The Cinco de Mayo Murder (21 page)

“Chris, how good to see you.” She stood from her desk chair and came to hug me. “You look wonderful. Have you persuaded Jack to give up the East Coast and a buy a house in Arizona?”

I laughed. “Jack is one of those people who hardly believes there's life west of the Hudson. But I think he may agree to a visit some winter. I don't know how many generations of his family have lived in New York. That means a lot to him. Is anything happening with the convent?” She would know that I was asking about its future.

“Nothing has changed. We're still talking and thinking and weighing options. Let's go down to lunch. We'll do our talking when we come up.”

Whenever I return for a visit, I shake a lot of hands and answer a lot of questions. Often Joseph and I eat off trays in her office. I was happy this time to have the chance to see all the faces at all the tables. But it was hard not to notice that the number of tables had decreased. A few of the middle-aged nuns had left; a few of the older ones had died. That was the problem, and I had come to accept that the situation would never be reversed.

We had a tasty and pleasurable lunch. As always, a bag of homemade cookies was presented to me to take home to my family. I would have two happy faces at the dinner table that night.

When the lunch and the small talkwere over, Joseph and I went back upstairs and sat in our usual places opposite each other at the long table. I had all the paperwork I had collected from the case, and I placed it on the table where we could refer to it. The early parts of the mystery were known to Joseph, of course, as she had been right there with me in Arizona.

“Why don't you start with what happened after we returned from our glorious trip?” she said.

That was easy enough. I began with my conversation with Dean Hershey, who had overnighted the list of students’ names, and continued with my calls, especially the one to Prof. Herb Fallon. She agreed as I talked that it was difficult to imagine that these men could remember who had left first at the end of the semester, who had gone where, who had traveled alone, and who had gone solo. I observed her listing the names and making notes next to them.

I included my visits to Mrs. Gruner, her helpfulness until
the moment I found the letter from Alfred Koch, and her subsequent death and burial.

“Have you had an opportunity to talk to Mr. Koch?” Joseph asked.

“I saw him Wednesday,” I said, recounting the unsatisfying meeting in his office at Columbia.

“Why do you think he's hiding anything relevant?”

“I suppose because I think many people are hiding relevant information. Heinz is dead. His parents are dead. I'm clearly not going to broadcast whatever his secret is to the world. Who would care?”

“It may not be clear to him. And perhaps it's what Mr. Koch did, not what Heinz Gruner did, that he wants to keep secret.”

I considered that. Possibilities flew through my mind. He had had Heinz's SATs altered. He had bribed someone to eliminate a police report. He had coerced a teacher to write a better recommendation to Rimson. I'm starting to think like a cop, I thought.

“I hadn't thought of that” was all I said.

She told me to go on and I finished the story, including my phone call to Don Shiller and what might be the most important event of all, the discovery of Steve Millman and my conversation with him.

“Why couldn't he call you himself?” Joseph asked.

“The excuse was that it's easy to get the number of a caller, but it's not a good excuse.”

“And Mr. McHugh monitors everything both of you say.”

“Yes.” I then told her that I had requested a call without Marty on the line.

“I doubt whether he'll do it,” Joseph said. “Under the guise of keeping Mr. Millman's location secret, Mr. McHugh was able to hear the entire conversation.”

“Why would he want to do that?” I asked, knowing that I, too, had considered this possibility. “If Steve killed Heinz, whether by design or by accident, what difference would that make to Marty McHugh?”

“Maybe Mr. McHugh was a third man on the mountain and doesn't want to be implicated in Heinz Gruner's death.”

I leaned back to consider this. “Steve Millman was responsible for Heinz Gruner's death and Marty McHugh saw what happened and didn't report it to the authorities. So we have a conspiracy of silence. I still don't see what Marty is worried about. Steve is hardly going to tell me the truth about what happened. He'll be in much worse trouble than Marty.”

“I think ‘conspiracy’ is the important word in all this. We may not yet know everything that happened on the trail, Chris.”

“Let's go back to what you said a minute ago, that Marty McHugh was a third man on the mountain. You know, that could explain a couple of things, Joseph. Maybe Heinz did get into an empty taxi, because Marty and Steve had left earlier in their own taxi. The other thing is, when I met Marty, he said he'd never been to Arizona but he didn't like it; it had too much blue sky and dry heat and you had to carry water with you so you wouldn't dehydrate. He was talking about when he was there.”

“I think you're right, Chris. He slipped up. And if he and Steve took a taxi together, it means that the man from Minneapolis told you the truth. It was Steve, the possible killer, and Mr. McHugh who lied to cover each other.”

The conspiracy, I thought. “Then that would mean that two young men were guests at the Millmans’ that night. And all three of them drove to Picacho Peak the next day. And Marty McHugh, who was apparently the most helpful
person I spoke to, and who treated me to an extravagant lunch, has turned out to be the biggest liar.” My frustration was audible.

“Don't make any firm determinations about who has lied and who has told you the truth. All we're doing here is tossing around some hypotheses. But I agree with you that Mr. McHugh's insistence on being on the line with Steve Millman is cause for suspicion.”

I nodded, still not sure. “Let's take a look at the professor you've been speaking to, the historian from Rimson.”

“Herb Fallon. He was very helpful and enthusiastic when we began to talk, but he hasn't gotten back to me lately.” I told her I had called him myself two days before, and he had been surprised that I'd spoken to Steve Millman. “Also,” I said, “his report of what Mrs. Millman told him differs from what she told me. She told him she didn't know if she could reach her son.”

“She allegedly told him,” Joseph corrected me.

“He really went out of his way for me, Joseph. He checked up on alumni who had never changed their addresses with the college, gave me addresses I didn't have. He found Marty McHugh for me.”

“Let's keep that in mind.”

“You're becoming as skeptical as my husband.”

“Your husband is in a business that requires healthy skepticism. And you've said yourself, one or more of these men have lied to you. You have to be careful what you say to them until you know which category each one belongs to.”

“I'm afraid you're right. I'm going to talk to an old high school friend of Heinz's tonight. He's not part of the Rimson crowd, so perhaps he's more believable.”

“I think you're going to figure this out, Chris. The fact that Steve Millman actually agreed to talk to you is very encouraging.
But you're right, there is clearly a conspiracy here. We don't know how many men are part of it or what their motives are, but they want to keep you and the law from finding out what happened on that trail.”

“I agree. I just can't figure out why anyone would want to hurt Heinz Gruner.”

“Maybe they didn't, Chris.”

I looked at her, but her face showed nothing. That was her message to me.

I stopped at Elsie's house and picked up Eddie, staying for a cup of tea before we went home. Elsie has enabled me to have a life outside of motherhood without worry. She's as good as a grandmother, and Eddie is still happy to visit her. I suppose that will change one day, but I try not to think about it. On this day he was especially happy, carrying a bag of Elsie's cookies out to the car and discovering that a second bag awaited him.

“Did Sister Dolores make these for me?”

“She sure did, but she made them for Daddy, too, so don't go eating them all up.”

“I think Daddy is too old to eat cookies,” my son said.

I laughed. “Eddie, that's a terrible thing to say.”

“Then why are you laughing?” “Good question. Because what you said tickled me. Just remember, no man is ever too old for cookies.”

“OK. Can I try just one now?”

“Sure. Please don't get crumbs in the car.”

“I'll be careful.” He opened the bag and pulled out a cookie fit for a king. It was gone by the time we turned into the driveway.

Don Shiller called before I brewed our after-dinner coffee. “I found Heinz's letters,” he said, “and some of them seem relevant to what you want to know. Here's one.” He quoted from the letter:

My parents have decided to give me a trip as a birthday present. I think they expected me to go to Europe but I'm not ready for that. I've always wanted to hike in the Southwest and if I can manage, I can be out of here on May fourth and on some great trail on the fifth—which, I'm sure you remember, is Cinco de Mayo: the day General Zaragoza was victorious at the battle of Puebla in 1862 after the execution of Maximilian. Imagine, we might have had a French country south of the border.

“I have another one,” Don went on, and I heard him unfolding paper.

One of the guys on my corridor lives in Phoenix and he says I can stay at his house while I'm hiking. He doesn't have his own car but his parents can double up while I'm there and we'll use his mother's. He says it's only about an hour's drive to Picacho Peak, which is on the way to Tucson and a good place to hike. I'm getting pretty excited about this. I wish you were joining me.

“He goes on to talk about a course he's taking. There's one more.”

A really crazy coincidence. This guy from Phoenix has something like a family connection to me. He doesn't know it, but I realized it from something he said. He's a weird guy but I don't want to bore you.

“Don,” I said, “could you read that again about the family connection?”

He located it and read it slowly while I took down as much of it as I could manage. “Is that it? He doesn't elaborate anywhere on that family business?”

“No. I read through all the letters—there aren't many— and that's all he says about that. I never found out any more about it.”

I let it go for the moment. “And that's it?”

“I'm afraid so. The one I just read you is the last letter he ever wrote me.”

“Don, does he mention the name Alfred Koch in any of the letters?”

“No. He doesn't mention many names at all. It's usually this guy and that guy. The only name he ever mentions is someone he refers to as ‘my friend Herb Fallon.’”

“I've spoken to him several times and I did have the feeling that they were friends. But Herb says he didn't hear about Heinz's death until sometime in the summer. When did you hear?”

“Maybe a week after it happened. I was still away at school—Rimson let out early—and my mother called me. I knew when I heard her voice that something terrible had happened.
She didn't approve of long-distance calls. She said there was a notice in the local paper and she had called Mrs. Gruner. She went to the funeral. I couldn't leave school. It was finals time.” He still felt bad about that. His voice was full of remorse.

“There was nothing you could do,” I said, hoping to give him small comfort. “So besides Herb Fallon, no one else's name is mentioned?”

“Not that I saw. I'll read the letters over later and if I find any names, I'll call you. He never even mentions the name of this guy who lived in Phoenix.”

“What I'm wondering is whether he says anywhere that anyone else was going to Arizona besides the guy from Phoenix?”

“I don't think so, but I'll keep my eye open for a name.”

“Thank you, Don. You've really been very helpful.”

I made the coffee when I got off the phone. Jack came into the kitchen, eyeing the plate of cookies and giving me a sly smile. “I heard the end of your conversation. You think there was another person on that hike?”

“Joseph suggested it, and it answers some questions. This man Marty McHugh—”

“Who took you to an expensive lunch.”

I grinned at him. “One and the same. He was on the line when I talked to Steve Millman the other day. Joseph's theory—or hypothesis—is that McHugh went along for the hike and saw what happened, but didn't report it. I've asked him if I can talk to Steve without him on the line. I haven't heard back.”

“You won't.”

“Because he has something to gain by hearing the conversation. Or something to lose by not hearing it. Joseph suggested that Steve Millman may have been instrumental in Heinz's death, and Martin McHugh may have seen what happened.”

“And wants to keep his involvement a secret. It's a good theory.”

“It also explains an inconsistency.” I told him about the man who swore he had put Heinz in an empty taxi and watched him drive away, while Steve claimed to have been in the taxi and gone to the airport with Heinz.