Let Me Whisper in Your Ear (19 page)

“No. Not that I know of.”

Ortiz tried another tack. “Prior to the party, when did you last see Miss Gilpatric?”

“A few days before Christmas. We exchanged gifts at her apartment.”

“How would you describe her when you saw her? Her demeanor, I mean.”

“She was fine.”

“Could you tell if anything was bothering her?”

“No. She seemed to be in a good mood when I got there. She was very cheerful.” Then Laura remembered the phone call. “But, as a matter of fact, she did get a phone call while I was there that she didn't seem too happy about taking.”

“Do you know who it was from?”

“A doctor. Dr. Leonard Costello.”

“You have a good memory, Miss Walsh.”

Laura didn't share the reason why the name of the caller was familiar enough for her to remember. Wait until she told Francheska about this conversation! A conversation Laura wished would end, but Detective Ortiz pushed on.

“Could you tell me more about your relationship with Miss Gilpatric? I know on the night of the party you told me that she was a mentor to you?”

“Yes. Gwyneth was very good to me. I first met her when I did my college internship here at
KEY News.
She took an interest in me then and she encouraged me to come back and work at KEY after graduation.”

“So you've been working at
Hourglass
for several years now?”

“No. Actually, less than a week. I found out I had gotten the new job on New Year's Day.”

“That is strange, is it not? Finding out about a new job on a holiday?” Ortiz's voice trailed off.

“In other businesses, maybe. But not in this one. Joel Malcolm called me at home and left a message on my machine.”

“You weren't home, then, on New Year's Day?”

“I was in the office in the morning. I guess you can imagine, work was very busy.”

“You mean with the reporting of Miss Gilpatric's murder?”

“Yes. Everyone was stunned, but we had to get the news on the air.”

“I'm interested in television news, Miss Walsh. What part did you play in the reporting of Miss Gilpatric's death?”

“I did her obit.”

“Her obituary?”

“Ah-huh.”

“That must have been hard for you, under the circumstances,” the detective suggested. His accent was hardly noticeable.

“Actually, I had done the obit already.” Why not tell him? He could find out if he asked around.

“Really? Why would you have done that?”

“We do it all the time, Detective. When someone is important enough to warrant a full television obituary, we often prepare them in advance.”

“So
KEY News
has obits done on everyone big? All the celebrities and heads of state and people famous in their fields?”

“No. Not everyone. But when we hear a rumor that someone noteworthy might die, we get working on the obit right away.”

“Then you thought Miss Gilpatric was going to die, Miss Walsh?”

Laura stuttered as she tried to explain to the detective why she had Gwyneth's obit ready. Whether or not Alberto Ortiz believed her explanation, she could not tell. But she realized that the detective might be looking at her as a suspect in Gwyneth's death.

You have nothing to worry about,
she told herself.
Stay calm. Don't protest.

Matthew appeared at her office doorway, pointing to his watch and mouthing,
Let's go!

“Detective Ortiz, I'm afraid I have to go now. I have a camera crew waiting for me to go out on a shoot. Can we continue this conversation some other time?”

“Of course, Miss Walsh. I'll be in touch.”

Before she said goodbye, she blurted out, “Detective, you should probably know, I received a letter from Gwyneth's lawyers yesterday. She had named me as a beneficiary in her will. I am inheriting a large portion of her estate.”

He would find out anyhow,
she thought.
Better to volunteer the information.

65

E
MMETT WENT THROUGH
three different plaid flannel shirts as he waited for his daughter and the
KEY News
crew to arrive. The first he changed because he spilled coffee over himself. The second because he was perspiring so heavily.

He had done what Laura had asked him to do. Vacuuming and dusting upstairs, sweeping out the basement below. He had sprayed the cellar with so much air freshener that now it smelled like a flower shop, or rather a funeral parlor, he thought grimly. Most importantly, he kept his promise to his daughter and had not had a drink yet today.

Of course, it was only eleven
A.M.

He had two six-packs chilling in the fridge, waiting for him to break open the minute Laura and company left. It couldn't come fast enough.

The doorbell rang and Emmett coughed and swallowed hard as he went to answer it. Laura hugged her father, introduced her colleagues and pointed them to the stairs.

“Matthew, why don't you go take the crew downstairs so they can set up? I'll stay up here with my dad and make some coffee.”

“There's a pot on the stove,” Emmett volunteered.

“I'll make us a fresh pot, okay, Pop?” She wanted to speak with Emmett alone before the interview. She had debated the whole ride out to New Jersey about whether to talk to Emmett about her phone conversation with Detective Ortiz. She did not want to upset her father, but she had to know what, if anything, went on between him and Gwyneth. The sooner the better.

She heard the camera gear bumping against the wall as the crew made its way down the narrow steps. When conversation started to drift up from the cellar below, Laura silently shut the basement door. She turned to Emmett.

“Pop, I know you're nervous enough about this interview and I don't want to upset you, but I got a very disturbing phone call today.”

Emmett glanced furtively at the refrigerator. “Yeah?”

“A detective investigating Gwyneth's death called. He asked me if I knew an Emmett Walsh.”

“What did you tell him?”

“What do you think I told him?” Laura asked in consternation. “I told him my father's name is Emmett Walsh.”

“So?”

“He said that he found your name in paperwork of Gwyneth's.”

“That's odd.” Emmett shrugged. “I guess she must have known some other Emmett Walsh.”

“Then I was right in telling him that you didn't know Gwyneth?”

“Absolutely right. It must be some kind of coincidence,” Emmett assured his daughter.

The basement door opened and Matthew poked his head into the kitchen. “We're ready when you are, Mr. Walsh.”

As Laura followed her father downstairs, she asked herself what were the odds that Gwyneth had known another Emmett Walsh. Pretty infinitesimal. She knew that her father was good at keeping secrets. The distant memory of her mother's deathbed flashed painfully through her mind.

She took a seat at the side of the room, grudgingly allowing Matthew to conduct the interview.
It's better this way,
she told herself.
Let Matthew ask the questions. Don't get involved in the past.

Matthew began their session by praising the Palisades Park model, oohing and aahing over the tiny details like a little kid. He wanted to start the taping with Emmett giving a guided tour of the mini-park for the camera.

“Just show me everything. Talk to me like you would if the cameras weren't here.”

Emmett obliged, nervously at first, but gaining confidence as Matthew encouraged him with his enthusiasm about the model. Emmett started at the Hudson Gate, took the cameras around the saltwater pool and down the midway, past the waffle stand, the cigarette wheel and the Caterpillar ride. He pointed out the hole in the fence where the kids used to sneak into the park without paying, talked about what he had seen on the Free Act Stage and eaten in the restaurant. The cameras rolled on the Hurricane, the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Boomerang as Emmett manipulated the rides' moving parts. When they got past the bingo parlor, the Arcade and the intricately carved, carousel, the tour reached the Cyclone.

“How long did you operate the Cyclone, Mr. Walsh?” Matthew asked.

“Just one summer. The last one. I started working at the park when I was sixteen, started as a soda jerk. But the summer after I turned twenty-one, they let me operate the roller coaster.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Sure.”

“Give anyone famous a ride?”

“Lots of the entertainers who came to the park stopped by.”

“That must have been fun.”

“Yep.”

Since they had gotten to the Cyclone, Matthew detected a marked lessening of Emmett's enthusiasm for his subject; the tenseness had developed again.

“You know, last night I was fooling around on the Internet and looked up one of the Palisades Park websites,” remarked Matthew, trying to relax Emmett. “They have a section on it where people can write in their memories of the park. One guy wrote that he remembered doing errands for you in return for free rides.”

Emmett looked sharply at Matthew, a stricken look on his face.

“That wouldn't have been legal. You're not going to put that in your story, are you?”

“No, that doesn't really have anything to do with our story,” Matthew tried to reassure his interview subject. I just thought it was neat when I read it. You know … that the guy remembers that after all these years.”

“Are we almost done yet?” asked Emmett impatiently.

Matthew sensed from experience that he should get his last questions in now. His interviewee had just about had it.

“I just want to ask a few more questions, Mr. Walsh. About Tommy Cruz. What do you remember about the time he disappeared?”

“I only know what I read in the newspapers and what I heard around town. People were pretty shook up about it.”

“Did you know Tommy?”

“Sure. He was a town kid. He spent a lot of time in the park.”

“Ever give him rides on the Cyclone?”

“S'pose so.”

“Do you remember anything specific about Tommy?”

“Mister, there where thousands of kids who came through that park. After a while, they all seemed pretty much the same.”

“Okay, thank you, Mr. Walsh. We can wrap it up here. You can break down, guys,” directed Matthew, disappointed that Emmett hadn't given them more to work with. They needed to get some better interviews elsewhere or this segment wasn't going to cut it.

The group climbed the stairs. As they were about to exit the Walsh home, Laura turned to her father. “Pop, I almost forgot. I want to get that scrapbook you have with the old pictures of Palisades. We might be able to use them in our piece.”

When his daughter, with the red photo album under her arm, and her colleagues left, Emmett headed straight to the refrigerator.

66

M
ATTHEW OFFERED THEIR
camera crew a choice. They could break for lunch and then go shoot the Palisades Amusement Park memorial site later in the afternoon, or they could go straight from the interview to the nearby monument, get the video they needed and then call it a wrap, having the rest of the day off to do as they pleased. The crew chose the latter.

Laura was quiet, the corners of her mouth turned down, as she stood in the bitter January cold, watching the cameraman zoom his lens in on the huge rock that was the centerpiece of the “Little Park of Memories.” Just in front of Winston Towers building 300 sat a large boulder surrounded by a brick walkway. It was a commemoration of sorts, funded by donations from hundreds of people across the country who all shared the same passion for Palisades.

DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF PALISADES AMUSEMENT PARK
, read the bronze plaque affixed to the front of the boulder.
HERE WE WERE HAPPY, HERE WE GREW
!

Yeah, right,
thought Laura.

“Make sure you get the inscriptions on the bricks, too,” Matthew instructed the crew. The camera panned over the names of people and families who had paid for the memorial walkway and now were listed permanently in the hardened red clay.

“I was expecting something more,” observed Matthew. “This reminds me of a little cemetery plot.”

Matthew was right. This little monument was not going to make it visually, thought Laura.

“There is some sort of move to establish a Palisades Park museum,” she offered. “Actually, there is going to be a big fundraiser for it at the end of the month.”

“Great.” Matthew brightened. “Let's see if we can get in and shoot. I'll bet we could get some great sound of park lovers' memories and show how much the amusement park meant to so many people.”

Laura nodded expressionlessly.

“You're awfully quiet,” said Matthew softly as the crew started to pack up their gear.

“I'm just cold. And I'm ready to call it a day, too.” Laura turned her back on Matthew and started toward the car. But the car was locked and she had to wait while Matthew gave the crew their “in-time” for the next day and briefly informed them about what they'd be shooting tomorrow.

As the crew pulled away in their
KEY News
sedan, Laura and Matthew got into his black Saab.

“Want to stop for some lunch?” offered Matthew.

“Sure. Why not?” Laura shrugged.

“Great. I'm starved. This is your territory. Any suggestions?”

“You like hot dogs?”

“Love 'em.”

Laura thrust her chin forward. “Straight ahead.”

They drove in silence up Palisades Avenue into Fort Lee and pulled into the busy Hiram's parking lot. Once inside, they ordered hot dogs, french fries and a pitcher of root beer.

“This place has been here forever—this and Callahan's, the place next door.” Laura motioned out the restaurant window to the companion building, feeling she should make some sort of effort at conversation. “The menus are just about the same, but they're both always packed. They used to be just open-air roadside stands doing most of their business in the warm weather. Then they enclosed everything, so now the locals can get their sodium fixes all year round.”