Who's Sorry Now? (16 page)

A few minutes later, Robert poked his head out the door and said, "Mrs. Gasset, I forgot to get you a stamp to endorse the checks.”

She smiled. "I already bought a stamp and two ink pads. Oh, and my sister Bernadette has volunteered to do the bookkeeping and fill out the tax forms. She's so grateful that I can be home in the evening to feed the children and put them to bed. She hates having to read them all stories before they go to sleep. I've already put a dollar into the bank in Cold Spring. Bernadette will also deposit the money.”

Robert sighed with relief, and felt a bit guilty about secretly thinking badly of Bernadette.

Most of the last bags of mail on the floor had already been picked through by the people who had bought boxes. But Mrs. Gasset wanted to take the rest back and file the unclaimed mail in the right box if someone had purchased a box and forgotten to look through the mailbags that arrived earlier on Saturday.

“You've already had a very long day," Chief Walker said. "Just leave the bag in the back, lock up, and do it sometime tomorrow. There aren't deliveries on Sunday and you can get some rest."

“That's an excellent idea. I'll take you up on it. But first I need to shop for something to make for dinner. Something really good. Pork chops, stuffing, gravy, and mashed potatoes. And the carrots the kids won't eat, but Bernadette can give them to her rabbits later.”

Chief Walker said, "I'll wait for you while you go to the greengrocer and the butcher. You shouldn't be walking home with all that money and the checks. And I'll drive your sister to the bank."

“You don't intend to do this all the time, do you?”

“Only when it's a lot of money.”

He waited for her outside the butcher's shop with the small locked steel box under the passenger seat until she'd done her shopping and drove her home.

CHAPTER TWENTY

AFTER HOWARD DROPPED OFF MRS. GASSET and headed back to Grace and Favor, a random thought came to his mind. It had to do with the color red, but wasn't what he'd dreamed about. The person, whom he now knew was a man, took the paint can back to Harry's work area behind their house. He didn't return the paintbrush. He'd probably just pitched the brush into someone else's trash.

The point was, why did he return the paint can?

He was obviously a sour, unpleasant person to keep harassing Mr. Kurtz. So why bring the paint can back to Harry and Jim's house? Did he have a weird streak of honor? It was okay to paint a swastika on the window of a man who had narrowly missed being arrested by the Nazis? Setting the fires wasn't just arson. It was two cases of attempted murder. But stealing a can of paint wasn't
right. Or moral. What kind of bizarre personality was Howard dealing with and trying to find?

He'd never come across someone with such skewed motives. Except maybe Arnold Wood. But he was an exception. All his motives were simply selfish and mostly vulgar as well. And he only came to town for meetings of the town council. Otherwise, nobody ever saw him.

After dinner, Howard found Lily reading by the open window in the library.

“
Answer a question for me, would you?”

She put her book aside and said, "Gladly."

“
If you wanted to paint a red swastika on a person's window, wouldn't you go buy the paint and the brush in some town where nobody knew you? And why would you throw away the brush, much less bring the paint can back to where you found it?”

Lily smiled. "First, I'd never have reason to paint a swastika anywhere, but if I needed to, you're right. I'd buy the supplies with cash where nobody knew me. As for the brush, it was probably dried up and just buried in someone's trash. And I certainly would have sealed up the can and disposed of it as well."

“
That's exactly what I'd have done in theory, too," Walker said. "So how did the swastika painter even find the paint in Harry's backyard, and why on earth return it?" "Let me think on that for a while," Lily said, frowning. "There doesn't seem to be a logical reason for that. But the painter must have had some strange ideas.”

Lily never knew the answer, nor did Howard until later.

On Monday, Walker drove Bernadette to the bank in Cold Spring. Monday was the heaviest mail day, and Mrs. Gasset couldn't get away. Thank goodness the children were still in school and he didn't have to fill the back of the police car with little kids. One was only in kindergarten, so they had to be back by noon and made it in plenty of time.

Bernadette was very pleasant. "It was so nice of Mr. Brewster to get my sister this job. She can be home in the evening with the children. And she'll make a lot more money than she did at the theater, selling tickets. The owner had the nerve to ask me to fIll in for her. Can you imagine?"

“You'd probably be good at it, wouldn't you?" Howard asked. "You have good math skills, I understand from Mrs. Gasset."

“Yes, I do. But I wouldn't want the job. Having to be busy every night, like my sister was. I'm taking a course by mail for becoming an accountant."

“Good for you," Howard said. "Here we are at the bank. I'll wait in front."

“
Oh, do come inside. I want the clerk to know I had a police escort.”

As he opened the door of the bank for her, she turned and whispered, "Just don't draw your gun.”

Howard laughed. He had had no warning that Bernadette had a sense of humor.

On the way back to Voorburg, Walker asked Bernadette, "Have you ever come across a man somewhere between forty-five and sixty, small stature, thinning reddish or brown hair?"

“Not that I remember. I seldom come to Voorburg except to ship off the rabbit furs when they're clean and dry. Why do you want to know?"

“That's how a bunch of librarians described the man who checked out the German books that were set on fire in front of Mr. Kurtz's shop."

“It's a shame that he's being singled out for all these awful things. I've never met him. I do my own sewing when I need to. But I've heard that he's a nice man.”

When Walker had dropped Bernadette off at her home, he went to his office at the jail and took up his thinking position, leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk. The description the librarians had come up with could describe half a dozen different men. But not Arnold Wood, unfortunately.

And he was still puzzled over why the man took the paint can, neatly capped, back to Harry's work area in his backyard. Why didn't he just throw it away when he disposed of the paintbrush?

Arnold Wood was right this time. Howard had taken far too long to unravel these crimes against Mr. Kurtz, and hadn't even made any progress in the investigation regarding the murder of Edwin McBride.

He'd asked questions of everyone who might know anything about either of the crimes and come up empty-handed. The fingerprint expert even had a whole set of the man's prints in the case of Mr. Kurtz. The method with which Edwin was strangled had been identified, but Walker still didn't know where the wire had been purchased. Maybe he should travel up and down the Hudson visiting hardware stores to see if he could get a description of who could have bought the wire.

But what good would it do? Whoever bought it certainly hadn't given a name. And if he had bought it at a hardware store—and he could have bought it elsewhere—like a company that sold cheese or bread, nobody would remember after all this time what the person looked like. Or care.

He simply couldn't leave Edwin's death to be forever unsolved. There must have been some sort of clue in the elusive dream, which he was still unable to remember.

Deputy Parker came into the jail building and asked,

“
Anything I can do? I'm feeling useless. I don't feel that I'm earning my salary."

“
Not right now. I'm still trying to figure out McBride's murder. Where would you get a wire with small teeth like that? I've given it some thought. I don't think hardware stores would carry such a specialized kind of wire."

“
Who would?"

“Jewelry stores, I assume, would know. And it could also be used for slicing bread or cheese.”

Parker was impressed. "I'd never have thought of that."

“
You would if you put your mind to it. Have you worked out something with Jack Summer about cars and motorcycles?"

“Almost. Jack's found a car he likes. And as soon as he buys it, he'll sell me the motorcycle. I get to pay on time payments. He's so anxious to get rid of it that he's given
me a bargain price."

“
I'm glad this is working out for both of you. You could earn your keep by finding a jewelry store somewhere near when you get the motorcycle. They'll know where a wire like that could be purchased."

“
I should have the motorcycle by tomorrow. I'll go to the library and look in phone books today.”

Howard grinned. "That's something I hadn't thought about. You
are
earning your keep.”

Mrs. White had come back to Mr. Kurtz's shop to pick up her daughter's dresses and was enormously impressed with what a good job he did. She also brought along the dress that the other surly tailor had messed up.

Mr. Kurtz told her to go in the back room and change into the flawed dress and come back out. She did so. He almost lost his temper. "That's terrible. Completely wrong.”

He took out his chalk and marked the shoulder lines, and said, "Even if the other man had done it right, the sleeves would have been too long. But I can fix everything. First, I have to carefully rip out what he did, then start over. Put your other clothing back on and I'll have it ready in three days."

“I'm so glad you can do this right. I know I can trust you. I'm tempted to go back and tell him how awful he is and how you undid his mistakes."

“It's up to you. But it would probably upset you more than him."

“You're probably right. My husband and I are going on a trip soon. Could you have the dress ready by Friday? We're driving to see my husband's new granddaughter in Albany."

“
I could have it ready by Wednesday.”

Ron Parker came back to the jail the next day. "I charged a phone call to your office. It was long distance. I'll pay you back if you want."

“
You don't have to pay when you're doing your job.”

“I'm not sure you're going to like what I found out.”

“Tell me," Howard said, as the front legs of his chair
went back down to the floor.

“I called a jewelry place and asked if they sold the kind of wire that could cut through a ring. They told me no. They order it in six-inch sections from time to time from a company in New York City."

“
You called them, I suppose?"

“
I did. I asked them if they'd had an order for a longer length of this kind of wire recently. They were surprised at the question and waffled a bit until I explained that I was the deputy to the chief of police of Voorburg-on-Hudson and was asking them in connection with a murder that involved using such a wire.

“Suddenly the guy on the phone went silent. I thought he'd hung up at first, but then he said, 'Murder? With a wire from us?' "

“
Naturally he'd be wary. Companies don't like their products and murder in the same sentence. Go on—”

“That's what I figured. I assured him that they wouldn’t be held responsible, but might have to come to identify whether or not a certain person made the purchase at some time in the last few weeks."

“
Could the person you were speaking to remember what he looked like?"

“
This is the part you'll either love or hate.”

Parker paused to take a deep breath and spit it out as fast as he could. "A man in his late forties or early fifties. Thinning, dirty brown hair. Short stature. Small hands. Shabby clothing.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

HOWARD WALKER LEANED his elbows on the desk and stared at Deputy Parker for a long moment.

He finally said, "I'm stunned. I was sure we had two different cases and two criminals to pursue. You did good! So it's certainly the same man who the librarians described as stealing the books, who also bought the long section of wire to strangle McBride."

“You're relieved?" Ron asked.

“
Relieved? Yes. Instead of trying to find two men to put away for life, we need to find the one right man.”

“And how do we find him?"

“
We just keep asking questions. I don't believe he's local. I know almost everyone who lives anywhere near Voorburg—at least by sight, if not by name. It's a shame I don't know one of those artists that newspapers use to make a face that can be identified by several people who have all seen the same person. Maybe Jack Summer could help us out."

“Before you ask Jack, let me try it. I drew all my classmates, all thirteen of them when we finished eighth grade. I was pretty good at it. The teachers and the kids themselves said I got them just right."

“Why didn't you tell me this before?"

“You never asked," Deputy Parker said.

“Then let's go buy you a bunch of paper, pencils, and erasers, and interview the librarians."

“I have paper and pencils already. In fact, I've made drawings of you, Jack Summer, and Mrs. Smithson. I'll go get them to show you.”

Parker must have run to his apartment and back. He returned in minutes, out of breath.

Chief Walker thought they were excellent representations of all three. Though he himself looked a bit crankier than usual. That was because he'd been cranky most of the time Ron Parker had been his deputy.