Death by Hitchcock (8 page)

Chapter 21

Will rang the doorbell, and ran his eye over the attractive homes with their tidy yards up and down the quiet street. Years of police work
––let alone, life––had taught him that things were never as they seemed, that conflicts erupted and spun out of control in the most beautiful houses imaginable.

He rang the bell again.

Susan Winner answered the door. 

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting!” she said. “Detective Tenney, right? Please come in. I was just making coffee. We can sit in the kitchen.”

Yoga pants and a tee shirt showed off Mrs. Winner’s trim figure,
fit enough to overcome Bunny Baldwin,
Will thought. Susan Winner had an open, pretty face, and she reminded Will of other young mothers he saw around town, pushing strollers and wearing workout clothes. Her hair was gathered in a high ponytail that bounced as she walked. Will followed her down an airy hallway, where potted ficus trees thrived under skylights streaming in sunshine. The house was stylishly decorated with bright colors and modern furniture. 

“Coffee?” Susan said.

“Thanks,” Will replied.

The kitchen table was encircled by child-friendly placemats. Will sat down in front of one that showed the planetary orbits, and listed each planet’s distance from the sun. He studied it while Susan Winner filled two coffee cups. School artwork made by young children decorated the walls. An overweight tabby cat napped on a rug drenched in sunlight next to the French doors.  

“Mrs. Winner, did you know there was a murder at the college?”

“Yes, I heard about it on the news,” she said, sipping coffee.

Will said nothing, waiting to see if she would elaborate in some way. She didn’t.

“As a matter of fact, it was a student in your husband’s department who was killed. A young woman,” Will said.

She gazed at Will with an even expression.

“I realize the awkwardness of the situation,” Susan Winner said. “Well, that sounds cold-hearted, doesn’t it, referring to the death of a student as ‘awkward’? What I meant was, I am aware of my husband’s involvement with the girl who died, which is what makes the situation awkward.”

“Awkward in what way?” Will said. 

“Awkward for
me
,” Susan Winner said, her eyes flashing with anger. 

“I have little kids, you know. If it comes out that Chaz was involved with this student, my kids will probably hear all sorts of rumors from other kids
––repeating what they’ve heard from their parents. Chaz could even be a suspect, for all I know!”

“What a guy,” she said sourly. “First he dumps me, then he takes up with a student, and now he may be involved in a murder!” 

She bit her lip and studied the succession of American presidents on her placemat.

“I’m sorry, detective,” she said. “I’m not a very happy camper these days. I’m sorry if I snapped at you.”

“It’s perfectly understandable under the circumstances,” Will replied.

“This wasn’t his first indiscretion with a student, you know,” she said.

Susan Winner stared into her coffee cup as if it were a Magic Eight Ball, waiting for it to conjure up an answer.

“Last year,” she continued, “at the Department Christmas party, Chaz had too much to drink. He disappeared for a while, and when he came back, he was with some fat cow of a student. They both looked very smug. It was disgusting.”

Will nodded sympathetically.

“I have to ask you this, Mrs. Winner, but had you ever met Bunny Baldwin?”

“God, that name!” Susan exclaimed. “She sounds like a cartoon character. The whole thing is so humiliating!”

She looked at Will helplessly. Tears ran down her cheeks. She plucked a tissue from a box on the kitchen table and wiped her eyes. 

“I just wish I could get past feeling so furious all the time,” she said, twisting the tissue in her fingers. 

“I hate feeling all this bitterness and anger. I can’t stand feeling like this around my children. They’re so loving and innocent. I wish the whole thing would go away, and I could be my old, happy self, again.”

“And that your husband would come back?” Will asked.

“Well,” Susan Winner replied, “I don’t know. I don’t really know how I feel about that right now.”

“I’m sorry to ask you these things,” Will said, “but I have to. If you’d rather do it another day, I can come back.”

Susan smiled appreciatively.

“No, it’s okay. Ask away.”

“How long had your husband been involved with Bunny?”

“I can’t say for sure. But I remember I started feeling uneasy around the beginning of the term. He seemed to be spending more time at the college. When I would ask him why, he didn’t really have a definite answer. He would just say it was Film Society stuff––planning meetings or whatever.”

“Had you ever met Bunny?” Will repeated.

“No.”

“Bunny was due to graduate this year. Did you have any sense of what would have happened to your husband’s relationship with her once she left Cushing?” Will asked.

Susan fell silent. She got up from the table and came back with the coffee pot. She refilled their cups, replaced the pot in the coffee machine, and sat down again.

“If, by ‘relationship’, you mean, ‘ridiculous fling that was bound to crash and burn’, then yes,” she said. 

“I heard rumors that Chaz was planning to move to Los Angeles and play house with her,” Susan said, trying to control the anger in her voice. “I confronted Chaz about it. He didn’t actually confirm it, but he didn’t deny it, either.”

She sipped her coffee. Will waited for more lava to flow.

“It turns out Chaz isn’t the pillar of strength and virtue I thought he was,” Susan said, her mouth twisting into a rueful smile. “He was a brilliant graduate student when we met, with a great career ahead of him. He has always been a good provider. And a good dad.”

Susan paused to blow her nose.

“But it turns out he’s actually a pretty weak sister, who doesn’t even have the courage to tell me he’s planning to move to the other side of the country so he can spend the rest of his life with Wondergirl.” 

“Are you and your husband speaking?” Will asked.

“More or less. We try to be civilized for the sake of the children. That’s important to both of us. It’s funny, though; he seems ambivalent about the divorce. One day he’s calling me ten times about filing paperwork, and then other times he’s dragging his feet about it. I guess maybe I’m ambivalent about it, too. As angry as I am, divorce is just so––
final
.”

“Have you ever been to your husband’s apartment?” Will said.

“Yes. I’ve been there once. I dropped some stuff off when he first moved in,” Susan said.

“I have to ask your whereabouts the day Bunny was killed,” Will said. “It’s standard operating procedure.  That would be on Friday between four-thirty and six-thirty p.m.”

“I was probably home with my kids, like I always am. Cooking dinner, doing bath time, the usual routine.”

“Any way to verify that?” Will asked.

“For heaven’s sake, detective.
Really
?” she said.

Will waited patiently.

“Oh, my gosh!” she continued. “This is really embarrassing; I just remembered something. My sister dropped by, and I ran out to the market to get a few things I’d forgotten to pick up for dinner. She stayed here with the kids ‘til I got back. That would have been about four-thirty or five o’clock.”

“Which market was that?” Will asked.

“Dan’s.”

“There’s just one more thing for now,” Will added. 

“It has come to my attention that you are involved in a sexual relationship with one of your husband’s students.  Is that correct?”

“My god! How do people dig this stuff up? What a rotten little grapevine runs through this town,” Susan Winner said contemptuously. “It’s really none of your business, is it?”

“Everything is my business in a murder investigation, Mrs. Winner,” Will replied.

Susan Winner got up from the table and walked over to the sink.

“Look,” she said, leaning against the counter, “I can’t imagine how my private life has anything to do with any of this. It’s not exactly something I’m proud of, and it’s certainly nothing I want my kids to know about.” 

She leveled an icy gaze at Will. He returned it.

“It was a revenge thing,” she said. “I was so mad at Chaz for wrecking everything––I didn’t know what to do with myself. I guess I needed to strike back at him.”

“Is the relationship still going on?” Will said.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. It is.”

“I’ll need to know the name of the individual,” Will said.

“Oh, God,” Susan Winner groaned, dropping her face into her hands. 

“It’s Wallace Duncan,” she muttered.

Chapter 22

Will called Edwina from the car.

“Thanks for the tip about the boyfriend. How’d you know?” he said.

“A kid I know in the Film Department told me,” Edwina replied.

Silence from Will’s end. 

“So? What’s Mrs. Winner like?” she pressed.

“Angry. Resentful. Hurt. She doesn’t know whether to spit or cry, and she’s doing plenty of both,” he replied.

“Think she killed Bunny?” Edwina blurted.

“Could be,” Will said simply. “She’s still got pictures of her husband all over the house.”

“That must mean she wants him back,” Edwina said.

When the call ended
, Edwina felt a sudden spike of excitement about being back in partnership with Will. They had worked well together in the Sidebottom investigation. Even when they butted heads––or maybe especially so––they had a strong regard for each other’s way of thinking. Edwina realized she had missed this partnership. She considered sleuthing around the cosmos to find out how subatomic particles interacted a dream day job, but her taste for human intrigue was mounting.

Chapter 23

Will found Aaron Farb in the editing facility at Hexley Hall. The lanky young man, dressed in rumpled khakis and a plaid flannel shirt, was hunched over a computer.

“Aaron? I’m Detective Tenney, New Guilford Police,” Will said. “I’d like to speak with you about Bunny Baldwin’s murder.”

“Sure,” Aaron said, looking up from the computer. The young man had an open face and a prominent Adam’s apple. A mop of curly hair seemed to spring gently in place.

“That looks interesting,” Will said, nodding at the computer screen.

“It’s a Mac program we use for editing,” Aaron replied. 

“I shot my final project on film, and this program lets me transfer the film onto a computer so I can edit it digitally. It’s sure a lot easier than using a Kem, or a splicer and a movieola, like in the old days!” he said genially.

“So, you’re editing a movie you made for a school project?” Will said.

“Yup. It’s for my final grade. Keeping my fingers crossed for an A,” he said, holding up both hands with fingers crossed.

“Good luck with it,” Will smiled. 

“Aaron, I understand you are the projectionist for the Film Society?”

“Yes, sir. I applied for the job last year. The extra money comes in handy,” Aaron said.

“Oh?”

“Oh, definitely. I’m at Cushing on scholarship. Pocket money is tight, not like most of the students
here. I get twenty-five bucks a pop for showing a movie.”

“Uh-huh. Aaron, would you walk me through the events of the night you showed
Spellbound
?”

“Sure,” Aaron nodded eagerly, his hair bouncing gently. “Okay. I started the movie at five after seven. I watched the screen to make sure the film was showing properly. And then I did what I usually do
––got my books out of my backpack and used the time to study. Every once in a while I peeked out to make sure the movie was running okay. The next thing I knew, Milo Marcus was in the projection room yelling at me to stop the movie.”

“Let’s back up for just a second, Aaron. Did you get a text message from the Film Department secretary, telling you to arrive early at Hexley Hall that evening?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you hear anything unusual
––a scream, maybe––before Milo Marcus came into the projection room?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, go on. Tell me about Milo Marcus,” asked Will.

“He’s a grad student in the film department. A lot of people think he’s a genius, just because movies are like a religion to him,” Aaron said.

“But you don’t think so?”

“Not really,” Aaron said. “I think he’s just a rich, pretentious snob.”

“So, you didn’t actually hear or see anything unusual going on that night?” Will asked.

“No,” Aaron answered. “You can’t really hear much inside the projection room. The first I knew of anything was when Milo came in.”

“Okay,” Will said, scribbling down notes. “Now, then. Did you know Bunny Baldwin?”

“I didn’t know her very well,” Aaron replied. “Everybody knew who she was. Everybody in the Department, I mean.”

“What did you think of her?” Will said.

“I can’t say I liked her all that much. She was pretty stuck-up.”

“Stuck-up, how?” Will said.

“For one thing, she came from a wealthy family, and she didn’t mind people knowing it. Her parents were always taking her on vacations in private planes, stuff like that. And then, when her screenplay sold, and she got an agent, she totally broadcast it around the Department. Everybody knew she was moving to L.A. with Professor Winner. She was pretty full of herself.”

Will grimaced in a way he hoped communicated solidarity with Aaron’s feeling of not liking stuck-up girls.

“Was Bunny a good student?”

“That’s the weird thing,” Aaron said. “I don’t know how she even got into the Film Studies program here. Her parents must have written a big, fat check to the school to get her in, or something. One time in class we were discussing the French director, Rene Clair, and she thought we were talking about a fashion magazine. I don’t think she could have come up with one early Russian film title if her life depended on it, you know? She didn’t know beans about movies!”

“Whoops,” Aaron said. “That was kind of harsh. I just meant she wasn’t really into movies that much.”

Will nodded sympathetically.

“Do you know Bunny’s roommate, Mary Buttery?” Will said.

“Sure, I know Mary. She was in one of my classes last semester. Very nice person. Very smart. She’s the one who actually wrote the screenplay Bunny supposedly co-wrote, that got bought by a Hollywood studio. It was common knowledge that Mary’s the one who did all the work.”

“That must have made Mary resentful
,” Will said.

“Yeah, probably. It would have bugged the heck out of me if I were Mary. I don’t know why Mary didn’t make more of a stink about the whole thing, actually. I guess she’s too nice.”

“Aaron, I was wondering if you could take a look at this,” Will said, producing a plastic evidence bag containing the piece of celluloid film found tied in Bunny’s hair. 

“Sure,” Aaron said, holding the filmstrip up to the light.

“Can you tell me what movie it’s from?” Will said.

Aaron studied each frame carefully. 

“I can tell you it’s French, because I recognize some of the actors,” he said.

“It looks like it was shot in the seventies, judging from the clothes. It’s definitely not Truffaut. It’s not Godard or Rohmer.”

Aaron handed it back to Will.

“I can’t tell you, Detective; I’m sorry.”

“If you can remember, where were you before you arrived at Hexley Hall that night? Let’s say, from five p.m. until seven?”

“That’s easy,” Aaron said. “I have a part-time job working at the student cafeteria. I get dinner free. I usually get the chicken fried steak on Fridays. A ton of people would have seen me there.”