A Darker Shade of Blood

by Lawrence J Epstein

  “What’s that, Betsy?”

  “We’re making two copies. We should make three and also divide the list into three. We’ll have a better chance if all of us are looking, including you.”

  “You’re right.”

  Betsy nodded. “It’s early. We might be able to do it.”

  “Betsy, we have to be able to do it.”

  We got up together, grabbed our coats, and rushed out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  We had a simple plan. When we found the right motel or rooming house, we would call my home and leave a message. All of us would call in every half hour, dial the three digit code, and check for messages. It turned out the universe of places to check was much smaller than I feared. We divided the places up by geographic region so we could get from place to place quickly. There were always managers or homeowners there so the process took almost no time at each place.

  I did make one important mistake. I had said we were only looking for one place. Betsy found one, and, luckily, before he found that out, Ari found a second place where the manager recognized only one of the pictures. That turned out to be key. I shuddered when I realized that I could have messed up the whole case by my error. I thanked Ari for not giving up. He said he would have quit if he had learned that Betsy had found a place.

  Sometimes dumb luck has to be on your side.

  It was all done very fast.

  We were home in a couple of hours.

  I called Donald Edwards’ law office. The closing statements at the trial had been delayed until the next day. I was glad of that because I could organize my thoughts and, was it possible?, get some rest.

  There was a knock at the door before the beckoning bed had a chance for me to jump on it.

  Rabbi London was standing there. He had a bag filled with food.

  “This is for all of you,” he said before I let him in.

  We sat there and ate. Ari made the coffee. There was a cake. I don’t remember eating a sweeter, better-tasting cake in my life. There were some foods I didn’t know the name of, and the Rabbi explained them to us.

  As we ate, he said, “I wanted to thank you all officially for your support. Yesterday my doctor in New York called me and told me that my cancer is in remission.”

  We all yelled in happiness.

  The Rabbi was beaming.

  “They warned me it could come back, but I barely heard that part. There I was, in pain, dying, and then these doctors come along and then I’m not dying.”

  Ari said, “And you still don’t know who arranged all that?”

  “Ah, but I do. I need to talk alone with Danny, though, about some matters first, and then I can tell you all the whole story.”

  We talked some more and then Ari and Betsy went upstairs.

  I stared at the Rabbi.

  “You need to tell me first? Are you trying to say that my father, my father the man who killed any number of people, that father was the one who arranged the doctors for you?”

  The Rabbi didn’t speak for a moment.

  “I’m sorry, Danny. This is a very solemn moment for me. As a Rabbi, I take making a vow with the utmost seriousness. One of the doctors told me. It’s good that now and then you come across someone with a big mouth. You get some secrets that way. So, yes, I don’t quite know how he did it, but your father seems to have very good contacts with people who have a lot of influence.”

  “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Rabbi, and I certainly don’t mean to question the wonderful medical news you’ve gotten. But he’s a killer. Those influences may be organized crime figures.”

  More silence.

  Then, “They aren’t, Danny. I just said I take making a vow seriously. I promised I would not say any of this to you. But I think you need to know. I’ll take the punishment, so you can know.”

  “What are you talking about, Rabbi?”

  “I’m not ashamed to take help from your father’s contacts. They weren’t criminals. They were people he knew from the Army during World War Two.”

  “I knew he fought. He got a lot of medals. But he never talks about it.”

  “I understand. Listen, evidently your father is a complex man, and I certainly don’t condone his killing people. Someone has told me he killed criminals and bad people, but that is no excuse. He should have let the law handle them and not taken the law into his own hands.”

  “I’m still not following, Rabbi.”

  “Danny, I wasn’t in World War Two. I was too young. I remember that I wanted to fight, and I was angry that I wasn’t allowed to do so. But I had a brother. Abe was a remarkable man. Very strong. Even as a kid. He didn’t know the meaning of the word fear. Once a kid put lit firecrackers in his baseball glove. Abe took the firecrackers out, still lit, and held them up. He went over to the kid and put the firecrackers out. Then he beat the kid up. No one ever bothered him again.

  “Anyway, Danny, he was in the Army. He knew your father. They were both in the Intelligence services. That’s all I know, although my father had a letter from Wild Bill Donovan about my brother. Donovan led the O.S.S. which was the forerunner of the C.I.A.

  “Danny, this is the part I promised never to tell. My brother told me when he was on leave waiting to be shipped out again. He and a group of men were undercover and behind Nazi lines. They were supposed to kill some Nazi leaders at a meeting. From what I guessed, these Nazis were ones in charge of the death camps, so my brother was determined to get rid of all of them.

  “There were three leaders in particular they were after. My brother went in, guns blazing. There were more Nazis than they expected. My brother was shot almost immediately. He was down. A Nazi came over to kill him.

  “The Nazi stood over him and grinned. Then he picked up his rifle and pointed it at my brother. The Nazi fell just before he took his shot. My brother looked up and saw your father across the room. My brother couldn’t believe it because your father had made an impossible shot. The angle was off. There were bullets flying all over. There was smoke and noise and Nazis after your father. And still he saved my brother’s life.

  “There it was. My brother was alive. My brother got up with a wounded arm and with his other hand killed two of the Nazi leaders. The mission was a success.

  “Danny, my brother recovered quickly. He went all over Europe. There was no task he wouldn’t do. No danger he wouldn’t face. He thought he had to single-handedly take out the Nazis. He was an unbelievable hero. And he wouldn’t have been able to do any of it if your father hadn’t made that impossible shot and saved my brother’s life.

  “My brother said your father had come to him and asked that he not tell anyone the story. Neither my brother nor I could understand, but when the man who saved your life asks for a favor, even a favor you don’t understand, you do it.”

  I was staring at the Rabbi. He was looking down.

  “I...I made it a point to learn more about your father, his activities during the War. And after. A lot of what he did was secret. I couldn’t learn the details. He got hurt, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He was hospitalized. I always thought whatever happened turned him into the killer he became.”

  “That I can’t help you with. And I imagine your father won’t ever tell you. All I can say is, my family owes him all that it is possible to owe a man.”

  The Rabbi started sniffling. We both just sat there for a minute.

  “My brother died three years ago, Danny. He got married, had two daughters, and led a very happy life. He stayed in touch with your father. They never talked about what your father did after the war.

  “Your father somehow learned about my illness. He didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t ask me if I needed help. He had already saved my brother’s life. I guess he thought while he was at it he should save mine as well. As I said, he knew people from the Army. They knew people. That chain got to the people who saved my life.

  “So I guess as you look at your father’s life, Da
nny, you should take it all into account. I can’t forgive the killing, and I don’t suggest you do, either. But a human life is infinitely complicated. Don’t think you understand your father. Don’t think you understand anybody.”

  We talked some more, and the Rabbi left.

  I called Betsy and Ari and told them that my father had been the one to help the Rabbi.

  Then I found my bed and fell into a swamp of a sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I didn’t like courtrooms. They scared me. I would imagine myself arrested for a crime I didn’t commit, standing up before the judge and the jury with none of them understanding that I was innocent. And so I avoided courtrooms whenever I could. I didn’t know much about how trials were conducted, the rituals or the rules.

  But there I was, at ten the next morning, sitting and listening to Donald Edwards telling the jury to ignore his client’s plea, to declare her not guilty.

  “She was distraught,” he said. “She took on the role of guilty person to protect her family. Take away the plea for a minute. There’s no evidence she did this. She’s a good woman.”

  Then he went step by step. I thought he had chosen the jury well. There were a lot of young mothers and fathers. They would feel sorry for her. He’d be the kind of lawyer I wanted if I were on trial.

  He spoke for a long time. I thought these summaries would last for ten minutes, like on television. But he went on.

  And then he finished.

  The judge was giving directions to the jury. I thought at the end they wouldn’t ignore the confession. Whatever anyone had to say, that was there.

  Congressman-elect Lucey was sitting right behind his wife. Some of his staff sat next to him, but I was on the other side of the courtroom. I wanted to hide.

  It happened when the judge was droning on. Half the courtroom must have been bored silly and closed their eyes.

  All seemed peaceful.

  And then Katie Lucey jumped up and started screaming.

  “I didn’t do it! I take back my confession. I have proof that my husband Ken killed Marilyn Park. Let me go. I can’t go to jail. I didn’t do it.”

  Everyone stood. There was screaming. People moved around. If someone wanted to film what chaos looked like, that was the place to do it.

  Al Flanagan grabbed me.

  “Walk with me. Now.”

  He wasn’t asking.

  I went with him into the hallway. Before I left, I saw the police grabbing Congressman-elect Lucey.

  Flanagan and I were outside.

  “Would you like to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Police headquarters. I want you there. You know stuff. I want to hear the evidence against Lucey, and I want to hear what you have to say about it.”

  I had plenty to say, but I needed to hear what evidence there was.

  The room was packed. Someone complained about my being there, but Donald Edwards was a smart guy. He said he was hiring me for a dollar a year and I was there as part of his staff. The cops were angry, but they had no choice.

  Katie Lucey had, at her request, been taken to the family vacation home in Sag Harbor. She returned within the hour holding a bag.

  The police officer in charge looked at Al Flanagan.

  When the noise had quieted down, Flanagan said, “All right, Mrs. Lucey. You have our attention. That was quite an outburst. We haven’t officially arrested your husband. As you can see, he’s seated opposite you. His lawyer has arrived. We are all very anxious to hear your story.”

  Katie Lucey cleared her throat. She made a point of grabbing her lawyer’s arm as if to show us how nervous she was. I wasn’t buying it.

  “Some of this you all know very well. My husband came to the home. He found poor Marilyn.”

  I almost snorted.

  “Then I came there. I saw my husband and the body and of course I thought he did it. No one else was in the house. But almost immediately, out of desperation, love, and horror in some combination I said I would take the blame. And so I confessed. I pretended my husband hadn’t been there. Danny Ryle, who is sitting over there, came to the house soon after Ken left. I told him I did it. He said I shouldn’t confess to a crime I didn’t do, but I thought I had to. My husband. My child. Life had to go on, and I thought the best way would be if I confessed. I thought a jury might understand me.

  “But as I sat there today and the jury was ready to consider my case, I couldn’t take it any more. I admit it. I was scared of jail. I was tired of lying. That’s why I just had my outburst. I apologize for that.”

  Flanagan had an amazingly calm voice.

  “You asked to go to the house, Mrs. Lucey. Two police officers who are here accompanied you. You said in the courtroom that you had evidence against your husband. I take it you went to get that evidence.”

  “Yes, I did, Mr. Flanagan.”

  “Would you like to show it to us now?”

  The police gave her some latex gloves.

  “I used gloves like these before.”

  She reached into the bag and pulled out two items.

  “This is Ken’s shirt that he was wearing.”

  “That’s a lie!” the Congressman-elect yelled out.

  “Please, sir. Your lawyer will advise you against any outbursts. I assure you that you will have an opportunity to have your say. You do understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Go ahead, Mrs. Lucey.”

  “When I got there, Ken was wearing this shirt. It was covered in Marilyn Park’s blood. I told him to change. Then I took this shirt and put it into this bag and put the bag in the closet.”

  “Why didn’t you just throw the shirt out?”

  Donald Edwards spoke up. “Please, Mr. Flanagan. That is irrelevant. The point is she kept the shirt. Maybe it was out of panic. Maybe it was evidence that she thought might be needed for a moment just like this. Why she kept it doesn’t matter. That she kept it and is presenting it now is of supreme importance.”

  Flanagan let it go.

  “And the second item in your bag, Mrs. Lucey?”

  Everyone leaned forward a bit.

  Katie Lucey reached into her bag.

  She pulled out a bloody knife.

  There were plenty of gasps.

  I was taking it all in, trying to place the knife in the narrative of the events that I had developed.

  “When I came in I saw this knife in Miss Park’s stomach.”

  “You’ve touched the knife?”

  “No. I used a paper towel to take it out and put it in the bag.”

  “So, Mrs. Lucey, if we examine the knife, and if Mr. Lucey used it to murder Marilyn Park, we are going to find Mr. Lucey’s fingerprints on it?”

  The Congressman-elect’s lawyer spoke up. “Of course his fingerprints are on it. It’s a household knife. His fingerprints will be on all the knives.”

  “But,” Flanagan said, “Not all the knives will have blood on them. And if it turns out that the blood on this knife belonged to Marilyn Park, your client will have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “Let me put a stop to this right now,” the lawyer said. “My client came home and found the body. That is true. But he was elsewhere when the killing took place. He was not wearing that shirt. He did not use that knife to kill Marilyn Park.”

  “Where, exactly, was he and how do you know when the killing took place?”

  “The medical examiner has a time frame. During the time frame when the death took place, my client was in the Emma Clark Library doing research and writing a speech.”

  “Are there witnesses?”

  “None we’ve been able to find. He was in a private room.”

  There was laughter around the table.

  Flanagan said, “Mr. Lucey, based on this new evidence, I’m going to recommend that the police arrest you while they continue their investigation. I...”

  “Mr. Flanagan?”

  Flanagan turned toward me. “Mr. Ryle, you have someth
ing to say?”

  “Yes, sir. I may have additional evidence. I ask that Congressman-elect Lucey not be arrested until I have a chance to continue my investigation and speak with you.”

  Flanagan was trying to read my mind and not doing a very good job.

  “Mr. Ryle, just how long will this so-called investigation of yours take?”

  “One day, Mr. Flanagan. One day and I will explain all my evidence to you personally.”

  Flanagan was feeling trapped, I thought. We weren’t exactly friends, but he trusted me.

  “Mr. Lucey, we will not arrest you now. You may go with your lawyer. I’ve always wanted to say this, Mr. Lucey. Don’t leave Suffolk County.”

  “No, sir, I won’t.”

  The Congressman-elect came over and put his hand on my shoulders.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  I nodded.

  Flanagan came over. “I swear, Ryle, if you make me look like a clown, you’ll be the sorriest person in New York State.”

  “I’m going to make you look like a law-enforcement genius.”

  He looked doubtful.

  Now all I had to do was do it.

  Ari and Betsy and I went out of the courthouse.

  “Where are we going?” Betsy asked.

  “You and Ari are going to the Emma Clark Library. Tomorrow is the same day of the week as Marilyn Park’s killing. That’s important for regular visitors. Take Lucey’s picture and start asking. Start with the staff behind the Reference Desk. Talk to everyone you can. If he was there, we’ve got to find someone who saw him.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m going to have a little chat with Katie Lucey.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I went to the Lucey house. Gertrude Lucey was there, but her daughter-in-law was sleeping. Gertrude didn’t look well. Her son, after all, was about to be arrested.

  We sat down.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Ryle.”

  “I’m deeply sorry to hear that, Mrs. Lucey.”

  “You’ve heard what happened at the courthouse after you left, Mr. Ryle?”

  “No, I haven’t.”