Death of a Washington Madame (6 page)

"He'd be dead."

Gloria, the maid, was sitting in an upholstered easy chair
in her room when Gail and Fiona came in. The room was less sparse compared to Roy's, more homey and comfortable. On her bed was a colorful wool throw with what looked
like an Indian design against a blue background.

Fiona cursorily inspected the books placed in a long row of
shelving that took up one side of her room. Among a clutter of cookbooks were
books by Alex Haley and Tony Morrison, a bible with leather covers curled with
use, and biographies of Luther Burbank and Martin Luther King.

Gloria--her last name was Carpenter--had jowly apple cheeks
which merged with a puddle of chins. Her tight-cropped hair had grayed. Her
eyes were dark but prominent with curled lashes and, at the moment, seemed to
express both regret and resignation.

Besides being stout, she was very tall; not quite as tall
as Gail Prentiss, but with her full figure she gave one the impression of
strength and authority, although at the moment she looked forlorn and defeated.
She wore a black uniform with an embroidered collar and matching cuffs.

Her copper-hued hands were large, strong, even in repose
and clasped frozen in her lap. Beyond the sadness of grieving, Fiona sensed
that the woman was still trying to comprehend the turn of events and its
consequences.

The terrible discovery, understandably, had taken the
starch out of her. Her voice sounded weary, with a note of resignation, as if
she was bearing witness, yet again, to an unhappy discovery.

There was a picture of a family on the end table next to
her bed, which she identified as Fiona looked at it. Gail picked it up and
studied it with more interest. It showed a stout black woman and four children,
a boy and three girls."

"A lovely family," Gail said.

"My sister Loreen and her children a few years
back," Gloria replied. Gail put the picture back in its place.

"The one you visited yesterday?" Fiona asked.

Gloria nodded.

"She lives in Southeast?"

Again Gloria nodded.

"Who drove you home?"

"My nephew Benjamin. He takes me home every Thursday
night when I come to visit."

Replacing the photograph, Gail picked up another in a
silver frame standing beside it. It was an older picture, slightly browned with
age, depicting three children, a boy no more than two or three and two teenage
girls, all three, apple cheeked and clearly having the look of siblings.

"Your brother and sister when you were kids?"
Gail asked, studying the picture with interest.

"Yes," Gloria replied. "Loreen, Lionel and
me."

Gail replaced the picture and roamed the room, taking in
every detail, lingering over the books, one of which she opened and appeared to
read from it briefly.

"How long have you worked for Mrs. Shipley?"

"Goin' on forty-eight years."

"A few years less than Roy."

"Yes. I was nineteen years old. The baby, William was
just born."

"Were you his Nanny?"

"That was Martha. Long gone now. More people worked
for Madame then. There was cook, a nanny, and two maids. I was one. And Roy." She grew wistful and her eyes moistened.

"Have you enjoyed your work here?"

"Every day." Her eyes lifted. "I loved
her."

Gail slid the book she had been reading into the shelf.
Fiona noted that it was "Roots" by Alex Haley.

"Have you and Roy always called her Madame?"

Gloria looked at her and frowned as if the question were in
an alien language.

"She was always Madame to us."

"And your wages? Always in cash?"

"Yes. Cash. Me and Roy both."

"Did Madame ever promise you ... in her will?"

There was a moment of hesitation. Gloria averted her eyes
and bit her lip.

"Madame has always been good to us."

"So you do have expectations of....?"

"Madame would never ever turn her back on us,"
she said firmly. "And she knew that, no matter what, both Roy and I would
take care of her until the day she died..." She stopped speaking abruptly,
realizing what she had said. "...as we done." She shrugged and her
eyes moistened again.

Gail finished her roaming and leaned against the wall
watching the interrogation. It was not uncommon for one to remain silent while
the other asked the questions, although Gail was often more voluble than most
of her other partners, especially the males, and might often jump in with a
probing question.

"Can you think of anyone who could do such a terrible
thing to ... to Madame?" Fiona asked.

Gloria reflected for a moment, then shook her head slowly.
Fiona watched her looking for some sign of hesitation. None was apparent.

"No," she said in a whisper. "I can't....
can't believe anyone could do a thing like that to Madame. Everybody loved
her."

"Everybody?"

Fiona detected the first note of hesitation.

"Madame was a good person," Gloria sighed.

"She was supposed to have a cutting wit," Fiona
said. "If the put-down is too biting people take it for cruelty."

"Madame? Madame was not a cruel person," Gloria
protested gently. "But she was honest about people. What some people might
take contrary was the way she joked. She knew the good ones from the bad
ones."

"Still, there were those who might not have taken her
remarks as a joke," Fiona said. "She could have made enemies that
way."

"Madame had no enemies," Gloria said.
"Anyone that knew her, knew she was honest and decent. She made jokes is
all."

"With a put-down style," Fiona said.

"I don't know about that. She was a kind woman, the
best in the world."

"And you can think of no enemies she might have made?
People who took her remarks wrong?"

"Nothing I seen," she said emphatically."

"In the years that you worked for her, Gloria."
Fiona paused." Did she have any men friends?"

Gloria seemed to rear up with indignation, obviously
uncomfortable with the question. Then she stood up with some effort and walked
to the other end of the room, turning suddenly, her expression troubled.

"It's not my place, Miz..."

"FitzGerald."

"Miz FitzGerald." She shook her head.
"Madame had many men friends."

"I meant lovers, Gloria."

Gloria's agitation clearly accelerated. Her nostrils
widened in anger.

"That's a terrible thing to say."

"There's no need to be protective, Gloria. We need to
get at the bottom of this. It's our job to know everything about the
victim."

Gloria shook her head vigorously.

"Does that mean that to your knowledge she had no
lovers?"

"Madame never messed with men. She was a Godly woman,
a good woman."

"Gloria, Madame is dead."

"Miz FitzGerald," Gloria said, pulling her
shoulder's back, striking a pose of indomitable dignity. "In my heart, she
will always be Madame. For me, she will always be alive."

Denial, Fiona thought, she is in denial. Fiona had seen
manifestations of this phenomenon before, many times.

"I understand that, Gloria. Really I do. I was simply
asking a question relevant to the investigation. We are seeking her killer,
Gloria."

"I told you." Gloria said with indignation.

"I take that as gospel then, Gloria," Fiona said
gently. "About men."

Gloria nodded her understanding.

"You must not hold anything back, Gloria," Fiona
said. "What you might think is a small detail could help us find the
person who did this terrible thing to her."

"I understand, Miz FitzGerald," Gloria said
firmly.

"I know you do Gloria."

Gloria sighed.

"Nobody could ever say anything bad about
Madame," Gloria said, a reiteration of her attitude.

Gloria's reactions during this first interrogation had been
contrary to Fiona's initial expectations. Fiona had come across faithful
retainers before, but when she did many of them revealed a secret resentment of
their employers. Gloria hinted at no such animosity. Quite the opposite. Nor
did Roy. Fiona decided to let the matter sit and start a new tack.

"Did Mrs. Shipley get along with William's wife?"

Tension between Mrs. Shipley and her daughter-in-law had
been a lingering impression left by Madeline Newtown at Daisy's dinner party
and their conversations earlier in the day. Fiona had been seeking the perfect
moment to pose such a question. This seemed like that moment.

"I never mixed in Madame's family matters, Miz
FitzGerald."

"All I'm asking...."

"I can understand English, Miz FitzGerald. We never
mixed is all."

"Don't you see Gloria," Fiona said trying to find
the right tone of ingratiation. "By your refusal to answer the question,
you leave us with the conclusion that all was not serene between Mrs. Shipley
and Madeline."

"It wasn't my place..." Gloria replied, her voice
drifting off in protest.

"It's perfectly natural for a loving mother to resent
a son's wife..."

"It's alright Gloria," Gail interrupted suddenly.
"You don't have to hold back now. You don't have to be afraid of
her."

Gloria shot Gail a look of derision, as if she were
insulted. Fiona was puzzled by Gail's remark.

"I never feared Madame," Gloria said indignantly.
"I told you. I loved her. You don't fear people you love."

"I think you might have misinterpreted.... "Gail
began.

Fiona signaled Gail with her eyes. My interrogation,
please. Gail shrugged and nodded.

"Would it be mixing if I asked how she and William got
on?"

Gloria reflected for a moment, then offered a thin smile.

"Madame loved William," she said.

"Gloria. I'm a police detective," Fiona said with
mounting inner frustration. "Believe me I respect your sense of confidence
in terms of Mrs. Shipley. But someone murdered her, probably raped her. I'm not
asking you to compromise your integrity or her dignity. Don't you want to find
her killer?"

Gloria lowered her eyes and nodded.

"When you work for someone for nearly fifty years,
Gloria," Fiona said. "I assume you have transcended an employer
employee relationship, especially in this line of work. You've been her
confidante, an intimate observer of this scene for nearly five decades. To find
a murderer, it is often necessary to probe deeply into the life and character
of the victim. Do you understand me?"

Gloria turned and paced the room for a moment, obviously
weighing the options. As she passed Gail, she gave her a brief look of disapproval.
Finally, she moved closer to Fiona and stood before her. Fiona had to look
upward to study her eyes.

"William was the light of her life, Miz
FitzGerald."

Fiona smiled and shook her head in a gesture of approval.

"So that anything that made him happy made her
happy."

A shadow crossed Gloria's face.

"She loved Billy deeply."

Fiona took note of the familiar diminutive.

"And loving him would certainly indicate approval of
anything that made him happy," Fiona persisted.

"Madame was sorry that Florence never made him happy. Florence was his first wife. Billy is a sweet boy. He deserves to be happy."

"Are you implying that Madeline Newton doesn't make
him happy?" It was, Fiona knew, a trick question.

"As I said, I don't mix in that."

"But Gloria..."

"I just don't mix, Miz FitzGerald."

"But by your avoiding the issue, you're implying that
there was a bone of contention between Mrs. Shipley and Madeline Newton. I'm
not saying she didn't love her son, Gloria. The question is: Did they get
along? Was Madeline Newton the source of friction between mother and
son."?

"I'm sorry. I just don't mix in that," Gloria
repeated.

"Gloria..." Fiona snapped, but before she could
continue Gail interrupted.

"Really Fi..." Gail began.

"It's a legitimate question, Gail. Do I have to cite
the statistics on family disputes and what they lead to? If anything, we should
either dispose of the idea or pursue it. It may have no relevance whatsoever,
but this woman should be able to provide us with some insight that will aid
that decision."

"From her perspective, Fi, it is a violation of a
trust. She has every right to keep that trust."

Fiona felt the sting of rebuke. What the hell is going on
here? Fiona wondered.

"May I remind you Gail that this is not an ordinary
case. William Shipley is a much talked about contender to be the next President
of the United States."

"What the hell has that got to do with anything?"
Gail snapped. Fiona cut a glance to Gloria who was watching the argument with
some confusion.

"Maybe nothing Gail. But it doesn't excuse this woman
from answering legitimate questions being put to her in the course of this
investigation."

"You're always dwelling on politics, Fiona."

Fiona turned the observation over for a long moment. Two
women competing for the attention of a man seeking the highest office in the
land was certainly a relevant aspect of this case, especially since one woman
was brutally murdered. Was there a political connection? Maybe not? But why
inhibit the exploration?

Political ambition, Fiona had learned, was a powerful
generator of intensity and focus. Its grip on the psyche was fierce, tenacious,
all-encompassing. It had devastated her own parents and destroyed the integrity
of their marriage. Her father did love the political life to the exclusion of almost
everything. Except her, the one exception. She was the apple of Daddy's eye.
She felt his glory and his pain.

Maybe Gail had a point. Maybe she was exaggerating its
relevancy. And maybe it had no bearing on the case whatsoever.

"Point noted," Fiona said sharply. "Let's
put it on hold."

"Good."