Murder at the FBI (23 page)

“My mother killed him.”

Saksis stared across the table. Beth’s lips were pressed tightly together, and Saksis saw that she’d clenched her fists into tight balls. She started to
say something, but Beth said, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Saksis shook her head and looked around the terrace, leaned over the table, and said in a stage whisper, “Beth, you do realize what you’ve just said?”

“Of course I do.”

“You—you have no doubts about it?”

“No.”

“Do you have proof?”

“Yes.”

Saksis sat back and twisted a strand of hair at her temple as she desperately tried to formulate a sensible comment, question, anything. Finally, she said, “Tell me about the proof.”

“My mother was there the night he was killed.”

“I know that, although she denies it. But you told me the first time I met you that your mother had been home that evening.”

“Of course I did. If I hadn’t, she would have killed me, too.”

“Beth, do you—Beth, I don’t want to sound as though I doubt what you say, but you’re accusing your own mother of not only killing your father, but of being capable of killing you.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s—”

“I don’t care what you think.” Her eyes filled up and she was obviously fighting against making a scene. She pushed the edge of her napkin against her eyes and held it there for a long time. Saksis wanted to come around the table and wrap her arms around her, tell her that everything was all right and to make her forget about her father’s
murder. Had Beth continued much longer in the battle against her tears, that’s exactly what might have happened. But she lowered the napkin, stuck out her chin, and said, “I just told you the truth, Miss Saksis.”

“And I believe you, Beth. It’s just that such a serious accusation has to be backed up with some pretty hefty proof.”

“I told you I could prove it.”

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“I don’t want to talk here.”

Saksis nodded. “We’ll go to my room.”

Beth shook her head. “I don’t trust anyplace, or anybody, not after what happened to my father.”

Instead they walked east on Forty-ninth Street to First Avenue, then took a right until they stood in front of the United Nations. Flags of member nations rippled against a gun metal gray sky that threatened rain. Two small Hispanic boys wrestled with each other despite their mother’s admonitions to stop. A young couple necked on a bench, the music from a large portable cassette player blaring what Saksis considered the antithesis of erotic music.

“Let’s sit over there,” she said, indicating a bench far removed from the others. When they were seated, she said, “Okay, Beth, let’s get it over with. What you told me at the restaurant is shocking, but I believe you. Ever since your mother lied about that night, I’ve had to consider her a prime suspect in your father’s murder. Can you tell me why she might have killed him?”

Beth looked at Saksis and screwed up her face. “See, you don’t believe me.”

“Beth, you have to understand that I can’t simply accept what you say without asking questions.”

“You just said, ‘might have killed him.’
She did!
”

“Okay, she did. Why?”

“She hated him.”

“Well, frankly, I gathered that your mother and father didn’t have much of a marriage, but lots of wives hate husbands, and vice versa. That doesn’t mean they act it out by killing.”

“I know that.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So why are we here, Beth? Why did you slip me your phone number and encourage me to call you? I didn’t suggest it, you did.”

“Because I want the truth about my father told.”

“And so do I. You say your mom killed him because she hated him. She wouldn’t have had to come into the FBI building late at night to do that. That’s taking a big risk. Why didn’t she just kill him at home, or in a hotel, or—”

“She didn’t kill him just because they didn’t get along.”

“She didn’t?”

Beth leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and slowly shook her head.

“Then why?”

“Because—because of Mr. Kneeley.”

Saksis started to say something, swallowed it, and looked around the broad plaza. The lovers were still embracing, the little Hispanic kids were being hauled off by their mother, and a pair of New York City cops strolled idly along First Avenue,
their attention riveted on the swaying shapely derriere of an attractive young woman wearing a sheer cotton dress.

“Miss Saksis,” Beth said.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was daydreaming.”

Beth looked quizzically at her, and for good reason. To daydream in the midst of such a serious discussion was—

Saksis smiled. “I was thinking about what you just said.”

“About Mr. Kneeley?”

“Yes. He’s the author, isn’t he?”

Beth nodded. “He’s writing a book about the FBI.”

“Is he? Is it a serious book?”

“I guess so. That’s what he writes, isn’t it?”

“So I understand. Was your father working with him on the book?”

“No. My mother was.”

“Your mother?” It was becoming a morning of one surprise after another. She asked Beth to elaborate.

Beth hesitated, then said, “Can I trust you?”

“I hope so. We’re here because you wanted to be, and you’ve already told me a lot. Yes, Beth, you can trust me, but you also know I have to do my job.”

“Arrest who killed my father.”

“That’s right.”

“Even if it’s my mother.”

Saksis felt intensely awkward as she said, “Yes, even then.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Beth again brought up the subject of her father’s murder.
“My father kept secret notes on everything he worked on, every case, every person he knew. He told me once that maybe he’d write a book when he was retired, but I don’t know if he ever would have. I guess I’ll never know.”

“Where did he keep the notes?” Chris asked.

“I don’t know, but sometimes, when he was home, he’d have them with him to work on. I read some of them once.”

“You did? What were they like?”

“My dad was a good writer. I wish he did write a book. It would have been good.”

“I’m sure it would have.”

“He had notebooks filled up. He printed very small. It almost looked like it was typed. Do you know what I mean? It was so neat, just like him.”

Saksis could sense emotion building inside the girl and felt bad for her. Still, she wasn’t about to interrupt, break the spell, lose whatever revelations might come next.

“He had other stuff, too.”

“Like what?”

“Papers, copies of hundreds of papers, letters to different people in the FBI, memos, notes from meetings.”

“They sound important,” Saksis said.

“I guess they were. A lot of them had
Secret
stamped on them.”

“I’m surprised he left them around for you to see.”

“Oh, he didn’t. It was an accident. When he was home—that wasn’t often—he and Mom didn’t sleep together. He had his own room, and he had a big safe in there. Sometimes he’d lock the door and
just sit in there for a whole weekend working on things. Then, he’d pack it up and leave on Sunday night.”

“How did you get to read his notes?”

“I didn’t read many of them, just a couple of folders that he left in his room one Saturday. Mom was out, and he got a phone call from somebody. He told me he had to meet somebody in a big hurry and left. I went into his room. I guess he thought he’d put everything into the safe, but there were these two folders that he must have forgot, Anyway, I read them. I didn’t understand a lot of it, but I knew they were important. I was afraid he’d know I read them so I made sure they were just where I found them when he came home. He asked me about them, but I said I wasn’t in his room.”

“Beth, I have to ask you this. You said that your mother killed your father, and it was because of Richard Kneeley. Why do you say that?”

“My mother knew all about my father’s diaries and papers, and she got a hold of them one day.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I just heard them fighting about it one night. That was when he was home more and had everything there. I don’t think she stole them or anything, only maybe she did. She would.”

Beth’s voice was cold and bitter. “My dad used to talk to her more, at least back then, and I know he told her some of the stories. He was so secret about everything he did, but he would talk to her, I guess because she was his wife.”

“That’s very common.”

“Sure it is, only she wasn’t the one he should
have trusted.” She looked up at Saksis and said, “I hate my mother, Miss Saksis. I really hate her.”

“I’m sorry. That must be a horrible feeling.”

“It used to be until—well, until she did to him what she did.”

“Killed him?”

“Even more than that, things she did before, like stealing all his notes and papers and selling them to Mr. Kneeley.”

“Are you sure she did that?”

“Yes. I heard all the fights about it. Mom wanted more money, always wanted more than Dad had, and she forced him to do things to get it.”

“What kind of things?”

“I don’t know, tell people what he knew for money. It made him so sad all the time, and mad.”

“And you say your mother sold his secret notes and papers to Richard Kneeley so he could write a book about them?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know how much Kneeley paid?”

Beth shook her head.

“And your father was against it?”

“Yes, only he was afraid. My mother told him that if he did anything to get in the way she’d tell the FBI all about his notes and papers, and the FBI would think
he
sold them to Mr. Kneeley.”

Saksis thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t doubt this is all true, Beth, but it doesn’t mean that your mother killed him.”

The girl became animated. “Yes, it does,” she said. “Why would she go there that night and then lie to you?”

“I don’t know, maybe—”

“She had a gun.”

“She told me it was stolen a long time ago.”

“Another lie. She lies all the time.”

Saksis leaned closer to her and said, “Tell me why she killed him, Beth.”

“Because—I think because he was going to go to the FBI and tell them what she’d done.”

“You
think
.”

“I don’t know for certain, but I know she was there that night, and had the gun, and—”

“And—”

“And threatened him with it.”

“At home?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“About a week before she did it.”

“You heard the threat?”

“Yes. They thought I was asleep.”

“What did she say?”

“She said that if he did anything to stop her deal—or arrangement, or whatever she called it—with Richard Kneeley, she’d kill him first before ever allowing that to happen.”

“Let’s go,” Saksis said. They slowly walked back in the direction of the hotel. “Beth, tell me exactly what happened the night your father died.”

“She went to his office to kill him.”

“She said that?”

“No, of course not, but—you don’t believe me, do you?”

“Of course I do, but you have to understand that I can’t accuse your mother unless I have something tangible to go on, some proof, some definite
testimony. Did you ever hear your mother say she killed your father?”

“Why would she do that?” The girl was becoming increasingly angry, and confused. She started to walk faster, as though she were suddenly anxious to get away.

“Beth,” Saksis said.

The girl took a few more steps, realized Saksis was no longer with her, and stopped. She turned and glared, her cheeks stained from tears, her mouth set against an outpouring of them.

“I believe you,” Saksis said, closing the gap between them. “I really do, Beth, but please try to understand the position I’m in.”

“You don’t care, do you?”

“Care?”

“About my father.”

“Of course I do. I didn’t know him very well, but I was shocked at what happened and—”

“I loved my father very much.” She started to shake, and her voice became higher and louder. “I loved him and she took him away. I hate her, hate her, hate her.” She slapped her hand against a wall, then leaned against it and wept openly.

Saksis wrapped her arms around Beth. “Take it easy,” she said, “everything’s going to be all right.”

“I want you to believe me. She killed him.”

“I know, and we’ll make it right. Believe me, I’ll do what’s best.”

Beth eventually gained control. Saksis handed her a Kleenex from her pocket and the girl wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thanks,” she said.

They reached the hotel. “Want a cold drink?”
Saksis asked as they stood in the lobby peering into the bird cage.

“No, thanks. I’m really sorry I acted like such a jerk.”

“You didn’t do anything of the kind. I’m glad you had enough faith to confide in me.”

“What will you do now?”

“I’m not quite sure, but there are some other aspects of the investigation that can be combined with what you’ve told me. I suggest you not mention getting together with me to anyone. No one, Beth.”

“I won’t.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“I don’t know, probably with some guy.”

Chris Saksis thought her heart would break. She put an arm around the teenager and said, “Sometimes, we have to go through hard times before we enjoy the easy ones.”

A slight smile came to Beth’s face. “That’s what my father used to say.”

They walked to the lobby door. “What will you do for the rest of the day?” Saksis asked.

Beth shrugged. “Hang around, go to the Village.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. How about you?”

“Well, I have to meet someone in about an hour. He’s working on the case, too, and maybe between us we’ll find some evidence to support what you’ve told me.”

“I hope so.”

Saksis wanted very much to show Beth the photograph of Rosemary Cale, but she decided there really wasn’t much to be gained from it. She kissed
her on the cheek and said, “Keep that pretty chin up, Beth. You’re a good person.”

“So are you, Miss Saksis. Thanks for breakfast.” Her eyes filled up again. “God, I feel like I have a big sister.”