Compromising Positions (36 page)

“Now, do you want to know what I told your wife?” He nodded. “Well, what did she say to you?”

“Listen, I’m the one who’s asking the questions. Get it, baby?” He had retreated to Plan A. “She called me as soon as you left the house, and you want to know what she said? She said, ‘You were the one testifying against Bruce.’ That’s what she said.”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You were testifying against him. And I know why. Because you hated him.”

“Bull doody. He was my brother-in-law.”

“You hated him because he had everything you didn’t. Money. Women. Success.” I sounded like a synopsis of yesterday’s soap opera. Dicky glared at me angrily and was about to reply, when I heard a soft sneeze. “A-choo.” Short, brief, but distinct. Dicky froze for a second, but it didn’t seem to register. I took my hand, wiped it under my nose, and sniffled. Then, I stared at him accusingly. “Bruce Fleckstein was hanging over your head for years and years. That’s why you wanted to destroy him.”

“What do you mean ‘destroy’?” he said. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. All I was doing was being a good citizen. What was I supposed to do, lie to the government? Huh? Is that what I should have done? Concealed a federal crime? Now come on. What else did you tell my wife? Huh?”

“Why don’t you ask me what she told me, Dicky?” I asked calmly. Perhaps I was being a sophist, but I reasoned that since Brenda had broken our vow of confidentiality, I could plunge right in.

He stepped back, mouth slightly open, and leaned against his car door again. “Okay,” he whispered. “What did she tell you?”

“She told me the two of you had been having some problems.”

“What do you mean, problems? That’s nuts.”

“Bedroom problems, Dicky. And when you found out that she and Bruce were having an affair, you killed him.”

In the snowy evening light, I thought I saw his skin turn a greenish color. But all he said was: “Boy, are you ever off your rocker, honey-bunny.”

What had I expected? A confession? Sharpe had told me to save a direct accusation as the final weapon. I had used it too soon. I tried to recoup. “I’m not off my rocker. It’s the truth.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. Bruce made certain you didn’t inherit anything from your father. He refused to co-sign a bank loan for you. And when he finally threw you a bone, when he threw some business your way, his friends didn’t pay you what you had expected. That’s the truth, Dicky,” I said softly. “And then you thought you had him. You were going to get even with him once and for all. So you talked to the government. You were going to see Bruce go to jail.”

“Fuck you,” he sneered.

“But then he got you again. He slept with Brenda. And he took all those pretty pictures of Brenda—and Prince. I know. I saw them, Dicky.” He was crying now, not aloud, but tears were rolling down his cheeks. “And she told Bruce that you were impotent, and he teased you about it, didn’t he? And so you killed him.”

“No,” he said weakly. “No.”

“Dicky, there’s an eyewitness. Someone who saw you in front of his office right before the murder.”

“No. You’re trying to scare me.” He was trembling now, a cocky little kid who had mixed in with the big guys only to discover he wasn’t tough enough.

“No, I’m not trying to scare you. I’m telling you the truth. Someone saw you. At the water fountain. Remember you took a drink, Dicky? Was your mouth dry before you went in to kill him?”

He ran his tongue over his lips. He tried to flex his fingers again. But he had no fight left in him. “He was going to show the pictures all around,” he said, nearly whimpering. “First those, and then he told me he had more with her face showing.”

“So you killed him. He was going to blackmail you.”

He nodded, but I wanted him to say it for the transmitter. “So you killed him, right, Dicky?”

I was concentrating on him, so I only dimly heard the sound of a car door opening in the background. Asses, I thought. Couldn’t they wait? And suddenly there was a woman’s voice.

“Shut up, Dicky.” I looked beyond him, and there was Norma Fleckstein, dashing around the side of the Mercedes. She had been hiding there the whole time.

“Norma?” I said. Strangely, the first thing I noticed was her quilted orange jumpsuit. The second was the small paring knife in her right hand. “Were you there too?” I asked, so stunned at her presence that I couldn’t even begin to appear nonchalant.

“No. She had nothing to do with it,” cried Dicky.

“Shut up,” she barked at him and began moving toward me, the knife pointed down, toward the snow. “You’d better tell me everything you know,” she said. I considered it for a split second and then ran—half trot, half skid—toward the center of the parking lot. She dashed after me, her long, skinny legs taking greater strides than mine, her body, quick and responsive after her hours and years of tennis clinics, more capable of speed. She caught up with me by a large trash bin near the restaurant’s back door.

“Talk,” she said, grabbing my sleeve and aiming the knife at my heart. Where were the police, I thought, looking about hysterically. Ah, they know the vest will absorb the knife wound.

“I admire your family loyalty, Norma.”

“What?”

“I said, I admire your family loyalty, coming here to protect your brother...”

“Don’t think
I’m
that stupid,” she growled. Suddenly, before I could respond, she ran behind me and put her left arm around my neck. Her right hand held the knife to my throat.

“Norma,” said Dicky, lumbering through the snow toward us, “Norma, sweetie, don’t...”

“Shut up, dummy. You screwed up again,” she said. “Now,” she hissed into my ear, “tell me what you know.”

“So you killed him,” I said, very loudly.

“No. She wasn’t even there. Honest,” whined Dicky.

“Shut up, shut up,” Norma yelled.

“Norma, don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Look, I killed him. Norma had nothing to do with it. I just told her about the pictures, and she told me to do what I had to do. That’s all.”

I tried to swallow, but the knife was too near my throat. Finally, I rasped: “So you set your brother up to kill your husband.”

“She didn’t set me up,” Dicky protested, staring from the knife to Norma’s face and back again.

“Both of you,” Norma shrieked, “just keep quiet. And you, you damn nosy bitch, you’re in trouble.” And then her voice grew mellow, silky with unaccustomed power. “What am I going to do with you, Judith Singer? You know too much.”

Suddenly the parking lot was suffused with light. I turned my head a fraction of an inch and saw four or five plainclothes police running from different parts of the lot. And then Sharpe, his gun drawn, looking white and terrified.

“Put the knife down, Mrs. Fleckstein,” Sharpe said, his voice amazingly calm. The revolver, clutched in his left hand, remained steady.

“Drop dead,” she responded.

Off to the left, a policeman was searching Dicky. Another covered him with a gun.

“Come on, Mrs. Fleckstein,” Sharpe said, “you have everything to gain by cooperating with us.”

“Norma, let her go. Please, Norma. I’ll cover for you,” Dicky pleaded. He spoke over the head of a detective who was patting his legs, searching for a weapon. A tall, thin cop was putting handcuffs on his wrists. She ignored them.

“Please, Norma.”

“You’re a jerk, Dicky. You always were,” she said, drawing her arm tighter around my neck. “Now just keep quiet.”

“Mrs. Fleckstein,” Sharpe began again.

“I want a plane,” she declared.

“What?” asked Sharpe.

“A plane. I want to get out of here, and if you don’t get me one, I’ll kill her.”

“Mrs. Fleckstein, we might be able to arrange for a plane,” Sharpe said. “But first we have a few things to talk about.” I felt Norma’s grip ease slightly. But then Sharpe’s attention was drawn from us, to the left and behind us. He stood and aimed his gun at that area. “Mrs. Dunck! Brenda! Don’t do it!” Sharpe yelled, his voice hoarse with horror.

“Where?” Dicky croaked.

“What?” squeaked Norma, who swiveled around. In that instant, I wrenched myself out of her grasp and dropped to the ground. Within seconds, about five pairs of feet were gathered about me. One of the officers, not Sharpe, twisted Norma’s wrist and caught the knife just as it fell from her hand.

“You have the right to remain silent,” a voice began to drone.

“Norma, the policeman said ‘Brenda.’ Where is she, Norma?” Dicky called to her.

“Dummy. He tricked us.”

“You have the right to an attorney and if you can’t afford...”

I lay in the snow, sobbing. Sharpe knelt down and hugged me. I felt nothing, insulated by the vest, except when his hand moved upward and began stroking my hair. Another cop in a leather jacket walked over to us and held my hand.

“I have to throw up,” I said.

The other policeman helped me up. Sharpe stood at my side. “Okay. It’s okay.”

I dragged myself over to a pink Cadillac and leaned against it. Sharpe followed me. “Would you please just leave me alone for a minute? I’m going to be sick.”

“Go ahead,” he said softly. “I’m right here with you.”

“Can’t I even throw up by myself? For God’s sake...”

“It’s all right, Judith.”

“No, it’s not, I have to puke. Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“I don’t know. It happened so fast.”

“But you’re policemen. You should have...”

“I know, I know. Oh, Jesus.” He looked ready to cry.

“I’m all right now, Nelson.” I wiped my tears with my icy hands.

“Wait for me,” he said. He walked toward Norma and Dicky. “Why don’t we have a talk?” he asked them. I followed him but remained about three feet back. From somewhere, still another cop materialized and handed me a handkerchief.

“It really wasn’t her fault,” said Dicky.

“Shut up,” said Norma. She eyed Sharpe with disdain. “I want my lawyer. Ed Mollin. State Senator Ed Mollin.”

A few minutes later they were driven to headquarters. Sharpe and I remained in the parking lot. “Are you sure you’re okay, Judith?” he asked, as I stood there crying and shivering.

“I think so,” I sniffed. “Just the aftermath of terror.” I stood before him, motionless, as he took Bob’s jacket off me and removed the bulletproof vest.

“Put this back on,” he said, handing me the jacket. “I’ll take the transmitter off in the car.”

“Now.”

Gently, he lifted my sweater and gingerly peeled off the surgical tape. He stuffed the microphone and wire into his pants pocket. Then, silently, we walked back to the car.

“Nelson, was it you who sneezed? God, I thought it was all over then.”

“No, it was Norma, although I couldn’t see anything when it happened. I figured it was you or Dunck. Christ, that must have thrown him for a loop.”

“He must have been terrified.”

“Yes,” he muttered, “I guess so.” Then he held me and said: “Judith, that was the worst minute of my life. Seeing you there. And her with that knife.”

“I know. I know. But you got me out.” We kissed, several times, not from desire but to reassure each other that I was still alive, still sound. I rubbed my cheek against his, feeling the prickles of his beard. “Nelson?” I said.

“Yes, Judith.”

“Nelson, what was her role? Do you think Norma was really involved? Or did she just egg Dicky on?”

“We’ll see. I’ll drive you home and then get over to headquarters for the interrogation.” I gazed at him. “Judith,” he said, “you can’t be there. I’m sorry, because if it wasn’t for you we’d still be playing guessing games. But it wouldn’t be right. Anyway, I think you should get home and have a good, stiff drink.” Bob would have suggested a cup of hot chocolate and a Valium.

I kissed the tip of his nose. “You know, half of me wants to kick you in the nuts for being such a rotten bastard, but the other half just wants to go home and enjoy a peaceful nervous breakdown.”

“Anyway, Judith, in all fairness, your husband is probably scared out of his mind. I guess you should be home with him.”

“Where I belong,” I said sourly.

“I didn’t say that.”

“He’s probably sound asleep.”

“Doubtful. Anyway, I’ll have someone pick you up tomorrow morning. We’ll have to take a statement from you, and then I’ll fill you in on the interrogation. All right?” I nodded. “I don’t have to tell you that you performed magnificently.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You performed magnificently.”

“Thank you. You’re not upset that I hit him with the accusation too soon? I thought you’d be furious.”

“I don’t argue with results. You handled it like a pro.”

He drove me home in silence. His mind was obviously on the interrogation, now that he was sure I would not go to pieces. In the garage, I gave him a light brush on the lips and went in to fetch Jackson. She was sitting at the kitchen table, and I heard her leap up as I opened the door.

“You’re okay,” she breathed, half query, half statement.

“Yes. We got them.”

“Them?”

“Could you do me a favor?” I requested. “Could you let Lieutenant Sharpe fill you in? I’m just so tired...”

“Sure.”

I followed her to the closet while she put on her coat. “I enjoyed meeting you,” I said.

“Same here. By the way, your husband came down a few times to ask if I had heard anything. He’s a wreck. You could wipe the floor with him.”

“I’ll go up now.” I opened the front door, and she walked out to the driveway and got in Sharpe’s car. He was brushing the snow from his windshield with an ungloved hand.

“Judith.” Bob stood at the top of the stairs, still dressed, only his tie and jacket removed. “Is everything...” He began crying and walking downstairs at the same time; I reached for his hand so he wouldn’t trip. “Judith,” he sobbed, and turned his head so I wouldn’t see him cry.

“Come on,” I said, turning his face toward mine. “Look at me. I’m fine.” He tried to avert his head again: so I drew him close and hugged him. Two hugs, two men—within ten minutes, I thought. “Let’s have a drink,” I suggested. “Something strong.”

“I’ll get some brandy,” he sniffled. Then he took a clumsy step and held me in his arms. I felt no comfort, no warmth, only a great deal of sorrow that I had frightened him so.