantage and find out something useful. And if they stay longer—I gather they’ll be here until the body is released after the autopsy—I’ll see them later.”

  Frost did not relish meeting with grieving relatives, but he had to admit to himself that Parkes’ suggestion made some sense. He knew that Charlie was not a shirker and was almost Biblical in his kindness, visiting the sick and burying the dead, sending flowers to the lowliest employee in the hospital, going to wakes and otherwise showing a personal concern for those that made up the Chase & Ward family.

  “Where are they?” Frost asked.

  “The father—his name is Paul—told me they’d be at the Howard Johnson’s right near the office and Julie’s apartment. Not where I’d like to do my grieving, but that’s what Genakis had arranged. If you agree, I’ll try to reach them now and tell them you’ll be calling.”

  “Lunch, I suppose,” Frost said, resignedly.

  “That would be great, Reuben.”

  “All right, I’ll do it. But you owe me one for this, Charlie.”

  “I know I do. And good luck.”

  Despite his reluctance, Frost was at least mildly curious about Juliana Merriman’s parents. He turned over in his mind where he could take them for lunch. He was damned if he would go to the Howard Johnson’s coffee shop, assuming the place had one, but he drew a blank on other restaurants on the West Side in midtown, or at least a blank on ones that would be open at midday Sunday on the New Year’s weekend. A hotel seemed to be the answer. Could they find their way to the Plaza Athénée on East Sixty-fourth Street? And would Mr. Merriman be wearing a necktie? The hell with it, he thought. Le Régence in the Plaza Athénée. That was it. He called Howard Johnson’s and was put right through to Paul Merriman. Yes, he and his wife, Nancy, would meet Mr. Frost. Yes, one o’clock at the Plaza Athénée would be fine. No, he didn’t know where it was, but no, there wasn’t any need to send a car, they would take a taxi and were sure they could get there without any trouble.

  Frost awaited his guests at a table off in a secluded corner at Le Régence. He had resisted ordering a martini and had settled for a glass of white wine. Soon a couple, looking slightly confused, came down the stairs. Frost decided they must be the Merrimans, though he was surprised at how young they looked; neither could have been much over fifty. They were wearing what he thought of as out-of-towner clothes—a dark brown blazer and light tan slacks in his case; pants and a discreetly beaded sweater in hers. Their outfits were in no way offensive, but not what a New Yorker would wear to go out to Sunday lunch. Mr. Merriman was wearing a necktie, a conservative striped one.

  Reuben stood to greet them. They were a dry-eyed couple, though they looked as if they bore the weight of the world on their shoulders.

  “I’ve lived a long time but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a tragedy as distressing as your daughter’s death,” Reuben said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Frost. We appreciate your words,” Nancy Merriman replied.

  “I wanted to meet you and convey to you the sadness everyone at our law firm feels. And to see if there is anything we can do to try and make things easier for you.”

  Paul and Nancy Merriman each nodded, but did not speak.

  Frost was relieved when a waiter approached and he was able to ask his guests if they would have a drink.

  “Sorry, Mr. Frost, we don’t indulge,” Paul Merriman said. “One of us used to drink enough for the whole population of Portland, but not any more.”

  Frost assumed the man was referring to himself, though from the odd locution used, he couldn’t be sure.

  “They won’t even let us see her body,” Nancy Merriman blurted out, after another awkward silence. “They’ve done an autopsy and they said she … she …” Overcome with tears, she was unable to finish the sentence. Her husband took her hand, which seemed to calm her.

  “I know it’s hard, but that’s probably just as well,” Frost said. “Better to remember her as you knew her.”

  The captain presented menus. Frost, hungry, ordered the oeufs en cocotte with truffles. In the state they were in, the Merrimans seemed confused by the wide choice available, and Reuben offered suggestions.

  “I’m just not hungry at all,” Mrs. Merriman said.

  “Mommy, you’ve got to eat something. Got to keep your strength up.”

  “Then I’ll try what Mr. Frost is having.”

  Paul Merriman ordered a minute steak and, with the departure of the captain, turned back to Frost, looking squarely at him. “Since we couldn’t see Jule’s body this morning—Jule, that’s what we always called her—we sat in our room, watching TV. Until the news came on, with Jule’s picture—an old one—and a shot of the building where she worked. Then we turned it off and just sat looking at each other. ‘What happened?’ I kept saying to Nancy. What did happen, Mr. Frost?”

  “Did you read the papers this morning?” Reuben asked.

  “About our ‘brilliant, sexy’ daughter, you mean?” Merriman asked bitterly.

  “They’re having one of their field days, I’m afraid. But their accounts, tasteless as they are, essentially tell the story. Your daughter was found strangled in our offices Friday afternoon. Unfortunately, that’s about all I know at this point,” Frost said. It did not seem to him that any useful purpose would be served by repeating Judge Kendall’s conversation.

  “Have you talked to the police?” Reuben asked.

  “No, they want to see us this afternoon. Marsh Genakis is the only person we’ve spoken to. Plus your partner, Mr. Parkes,” Paul Merriman said.

  “Nobody has mentioned a suspect,” his wife added. “Don’t they have any idea who might have killed her?”

  “I haven’t heard any names mentioned,” Frost said.

  “Whoever it is, I hope I never meet him, with or without a gun,” Paul Merriman said fiercely.

  As their food was served, Frost again expressed sympathy, trying to keep the conversation going. “I know it will be small comfort to you now, but she was a very capable lawyer and very much admired, both by the partners and her contemporaries.”

  As they began eating, the Merrimans became less tense and began speaking more volubly. “She was our only child, you know,” Mrs. Merriman said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “She always wanted to be a lawyer. We never knew how
she got the idea—‘Perry Mason’ reruns on television, maybe. We didn’t know whether to encourage her or discourage her. She was the first in her family on both sides to go to college and after that law school seemed like a pretty big step. Paul and I got married right after high school, and I had Jule right away, so we never had the chance.”

  “Jule won every honor there was and got a scholarship to UCLA,” Paul Merriman explained. “She did fine there, too, and got another one to Stanford Law. Plus some loans. She didn’t need our help—not that the assistant manager of Skates’ Furniture Store would’ve had much to offer—and didn’t ask our advice. If she had, and knowing what we know now.…” His voice trailed off.

  “All we could do was try and give her a good upbringing,” Mrs. Merriman said. “When she was a teenager, we both joined the Pentecostal Church after … after Paul got over his drinking problem, seventeen years ago. We took our religion very seriously—we still do—and were very strict with Jule. We always knew where she was and who she was with. ‘Do you know where your child is tonight?’ one ad used to say. We did.

  “She never gave us an hour’s trouble. Never. And as far as we know, she was always the same good girl she’d been back in Portland. She must have behaved herself or she couldn’t have had all the honors she received.”

  “What about Mr. Genakis?” Reuben asked. “Had you known him?”

  The couple hesitated before answering. Then Paul spoke, after receiving an encouraging nod from his wife.

  “Jule always said the first time she’d met him was with us, at his restaurant in Palo Alto. We didn’t remember him and really met him for the first time last night. We knew of him of course. Jule had told us she was ‘going steady’ with him when she was in law school. But she never brought him home. And we didn’t know until this morning that …” He hesitated.

  “That Jule was living with him here in New York,” his wife prompted.

  “We had no idea. But he’s been very helpful—he called us on Friday and met us at the hotel last night. We asked if we could see Jule’s apartment. That’s when he told us it was their apartment.”

  “I guess they’re not the first couple to live together these days,” Nancy Merriman said.

  “I think that’s true,” Reuben said, diplomatically, then pressed his inquiry. “Your daughter did talk about Genakis? What did she say about him?”

  “Oh, that she’d met a man she cared about for the first time in her life.”

  Frost looked quizzical and Nancy Merriman expanded on her statement. “There’s something you should understand about Jule, Mr. Frost. Did you know her?”

  “I certainly had met her, but she never worked for me.”

  “She was a beautiful girl.”

  “Yes, that much I know.”

  “There was just one problem. Jule was born with a cleft palate. It was operated on when she was a baby and she never had any difficulty with her speech. But it did leave a tiny scar. You could scarcely see it and it didn’t detract from her good looks at all. At least we never thought so. She felt differently. She was ashamed of the scar and it bothered her terribly when she was growing up. And I know it frightened her, reminding her how close she’d come to having a serious speech defect.

  “Because of it, she never had much luck with boys. She was always shy with them, always said she was too ugly for any boy to be serious about her. Paul and I thought that was ridiculous, and there were plenty who wanted to take her out. But we couldn’t convince her that no one cared about her scar, that she was so attractive any sensible young man would overlook it.

  “We finally got her some counseling—psychiatry—but it didn’t help. She just refused to have any kind of steady involvement with a boy. Genakis was really the first one.”

  “And you’d never met him until yesterday, except for that one time at his California restaurant?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How do you explain that?”

  “We never could figure it out,” Paul said.

  “Did she think you would disapprove? I’ve met him. He seemed perfectly all right to me.”

  “I agree with you,” Nancy Merriman said. “He’s been wonderful to us since we got here. I always had the idea, though, that there had to be something wrong. If he was as terrific as she said he was, why did she keep him away? And there was once, back at Stanford, when Jule said she was through with him, but that didn’t last very long. Two months later she was talking about him again.”

  “Any indication of what happened?”

  “No, Jule never said. Maybe it was just my maternal instincts, but I had an idea he was in some sort of trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The usual kind of scrape young people get into, I guess.”

  “What do you mean, drugs?”

  “I suppose so. But, honestly, Jule never said that. She always swore to us that she had never had anything to do with drugs and never would.”

  “And you never had any reason to doubt that?” Frost asked.

  “Certainly not,” Paul Merriman snapped. “Our daughter never lied to us.”

  “When was the last time you saw Juliana?”

  “A year ago Christmas,” Nancy said. “She came out for the long weekend—alone. This year she said she had too much going on here to get away. I had the feeling—probably just my intuition again—that Genakis sometimes bossed her around. And that he didn’t want her to make the trip out to see us. Most of our contact was by phone. She’d call about once a week and always kidded that she was ‘reaching out to touch us,’ just like they say in the ad.”

  “How about some dessert?” Reuben asked. Both Merrimans declined.

  “Coffee?”

  “No.”

  “When do you see the police?”

  “Anytime between three and five,” Paul said. “Marshall’s going to meet us at the hotel and take us there.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t ask him to lunch,” Reuben said.

  “That’s all right, he didn’t want to come. He said he’d only be in the way.”

  While they waited for the check, Frost decided to make an offer of financial assistance, on behalf of Chase & Ward. He knew Charlie Parkes had already done so, but there was no harm in trying again. The Merrimans would almost certainly proudly refuse, but if they were really strapped—and this would be an expensive trip for the assistant manager of a furniture store—a modest subvention might help to relieve their anxiety.

  “Mr. Merriman, this trip, in addition to being painful, will be very costly for you. Can my firm help out with your expenses?”

  “No, sir. We’ve got a little money saved. And I’m lucky enough to have a working wife—Mommy here is a receptionist for a doctor in Portland. Worked for him ever since Jule was a baby. We’re fine. I’ve always told Mommy we have five things to thank the good Lord for—our religion, our jobs, our daughter, our health and our house, which we own free and clear. We don’t have our daughter now, but we still have the rest.”

  After satisfying himself that arrangements had been made to get Juliana Merriman’s body back to Portland—Genakis had already seen to that—Reuben thanked them for coming to lunch. He gave Mr. Merriman his business card, with his home number written in, and told the couple to call if there was anything at all he or the firm could do. And, ever so gently, asked them to contact him if they thought of anything that might help to solve their daughter’s murder.

  “We’re very grateful for your interest, Mr. Frost, coming out on a holiday like this,” Nancy said. “I hope we haven’t bored you with all our talk about Jule, but it’s been a great comfort to speak to somebody.”

  “It sure has,” Paul added. “I don’t know much about New York—except that it scares me—I don’t know much about lawyers, I don’t know much about living in sin. And the closest I’ve ever come to murder is shooting at deer. So we’re glad to have you on our side. It’s such a terrible blow to us!” Paul Merr
iman began crying, the brave front he had maintained through lunch cracking at last.

  His wife joined in, her tears reaching a flood as she had a new, melancholy thought. “You know, Mr. Frost, we always thought Jule might be famous some day. But we never had any idea it would be because of her death.”

  By now the Merrimans’ visible, and audible, grief had attracted the attention of other diners in the room. Never comfortable around tears, Frost did his best to soothe them. He walked them to the coatroom and then to the front door, where he waited until the doorman had seen them into a taxi.

  Completely drained, he decided he needed a bracing walk home. On the way, he reflected on the Merrimans’ American Gothic reserve. And made a mental note to see if he could find out about Marshall Genakis’ “trouble” in California; the intuition of a God-fearing woman like Nancy Merriman could not be dismissed.

  Making his way through the slush, he reflected on the upwardly mobile progression of the Merriman family: from furniture-selling to practicing law at the top of the profession in one generation. Then he realized sadly that he didn’t have it quite right, and that going from furniture salesman to lawyer to murder victim really wasn’t much progress at all.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Old Friends

  Monday morning Frost reported on his luncheon with Juliana Merriman’s parents to Charlie Parkes.

  “They’re very religious and as straight as they come. Very solid people, and holding up pretty well. But I’m not sure I learned anything of significance,” Frost said, passing over Mrs. Merriman’s suspicion of Marshall Genakis’ possible difficulties in California.

  Frost did raise the matter of paying the Merrimans’ hotel bill, which could be done without their concurrence, and Parkes readily agreed.

  “Christ, we put our baby applicants up at the Essex House when they come interviewing, the least we can do is pick up the tab for a murdered associate’s parents at Ho-Jo’s,” Parkes said.