The Valentine's Day Murder (10 page)

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Carlotta said, sitting next to the phone with the sheet of questions on the desk in front of her.

“Whatever happens, try to stay very calm and sound very pleasant. If we decide to go there, I don’t want them to throw us out at the door.”

“Here goes.” She pressed the speaker button and a loud dial tone filled the room. Then she dialed, each beep piercing the silence. The connection was made and the distant phone began to ring, all the sounds magnified as though under some kind of tonal microscope.

“Hello?” It was the woman.

“May I speak to Mr. Krassky, please?”

“Just a minute.” The woman laid the phone down and we heard her call, “Greg? Can you pick up?”

“Hello?” It was a man’s voice.

Carlotta turned and looked at me. Her face had lost its usual self-assurance, and for a moment I thought she might really come apart. But she turned to the desk, glanced at my hand-written lines, and said, “Mr. Krassky, I live near Buffalo, New York. I found your name and address recently, and I think you can help me with a problem.”

“Who did you say you were?”

“My name is Carlotta French. I believe you had a son named Valentine.”

“Are you the woman who called this afternoon and spoke with my wife?”

“No, I’m not, sir. I understand your son died some time ago.”

“It’s almost thirty years. What is your interest in his death?”

Thirty years would make him about five or six, I thought. And there went my beautiful theory up in smoke.

“I have known a man with your son’s name,” Carlotta said, being careful not to disclose the relationship.

“Then it’s a coincidence. My son is dead. I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“Can you tell me how your son died?”

We heard his breath in the room we were sitting in. “He died in a hospital,” he said wearily, as though the death had occurred so recently that he had not had time to get over the newness of it.

“In a hospital? Was he in an accident?”

“It wasn’t an accident. He got sick and we brought him in. We thought he was getting better, but he died in the middle of the night. What does this have to do with you?”

“Maybe it is a coincidence,” Carlotta said with an echo of defeat. “Can you tell me the name of the hospital he died in?”

“This is absurd. If you have questions, write me a letter and identify yourself. I don’t know what you’re after, but I’m not saying anything else over the phone. And please don’t call my wife. It’s too upsetting for her. We lost our beautiful little son and our lives haven’t been the same since. Good night, Miss French.”

The hang-up crackled in our room, and Carlotta pressed the speaker button again. “I didn’t get much,” she said.

“You got plenty. You know when and where he died—or when he is supposed to have died. If a child’s sick, you take it to the nearest hospital. I think we could look at a map and find the right one. I have another idea. Maybe another Krassky lived in that town, Gregory’s brother. Maybe both men had sons with the same name.”

“Two boys born on Valentine’s Day?”

“Valentin is a Slavic name. It could be a family name. Maybe Val got the wrong birth certificate and never noticed it. Or maybe he just didn’t want to bother writing for the right one. Accidents happen. Did he send for it or did you?”

“He did. I got mine from my mother. She had a copy at home.”

“Did Val open his?”

“Yes. I never open his mail unless it’s addressed to both of us.”

“I’m going to talk to Jack tonight. He can find someone in the Trumbull police station to check a phone book. It’s probably the phone book for the whole area, and we’ll see how many Krasskys they come up with. I’ll also ask if he can find out the name of the local hospital. This may be worth a trip, Carlotta, but let’s not go too soon. Let’s see what Jack can dig up for us.”

Carlotta got up and walked to the bookcase across the room, leaving behind the questions I had prepared, most of which she had not had the opportunity to ask. Personally, I thought she had done very well. He hadn’t hung up on her, which was my greatest fear. He had told us where the child died, and we knew now the boy hadn’t been burned beyond recognition or hit by a car or drowned. I stopped my thoughts on the last word. That would have
been some coincidence, to be drowned twice. But it hadn’t happened.

“All I wanted was to find my husband alive,” Carlotta said. “Now I find he died twenty-five years before I met him.”

“We’ll find out,” I said. “The fact that there are strange things going on tells us to keep looking. I have no intention of giving up.”

“Hey, good to hear your voice, Chris,” Jack said in my ear.

“Same here. You just get home?”

“Just walked in. Haven’t even looked at the mail yet. How’re you feeling?”

“Great.”

“Drinking your milk?”

“Carlotta got a gallon of skim, and I’m making my way through it.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It is. I have things to tell you.”

“Let me pull up a chair.”

I went through it all, from the insurance policy to the Krasskys in Connecticut, dictating names and addresses, and spelling out my requests. Nothing I asked was impossible, but nothing was certain. Still, when I said good night, I had the feeling I would know a lot more by this time tomorrow.

When I got up in the morning, my first thought was that I was glad I didn’t have to catch a plane. I felt awful. I regretted immediately the delicious lobster I had
devoured the night before. Flu, I thought miserably. Four hundred miles from home and I have to get sick.

I sat up and became aware that I didn’t feel feverish. I pulled on my robe and went to my private bathroom where I looked at myself in the mirror. It wasn’t the most pleasing sight I’d ever seen. I washed and brushed my teeth, then brushed my hair, all the while hoping my stomach would calm down.

I went downstairs and found Carlotta putting breakfast together. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” I said, pulling a chair out from the breakfast table. “I think the lobster didn’t sit well.”

“Maybe it’s morning sickness,” she said.

“Morning sickness.” I felt a sense of relief and, I must admit, a bit of pride. “Morning sickness.” I was pregnant. This is what happened to other women, and it was happening to me. “I bet that’s it. I’m sure I’m not running a temperature.”

“What’s the antidote? Do you take pills?”

“No, not unless it gets severe. She said dry toast or crackers or something like that. I wish I could drink some tea. It’s so soothing.”

Carlotta brought a box of long, narrow, crisp toasts to the table, and I broke one and started to eat it. On the stove, a handsome tea kettle was already over a flame.

“I feel like an idiot,” I said. “I insulted that lobster wrongfully.”

She laughed. “You’re forgiven. Is this the first time you’ve had it?”

“The absolute first. I really thought I was ill. I think I’m feeling better already. Just knowing what it is is a help.”

“I’ve got some English Breakfast. How does that sound?”

“I guess I’d better not. Dr. Campbell frowns on caffeine in any form. I’ll just pour myself a glass of milk. As long as I know I’m not dying, I think I’ll feel better on my feet.”

She looked approvingly at me. “How are the crackers?”

“Very tasty.” I stood and munched another, feeling a little giddy. A new experience in my life. I was on my way to being a mother.

“Jake said to drop in anytime,” Carlotta said, as we finished our breakfast.

I was feeling much better, the crackers and milk having done their work. “Then I’ll dress and drive over.”

“When will you hear from Jack?”

“It’s hard to say. If he has time, he’ll probably call as soon as he has something. If you’re here, I’m sure he’ll tell you whatever he knows.”

“I’ll be here. You and Jake don’t need me.”

I went upstairs, dressed, and made the bed.

Val’s daily drive to work was a scant twenty minutes. It struck me as a nice way to live. Jack drives a very long distance now that we’re married. His old drive or subway ride from one part of Brooklyn to another has been replaced by a trip from our Westchester suburb southwest into the big city. But here was a man who could get up in the morning, have a leisurely breakfast, and be at work by eight-thirty without trying very hard.

The building that Val’s and Jake’s business was in was a small, square, three-story construction of red brick. The directory inside the front door showed only one other
business on the first floor. Whatever the other offices held, there couldn’t have been many employees. Except for mine, there were no cars at the curb, and the small lot behind the building was mostly empty.

When I knocked at the inside door, standing at a glass window so I could be seen, the man inside looked my way and buzzed me in.

“Ms. Bennett?”

“Yes. I’m Chris.”

“Jake Halpern.” He held out his hand. “Glad to meet you.” He opened a door, called someone, and said to me, “We can sit in back and talk. Otherwise I’ll be interrupted all morning.”

A younger man appeared, and we went back to a cluttered office with cartons piled, strange-looking components scattered, and a desk under siege. Jake emptied a chair for me and took the one at his desk.

“Carlotta said you wanted to talk about Val.”

“She thinks he’s alive.”

“Carlotta would think Val was alive if they found his body in the lake. She can’t face the truth. I’m having a damn hard time facing it myself.”

“But she has reasons. She thinks he wasn’t the kind of man who would do something so stupid.”

“I’d like to think she’s right. It doesn’t look that way.”

“Did you know Val’s two friends, Matty and Clark?”

“Sure. They’d drop in sometimes. I went out with them once in awhile.”

“The impression I get is that Matty exerted a lot of pressure on Clark. If Matty dared Clark to do something, he’d do it.”

“That’s pretty accurate. Matty was that kind of guy. Clark was more malleable.”

“And Val?”

“Different from both, more of his own man. He didn’t have an ego like Matty’s, and nobody except Carlotta could twist him around their finger. We were in business for a long time together. We got along and we were good friends. I’ve seen him under fire. He was a guy who could hold his own.”

“Then you’re saying what Carlotta says: Matty couldn’t embarrass him into doing something stupid.”

“Right. But he might’ve done it because he wanted to, because these two guys were his friends, they were in a good mood, crossing the lake to Canada was a challenge, and he was always up for a challenge. There’re a lot of reasons why he might have gone with them.”

“And you think he did.”

“Is there any indication that he didn’t?”

I decided not to get into that. “Carlotta and I have done some digging in the last two days, and we’ve found some interesting things about Val. You knew him for a long time, didn’t you?”

“Fifteen years, anyway.”

“Did you go to college together?”

“We met there.”

“What do you know about his family?”

He smiled for the first time since we had sat down. “OK, you hit the one crazy part of Val’s life. I admit it. There was something damn weird about his family.”

“Like what?”

“Like whether they existed.”

“You mean his parents?”

“Like I’m not sure he even had parents. If he did, he never talked about them. I come from a family that’s very close and very outgoing. My father does his thing,
my mother does hers, my grandmother would drop in during the day when I was a kid. I have a sister and a brother, and we never stood still, always doing something, always going somewhere. I would say to Val, ‘You should see this girl my brother brought home over Christmas. Wow!’ or ‘My sister’s playing the lead in the high school play, and I’m going home to see it.’ And we would talk about my family. But in all the years I knew that man, I never once heard him say the words ‘my mom’ or ‘my dad.’ If he had brothers and sisters, it’s news to me. He would leave college for vacation and drop into a void.”

“You mean you don’t know where he went?”

“I mean I don’t know what planet he went to.”

“Did he ever talk about Connecticut?”

“Not that I remember. Hey, can I get you some coffee?”

I was feeling pretty good and I would have loved a cup, but I thought I’d better not. “No thanks,” I said. “How did the two of you happen to open your business here?”

“OK, that’s a link. He knew western New York. He was the first person I ever met who told me about the Erie Canal. I’m from New York, and the only canal I’d ever heard of was Canal Street in downtown Manhattan. I kicked around a little after school and he did, too. When we got together to think about making our fortune, Val suggested the Buffalo area.”

“So he had a connection here.”

“Yeah, but don’t ask me what it was. Maybe it was Matty and Clark.”

“They were here when you opened up?”

“Oh, yeah. I met them right away.”

“Do you know their wives?”

“A little.”

“Jake, we found Val’s birth certificate in the safe deposit box in the bank. He was born in Connecticut.”

“If you tell me, I believe it. Maybe he left as a kid, and his memories were just of this area.”

“That must be it,” I said. “Did you ever meet any of his old girlfriends?”

“Dozens. Val went out a lot. When we first opened up, we shared a flat in a two-family house in Buffalo and commuted out here. Then about a year later, I got married and my wife and I got ourselves a place nearby. Val didn’t get married for a few years, and I used to meet his girlfriends when he took them out. Susie and I would go out with them once in awhile or meet them for a drink. Val always dated nice girls, pretty, smart. Once, I remember, he went out with a doctor.”

“So there was nothing out of the ordinary there.”

“Nothing I saw.”

“Were you at his wedding?”

“Sure. We flew out to Ohio.”

“Who was there?”

“Her family. That’s all.”

“And his friends?”

“Goes without saying. Matty and Clark were there with their wives. And some other people Val knew. But I don’t think there were any of his sisters or his cousins or his aunts,” he said, paraphrasing Gilbert and Sullivan.