The Happy Birthday Murder (7 page)

We went single file again and I remained last. On the return walk we were mostly silent except when Laura tripped over an exposed root and nearly fell. I dashed up to help, but she had grabbed onto a branch that steadied her.

“You all right?”

“Yes.” She was out of breath and looked scared. “I should have worn better shoes.”

“It's my fault. I should have mentioned what I had in mind.”

“You certainly work hard at this, Chris. Maybe you'll do what no one else has done.”

I patted her shoulder. “Let's wait and see what happens. We're a long way from finding out the truth.”

We started walking again. Betty had stopped to wait for us. Now she took up the lead and we followed. After about five minutes, Betty stopped and looked around.

“Is anything wrong?” Laura called.

“No, I'm just trying to get my bearings.”

“Do you mean you're lost?” Again Laura's voice was tight with fear.

“I think I got turned around a little. Stay where you are. I want to check something.” She took off.

Laura looked at me. “She's lost, isn't she?”

“Let's just wait,” I said calmly, although I didn't feel entirely calm.

“She hasn't been here for years. We should have gotten a guide or put markers along the way.”

I had no idea myself where we were. I looked up through trees that were losing their last leaves. When poor Darby had been here, it had been earlier in the season and there had been more leaves on the trees, making it darker. I looked around, trying to see or hear Betty, but she was gone. Beside me, Laura Filmore was almost shaking.

Then a voice came from somewhere ahead and to the right of us. “Yoo-hoo. Can you hear me?”

“We're over here!” I called back.

“I found the path. Can you follow my voice?”

“We're coming.”

“Keep talking. I'm standing still. Can you see me yet?”

“Not yet, but we're moving toward you.”

Then I saw something red through the trees. “There she is, Laura. She's waving her red silk scarf.”

“Yes, I see it. Thank God.”

“Here we are, Betty!” I called.

“Follow me. We'll be back at the house in a few minutes.”

Five minutes later we came out of the woods behind her friend's house, all of us having learned a lesson. The forest had its own rules and no one's survival was guaranteed. Betty had lost her way and some of her confidence, but we were safe and happy to be back.

We discussed another meeting and then we separated and all drove home.

“She was lost, wasn't she?” Laura said after we got on the main road and were heading home.

“I think she was, but not badly. She found her way pretty quickly.”

“I wouldn't want to do that again.”

“I understand.”

“What are you planning to do, Chris? I'm sure neither I nor my husband had any connection to that part of Connecticut, and you could see from our discussion that our lives never intersected. I don't see how you're going to put Larry together with Betty's son.”

“I want to put your husband and Betty's son together with an unknown third party, although it's possible your husband stopped at the side of the road and picked up Darby.”

“If that had happened, Larry would have seen to it that Darby was returned to his mother or at least to the police.”

“Which is why I think the other possibility is more likely.”

“But why the switch of sneakers? I just can't see how that happened.”

I had given it a lot of thought over the last days. “I think your husband was sending a message. He must have realized that there was a good chance that he would die or that Darby would die and, at least in Darby's case, it might look
like a natural death, the effect of weather and lack of food. He probably was able to convince Darby to switch sneakers, hoping that when his mother saw him she would see they weren't his and she would know someone had a hand in his death. The same goes for your husband's body if and when it was found.”

“So you don't think the switching was an accident?”

“No. It must have been very uncomfortable for your husband to wear shoes that were too small. I think whatever situation they were in, whether they were in the hands of some maniac or someone that your husband had dealings with, he sensed that they might not survive.”

“Why didn't he write a note and stick it in his pocket?”

“Because the person who was holding them was too clever for that. He may have confiscated pens and pencils. Were there any in your husband's personal effects?”

“No,” she said after a moment, “but he left in a hurry. He had his wallet, which had his driver's license, but that was all.”

“And Darby probably didn't have anything with him, either. He was wearing casual clothes. I'll check with Betty anyway, but that's what I'm thinking right now.”

“How will you proceed?”

“Two directions,” I said. “I want to find all the houses that Darby may have come across. I want to talk to any people who remember what happened twelve years ago. And on the other hand, I want to find out all I can about your husband's past. Do you have a problem with that?”

She changed lanes before she answered, checking mirrors carefully. “No, I don't. Larry was an honest man. He paid his taxes; he treated his employees well. I saw many of them weeping at his funeral. He had many business associates, a lot of whom came to the birthday party. He had good relations with them. I will help you check him out in any way I can.”

“Thank you. You told me yesterday you asked the police not to investigate the ownership of the gun that killed him.”

“I was feeling a little crazy at the time, Chris. I don't know how he got it or where he got it, but he obviously got it somehow. Maybe a business acquaintance gave it to him for protection.”

Or he got it illegally himself, I thought.

“Something you said a few minutes ago,” she said. “About pens and pencils. They were on his dresser, Chris. I found them there in the morning after he left. But nothing else was there. And now I think about it, when the medical examiner sent back his personal effects, there was no small change, well, maybe a few cents, a nickel and some pennies. And he always had a pocketful of change.”

“He may have spent it,” I said.

“He could have, but if he was in captivity, as you suggest, he may have been forced to give it to his captor.”

“Right.”

“I remember being surprised when I opened the bag with his wallet, but then I thought maybe someone in the medical examiner's office had taken it for himself.”

“That's always possible, but the police inventory everything they remove.”

She drove without speaking. I knew she was thinking of possibilities she had not considered before. I was glad we were on this trip together with no one else around and nothing to disturb us.

“And the wallet,” she said. “There was only one bill in it, a ten or twenty. Larry always carried a lot of money with him. It worried me, but he said you never knew when it would come in handy. I would bet he left the house with at least two hundred dollars and a pocketful of change.”

“And there was no money in the bedroom?”

“None at all. His good pen was there; I remember that. I gave it to my son sometime later. And a ballpoint he always carried in case he had to sign something with duplicate copies.” Her voice had turned urgent and eager. She was remembering things that had been mere facts at one time but that now had become meaningful. “But no money. And you know what? I remember hearing him gather his coins and drop them in his pocket before he left. You know how you hear something and later it comes back to you and makes sense? That's why it struck me as strange that there were almost no coins and bills left. I know he took it all with him.”

“You never made inquiries?”

She let her breath out. “When I saw the sneakers and knew they weren't Larry's, I called up. I think I may have told you. The man I spoke to took offense. Acted as though I was accusing him of theft. So when it occurred to me, somewhat later, that the money was wrong, I didn't want to call up again. Sneakers are one thing; money is much more serious.”

“This is very interesting, Laura. What you're suggesting is that his captor may have taken most of his money—not all because it would be too obvious—before he was killed. He left just enough that it wouldn't look as though he'd been robbed, at least not to the police.”

“You think Larry didn't kill himself,” she said.

“I don't know. Can you think of anything that might make him want to?”

Again she took time to answer, as though she was really trying to think of something so terrible that her husband would choose to end his life. “What would make a happy man kill himself?” she asked.

“The discovery of some old misdeed, some personal failing, some accident that may have looked like an intentional crime.”

Her face had grown very somber. She stared straight ahead, guiding the car through traffic. “Not Larry,” she said. “I knew Larry most of his life. He told me everything. I was his closest confidante. There were never any times when he didn't come home or disappeared for long periods of time. We kept in touch, even before the era of cell phones. If he was going to be late, he called me.”

“You said he owned a gun.”

“Yes, but he never shot anyone.”

“But you don't know where it is.”

She shook her head. “I wish I did.”

“Will you look for it?”

“I will. I'll search the house. I know it isn't in the safedeposit box because I've emptied that. I've never really looked for it. I will now.”

“Good.”

“This has been a very productive drive.”

“It has. Let's keep up the good work.”

Eddie was glad to see me and I equally glad to spend some time with him. As usual, he had some wonderful craft he had made in nursery school, a kite painted with bright colors, and I admired it and he told me how he had made it.

Finally he said, “I'm hungry.”

“What would you like?”

“A chocolate chip cookie.”

“Did Elsie make them for you?”

“Yes.” He smiled at me. He probably knew Elsie had given me a doggie bag with at least half of what she had baked.

“Let's see if I have any,” I said. I opened the drawer where I kept pretzels and cookies, my junk food drawer, and looked inside, knowing they were not there.

“I don't want those cookies. I want Elsie's.”

“I wonder if I have any.”

“You have them. I know.”

I gave him a squeeze and a kiss. “You're right. I just remembered where they are.” I went to the cabinet and took them out.

We sat at the table and munched on a couple. Elsie is a dream. If I didn't have her, my whole life would be different, and nowhere near as complete. The chocolate bits melted in my mouth. I was glad Eddie had brought up the subject.

“That's an interesting theory,” Jack said when we were alone in the evening. “That Filmore was sending a message.”

“The only other possibility is that the killer made them switch to make Filmore uncomfortable. But if he was smart enough to make a suicide look real, he wouldn't have wanted anyone finding the body—or bodies—to notice something wrong with the clothing.”

“You're right. And if Filmore had no other way to get the word out, that would have done it. I'm sure he never imagined his death would be made to look like a suicide, but he might have thought his body would be dumped somewhere or even hidden, possibly never to be found. But if Darby's body was found, his family would know the sneakers were wrong.”

“What Filmore didn't count on was that the bodies would be found in two different states. That really changed things.”

“It did. And also that the clothing wasn't returned to the families till later. So where are you going from here?”

“I'm putting together a bunch of questions to ask Betty. And I want to investigate Lawrence Filmore's past.”

“I'll see what I can find on Monday. Does his wife know you're doing this?”

“Yes, and she gave me her permission. She doesn't think I'll find anything.”

“She may not know.” Jack got up, got a sheet of paper, and folded it twice, writing below a folded edge. He asked for whatever information I had, address, age, birth date.

“I'm going to go to the plant he owned,” I said. “Laura gave me the address and some names before she dropped me off. They make upscale leather items, like belts and handbags and wallets. Her father-in-law started the business after the Second World War, and Larry went to work there out of college. So that was his life.”

“And all the organizations he worked for.”

“It's hard to believe anyone in a charitable organization would murder a donor.”

“You don't know what their relationships were. You keep referring to the killer as ‘he.' Maybe he fell for a woman at the Find a Cure for Cancer charity.”

I smiled. “Here comes the deep, dark side of Jack Brooks.”

“Murder's pretty deep and dark. You think everyone who works for the good of mankind is good? You want me to cite chapter and verse?”

“Please don't. It's bad enough when I hear about it on the news.”

“Got some news myself. I signed up for a course to prep for the lieutenant's exam.”

“That's great.” He had been studying by himself for several months and this was the next step. “When will it start?”

“After the first of the year. It means nights again, honey. Can you take it?”

“If you can, I can.” The first few years of our marriage Jack had gone to law school at night, then studied for the bar. Having him home on a regular basis was a continuing
gift, but I knew he wanted to advance and this was the way up.

“Glad to hear it. Got any more of Elsie's cookies?”

Two of a kind, I thought.