Murder in the Winter (12 page)

14

I woke up Monday morning and smiled. I don’t usually
smile the first thing in the morning. If I had my way, I’d sleep until the
crack of noon, take time to find out what God had for me that day, take a
leisurely shower, then pick Lou up and drive to the Blue Moon for breakfast
and
lunch, at one seating. Okay, maybe I’d get up a little earlier in order to put
a little time between breakfast and lunch. On that day, it didn’t matter.
Someone was at work decreasing the town’s population, it was time to roust
myself from the bed and go to work. After that, I took time for cleanliness,
God and godliness, and hunger pangs. After all, just because I can’t sleep
until noon doesn’t mean the people at Oppenheimer Arms don’t.

+++

Lou and I strolled into the Blue Moon. Rosie looked up
as the bell jingled as we walked in. From the look on her face, I thought she
was going to run around the counter and hug us. Instead, she made us feel
welcome another way.

“Where have you two been? We were about to put out a
missing persons report. Do you realize how much food we had left over Friday
and Saturday? With the money the boss lost, he almost had to declare
bankruptcy.”

Lou and I chuckled all the way to the counter. In sequence,
we grasped the counter and pulled our grandiose bodies up onto  the  stools. 
It was so good to be back where we belonged that the two of us spun around on
our stools while Rosie just stood and laughed at us. Because of our girth, Lou
and I always sit with one stool between us. It isn’t like the Blue Moon is
crowded. We can spread out and eat comfortably. And if the mood hits us to spin
our stools around like a couple of five-year-olds, we can do so without bumping
knees. Somehow, I don’t believe the department would file knees injured while
spinning on a restaurant stool under “injured in the line of duty.”

Hungry, Lou and I gave Rosie our orders, then told her
about our trip to Purgatory. She listened with a constant grin upon her face.

“I already knew some of it. Thelma told me some other
policeman came in the other night and picked up some food for you because you
were dying of malnutrition.”

“Rosie, my love, I’ll tell you all about the stuff
that place fed us as long as you promise never to serve any of it here.”

I milked it for all that it was worth. I wanted to
tell her about our trek through a blinding snowstorm, uphill all the way, even
after our shoes had rotted from our feet, and frostbite had set in, but I had
to refrain from revealing anything about the case. Neither could I tell her the
food was so bad that two people died of poisoning. Okay, maybe the food didn’t
have anything to do with the poisoning, but a good story is made better if the
storyteller has an ability to embellish.

All stories ended when our food arrived. Bacon, sausage,
eggs cooked right, pancakes, biscuits, gravy that looked like gravy, and hash
browns. All the good food groups. Well, everything except chocolate. Everything
tasted so good that when Rosie told us the first pecan pie of the day had just
been taken from the oven, we decided to celebrate some more. No one else tasted
pecan pie that day until the second pie had been baked. Just as the first of
the lunch crowd entered the Blue Moon, Lou and I took leave of our senses, and
the Blue Moon. There was work to be done. There were people to see. There were
questions to ask.

+++

I drove to Oppenheimer Arms with my Blue Moon face
still on, but replaced it with my Lieutenant’s face a block before we arrived
at our destination. Lou and I knew the routine. We’d done this for many years.

I pulled up in front of the apartment building,
removed my seatbelt, gave my food one last chance to settle, opened the door,
and hoisted myself from Lightning. 

Oppenheimer Arms spread out over a large lot. A very large
lot. When there are eight apartments on the same floor, they need to spread out
somewhere. Lou opened the building’s front door, and we stepped inside. I was
pleased to see that there were no steps. Everything was at ground level. I
looked around and spotted the mailboxes. A sign above them showed us that the
manager lived in apartment number one. I perused the names on the mailboxes.
Most were unfamiliar. The resident of apartment number one was L. Crouch. Since
we wanted to talk to the manager first, we decided to take the apartments in
order, one through eight.

I knocked on the door of apartment one. A woman opened
the door. She was short, had curly gray hair, and carried a few extra pounds.

“May I help you?”

I took out my credentials, showed them to her.

“I’m Lt. Dekker with the Hilldale Police Department.
This is my associate Sgt. Murdock. We have a few questions to ask you.”

“Have I done something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“If so, I don’t know about it, yet. You are Miss
Crouch, the manager?”

“That’s right, only it’s Mrs. Crouch. I’m a widow.”

“Well, Mrs. Crouch, we just have a few questions we’d
like to ask you. Privately. Do you mind if we come in?”

Mrs. Crouch opened the door, invited us in.

“Would you gentlemen like some coffee. I just made
some.”

“No, thank you, but go ahead and get yourself a cup.”

She offered us seats while she went to the kitchen to
pour herself a cup of coffee. She came back, and as she sat down, she said,
“Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

“We are investigating an incident that concerns some actors.
I understand that all of your residents are actors. I was wondering what you
can tell me about them, and oh, by the way, are you yourself an actress?”

“No, Lieutenant, I’m not an actress. I have been manager
of Oppenheimer Arms since it opened back in 1998. I answered an ad, came for an
interview, and was offered the job. I’ve been here ever since and I love my
job, what there is to it. I hate to sound brash, but I can’t see any of our
gentlemen running afoul of the law.”

“Well, maybe they haven’t. You said gentlemen. Are all
your tenants men?”

“While that has not always been the case, it is currently.
The last of our ladies got married early last year and moved away. We offer our
apartments to any deserving actor, and as it turned out, after our lady tenant
got married, the next person to inquire about the availability of an apartment
was a gentleman. We checked him out. He met the qualifications to be a tenant
here, so I rented the apartment to him.”

“And what are the qualifications to be a tenant at Oppenheimer
Arms?”

“Very simple. A person must be a legitimate actor or actress
with fine character. We check out both aspects of a prospective tenant’s life
before agreeing to rent the apartment. We also check into their financial background,
but that has no bearing on whether or not we rent to them. That is merely to
see if said actor needs financial considerations.”

“Let’s look at your current tenants, beginning with
apartment two. Tell me a little about each resident, and to the best of your
ability, tell me what each one’s schedule has been the past week.”

Mrs. Crouch took the next ten minutes or so telling me
a little about each of the tenants. Four of the tenants had been away over the
weekend. That left three tenants at home, but one of them is confined to a
wheelchair and a second one’s sister was visiting him all of last week. If that
turned out to be true, that meant the actor who played two parts over the week-
end lived in apartment three or apartment eight. I’d talk to both men and see
if I could spot our busy actor friend.

“Mrs. Crouch, I’d also like to know everyone’s whereabouts
on Wednesday afternoon.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you there, Lieutenant. I met a
friend for lunch and we went to a movie afterward. I left home about 11:00 and
didn’t return until 5:30.”

“And as far as you know, everyone else was here Wednesday
afternoon?”

“Not everyone. A taxi picked Mr. McArthur up just before
I left. I didn’t see him again until this morning. Mr. McArthur just returned
from a trip out of town. He was auditioning for a play. I was surprised he was
gone so long, because when I talked to him on Tuesday he told me he would be
back on Friday. Maybe the auditions took longer than he thought.”

I didn’t tell Mrs. Crouch any different. Either she
wasn’t home on Wednesday, or she was giving herself an alibi. But if she wasn’t
home, someone had ample opportunity to roam the halls and dispense the poison,
even if that someone came from outside the building. Of course, we still didn’t
know if the murderer poisoned his or her victims inside that apartment
building. They could’ve received the kiss of death in front of the police
department for all we knew. Frank arrived at the time of death, but, for once,
the poison could’ve been administered anywhere. Anywhere close enough to allow
them to check in at the Overlook Inn on Thursday.  Too bad we didn’t know where
they were all of Wednesday. Both men could’ve followed Mrs. Crouch out the
door.

After learning the name of the friend she spent time
with on Wednesday, finding out where they ate and what movie they saw, Lou and
I thanked her for her time and left to talk to the occupant of apartment two.

15

I knocked on the second door and received a “Come in.”
I opened the door, and spotted a man reclining on the couch, a wheelchair by
his side. He didn’t seem surprised that his guests were strangers, but merely
said, “Come on in. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m Lt. Dekker with the
Hilldale Police Department, and this is Sgt. Murdock. We’re here to ask you a
few questions.”

Nothing about my declaration seemed to alarm the man.
He merely introduced himself.

“In case you don’t already know, I’m Arthur Rothschild.
Forgive me for not getting up. Just grab a couple of kitchen chairs and bring
them over.”

Unlike Mrs. Crouch’s residence, Mr. Rothschild’s apartment
was all one big room, except for the bathroom. The kitchen stood on the left,
inside the front door. On back, actually facing the street, was the living
room. A bed stood behind the couch. There were two doors other than the one we
entered. I figured one was the bathroom, the other a closet. Lou and I picked
up a couple of chairs and put them down in front of the couch. I smiled to
disarm Mr. Rothschild. He smiled back.

“So, what brings you gentlemen by to see me today? Collecting
for the policemen’s auxiliary fund?”

“No, merely trying to locate an actor who spent the
weekend at Overlook Inn.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. This building
is full of actors. Did anyone see the person you’re looking for?”

“I did.”

“So, you know who he is, just don’t know his name.”

“No, he came in disguise, even changed disguises during
the weekend. Know anyone here who’s that gifted?”

“I’d say anyone here could meet those qualifications.
It looks like you’ve only eliminated myself and Mrs. Crouch.”

“You’re not gifted?”

“Oh, I’m gifted all right. At least I was, but I
assume the actor you saw is capable of walking.”

“He walked okay when I saw him.”

“Well, that let’s me out. I’m not walking much these
days.”

“Tell me, Mr. Rothschild. How did you come to be a cripple?”

He cringed at my mention of the word “cripple,” but answered
my question.

“It’s funny you’re here looking for someone who spent
the weekend at Overlook Inn. It was at the Overlook Inn where I broke my leg.
Winter of ’97. I fell off the stage into the orchestra pit, rehearsing for an
upcoming play. Broke my leg in two places. If I could have gotten to the
hospital, they could have set it correctly, but it just so happened that a
blizzard had hit Hilldale the day before. I contacted the police, but they said
there was no way to get through. The road was blocked to any type of traffic,
and there was no way a helicopter could land in that wind, or on that small of
a piece of property, with all those trees around. Longworth did the best he
could trying to set it, but he had no medical experience, and he set it
incorrectly. The result was that anytime I tried to walk the pain was so excruciating
that I fell immediately to the floor. By the time the roads cleared and they
could get me to a doctor, there was nothing he could do. Maybe if I lived in a
large city or had money to go to a  big   city   hospital,   they  could  have 
helped  me,  but  that didn’t happen. And so today, I stay home most of the
time, and roll around the apartment.”

“Didn’t this make you bitter?”

“You bet it did. I had no place to go. No way to pay
my bills. There weren’t enough parts for actors in wheelchairs. I stayed bitter
all the time. If it wasn’t for Mr. Oppenheimer opening this place, I don’t know
what I would have done. That man saved my life, but now I’ve gotten used to
staying at home, and actually enjoy it. But I don’t know what I would have done
if it wasn’t for Mr. Oppenheimer. I probably would have ended up a homeless
cripple. I doubt if I would still be alive today.”

“Mr. Rothschild, are you aware that the Overlook Inn
will offer plays again soon?”

“I wasn’t until the other day. Tony McArthur stopped
by early Wednesday morning. He’d just found out. He came up with an idea for
actors to book rooms for this past weekend at the inn, and to show up in
costume and see if Longworth recognized anyone. He was on his way out of town
to try out for a new play and asked me if I would check with some of the actors
in the building to see if anyone was interested.”

“And did you?”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t get very far. I knocked on 
Martin Mulroney’s door, the guy who lives directly across from me, but he
wasn’t home. I rolled back to my apartment to get something to write on, and
left Mulroney a note. I was about to go to the next apartment, when the pain in
my leg flared up. I came back to my apartment and took something for the pain.
As is many times the case, it knocked me out. I didn’t wake up until the phone
woke me. It was Mulroney. I told him that it looked like Longworth would soon
be back in business, and about what McArthur suggested. He seemed excited about
the idea. Then, I asked him if he would mind telling the other residents about
McArthur’s idea. He said he would be delighted to.”

“Mr. Rothschild, please give me a rundown of your
acting career, and any of the building’s other tenants, if you can.”

“Well, I caught the acting bug when I was in college.
They were putting on the play
Our Town
, by Thornton Wilder, and I
secured a part. A small part, but that allowed me to ease into acting.
Otherwise, I might have succumbed to the pressure of learning all those lines.
But, it was enough. The acting bug bit me. I continued to act all the way
through college, snaring bigger roles as I grew in my craft, until I finally
changed my major to Theater Arts. When I graduated, I went to New York at
first, but the city was much too large for me. I stayed long enough to gain a
little experience, then moved on. Over time, I hooked up with Longworth and
ended up in Hilldale.”

“What about the building’s other residents? Were their
starts much the same as yours?”

“Over time you forget what people tell you about their
beginnings, except for the ones who began with you. Once I came to Hilldale, I
never again saw anyone from college or the New York theater scene. I would say,
however, that most of the actors I know began their careers in high school or
college. A few might have begun later.”

“Have you acted in any plays with any of the other
people in this building?”

“Oh, my yes. Many times.”

“And does everyone get along?”

“Well, there are spats from time to time, but I would
have to say that most of us get along as well as most people get along with the
people they work with. I had no complaints.” 
 

“Mr. Rothschild, let’s get back to Wednesday afternoon.
Have you seen any of your neighbors since then?”

“I haven’t been out of my apartment since, except to
go to my mailbox out in the hall. I didn’t see anyone then.”

I’d promised myself I’d check each resident’s boots,
and threaten them with having someone return to take their fingerprints. I had
indelibly committed to my brain the boot imprints left in my driveway, and a
fingerprint expert could match the prints left in the two rooms in Overlook Inn
to the actor who left them. I didn’t expect that Arthur Rothschild was either
man, but I wanted to practice my lines anyway and see how he reacted.

“Mr. Rothschild, I’d like to see any boots and shoes
you have. And I might want to send a fingerprint expert by later today to take
your prints.”

“There’s a pair of shoes at the end of the couch.” He
pointed to their direction. “I’ve got a pair of boots and a pair of athletic
shoes in that closet,” he said, indicating the door. “I don’t have an occasion
to wear any of them often. I spend most of my time right here in the apartment.
I use this chair to get around the place, but most of the time I lie here just
where I am now. I must say I’ve never been fingerprinted. So, you think I’m
your man, huh, Lieutenant?”

“It looks that way. We found a little old lady down
the street and the tire tracks across her forehead resemble the ones on this
chair.”

“That’s what I get for doing away with her in broad daylight.”
Rothschild held out his hands. “I assume you have to cuff me.”

The three of us shared a laugh.

“No, seriously, Mr. Rothschild, we’re checking everyone.
I doubt if anything comes of it, but orders are orders.”

“I understand, Lieutenant. You know where my shoes and
boots are, and I’m not going anywhere in case you want some prints.”

After I checked his shoes and boots and found them not
to be the ones that interested me, I stood and Lou followed suit. The two of us
returned the chairs to the kitchen table and said, “Goodbye.”

+++

I knew that walls had ears, so the sergeant and I
didn’t discuss anything in the hall. Instead, we walked across the hall to
apartment number three and knocked. The look on the man’s face when he opened
the door told me that his prints might match the ones at Overlook Inn. After I
introduced myself, the man reluctantly admitted us to his apartment.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Mulroney. Martin Mulroney. What’s all this
about, Lieutenant?”

“I just have a few questions about some actors. You
are an actor, aren’t you, Mr. Mulroney?”

“I’m sure you already know that all of us in this building
make our living from acting, or did at one time.”

“Does that include Mrs. Crouch?”

“No, I meant the men.”

“Mr. Mulroney, can you tell me where you were on
Wednesday afternoon?”

“Wednesday? Let’s see. What day did it snow?”

“It snowed on Thursday.”

“Then Wednesday might’ve been the day I went out. I believe
it was. Yeah, that’s right. I was out Wednesday.”

“All day?”

“No, I didn’t go out until just before noon.”

“And what time did you return home?”

“Probably about four.”

“And where were you over the weekend?”

“The weekend?”

“Yeah, you know the weekend. It was just yesterday.
After the snow.”

“I was in and out. Mostly in.”

“Mr. Mulroney, I’m looking for some boots. Do you happen
to own some boots?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be much help in telling you what
kind of boots to buy. I seldom wear them.”

“I don’t want to buy any boots, Mr. Mulroney. I want
to see your boots.”

“My boots. Whatever for?”

“For the time being, let’s just make it my secret.
Now, will you get your boots for me?”

Reluctantly, Mulroney shuffled over to his closet,
pulled out a pair of boots, and handed them to me. They didn’t match the ones I
was looking for. When I found out that these boots were the only boots he
owned, I was down to one ace.

“Mr. Mulroney, will you be home all day today?”

“I expect so. Hadn’t planned to go anywhere.”

“Fine, I want to have a fingerprint man stop by and
take your prints.”

“My prints. Whatever for, or is that a secret, too?”

“No, Mr. Mulroney, it’s not a secret. We’re looking
for a man who went to the Overlook Inn over the weekend, once dressed as a
woman, once dressed as a man. This man left his prints in both rooms. We have a
nice set, and we just wanted to see how closely they match your prints.”

“Oh, what’s the use. It was me, Lieutenant. The guy
across the hall told me that Longworth was going to be reopening the inn, and
McArthur came up with the idea to surprise Longworth by going in character. I
decided to one-up the others. I went as an old lady on Thursday, sneaked out in
the middle of the night Friday night, came back and changed characters, then
went back again on Saturday, only I decided to hightail it when you got so
nosy. I didn’t mean anything by it. And you can imagine how scared I was when
some guy dropped dead across the table. Was he one of us, Lieutenant?”

I sat there. I’d found my actor, but I hadn’t found my
boots. Once I had unmasked Mulroney, he seemed so contrite, but then he was an
actor. 

“Mr. Mulroney, tell me a little bit about your acting
career prior to this weekend.”

“Well, I got hooked when I saw the movie
Witness
For The Prosecution.
When I found out it was originally a play written by
Agatha Christie, I got interested in acting. Are you familiar with the work,
Lieutenant?”

“It’s one of my favorite movies, along with
Wait
Until Dark, Dial M For Murder,
and
No Time For Sergeants.
”

“Did you know that all of those movies have been plays
at one time or another?”

“Really?”

“Yes, the first two were written by the same guy, Frederick
Knott. I’ve been fortunate enough to act in all three tales of terror. I always
wanted to play the part Charles Laughton played in the movie version of
Witness
For The Prosecution
, and I was fortunate to do so.”