Heart of Stone (39 page)

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Authors: James W. Ziskin

BOOK: Heart of Stone
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“I loved Charles,” she began. “Yes, he was hard to love, as I said. And you were right. He followed me here.”

Gayle Morton unburdened her soul. She had arrived in Prospector Lake on August 6, met Isaac at the Lakeside Motel where he had taken a room, and spent two days with him. It was a purely physical thing.

As she spoke, she never noticed my pallor, my dry mouth, my wet eyes. “I could never have left Charles for him. It was just a fling. He's a school teacher, after all. But I just couldn't stay away. I wanted him. I started obsessing over him. Despite everything. Our differences, my marriage, his job. And then, too late, I realized what a fool I was. Hanging around, hoping against hope that things might somehow be different in the darkness of a motel room. But Isaac didn't love me. I didn't love him either, I know now. But . . .”

“Did you go back to Los Angeles?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “After your tryst with Isaac?”

She shook her head. “I stayed in a motel on the other side of the lake for a week when Isaac went back to his camp. I couldn't go there, of course. I couldn't show my face there.”

“And Karl came to find you?”

She wiped her eyes and nose. “I don't know,” she said. “Maybe he came for me. Maybe he came for Miriam.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I reached Cedar Haven at ten thirty. Max's car was all packed except for the two passengers and a small bag each. Their plan was to take Route 9 south, stop at an inn near Hudson for the night, then continue on to Aunt Lena's house in New Rochelle the following morning. Max would set off for Washington the day after that.

As for me, I intended to touch all the bases one more time, then leave the sad story of two diving victims behind. Aunt Lena had already washed the bedclothes and towels, so all that was left for me to do on Sunday was to bring in the washing from the line, switch off the lights, and shutter the place for the winter. I had no intention of visiting Arcadia.

We chatted for a few minutes on the porch, made promises to see each other more often, and exchanged admonitions on health and advice on happiness. The sun was finally coming out again, drying the ground that was moist from the storms. Finally, at a quarter to twelve, the old folks decided it was time to go. I walked them to Max's wagon, kissed them good-bye, and watched them drive off.

I started back to the main cabin to fold some washing when I heard a car approach. I turned to see an old black Rambler wagon pulling into the compound. A little man with white hair and a bald pate climbed out of the car, pulled a worn Western Union cap onto his head, and hobbled over to me.

“I'm looking for . . .” he consulted the envelope in his hand, “. . . Miss Eleonora Stone, care of Lena Suskind, Route Fifteen, Prospector Lake, New York.”

“That's me,” I said, holding out my hand for the wire.

“You got any identification?” he asked.

I ran inside to fetch my purse then produced my driver's license and signed for the telegram. The little old man drove off, and I opened the envelope. It was from Fred Peruso, the county coroner back in New Holland. Fadge had carried out his orders.

I'd forgotten about the photographs of the bodies that I'd sent to him. I opened the telegram and read.

REVIEWED PHOTOS. NO OPINION ON BOY DUE TO LOW LIGHT AND CLOTHING COVER. RIGOR MORTIS
APPEARS
PRESENT IN OLDER VICTIM'S FACE AND HANDS. IF RM IS PRESENT, IT SUGGESTS DEATH OCCURRED AT LEAST TWO HOURS EARLIER. PROBABLY EVEN EARLIER. APPARENT LIVIDITY ON OLDER MAN'S RIGHT SIDE NEAR GROUND. NOT CERTAIN GIVEN BLACK-AND-WHITE PHOTO. IF BLOTCHES WERE BLUE, THIS IS LIVIDITY. ALSO EVIDENCE OF BRUISE ON LEFT TORSO AND THIGH. MAY INDICATE LIVIDITY, BUT IMPOSSIBLE TO SAY FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. CONCLUSION: THIS BODY MAY HAVE BEEN MOVED AT LEAST TWO HOURS AFTER DEATH.

FEDERICO PERUSO, MD,
CORONER MONTGOMERY CO

I considered the telegram. Peruso believed that Karl Merkleson had been dead for at least two hours before I snapped my photographs. I did some math in my head. Did his opinion match the timeline of the deaths and discovery of the two men? The two witnesses put the time of death at twelve thirty. I reached the scene around 2:30 p.m. I frowned. Just barely, I thought.

What about Fred's observation of rigor mortis? He didn't seem sure of it but thought Karl's face and hands indicated visible stiffness. Fred only had small, black-and-white photographs to go by. I had seen Karl up close. And I had touched the boy. Touched his shoulder. I tried to remember if Jerry had been stiff. I couldn't say.

But what about Karl? I redoubled my concentration. His face and hands had been as stiff as a two-by-four, that much was sure. I recalled from an anatomy class I'd taken at Barnard that the smaller muscles of the body stiffened first post-mortem, beginning as early as twenty minutes after death. That made sense and did nothing to contradict what I already knew. But what troubled me more was Fred's comments on lividity. He couldn't be sure there were signs of lividity since my photographs were in black and white. But I had noticed the marks on Karl's body. The blotches had indeed been blue. A purple-blue on the right side and a smaller, redder blue on the left. I had assumed his body had bounced on impact. But Fred thought that the body might have been moved after death. I wondered just how long after death. How long would a body need to lie dead for lividity to become evident? Fred hadn't elaborated, and I wanted clarification.

I wondered if any of Uncle Mel's medical books were still around. Once as children, Elijah and I had snuck peeks into an old red copy of
The American Illustrated Medical Dictionary
that Uncle Mel kept at Cedar Haven. Elijah showed me the drawings of male and female parts. That cured me from ever wanting to look again. I knew that Aunt Lena had donated many of the books after Mel died in 1951, but I hoped some remained in her library. I searched the likely locations, but the closest thing I could find to a medical book was a copy of
Doctor Zhivago
. With nowhere else to turn, I knew what I had to do. I had to make one more trip to Arcadia Lodge.

David Levine was the only doctor I knew in the area, if you didn't count Nelson Blanchard. And I didn't. I liked David and thought I could trust him. The hitch was how to see him and avoid Isaac at the same time. In the end, I decided to brazen it out. I drove over to Arcadia a few minutes after noon and located David's cabin without too much trouble. After all, I knew which one was Isaac's, and I'd spent the night in Miriam and Simon's cabin. There were little signposts for others, wooden arrow indicators planted in the ground, so I deduced David's was one of two in the southwest corner of the large compound. As things turned out, I ran into Audrey Silber, who pointed the way.

“Ellie,” said David, standing in the doorway. “Hi. Please, come in.”

I saw suitcases opened and half filled on the bed. David was packing to leave.

“It's been a bad week,” I said.

“Why do you say that?” he asked. “It's been nice seeing you again.”

“That's sweet. You always were the one with the best outlook on things. But we both know the week started well and went south after that. Karl, Simon, and, well . . . Never mind.”

David's gaze clouded. “You're right, I suppose,” he said. Then he summoned a brave smile. “What do you mean about Simon?”

I wondered if he knew. Of course he knew. He'd told me that Miriam had asked him to bring chlorpromazine for Simon. Surely he would have asked why. It wasn't as if she'd asked for aspirin.

“I think Simon is quite ill,” I said.

David looked away. He knew.

“Did you come here to talk about Simon?” he asked.

“No,” I said, resigning myself to put that sad conversation to one side.

There was nothing I could do to help Simon just then. But there might be something I could do for Karl and Jerry. Perhaps clear up some of the ambiguity that would trouble their loved ones. Or maybe not. Did it matter? Did any of my snooping make the slightest difference at all to the lives, to the deaths? I didn't know, but the alternative—forgetting them—was surely the easy way out. And that would never help anyone.

“I came here to ask you about lividity.”

“Lividity?” he asked. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“I saw Karl's body,” I said. “You saw the photos of him, didn't you?”

David's face fell. He rubbed his brow and looked to be in true distress. “I saw the photos that night you showed them to Ruth,” he said. “When she fainted. But they were so small. And I couldn't bring myself to look for more than a second or two. It was just too difficult. He was my friend.”

“I understand,” I said. “But I showed the photos to a friend of mine. A coroner. And he thought there were two areas that might indicate lividity.”

“How do you mean?”

“There were two areas on his body where the blood had darkened his skin: the entire right side of his body and a smaller area opposite that on his left.”

David frowned. “How was his body positioned on the ground when you saw him?”

“Lying on his right side, arm beneath the body.”

He seemed confused. He asked if he could see the photographs.

“I'm afraid I sent my last set of prints to the coroner,” I said. “And the police have the negatives.”

David asked me to show him where the lividity was evident. I lay on the floor, assuming the approximate position in which Karl had been found, and indicated the locations of the bruises. Once I'd stood and brushed myself off, David limped over to a chair and sat down.

“What's your conclusion?” I asked. “Is there anything that can explain the two areas of lividity?”

“Yes,” he said. “Just one that I can think of.” He stared up at me with sober eyes. “Somebody moved his body after death.”

“That's what the coroner thinks. Is there any way to know how long after death he was moved?”

David shook his head. “Not with any precision. And certainly not without the body or the photographs. It's too bad there was no autopsy. That might have given us more information.”

“But there was an autopsy,” I said, brightening. “Karl's mother took the body to Albany Wednesday. She's due back here today with the results.”

“I'd love to see the report.”

“David,” I said after a brief pause. “If, in fact, Karl's body was moved after he died, why do you think someone would do that?”

He pursed his lips and rubbed the bridge of his nose while he gave my question some thought. “I can't believe I'm saying this, Ellie,” he began. “But the only reason I can imagine would be to make his death look like an accident.”

“His death?” I asked, inviting him to use a different word.

He sighed. “His murder.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I thought I'd made a clean escape from Arcadia Lodge, but as I looked back over my shoulder and reversed down the dirt-and-grass drive, there was a rapping on my hood. I stopped and turned to see Isaac practically climbing up onto my fender.

“Ellie, wait,” he said. “I have to talk to you.”

I kept my foot on the brake but didn't shift into park. “Maybe it's better if we just leave it,” I said.

“Please. I have to apologize to you. I was wrong last night.”

“No, you weren't. I accused your old friend of things I can't prove. And you and I have come to a point . . .” I was trying to be oblique. Why? “I think we both know we've come to the end,” I said, correcting myself.

“Ellie, please turn off the car and come talk to me. Don't drive off like this.”

I gazed up at his flecked eyes and nearly complied. But I didn't want to go over the same torture of the night before. I'd made up my mind, and it had been hard to do. I wasn't prepared to change it now, only to have to convince myself again later.

“Please, Ellie,” he said, reaching an upturned palm through the window.

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