Yom Kippur Murder (21 page)

We went into his living room and sat down. “Ian, if I can make a decent arrangement, are you willing to move out of here?”

“I’ve been willing all along. I told you, I can’t afford what’s out there.”

“Maybe you can. May I use your phone?”

“Be my guest.”

I wanted him to hear the conversation. I dialed Metropolitan Properties and asked for Bertram Finch.

“He’s in conference,” the secretary said. It’s what she always said.

“Tell him it’s Christine Bennett, Arnold Gold’s assistant, and I must speak to him.”

“Just a minute.”

It took less than that for Bertram Finch to come on the line. “Miss Bennett. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Finch, I’ve been talking to your tenants at 603. Both Mrs. Paterno and Mr. Gallagher are agreed that they would like to vacate their apartments if you can find them equivalent apartments on the West Side.” I knew Metropolitan owned several buildings in the area, and the rumor was that they were “warehousing” apartments, keeping them empty till they could get them off rent control and rent them for much more money. “Here’s what they’re willing to agree to. They’ll pay up to ten dollars a month more in rent.” (I heard him groan. Both Paterno and Gallagher were paying rents typical of those charged a quarter century ago.) “They want all their moving expenses paid. They want a guarantee of no rent increases for the rest of their lives. And they want a bonus of ten thousand dollars apiece.” I saw Gallagher’s eyes bulge as he heard this last. “Arnold Gold can draw up the papers.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“How is your brother Warren, Mr. Finch?”

I heard him breathe. “That was you, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“It certainly was.”

“My brother only wanted to buy a book.”

“I’ll probably be called to testify,” I said. “And I’m sure you know I was assaulted in 603 on Sunday night.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” he said crisply. Then, in a different voice, “Look—Miss Bennett—I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“Did he go for it?” Ian asked when I got off the phone.

“He’s giving it a lot of thought, Ian. Did I say anything I shouldn’t have?”

“God bless you, girl. I wouldn’t have cut a single word.”

Joseph was already in Celia’s apartment when I got there, and I smelled coffee brewing as she opened the door. We greeted each other warmly and sat talking over coffee and lovely little cakes that Celia had indeed left for us. Joseph is
a tall, handsome woman. She is bright and sharp and compassionate. I have known her and loved her since that terrible night fifteen years ago when Aunt Meg left me at St. Stephen’s amid tears and recriminations. I went from child to adult under Joseph’s watchful eye, and she has been a source of strength to me when I needed one.

She was serving her first elected term as General Superior, and I expected her to be elected to a second term when this one was through.

When we had finished our gossiping, she asked me how I was coming and what I was doing. They were questions I had hoped she would ask.

“I need to talk to you,” I said. “I’ve become involved in a murder investigation.”

From the look on her face, she seemed to be both pleased and interested. “Let’s sit in the living room,” she said. “And tell me all about it.”

I told her much more than I had told Franciotti. I included my feeling that Nathan had had an affair in the fifties, and I told her about Amelia Paterno. In fact, I told her everything, including what had happened yesterday at Bettina Strauss’s. When it seemed that I might be skipping over details, she stopped me and asked me not to rush. All I omitted was Jack and my relationship with him, a part of my life that I now considered supremely private.

When I finished, she sat very still, not looking at me, not looking at anything. Finally she said, “I’m interested in what you chose to tell me and what you chose not to tell me.”

“I told you everything. I can’t think of one thing I’ve left out.”

“They were all facts, Chris. You related events. This happened, then that happened, then something else. I felt as though you were reading your notebook to me. You’re very good at description. I can see that bloody apartment in that vacant, rat-infested building. I love that little man, Greenspan, who counts the sunsets he watches in his old age and answers questions with questions of his own. And of course, that’s all necessary to understand the situation, but you’ve
left out the most important part. You never said one word about how you feel about Mr. Herskovitz.”

“I loved him, Joseph.” It was the first time I had ever said it, and the first time I had thought about it, the first time I had really known it. Hearing my own words, I knew it was true. I felt tears come to my eyes.

“Yes,” Joseph said with satisfaction. “And why did you love him?”

“He talked to me. Not the way Gallagher does with his complaints and his stories about the way things used to be, over and over. Nathan conversed, he asked questions, he listened. I learned from him, and I think he learned from me. I found books in his night table that I had recommended. I guess in some ways he was the perfect grandfather, and I was the perfect granddaughter. We weren’t related, there were no ties between us, and we owed each other nothing. When we spent time together, it was because we wanted to.”

“I begin to see him now,” Joseph said. “Tell me, how do you feel about his relationship with Mrs. Paterno?”

“If it started after his wife died, it doesn’t bother me at all. If it went on while she was alive, it troubles me.”

“Do you intend to tell his children about his relationship with Mrs. Paterno?”

“No. I don’t see any need to. It really isn’t their business.”

“Exactly. Was his first family their business?”

“I don’t know.”

“In other words, two intelligent people might have differing opinions on that, and we might find something in both points of view to agree with.”

“Very likely.”

“Think about it, Chris. We’re not talking about truths and untruths; we’re talking about discretion. Perhaps you’ve been asking all the right questions but about the wrong person.”

I stared at her, and suddenly it all made sense.

I tried Bettina’s number before I left Celia’s apartment, but there was no answer. I left a note for Celia that I wanted to stay over on Saturday night, and then Joseph and I left, Joseph to get a taxi to Grand Central, I to ransom my car from a very expensive parking garage.

On Wednesday morning I called Bettina and asked if I might come in and talk to her. I had forgotten to give her back my “wedding ring,” but it was more than that; there are things I can’t say on the telephone. I needed to see her face-to-face.

I got down to the area by ten, an awkward time to find a space. I wove in and out of streets, one way in this direction, the other way in that, with no luck. I didn’t want to park on Broadway because I’d have to come back in an hour and feed the meter. It was one pressure I could do without today.

I went over to Riverside Drive and Eighty-first and drove slowly south. Just below Seventy-ninth a small car was pulling out, and I got the space. It would be a healthy walk to Bettina’s, but a walk has never daunted me.

I locked the car and started south. Across the street, in front of an apartment house, an ambulance stood at the curb. As I approached it, I started to get an uncomfortable feeling.

It was standing in front of Mr. Greenspan’s building. That gave me more than a chill. I crossed the street and started running. A dog walker and a couple of women were standing in front of the building. There was no one in the ambulance.

“Do you know who it is?” I asked, addressing all of them.

“Nah,” the dog walker said. “They should be bringing him down pretty soon. They’ve been here a while.”

The women looked at me but said nothing.

I stood watching the glass doors. Finally I saw them, two attendants and a stretcher on wheels. The dog walker and one of the women got to the doors before me, opened them, and held them.

The attendants pulled the stretcher out onto the sidewalk and left it while they went to the ambulance. Feeling a little queasy, I walked closer to see who it was wrapped in all that linen.

Two familiar bright eyes peered at me.

“Mr. Greenspan,” I said.

“You.”

“Yes, it’s me, Chris.”

“I know who you are. You’re too early.”

“For what?”

“For the sunset. It’s still morning.”

I forced a smile. “I’ll come back next week. Is that all right?”

“Next week is fine. I’ll be home. It’s just a little pain. They think it’s a heart attack, but it’s not, and nobody listens to me. What do they know? Listen, the murderer. He didn’t call back.”

The crew returned, and one of them asked me to leave. They started moving the stretcher to the open back of the ambulance.

“It’s all right, Mr. Greenspan,” I said, walking beside them, to the annoyance of the self-important nearer crew member. “We got him. Yesterday afternoon. You have nothing to worry about.”

The last I saw of him was a big smile.

I waited till the ambulance drove off. It was from St. Luke’s, and I made a note to call. Then I walked down toward Seventy-second Street with a heavy heart. I hoped they would give him a room facing west.

* * *

Bettina refused to take the ring back. “It’s too small for me,” she said. “You it fits perfectly. It’s a nice ring. You should wear a little gold.”

“Thank you.”

“Did we get the two that killed Nathan?”

“I don’t know. The little man, Ramirez, may not even have been in New York that day. And I can hardly imagine the book man doing something like that himself.”

“So it was for nothing?”

“It isn’t very clear yet. The book man may have been behind the murder, even if he didn’t do it himself. And he must have had someone break into Nathan’s apartment last week to steal the address book. I’ll call Sergeant Franciotti later and see if he’s found out anything.”

I told her about Mr. Greenspan, and she called the hospital, but he hadn’t even cleared the emergency room yet. She looked genuinely worried, and I assured her he was in excellent spirits.

Eventually I had to come to the point of my visit. “I asked you a lot of questions,” I said, “and I think you were honest with me.”

“I was.” She smiled.

“I have another one.” I didn’t smile. I felt tense and excited and a little nervous. “You knew Hannah Herskovitz?”

“We all knew each other.”

“Was Hannah involved with another man before her death?”

I thought I heard a little moan from her. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “I learned a long time ago, you only answer the question they ask you. You never add anything. It just gets you in trouble. How did you know about Hannah?”

“I didn’t.” But I knew it now, and I could feel my skin tingling. “Did Nathan know?”

“He must have. Yes, Nathan knew. He was no fool.”

“He must have been devastated.” I threw it out and waited.

“He was.” Her voice was faltering. She had shared his pain.

“Did it go on for long?”

“Long enough.”

“She was younger than Nathan, wasn’t she?”

“A little.” She said it grudgingly.

“Ten years? Twenty?”

She nodded. “Fifteen, sixteen, I don’t know.”

“Maybe that was the reason, Bettina,” I said softly.

“Age isn’t a reason for doing what she did. He was such a good man, a handsome man, a generous, kind person. He loved her, you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s why he never told the children.”

“He let his daughter hate him so that he wouldn’t have to tell her the truth about her mother.”

Bettina nodded. She was weeping now. “The only thing, he couldn’t bring himself to go to her funeral.”

I took her out for lunch. After a while she was able to talk about it calmly. Hannah’s death had pretty much ended the circle. Nathan wouldn’t attend anymore, and small dissensions had arisen. The good friendships remained, but the big, happy get-togethers were over.

I wanted to know who it was. Having come this far, I felt I needed to know everything. She would not tell me. At first she pretended not to know. When it became clear that she did, she just said it was the past and no good could be served by telling me. I walked her back to her apartment house and left her.

Passing Mr. Greenspan’s building, I decided to drive up to St. Luke’s and inquire about him. Maybe they would let me visit.

I found a meter on Amsterdam Avenue above 110th Street and walked up to the hospital. The woman at the desk had some trouble finding his name, which scared me, but she did finally and said he was in stable condition but could not have visitors today. I left a message for him, which she promised to deliver.

I went back to the car and drove to Broadway. There was an entrance to the highway at 125th Street, which I had never
used but which I would now try to find. I turned right on Broadway and started uptown. There were college kids in the streets and collegey-type shops on Broadway. Columbia covered a huge section from 114th up to 120th. At least one of the mourners at Nathan’s funeral lived up here. I pulled over to the curb next to a hydrant and took out my list. Weiss, Professor and Mrs. Herbert. The address was Claremont Avenue, which my map had shown as a street only a few blocks long between Broadway and Riverside Drive starting at 116th Street. That was just up ahead.

I made a left on 116th and a right on Claremont. University buildings lined the right-hand side of the street, and old apartment houses the left. I found the Weisses’ building and parked at another hydrant. Nothing else seemed available.

I sat back, considering. What would I ask them? I knew about the books now, I knew about Professor Black’s deception, I knew about Hannah’s infidelity. If Nathan had wanted to keep that quiet, I couldn’t in good conscience go blathering about it. These people would know or they wouldn’t know. What difference would it make?

What I wanted was to know who the man was, to see if he somehow fit into Nathan’s murder. Possibly she had met someone who once lived in 603 and had long since moved. I just didn’t have the resources to trace all the families who had lived there, and I was not about to interview a bunch of elderly widows to find out whether one of their husbands had had an affair with Hannah Herskovitz thirty-five years ago.