Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 03 - The Recorder's Way (14 page)

Max
chose to wait standing next to arched doors framing a view of the garden. Prepared flowerbeds awaited their blooms.

Dr. Handler
finally arrived. “And you are?”

“Detective
s Helen Costello and I’m Max Hunt from The Firm here in Ann Arbor.” He handed the doctor their card.

Dr. Handler motioned for
them to sit as he turned the card over to read Thomas Fuller’s words aloud. “He that knows least commonly presumes most.” Before Max sat down, he restated the reason for their visit. Dr. Handler nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s what my receptionist said. She also said you emptied out the reception room.”

Helen tried not to smile, but she knew she’d failed in
hiding her delight. “Could you explain what happened the evening Larry Schneider died?”

Still unseated, Dr. Handler walked to his office door and opened it. The invitation to leave was obvious. “I can fully explain, but not to you
two and not here.”

“When can we expect you to drop by Captain
Tedler’s office?” Max asked.

“When he produces an arrest warrant and my lawyer accompanies me.”

Helen straightened her briefcase strap on her shoulder in the middle of the doorway. She remembered it was a good place to stand during earthquakes, too. “Marilyn Helms has been very forthcoming. She’s facing a murder charge.”

Dr. Handler shoved her back into his office. “I think you better explain
yourself, young lady.”

Helen felt intimidated.
She was glad Max insisted they should both approach the good doctor. She remembered the gun in her briefcase and backed away from the man to keep her balance. If he intended to attack her like Marilyn had, she could deal with him.

“I expect you owe
Helen an apology for manhandling her?” Max demanded.

Helen
cocked her head, letting Dr. Handler know her unguarded moment had passed.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Helen half-expected to see oil drip from his mouth.
“You surprised me.: Dr. Handler motioned for both of them to sit back down. “Please tell me what has happened to Marilyn Helms?”

“Besides blackmailing you, Dr. Whidbey
, and Dr. Cornell, she pushed an elderly detective off a cliff in Waterloo.”

Dr. Handler looked ill. He pushed a button on the wall next to the door and a fully assembled bar swung into view. “Excuse me,” he said
, as he poured and drank a quick shot of bourbon. “Would you like a drink?”

“Do you admit to paying blackmail?”
Max asked.

Dr. Handler slung back another shot of whiskey before taking his time to walk around his desk and sit down in
his leather chair. He leaned his head against the back. “Marilyn Helms is a young woman I tried to help out financially. After her involvement in the deaths at St. Anthony’s, no one would hire her. Did you know she is a drug addict?”

“Yes.” Helen decided to sit down, too.

Max took out his notebook. “The victim, Sally Bianco, met Marilyn in Adrian at a recovery retreat at St. Anthony’s convent.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”
Dr. Handler said.

“I don’t think so.”
Helen consulted Max.

“I mean the hospital and the convent both being named
for St. Anthony.” Neither Max nor Helen responded. Helen could see Dr. Handler’s mind was racing around inside that handsome old skull, looking for believable excuses. “Marilyn Helms was my lover,” Dr. Handler proffered.

“
We’ve met Marilyn,” Max said.

“Oh, I’m not saying she was attractive,
” Dr. Handler stoked his chin. “Just convenient.”

Helen felt as if a sewer had opened at her feet. Her nose twitched and she needed to bathe
, to change her clothes as soon as possible. Max stood and Helen followed him to the door. The fresh air from the hall helped revive her.

“Captain
Tedler will be contacting you,” Max said with his back still turned away from the doctor. Helen didn’t want to see the man alive on earth, either. ‘God forgive me,’ she prayed for her violent thought.

♦
♦
♦
♦
♦

Seven wives married that guy?” Max opened the passenger door of his Mustang for Helen.

“Will Captain Tedler ask the wives to testify against Handler?”

Max banged the
steering wheel. “I wonder how long number seven will last.”

“Does money make women blind?

Max knew Maybell used money to justify her actions. “I’d like to meet the present Mrs. Handler.”

Helen seemed to read his mind. “Alone?”

“I might find a different angle on the case.”

“I agree, Max. She’ll be inhibited with me tagging along.”

“I think I should go now, before Handler gets a chance to prepare her.

“Just drop me at home, Max.” Helen fastened her seat belt. “It’s on the way.”

♦
♦
♦
♦
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Second Friday in May
, 2008

Dr. Handler’s
Home

Dr. Handler’s wife inserted her key into the front door, as Max Hunt strolled up behind her. “Mrs. Handler?”

“Yes. You’re not allowed to solicit in this neighborhood, young man.”

Max flashed his detective badge. “The police are interested in Dr. Handler’s association with Marilyn Helms. She’s a nurse
who works for him. We have her in custody for the murder of a colleague of mine, Sally Bianco.”

“You’
ll need to wait for him.” Mrs. Handler opened the unusual front door. The doorway wasn’t double, but it was wider than most. The home was white-painted brick. A ‘1909’ historical plaque was displayed prominently near the recessed entrance.

Max stepped over the threshold. “This is wide enough for a coffin and pallbearers.”

“The house has been owned by doctors since it was built.” Mrs. Handler led the way to the right of the entrance past a chiming clock. “My husband should be home in ten minutes.”

The entrance rug was zebra skin. The floors were tiled white, the stairway facing the doorway was carpeted in white, the walls, the
latticework on the windows, the piano, the couch, the lampshades, and all the knick-knacks were white. In the main room, the mounted heads of a white buffalo, an African elephant, a horned rhinoceros, and a Dall long-horned sheep marred the innocence-claiming, immaculately white decorating scheme.

In Dr. Handler’s den at the back of the house
where Mrs. Handler deposited Max, the walls were a deep maroon. Max was tempted to touch the textured material on the walls, which looked like tanned hides, dyed to match each other. Fifteen more animal heads of antelope, moose, and deer were hung two and three high around the stuffy room. “Could you open a window?” Max felt he might pass out from the lack of oxygen or the surrounding horrors.

Mrs. Handler swung open
the French doors. A breeze wafting over a wall of red roses entered the room, but its sweetness reminded Max of the smell of fresh blood in Iraq. Instead of taking the chair Mrs. Handler pointed to, Max stepped out into the small garden. A stone bench served him well. Max wished he smoked. He could cover his queasiness better by lighting up. “Could I ask for a drink of water?”

“You look quite ill, young man. I’ll be right back.”

When Mrs. Handler returned, Dr. Handler accompanied her. “We have already spoken at my office,” Dr. Handler explained to his wife. He pointed the way out for Max. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.” Max stood up, held onto the frame of the French doors and wobbled past the doctor and his wife. “Have you been drinking?” Dr. Handler shouted after him. Max managed to find the front door, but his knees failed him. He fell head first across the threshold.

“Call 911, Margaret!” Dr. Handler knelt beside Max. “What’s wrong with you?”

Max thought he might have broken his nose on the pavement. Blood gushed everywhere. He tried to sit up, but the blood threatened to ruin his clothes. Still on all fours, Max gained access to his handkerchief to stop the nosebleed. “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” he managed to say before passing out from the sight of his own blood.

♦
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Second Friday in May
, 2008

Costello Residence

“But, Mother.” Helen shook her head at the plethora of empty boxes in her bedroom. “I like my clothes. You
have
been busy today. I know you like me in emerald green now but I don’t want to give any more of my things to Purple Heart.”

“Of course you don’t.
” Mother sat down on Helen’s single bed. “I’m sorry. You know I’ve managed this household with an iron fist for so long, I don’t know how to stop.”

“
You were never a tyrant.” Helen joined her mother on the bed. “You know Dad and I love you.”

“But you are getting too old for
me to manipulate.” Mother smiled, but then handed Helen the housing section of the newspaper. Three advertisements were circled in red.

“Oh, Mother.” Helen thought she
might break down in childish tears. “You want me to move out?”

Mother hugged her.
“I want you to be happy, as happy as your father and I are.” They could hear the phone ringing downstairs. Julia’s new social life included an unusual increase in calls. Helen’s extension rang only when customers called The Firm. Dad would answer the house phone.

“
With whom will I be as happy as you and Dad?”

“Why Max, of course.”

“I don’t want to move in with Max.”

Mother
stood and dusted off her hands. “I should hope not! I moved from my parents’ home into Andrew’s apartment after we married. But I think you should learn how to live on your own. Decorate your own house, buy groceries, get a cat.”

“Like a spinster?”

“Like someone who needs a pet to warm up a place.” Mother lined the boxes up under the windows. “Something to come home to.”

“I guess
I could use the boxes to pack. Sister James Marine is taking ten of my dollhouses for the convent. She thinks an abuse shelter will take the rest.” Helen tapped the roof of her blue Victorian dollhouse. “I’m keeping this one.”

“I bet you and Max will end up in an old house like this.”
Mother bent over to move one of the tiny chairs away from the miniature dining room table. She set it on the floor outside the house.

Helen saw the action as a metaphor for moving her
chair away from the Costello table. Did her presence reminded her mother too much of the first George Clemmons? Her injury of rejection by the Clemmons family and by the man she had loved must be fresh in her mind.

Mother
asked, “Did I ever tell you Sally Bianco and I tried to volunteer at the Safe House?” Dad came up the stairs and stood in the doorway. Mother saw him, too; but continued her story. “The shelter fired us because Sally told the women to wait until their husbands fell asleep, then to take an iron skillet and beat them around the head and privates.”

“No wonder they asked you to leave.
” Helen rescued the discarded dollhouse chair, repositioning it under the table in the miniature dining room.

Dad
tried to interrupt. “That phone call was from…”

Helen did
not want to concede her point. “You were supposed to let women gain back their inner strength before they moved out on their own.”

“
While they were penniless and so beaten up no one would hire them?” Mother clicked her tongue. “Didn’t make sense to Sally and it didn’t make sense to me.”

“The hospital!”
Dad finished his bit of news.

Helen hugged her mother. “
Okay, we can look at the places you picked out for me.”

Dad
coughed as he stood at the door. Mother laughed and pointed at him. “Your dad circled those apartments.”

Helen’s mouth dropped open. “
Et tu Bruté
?”

Her dad took the offending paper. “This condo is just two blocks from Max’s, walking distance. You could cook for him, invite him over.
”

“Max?”

“He’s at the hospital?” Dad limped over to her, shook her shoulders. “Max loves you but doesn’t think he’s good enough for you.”

“
Max?”

“Anyone else been sniffing around you?”

“Dad!”

Mother
asked him to repeat himself. “Max is in the hospital? That’s what you said?”

“
Yes. We have to go.” Dad herded the two women down the stairs.

Once in the car, he
said, “Max collapsed at Dr. Handler’s home. The ambulance took him to the university hospital.” He turned slightly to speak to Helen who sat as if stunned in the back seat of the car. “Helen, your mother and I are not blind. We know you care for Max.” The three of them drove in silence until Dad added, “By the way, your condo has three trees and flowering hedges. The window boxes are filled, now, with daffodils.”