Private Purgatory
HELEN DENKHA
Llumina Press
Copyright © 2004 Helena Denkha
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ISBN: 1-59526-238-5
Printed in the United States of America by Llumina Press
To my father, Madeline and Ray
the most important characters in
every chapter of my life
and
To the memory of my mother
Every man’s work shall be made manifest:
for the day shall declare it,
because it shall be revealed by fire;
and the fire shall try every man’s
work of what sort it is.
Corinthians
Sunday
The large grandfather clock struck the hour of eight p.m. The young woman with the snow-white hair rose from her chair on the last note and turned off the light switch. There was now only one candle shedding light in the living room. Her migraine was not getting any better and she hoped the darkness would have some effect. In the past it had sometimes helped.
The migraines were not the type that ordinary people were prone to. It was not something that could be cured with strong painkillers. She knew that if she closed her eyes long enough, a vision would appear. She no longer dreaded them. For the last ten years they had been become a part of her life.
It had been difficult when she was in her teens. Her parents had taken her to many doctors but there was nothing to be done. She had been too terrified to tell anyone that soon after a migraine a vision would follow. Her parents were strict, devout Christians, and her admission would have been regarded as the devil’s work. She had kept her lonely secret to herself.
She closed her eyes and presently a series of images appeared like a black and white movie, in fast motion.
It was the first time that Ryan had appeared in the images. In the past she would see a body or a car accident, and would tell Ryan as much as she could about the person and the location. He would then set about finding them. There were times that he would not be able to find anything.
Tonight she saw Ryan sitting in what appeared to be a hospital room. There was someone lying in a bed; she could not see his or her face. Ryan was reading. Presently the person woke up and started talking. Cassandra saw the patient’s face in the mirror: an old man with white hair.
The old man gazed into the mirror and spoke for some time. Ryan listened intently. Cassandra realised the words he spoke were written in the mirror but the old man changed some of them as he went along. The old man’s voice sounded surprisingly young. His gaze occasionally wandered to a picture that was sitting on the mantelpiece. It was a sepia photo of a young woman with an old fashioned style of hair. The silver frame around the picture looked brand new.
Cassandra sat up and opened her eyes. There was no clear message in the vision but she recognized the man with the white hair.
She got up slowly and, clutching her forehead, went to the telephone and dialled. When she heard the voice on the other line she said without any form of greeting, “Ryan, go and see Max tomorrow, he has something to say to you. But be careful.”
“Of Max?” asked Ryan incredulously.
“Be careful of what he tells you. He will only tell you half truths.”
“I don’t understand, Cassandra,” said Ryan.
“You will in time. Max has strong feelings for one of the victims of this tragedy,” said Cassandra. She hung up the phone abruptly.
Monday
Ryan woke up the next morning to the sound of a vacuum cleaner, which was slightly less disturbing than a full-scale earthquake. Rosita Pintano, his “daily”, was attempting to sing while she worked but the vacuum cleaner beat her hands down.
She pushed the door of his bedroom open with the aid of her generous derriere while continuing to vacuum the hallway. He quickly grabbed and put on his dressing gown and got out of bed.
“Ahhh. Good. You waking up. You have shower, I make you good breakfast.”
“Rosita, you don’t have to. . . I have a lot to do today, I’ll just. . .”
“You go now. Don’t back talking to me. Go. Go…silly boy!”
She practically pushed him into the bathroom and muttered something in Italian that did not sound at all flattering.
Twenty minutes later he was facing Rosita across the breakfast table with a plate full of eggs, sausages and bacon-enough to feed five adults without any problems.
“You have visitor yesterday night, yes, a man,” said Rosita.
“I did have a visitor, Sherlock. How did you know it was a man?”
“What this Sherlock? I clean the garbage bin, plenty cigarettes, no lipstick. Beer glass no washed in the sink. Woman wash, then she go home. Man, leave in the sink for woman.”
Ryan laughed and said, “Rosita, I could use someone like you in the department. Do you want to join the police Force?”
“Ahhh. You make fun. Woman always know everything…so forget about police work. When you get married, eh?”
“Are we going to have this conversation again? You know I told you, one marriage will last me a life time.”
“No, that is silly talk. Now I tell you my cousin have a daughter, Lucia. Very good for you. She a little bit short, a little bit fat, good to make plenty bambinos. Lots of bambinos, they look like you, big, funny green eyes and nice black hair.”
“My passport says hazel eyes, but thank you. I am sure Lucia is very nice, but I am not planning on marrying anyone.”
“What about Maria? My second cousin. She’s very nice, has little black hair under her nose, but no worry, she hairdresser, she fix the hair with colour.”
Ryan laughed out loud. This conversation had become a ritual between the two of them. He was not sure Rosita really had all these relatives. He thought she made up these women, safe in the knowledge that his answer would be no.
“Thanks for the breakfast, I really have to run. Stop trying to match-make me with your relatives. If I was going to marry anyone, it would be you, but Alfredo wouldn’t be too happy about that, would he?”
She laughed and smacked him on the head. “Go...go, don’t talk silly–marry me...I old enough to be your...big sister.”
The newspaper clipping was yellowed with age, the writing slightly blurred.
Business Tycoon Poisoned
Richard Salinger, multi millionaire businessman/entrepreneur, was killed in his home last night. The cause of death was a lethal drug introduced in his drink; however an unnamed police source has said that suicide has not been ruled out. Mr. Salinger is survived by his second wife, the well-known society figure Selina Salinger. His sons Marc and Anthony Salinger were too distraught to comment. The funeral will be held as soon as police release the body. {Continued on page 4}
Ryan was reading the newspaper clipping for the third time while Max slept. The latter was breathing unevenly. There were several bottles of pills on the bedside table. There were various get-well cards displayed on the dresser. The bedroom had been a sick room for several months now.
The newspaper article was dated 27 October 1995.
Salinger’s death had made the front page. The story continued on the later pages but dealt mainly with Salinger’s business interests and listed a number of recent takeovers that had added to his already sizeable empire.
The other major news that day was the surprise break-up of a famous movie star’s marriage after three weeks. The article wasn’t clear on whether the surprise was the break-up, or the fact that the marriage had in fact lasted three weeks.
The weather in Saxsville had been a beautiful 29 degrees.
Suddenly Max woke up and interrupted Ryan’s reading.
“So, will you do it, Ryan? I know there is nothing more frustrating than working on a cold case.”
“You want me to find out who killed the old man. Five years is a long time to go looking for evidence, as you’ve already pointed out, Max.”
“Oh, I appreciate that. I would not saddle you with such a task if I did not think you could do it. All I ask, my dear boy, is that you give it a try. I am hoping you will succeed where I failed.”
Max’s polite request and Ryan’s acceptance were a formality, as they both knew. Even though Ryan was on leave for the first time in more years than he cared to remember, he would not have turned down the request.
“Well, I must admit I am intrigued. I will certainly give it my best shot. I suppose you have some notes that you will pass on to me?” asked Ryan.
“I have used my influence and called in a few favours. People are very nice to dying old men, you know, especially in the force. I have duplicates of all the notes that the police took at the time, interviews with the household and any other relevant information. I have also handwritten some of my personal thoughts and views as a background for you.”
“You must have had your suspicions, I am sure. Was it the lack of evidence?” asked Ryan.
“Indeed it was. They all had motive and opportunity and there was no love lost between them and the old man, but although I had strong suspicions as to the killer, I did not have a shred of evidence.”
“I guess it was too much to hope that the murderer would break down and eventually confess.”
“My dear Ryan, forgive the senility of an old man, I am becoming more and more disorderly with age. I should have explained at the start: my stumbling block was that they all confessed!”
Maximilian laughed at Ryan’s expression, a laugh that turned into a wheezy cough. He pointed to a jug of water on his bedside table and Ryan quickly filled a glass and held it to his lips. Max lay back and closed his eyes. He opened his eyes again shortly and motioned Ryan to sit down again.
“I am sorry. You should have seen your face. I suppose that was not what you expected at all, is it? Well, it is true: each of the seven members of the immediate household told me during their interviews that they killed Salinger. It was a very simple crime, really. No great medical knowledge or strength was required, and in fact any one of them could have done it.”
“Do you think that they were all in it together and confessed individually just to confuse the issue?”
“It was possible, of course,” said Max. “But having met them over a period of time during the investigation and spoken to them at length, it became obvious that they were not very close. I certainly could not imagine them taking the young step-mother into their confidence and trusting her with their secret.”
“And I suppose the same would apply to her: she wouldn’t be likely to trust any of the Salingers with such a secret.”
“You’re right. She did not have a friend in the house. Her presence and status was, let us say...tolerated.”
“Ok. So if they were not all in it, but they all still confessed, it could only mean that...”
“Yes...what do you think it meant?”
“That they were all protecting one particular person...but then as you have already pointed out, I cannot see the step-mother wanting to protect the others.”
“You’re absolutely right. However, I believe that under certain circumstances they would all be willing to protect one individual...only under certain circumstances.”
As Ryan started to question him, Max held up his hand and said, “No... I will let you read the notes. I am not going to influence you any further. I always thought that I knew who had done it, but I could not prove it. If you manage to reach the same conclusion and be able to prove it, I will die a happy man.”
“Stop all this talk of dying, Max. The doctors aren’t God, you know.”
Max looked at him affectionately and said, “I know the doctors are not God, but I can feel that the end is not too far away.”
Ryan knew he was right. He thought it was much safer to discuss the case.
“Tell me, Max, why this particular case? You know we have a handful of unsolved murders.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. Mob killings, stabbings, gang murders. I’m particularly anxious to have this case solved because I want to clear the innocent. They are ordinary people who have unwillingly become embroiled in crime and although one of them is guilty, the others are certainly innocent.”
“I would have thought you’d be more concerned with catching the culprit and seeing justice done. After all, someone has got away with murder. He or she is probably feeling very pleased with themselves for having outsmarted the police. They’ve had five years to gloat over their success.”
“I’m inclined to disagree with you. I’m not too concerned with the guilty person,” said Max.
“I don’t follow you.”
“It can’t be easy living with such a big secret. We are talking about a normal everyday person who has probably killed for the first time in their life. I imagine–no, I’m almost certain–that person has been living in purgatory for the last few years. It must be a very lonely life.”
“You think their life has been hell?” asked Ryan.
“No...they will only face hell when they’re caught!”
Max seemed to go into a trance. He appeared to have forgotten about his visitor. Ryan sat silently, with a heavy heart, hoping that the next time he came to visit, Max would still be alive.
Despite what Ryan had told him earlier, he knew Max was right. Ryan had spoken to the doctor and the nurse who was now with him twenty-four hours a day; it was only a matter of time.
Max finally closed his eyes and laid his head against the bed head. Ryan got up to help him lie down. Max stopped him. “It’s all right, the nurse will do it. You had better go now, dear boy. I am feeling sleepy yet again. There is a package in the library with your name on it. It contains all the notes that I have.”
Ryan had walked over to Max’s place; it was about four blocks away from his apartment but he figured the exercise could not hurt.
He stopped at the pedestrian crossing for the go-ahead to start walking. An advertisement on the light pole caught his eye. It was singing the praises of a restaurant called La Em Bada. For thirty-five dollars you get a three-course meal and entertainment by exotic Latin dancers direct from Brazil. The young at heart could then dance till the wee hours of the morning. That was one restaurant he would not forget in a hurry.
Four years ago, he had decided to do something thoughtful and romantic to celebrate his and Annabel’s wedding anniversary. He had unforgivably forgotten the first two years anniversaries and hoped to make up for it this time.
He booked a table at the La Em Bada. Ryan had been there, with some of the detectives he worked with, for a bachelor’s night. He knew their food was only average, but there would be a floorshow and dancing afterward. Annabel loved dancing.
It was a great night. They ate little and drank a lot. Annabel was appreciative of the gesture and subsequently very affectionate.
The floorshow started. It was Latin night, and a dozen girls wearing a little bit more than what Eve would have worn in the Garden of Eden came on the stage and started dancing. They weren’t the world’s greatest dancers, but none of the male patrons, including Ryan, were particularly concerned with their talents. A well-built Latino guy eventually joined the dancers on stage. From the moment he came on stage Annabel seemed mesmerized with him.
At the end of the floorshow the Latin dancer asked several women to dance with him, including Annabel.
Six weeks later, she left Ryan.
He was sad to see her go but not exactly devastated. He hoped she would be happy with the other man. At least she now could dance to her heart’s content. She wrote Ryan a few months later to tell him the dancer had left her. . . for another man. She had gone to England with him, and as far as Ryan knew, she was still there.
Annabel begged Ryan to organize all the divorce papers; she felt it was only fair to give him his freedom. Annabel had always been very considerate. She didn’t ask for any type of financial support and with his wage as Senior Inspector, the support would have been minimal anyway.
That was four years ago, but he remembered it as if it was yesterday. The irony was sometimes he would forget what Annabel’s face exactly looked like, but the sound of her voice and her laughter was still very clear in his mind.
Three pedestrians on the other side of the street were walking towards him and looked at him curiously. He realised that while he had been deep in thought, the lights had changed and he had continued to stand there. For no reason that he could think of, he decided he would not go straight home. Suddenly he felt that he must see Cassandra. He turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Twenty minutes later he was standing outside Cassandra‘s immaculate cottage. It was the last one in the row at the end of the cul de sac.
There was nothing different in the exterior of the cottage from that of the neighbouring houses. They all followed the same pattern of light brown double bricks, neat landscaped gardens, mail boxes in the shape of tiny houses resting on tree stumps, and nearly identical garden gnomes. The only difference was that the resident of number thirty-three was a twenty-five-year-old woman with snowy-white hair and the most incredible green eyes Ryan had ever seen. She could see into the future and had an uncanny knack of reading people’s minds–or was it their souls? Ryan had never been sure.
He walked up the three steps to her front door. The door stood wide open. He started to walk back, then, thinking she might be at the back of the house, but her voice stopped him.
“Come in, Ryan, and close the door behind you.”
He went in and walked through to the living room. The room was flooded with light even though it was not yet four in the afternoon. The lamps on two walls shed eerie light on the Last Supper on the wall to his left and on a painting to his right.
Ryan deliberately chose a seat opposite the Last Supper. He had always found the other painting disturbing. It was of a woman with white hair against a background of deep black. The only colour was a faint crimson depicting the lips. There were large teardrops running down her face, very much like some of the paintings he had seen of the Pierrot.
The eye sockets of the woman in the painting were empty.
“Another few minutes and your coffee would not have been drinkable,” said Cassandra.
Ryan picked up the cup and took a few sips. Whenever they met, he would study her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Although he had known her now for three years, he still knew very little about her. He could have made some enquiries to check into her background but he was loath to do that.
A part of him preferred not to know.
She was wearing an emerald sleeveless shirt today, and a pair of black ski pants. The shirt made her eyes look greener than ever, if that was possible.
“You were expecting me?” he asked unnecessarily.
“Of course. I’ve known since last night you’d be here today,” she replied, surprised that he should ask.
“I’ve just been over at Max’s. He’s asked me to investigate a murder.”
“I know.”
Ryan put down the cup on the coffee table harder than he intended. Cassandra looked up in surprise.
“You can’t possibly have known that’s what he asked me to do,” said Ryan in exasperation.
“I know he’s asked you to look into something that’s not recent. It’s something he can’t do himself because he is old and sick but feels very passionate about,” she said calmly.
Ryan leaned back on the two-seater sofa, placed his hands behind his head and took a deep breath. He didn’t know why he kept coming back here time and time again. He hated the fact that she could read his every thought, predict his every move. There was nothing he could hide from her.
Maybe that was the reason. She was the only person who allowed him to be his true self.
“Stop fighting me, Ryan. Do you think if you’re not physically in the room with me that I won’t know what you’re thinking or feeling?” asked Cassandra.
“It’s so unfair. I never know what you’re thinking or feeling. I feel...so...disadvantaged,” said Ryan.
“I’m not important. It is you who matters,” replied Cassandra.
“Why?” demanded Ryan.
“We’ve been through this before. Just accept it.”
“Damn you, Cassandra,” he said without rancour.
She did not reply but smiled serenely.
“Should I do what Max has asked?”
“You know you will.”
“I don’t understand why he wants this.”
“You understand better than you think. Be prepared to walk though a labyrinth at first and then you will find your way,” said Cassandra.
“I wonder if there is something special about these people or the dead man?” asked Ryan, hoping for a straight answer from her.
“No, there is nothing special about any of them. Just remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Max has spent the last five years doing all he can to protect a killer!”
Ryan walked into his little apartment and headed straight for the fridge. He had been dying for a beer and a cigarette but had refrained from having either one while at Max’s or Cassandra’s place. He could have stopped at several pubs on the way home, but he had never been one who frequented pubs. He did occasionally join the men for a drink after work, but the images of having to pull his drunken father out of different pubs all through his teenage years were still very fresh in his memory.
He thought about the task Max had given him. He wondered why, of all unsolved cases, Max would be concerned about this one. He had, of course, every intention of carrying out Max’s wish.
Maximillian Heinrik had been his superior until two years ago when he had been diagnosed with cancer. He was semi-retired at that time, but as he needed continual treatment, the department fully retired him about eight months ago. As a result, Ryan had been promoted to his position of Chief Inspector.
Since then it had been Ryan’s habit to drop in on him at least twice a week, always hoping that he would still be there.
Except for this afternoon when he asked Ryan to carry out this investigation as his last dying wish, Max never spoke of his illness or eventual demise. He knew that Ryan’s visits were meant to cheer him up and he tried to play his part. Max had been very brave throughout the illness.
Max’s courage and determination had always been two of the many things Ryan admired about him. Courage seemed to be a family trait. His parents had migrated from Germany fifty years ago. Max was ten when they had immigrated and was the oldest of four children. His father had started working in a factory three days after their arrival and had continued working for forty years until the day he died of a stroke.
Despite the fact that he was in a strange country and could barely speak the language, and had little money, Mr. Heinrik, Senior, was determined that his children would have a better life than he had. Max, and the older sister, Freda, also worked in the nearby factory, yet the younger two children were sent to school.
Max’s father had insisted that they all learn to read and write English, and every night after dinner he would ensure the younger children completed their homework in the family room. Once that was finished for the night, they taught their parents and the older brother and sister the same lessons.
They all did manage to read and write; and in later years, Max and Freda enrolled in a night school and both managed to get a School Certificate. Max and his family had learnt English straight out of books and their manner of speaking was always very formal and grammatically correct.
Tragedy struck when Max was in his early twenties. His mother and two younger brothers had been returning from a shopping trip when they had become victims of a road accident. The two younger boys died and Mrs. Heinrik had one leg amputated. She spent the remaining years of her life walking on two crutches.
Ryan had only known her for a few years before she passed away. By that time, Max and Freda were both married with children. He still remembered with awe how the proud grandmother used to feed her grandchildren and play with them. She had moved with an incredible agility, almost as she if she had forgotten about her amputated leg.
Now Max was the last of the family. He had outlived his wife and children as well as his sister’s family. He had once said jokingly that he felt their family was cursed. Neither his children nor his sister’s made it past their teens.
Ryan untied the neat package that he had collected from Max’s study. It contained several folders of police reports and witness statements. The letter on top was in Max’s neat handwriting. Ryan had asked him, before he left, whether he was authorised to go and interview the suspects if need be. Max had said one of the favours he had called in was to re-open the case. It was an unsolved murder and Ryan was now officially authorized to re-open the investigation.
He settled himself comfortably and prepared for a night of reading, starting with Max’s letter.
My dear Ryan
If you are reading this letter, then you have agreed to my little request. I want to make it very clear to you, my dear boy, that the reason behind this is not vanity. You would know (who better?) that there are several cases I have worked on throughout the years that remain unsolved. You have had the same experience and will no doubt have more in the future. I sincerely hope this will not be one of these. This could have been numbered among all the other unsolved crimes, but this case is different.
During the course of my investigation of the Salinger case, I did the unforgivable-I became fond of the key players. I trust that you know me well enough to believe me when I say I did not let this affect me in my search for the truth.
The family does not live in the same house as they did at the time of the murder, so you will see them in different surroundings, whatever they may be.
I was aware of a distinct feeling of unhappiness, almost misery. This was not at all a happy household. Despite their wealth and creature comforts, there was no love. It was a vast contrast from my own home as a boy and a young man...as you observed in later years.
You have all my notes and the police files. You will see what I have seen. Go and see these people. It is possible that there will be something in the file that will give the truth and the proof that I so desperately wanted to find.
I believe I know who killed old Mr. Salinger, but I have no shred of evidence. If I have met my maker before you finish this case, there is an envelope with my solicitor addressed to you. The envelope contains a name only. It is the name of the person who I believe killed Salinger.
You will find some more notes in my handwriting. I prepared a brief background of the Salinger family. I may have let my personal opinions slip in; if so, it is unintentional. Do not let it prejudice you in any way.
I may not be able to say this to you in person, even time permitting, because I know you don’t like great shows of affection; but thank you for being my family for the last few years. I know that you did not have the greatest of childhoods and your father was a disappointment to you. Although I would never presume to take his place, I have always thought of you as my son and hope that the memories of our times together will help erase some of the more unpleasant parts of your childhood.
Good Luck
Yours affectionately,
Maximillian Heinrik
Ryan sat for almost ten minutes without moving. He was thinking a million thoughts at once and yet would not have remembered one of them had anyone asked him. He almost wished he had not read the letter. It seemed so final. It was ironic that, almost from the beginning of their working life together, he had continually wished that Max had been his father. He had desperately wanted to be part of his family, not just by extension. They had allowed him into their homes and their hearts and he was grateful for that, although he had never communicated this to any one of them in words. There was no need for him to tell Max, he had known...Ryan was sure he knew.
The telephone rang and for once he went to answer it eagerly. Ryan was among the very few members of the human race who were not grateful to Mr. Edison for his great invention. As a rule, he saw the telephone as the number one disturber of his peace and solitude.
“Where have you been all day? I know you‘re not working. I suppose you’ve been around to see the old man. I’m coming around with pizza. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The phone went dead before Ryan could reply. It was Alan, one of his co-workers and probably his closest friend apart from Max. Alan and Ryan had three things in common. They were both detectives, both thirty-eight years of age and both divorced. There, the similarities ended.
Alan was an outgoing, fun loving, live-for-today type of person. Since his divorce he had probably dated fifty women and was always on the lookout for fresh bait (his words). Ryan, on the other hand, had probably seen five women over the last few years and was content to leave it that way. Despite their different life styles, a friendship had formed between them over the years. As a work colleague there was certainly no other man’s opinion that Ryan valued more.
He had just enough time to pack away the papers and tidy up the room a bit. He opened some more windows to clear the air. He had smoked a couple of cigarettes while reading the notes. The doorbell rang just as he was taking some beers out of the fridge.
Alan came in wearing his favourite old tracksuit. He was a dedicated runner and had run two blocks from his place to Ryan’s, carrying the pizzas. He reached for one of the beer bottles and slumped down in the armchair. He drank a quarter of the bottle before setting it down.
“Enjoying vegetating? I bet you don’t spare a thought for the rest of us slaving around?”
“Come on, Alan, you know I haven’t had a break in years,” said Ryan.
“I know that; I’m only joking. I just hope you won’t spend all your time at home reading your books and spending time at the old man’s sick bed.”
“I don’t begrudge any time I spend with him. It won’t be long now, you know.”
Alan looked away shamefacedly and said, “I’m sorry, man. I know you two are close. I like him, too, you know that.”
Ryan did not want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he was already and to change the subject asked him what type of pizza he had gotten.
The next thirty minutes were spent listening to Alan telling him all the latest gossip from work. The new secretary was apparently very young and attractive and causing a stir. The men were all trying to impress her and the women wanted to scratch her eyes out. Alan then caught sight of the box containing the notes from the Salinger case and asked him what they were.
Ryan was in two minds about telling him. Despite Alan’s respect for Max, Ryan knew that Alan felt that Max had too much influence on him. If he knew that Ryan had undertaken this investigation during his holiday, he would not be pleased at all. But as the case was going to be officially re-opened, he would find out about it anyway.
Ryan told him briefly of what he and Max had discussed that afternoon. Much to his surprise, Alan was very enthusiastic about the case being re-opened.
“I remember it very well. It was just bad timing that I wasn’t assigned to it. It made quite a splash in the papers. The wife was a bit of a looker. Old man Salinger wasn’t that well liked by his family, but he was pretty well known and respected around the community. The whole clan was treated almost like royalty.”
“Did you have any ideas as to which one of them did it?” asked Ryan.
“Well, I didn’t know the case inside and out, but from what I heard, he treated both of his sons like garbage. Used to fly off at them and tell them off in front of everyone, including the servants. Maybe he did it once too often and one of the sons went for him.”
Ryan cleared the table and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. Alan followed him in there and said hesitantly, “You know, if you want, I‘d like to give you a hand with this investigation…if you like…nothing official…but if you want anything looked up or checked out.”
Ryan looked at him in surprise. He had no idea Alan would be so interested in this case and said so.
“It’s not so much the case, but you know we hardly get any assignments together these days, because each of us has to head one assignment; but you remember how we used to make a great team. It’s only if you want to, you don’t have to,” Alan finished awkwardly.
“That’d be great, Alan, but I’m warning you, there is a lot of reading to do.”
“Good, get the coffee and let’s start.”
Tuesday
Alan and Ryan read all the material provided by Max. Alan left around one a.m.
Ryan had spent an hour the previous night trying to find what he could about Richard Salinger and Salinger Enterprises on the net. There were over one hundred listings, mainly to do with the business side of things. There was very little personal data about the man. He was getting a picture of a very private person. That was one thing the late Richard Salinger and Ryan would have had in common.
He went into some of the business sites and got a clear picture of a very solvent company. Takeovers, franchises, success after success…the man seemed to have had the Midas touch. Ryan did not go into the rest of business sites; he was sure they would be a repetition of what he’d already read.
There were two listings that did stand out.
The first was an article published by one of the popular women’s magazines. It was a feature on Selina Salinger. The writer had half heartedly dedicated one paragraph to the actual death of Richard Salinger and the remaining two pages dealt with the effects of the death on the young, helpless, grieving widow.
The writer applauded the courage of this young woman and wished her every success for the future, sympathizing about how difficult it would be to survive on her own, having been dependant on a man’s wisdom until now. She also went into what seemed to Ryan unnecessary details on how Selina Salinger was dressed on the day of the funeral.
The heartbroken widow had managed to find time on that particular day to pose for some glossy photos. There were some small photos and a half page glossy picture of Selina Salinger with the caption, “Mrs. Salinger leaves her husband’s final resting place supported by a friend.”
She was appropriately dressed in full black, her dress short enough to reveal a pair of very shapely stockingless legs. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses that covered half of her face. The only other visible features were her lovely crimsoned lips and a mass of curly blonde hair.
The man supporting her was also wearing a pair of large sunglasses, and a long heavy overcoat that must have been murder in the heat of November. Ryan could not make out the rest of his features as Selina’s face and hair blocked his face.
Selina Salinger’s hand was resting on his arm and the photographer had managed to get a close up of the hand in another shot. She had enough gold and diamonds on one hand to put Cartier to shame.
The second article was by a journalist for one of the daily papers. It was the seventh in a series of twelve articles dealing with unsolved murders. It was published two years ago. The Salinger story was crudely titled “The Last Supper.”
He read through the two-page article twice. The writer for obvious reasons did not offer any solutions to the crime; nor name any possible suspects. However he did seem to know a lot of intimate details about the family. He knew where both Salinger sons went to school, the names of their daughters, the exact details of the furnishings, and the entire household set-up.
Although any journalist worth his salt would obtain this information without any problems, Ryan had not seen this much detail in the other articles. In fact, after the first headline that he had read at Max’s place, the story had moved on to back pages over a period of four weeks and eventually disappeared.
He would very much like to know how the journalist James Jasson had managed to gather this much information.
There was a website for the paper and a personal email address for James Jasson. Ryan sent him an email asking Jasson to contact him about the article. He put his rank and position in the hope that it might prompt a quick response.
Shortly after eleven he left to go for his first interview with the suspects in the Salinger case. He had no definite plans on how he would set about this. He placed the background notes that Max had provided in the passenger seat and reread them when stopping at traffic lights.
Maximillian’s background notes
I was called in to investigate the murder of Richard Salinger on October 26. The call came through around 8.40 p.m. I arrived there with two other inspectors who would be assisting me and we met the medical examiner and the forensic team inside the house. I had been asked to handle this personally due to Richard Salinger’s prominence in the community and indeed the whole town.
I was greeted by Maurice Freedman. He was, as I had later found out, the family lawyer, as well as a close personal friend of Salinger’s. He was in his early sixties, with a thick head of white hair. He was still a good-looking man and seemed very competent. I imagined he would be a good friend and lawyer to have on one’s side. He seemed composed and not overly distressed by his friend’s death, but during our conversation at times he would appear distracted, and I realized he was in fact making a great effort to concentrate on the business at hand.
Ryan, you will read the statements by the various household members in the police reports, so I will not go into them now. But some of the information that may not be in the report is that Richard Salinger and Maurice Freedman grew up together as boys.
Elizabeth Cornish, who would eventually become the first Mrs. Salinger, was also their neighbour. The Freedmans and Cornishes had been financially comfortable, but not at all what one would call wealthy. The Salingers, on the other hand, had always been very rich, with Richard Salinger later multiplying their wealth through his Salinger Enterprises. The business was import and export of clothing and footwear. They had targeted middle class consumers and were very successful. His two sons, after finishing their schooling, joined him in the business at the father’s request.
Their mother, Elizabeth, was not in favour of her sons joining the family business and preferred that they pursue other careers. The older son, Marc, had in fact wanted to be a doctor but his father was completely against this.
Elizabeth could not bear any children for the first eight years of marriage and she rather doted on the two boys who were born within two years of each other. This may have been partly the cause of the estrangement between the father and his two sons.
Mrs. Salinger died when Marc and Anthony were fifteen and thirteen respectively, and they unhappily fell in with their father’s wishes and eventually took up top management positions in his company.
Alice Cornish (a truly remarkable woman) came to join the household at her sister’s insistence when their mother passed away. She remained there after Elizabeth’s death and even after Salinger’s second marriage.
Salinger remarried five years after his wife’s death. This time it was a secretary who worked in the factory. Selina Smythe, whose real name we later found out was Sally Smith, was at the time twenty-two years old, a good thirty years younger than her husband.
They were married for seven years and from all accounts it was a happy marriage. She was very easy to please as long as he gave her enough money to spend on her clothes and her hair, and expensive cosmetics.
There were no children by the second marriage, as it turned out that Selina could not have any; but she was not particularly anxious to have children. According to Alice Cornish, Selina was too selfish to want to care for another human being. It would take away from the time she spent caring for herself.
Both sons were married at the time of the murder. Both their firstborn were girls, which was apparently a source of disappointment to the old man. He took very little interest in his granddaughters.
The household consisted of: Marc and his wife Karyn; Anthony and his wife Anita; Alice Cornish; the children; Selina Salinger and her cousin Troy Davenport. Davenport had been living in the house for several months. He is or was an aspiring actor who was out of work at that time.
Salinger used to take a bottle of scotch with him every night just before bedtime. He was not a heavy drinker but would have at least one glass before retiring. The entire household was aware of this practice. He had done the same that night, except that someone had dissolved a full bottle of sleeping pills into the whisky bottle. The pills belonged to him and the bottle was just over a quarter full.
You can see that it was a very simple crime. It only needed a few minutes to empty the pills and allow them to dissolve. All it took was for someone to ensure they were unobserved for a short period of time. The whisky bottle used to be placed on a small table in the hallway after dinner to be taken by Salinger himself when he went to bed. There was just over an hour in which someone could tamper with it.
Salinger was not the most pleasant person to live with by all accounts. Our investigations revealed that in the forty-eight hours preceding his death, he had violent arguments with every member of the family. Marc and Anthony had repeatedly asked him to provide them with an income so they could move out and live their own lives with their respective wives. This same conversation had taken place on the day of his death and resulted in yet another bitter argument with the father and his sons.
Alice Cornish had announced her intention of leaving. During her stay she had not received any wages, as she was not an employee; but she had recently come into a small legacy that enabled her to finally leave the Salinger household.
Salinger and his wife had a heated argument that morning. Salinger told her that he would be reducing her monthly allowance and that she should start to economise if she wished to continue living in the house.
I believe this should suffice as a background. Any other information you need will be found in the police reports.
Ryan quickly reread the statement given by Freedman on the night of the murder. He decided he had better start with Freedman. He reasoned that Freedman was to some extent an outsider and might be more forthcoming with information. Ryan assumed Freedman would be the least concerned with the re-opening of the case.
He knew from the police notes that Freedman was no longer practicing law and had semi-retired, taking on occasional cases for old favoured clients. Ryan thought there was a good chance that Freedman would be at home, and decided to take pot luck and turn up without an appointment.
As he drove into the cul-de-sac, he slowed down to look at the numbers of the houses, but there was no need to. He immediately saw an elderly man with thick thatch of white hair, who had been gardening. As the car came to a halt outside his house, the man stood up and carefully scrutinized the car and its driver.
“Mr, Freedman, Maurice Freeman?” Ryan called out.
“Yes, sir, and you are?”
”Chief Inspector Gregorian.” Ryan showed him his official badge.
“Is there a problem in the neighbourhood, Inspector? We are extremely fortunate here; we are not subjected to the usual vandalism that seems to be the norm in other areas.”
“I am not here about vandalism, Mr. Freedman.”
“Well, we had better go inside the house; we can’t stand here all day shouting at each other.”
Freedman led the way inside a beautifully furnished home. There were numerous hand-made tapestries on the walls and some unusual sculptures displayed in various parts of the house.
“You are an art collector, Mr. Freedman. You have some fine pieces here. I don’t think I have seen this type of sculpture before.”
“Thank you, Inspector. I must confess I am not much of a collector. Everything you see here is hand made by friends. I have been fortunate enough to have had some very gifted friends…now will you satisfy my curiosity as to why you are here or shall I continue guessing?”
“I am sorry. I should have explained at the start. I am here at the request of a friend who was in charge of the case a few years ago. I‘m afraid the Salinger case has been re-opened,” said Ryan.
“Is the old friend Chief Inspector Heinrik?”
“Yes.”
“Well. . .that is a surprise. It sure is a surprise. Sit down please. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No thank you.... You are surprised...surely you know the case was never officially closed.”
“Yes, yes, I am aware of that, but I thought, incorrectly it seems, that the Chief Inspector was content to leave it at that.”
“Well, we normally do continue working on unsolved murders in a quiet way.”
“Yes, I suppose you would,” said Freedman slowly.
“Mr. Freedman, I have read the statement you gave to the police, so I am not going to ask you to go over all that again, but I was hoping that–well, with the passing of time, there might be something more you can tell me...something that came back to you later and did not seem right at the time. I am sure you know what I mean. In your line of work, you may have asked the same question of some of your clients.”
“I am not a criminal lawyer, but I know exactly what you mean. I am afraid there is nothing. I am not just saying this without having thought about it...believe me, there have been many times in the last few years that I have replayed the whole thing to myself. I was not particularly happy with the outcome; I would have liked to have known definitely who had done it...but let me be honest, Inspector, there were times that I preferred not to know.”
“Because it could have been one of the family members and you were close to all of them?”
“Yes, there was always a possibility that it had been one of the Salingers. From a totally selfish point of view, I hoped, indeed we all hoped, that it would be Troy Davenport or Selina Salinger. You will forgive my frankness, but that would have been an ideal solution.”
“How did you feel when the various family members confessed to the crime?”
“Shocked...appalled. They did this without my knowledge, out of sheer stupidity. Of course without realizing it, they made things very difficult for the police...very difficult; so maybe it was not so stupid after all. But I still would not have advised it.”
“It seems that someone in that household was exceptionally shrewd and clever. Can you tell me who had prompted these confessions?”
“I would like to tell you, actually. I think the police always suspected it had been planned that way. Let me tell you what happened. Alice Cornish was the first to be interviewed, with the exception of myself who met the police on arrival. When she came out of the study, she was fully convinced one of her boys had killed Richard. She told Anthony quickly that he was not to worry; she had told the police she had done it. Now, Inspector, you must believe me that she was fully prepared to take the blame. She worshipped those two boys.”
“What was Anthony Salinger’s reaction to his aunt’s confession?”
“His reaction was to confess to the crime to take the blame off his aunt.”
“And the rest of the household did the same. It seems strange that they all had time to collaborate.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, Inspector. I know it is usual procedure to have all the suspects in one room with a policeman watching over them, yet we were moving around freely.”
Very careless of Max, and totally unlike him.
Freedman continued. “The irony is that if the police had let Alice out of one door and the others in through another door–say the French windows–none of this would have happened and Alice Cornish could well be in prison right now.”
“And the two...outsiders?” asked Ryan
“Selina had reason to believe that Richard had changed his will; and she thought that by siding with the family, she might still be looked after financially. As it happened, there was no need for her to do that. I had not yet drawn up the new will.”
“So there was to be a new will?”
“Yes. Richard dictated the terms of the will that very night. He expected me to have the will drawn up and ready for his signature the following day. In answer to your next question, he had decided to leave his considerable wealth to one person only, disinheriting his sons and his second wife.”
“Who was to be the new beneficiary?”
“You are looking at him, Inspector!”
“I see.” Ryan looked at Freedman thoughtfully. The latter had lit a cigarette during the conversation and was now calmly flicking some ash from his trousers. Freedman had in one short sentence provided all the Salinger family with an even stronger motive for murdering Richard Salinger. These were supposedly people he cared for. Ryan wondered if Freedman could in fact be as calm as appeared.
“Is that usual practice, Mr. Freedman? Are you able to draw up a will when you are in fact the beneficiary?”
“No. It wouldn’t be ethical. I explained this to Richard. He asked me to attend to the formalities of getting the will drawn up by someone else, but he wanted me to know specifically how he intends to leave his money.”
“Do you have some evidence of this new will, Mr. Freedman?” Ryan asked.
“Actually, I have the rough draft in Richard’s handwriting, but understandably there is no formal documentation. Inspector Heinrik sighted the handwritten paper at the time.”
“You realize this gives the Salinger family an even stronger motive to make sure Richard Salinger did not live to make the new will.”
“Of course I realize that; and unfortunately you only have my word that they had not been aware of the terms. I had every intention of stalling in the actual preparation of the document and would have done my best to get Richard to change his mind...there was always a possibility that he would do so of his own accord.”
“Was he in the habit of changing wills every now and then?”
“No, he was not. He made a will at the time of his second marriage and this was intended to replace it.”
“Do you know what prompted him to change the terms of the will–to totally disinherit his sons? There must have been some serious reason behind it.”
“I have no real idea of what was behind it. I had, however, noticed that in the months preceding his death, Richard had been acting very strangely. He had become almost a recluse. He appeared at meal times, I think purely out of habit. He seemed to be under a great deal of stress and for the first time in the history of our long friendship, he refused to confide in me. After a while...I just stopped asking.”
“Had his attitude changed towards you at all?” asked Ryan.
“No...not outwardly, but I felt that...I felt that he was keeping something from me, but his everyday behaviour towards me was much the same. In fact, in the last few months prior to his death, I was the only person who had any real conversations with him.”
“Mr. Freedman, having read the police reports, I can’t see that there was any love between Salinger and his family. You are the only one who does not speak scathingly of him. Can you tell me a bit about Richard Salinger?”
“Yes, I think I owe it to his memory. Believe it or not, he was not the ogre as he was painted or that he became in later years. As a young man, he was a generous, fun-loving lad-a bit of a daredevil, actually. One of his vices had been fast cars. That came to a quick end.”
“Did he meet with an accident of some sort?”
“He unfortunately ran over a child and killed him or her. I cannot remember; I was studying for my law degree in another town and used to visit my parents’ home one weekend a month at that time. Richard did not like to talk about it but it affected him a great deal. With his father’s influence he got off very lightly.”
“I know that he and Elizabeth Salinger had been neighbours. Were they romantically involved for a long time?”
“No. On the contrary, before starting to work for his father, Richard took a year off and went overseas. While in Poland or Russia, I’m not sure, where he met a woman whom I believe was the only true love of his life. She did not or could not marry him. When he came back, he showed some interest in Elizabeth, but I have always believed that it had been on the rebound and poor Elizabeth paid for it until the day she died.”
“It was not a happy marriage from all accounts?
“No...far from it. I think Richard regretted his decision almost immediately. He treated Elizabeth with less respect than he showed his servants. The poor girl could not bear children and that only made matters worse. When she did finally have a son...well, he had no interest in the boy.”
“You remained friends with him despite all this?”
“He did not treat me the same as he treated his family. That is not to say I approved of his behaviour. I took him up on it several times, but it was no use. In the end, I suppose I really became a surrogate father. I felt that someone had to make up for his shortcomings.”
“And you felt that someone had to be you?” said Ryan.