Murder in the Air (42 page)

“You're not an idiot, Buddy. Dad was wrong about that.”

He turned around. “He left about ten-thirty. I had something I needed to do, so I took off a few minutes later. The last time I saw him, he was alive. How can I be expected to know what happened after I left? Maybe he had other enemies—but it wasn't me. I never touched a hair on his head!”

“What a confusing story,” said B.B., examining the writing on her coffee mug.

Bud watched her a moment, then remembered the call he needed to make to his lawyer. “Which phone did you take off the hook?”

“The one in the kitchen. Buddy, what will we do about lunch?”

“I'll make us an omelette.”

“I hate omelettes!”she shouted, pouting into her mug.

“Then I'll make us a sandwich.”

“What kind?”

“B.B., we'll talk about this later.”

“But I'm hungry now. We have to hire a new cook.”

“I will. I'll call the service this afternoon. In the meantime go play with your sugar-bowl collection.”

Her face brightened. “All right.”

Since he wasn't about to carry on a business conversation in the kitchen, he hung up the phone and then walked briskly down the hall to his study. Somewhere between the two, the phone began to ring. Before he sat down, Bud grabbed the receiver and said, “Whatever this is about, I'm not interested.”

“Bud … is that you?”

He struggled to recall the voice. “Dorothy?” He hadn't talked to her in weeks.

“I'm glad I finally got through. I only have a second, but I had to call.”

He tapped a pen impatiently against the desktop. “Right. You're just like all the rest. You called to gloat.”

“No, that's not it at all. Actually … I
was
upset when you threw me out on Christmas eve, but I'm not naive. I knew you only had lunch with me those two days so you could get close to Wish Greveen. It's not very flattering to a woman, Bud. We have egos, too. I suppose I shouldn't tell you this, but I liked your company, so I went along with it.”

“Dorothy, you misjudge me. That's not true at all.” Though, of course, it was. “I found you very attractive. And I would have called, but as you might imagine, I've been a bit preoccupied with my own problems.”

“Bud, listen to me. I've discovered something important. It's information you need to know right away, but I don't want to tell you over the phone. We have to meet.”

“What sort of information?”

In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “It's about Wish Greveen.”

“You can't just leave me hanging, Dorothy. Give me
some
clue.”

More silence. Then: “He's not dead.”

Very slowly, Bud sat down. “How do you know?”

“People are coming in and out of here all the time. I can't talk. Will you meet me?”

“Where?”

“There's a Lutheran church on Lafayette, just south of downtown St. Paul. It stays open until eleven every night, but nobody is ever around—well, nobody except the minister, and he usually stays in his office. I've been there a couple of times. It's quiet—and private. Nobody will see us.”

“But why a church? Why not meet in a restaurant?”

“It's too public.”

He saw her point. His house was off-limits for the same reason. And so was the Maxfield. “What's the name of the church?”

“St Mark's, I think. No, St. Luke's. That's it. Will you meet me there tonight at ten?”

He wrote it down. “Ten o'clock. I'll be there.”

“And Bud—make sure you're not followed. I don't mean
to frighten you, but Fm scared. Really scared. Something's not right here and I refuse to be part of it any longer.”

“Part of what?”

The line clicked.

B.B. appeared in the doorway, licking a spoon she'd just dipped into a carton of chocolate chip ice cream. “Buddy? I was wondering. Could you make those sandwiches now? I'm kind of in the mood for grilled cheese.”

May 21, 1959

Dear Mother:

For months now, this is the moment I've dreaded. As I sit down to write I know that tonight I will finish my story. You will finally know what I know. Unless I'm caught and brought back to stand trial, the only one
—
other than myself—who will ever hear the truth is you. Not even Bud Manderbach himselffully understands what was at stake, or what was lost. I realize that the newspapers have already convicted me of murder, and perhaps that's as it should be. But in the end, I want you to be the judge. After you read the last page of my story, you tell me who's guilty and who's innocent.

On Thursday morning, Kay called from a phone booth at the bus station. She'd just come back from her trip out of town. I was already at work, but she knew my private number. She said that as she'd promised, she'd made her decision and now wanted to talk. It's difficult for me to explain my mood that morning, Mom. Id had some time
to think myself. I knew without a doubt that I wanted Kay
—
wanted to marry her. The sound of her voice gave me such hope. I was more certain than ever that she loved me
—
it was obvious not only by everything she said, but in the way she said it. She was so loving, so gentle, and yet frustratingly noncommittal about her decision. Still, I was an optimist. I felt certain she'd seen the error of her ways. Her future would be nothing but misery if she got mixed up with a man like Manderbach. I had to trust her good sense. And I did, Mom, really I did
—
because in my mind, no choice existed. Kay had simply left to get her head straight, and to figure out the best way to let Manderbach down easily.

When I asked her if she still had the photos and the negatives, she said yes. They were hidden away in a safe place. She'd had second thoughts about destroying them. I didn't press her on the subject, but I'm sure she got the point. I desperately wanted them back. The best of all possible worlds would be for her to not only agree to marry me but, as she fell into my arms, to offer them to me as a token of her love. Together, we'd take the evidence to the police and finally blow the whistle on Bud Manderbach and his drunken
“
accident.”

As we continued to talk I pulled the engagement ring out of my pocket and admired its beauty. I could just picture the moment. For weeks I'd fantasized about asking for her hand in marriage on Christmas eve. Since that was tonight, it seemed perfect
—
like fate had decreed that our love was meant to be. She asked me where we should meet. I suggested “our” spot down by Minnehaha Creek. It was private
—
no one would bother us. And even though it was winter, the weather had been mild. Since that's where I'd first said I loved her, where Yd given her my tiger-eye ring as a token of that love, it seemed only right.

Kay agreed. She said she'd meet me there at four o'clock. I asked her if she'd talked to Bud Manderbach yet and she said no, she hadn't. She was planning to call him next. I wasn't sure how to read that, and yet the more I thought
about it, the more I felt certain she'd called me first because she needed my reassurance. She had to know I still loved her. That love would give her the courage she needed to tell Manderbach what he could do with his lies. So, before she rang off, I told her she was the only woman for me. There would never be another. She said, “Until tonight, Justin.
”

I spent the rest of the morning on assignment. Around noon, I drove past Kay's building just to see if she was around. I wasn't trying to meet with her before the appointed time, I merely wanted to look at her
—
to be close. I pulled up next to the curb and watched her window for a few minutes, but when I couldn't see anyone, I gave up. I wasn't particularly disappointed since I knew we'd get together later. As I was about to leave I saw Jonnie Apfenford come out the front door. Now, you have to understand, Jonnie was never a very happy-go-lucky kind of girl, but that morning she looked positively dour. Before she stepped down onto the sidewalk, she spent a few moments surveying the street. I wondered what she was looking for. Well, of course, she spotted me right away. I waved and smiled, and then waited as she made straight for the car. Without being invited, she climbed into the front seat and said, “Drive.”

“What? “ I said, confused not only by the brevity of the comment, but by the intent. “Drive where?”

“Anywhere
,”
she said. “Just go.”

I didn't ask for explanations. We ended up at the Boulevard restaurant on Lyndale. I was hungry and wanted some lunch, so over egg-salad sandwiches and iced teas, she explained that Sally hadn't come home since Tuesday night. Jonnie was beside herself with worry.

I asked her if this was unusual. I mean, maybe Sally did that sort of thing all the time. Jonnie said no, Sally always came home
—
it might be two or three o'clock in the morning, but she would never be gone overnight without letting one of her roommates know her whereabouts. It was a house rule.

Well, as you can expect, after nearly a two-day absence,
Jonnie was terribly upset. At the same time I sensed there was something important she wasn't telling me. I wasn't in the mood to beat around the bush, so I asked her point-blank what it was. She answered my question with a question of her own. When had I last seen Sally? I replied that I'd come by the apartment to talk to her on Tuesday afternoon.

“What about?” she asked.

“It's a long story, “ I replied. I didn't want to get into it.

“Did it have something to do with Bud Manderbach?”

Well, I was floored. This was the first time Jonnie had ever let on that she knew anything about the whole Manderbach mess. And then the light dawned. I'd wondered for weeks if Jonnie might not be the person who'd sent me that note at the paper, the one who'd started the ball rolling. So I said, “It was you, wasn't it? You tipped me off about Sally knowing the truth behind the Landauer hit-and-run.”

At this point she didn't even try to deny it, Mom. Sure, she said, she'd known all along. Sally had confided some of the details to her the night it happened, but then never said another word about it. Jonnie was torn. She didn't have any proof merely the alcohol-soaked confession of one of her closest friends, and yet she felt that Bud Manderbach was guilty of a serious crime. Justice had to be done. She didn't want to get mixed up in it herself so she looked around and concluded that since I'd been the reporter covering the story for the St. Paul paper, I'd be the perfect person to follow up the lead. Yet now that Sally had disappeared, Jonnie was frightened. Deeply frightened.

The fact was, Jonnie had arrived home about an hour after I'd left the apartment the previous Tuesday. She found Sally pacing the floor, furious. Sally had already called Bud Manderbach's house several times, but was finally told he wasn't expected home until evening. Jonnie said Sally was like a caged tiger. She couldn't relax. As Sally raged, Jonnie sat on the couch and listened. Little by little, the truth came out.

Sally explained that Manderbach was blaming her for
the Landauer hit-and-run, and that he'd passed this false story on to Kay, But the truth was, it had been Bud's fault
—
all his fault. He was drunk that night and driving like a maniac. Sally had begged him to slow down, but he just laughed. Said he loved speed. All men loved speed. Not only had Bud sideswiped Olga Landauer, knocking her down on the curb, but as Sally watched in horror he stopped the car and threw it in reverse. He knew he'd hit someone
—
possibly injured them
—
and wanted to help, but he was out of control, too drunk to watch where he was going. As Olga screamed in terror Bud backed the car up over her. That's what had finally killed her, Sally said it was hideous. Unimaginable. And then, as Bud tried to get away, he slammed into a car parked on the street. That's how he'd done the damage to the front end. Sally said all she could see as they sped away was the woman's little dog barking and yelping, yanking at the leash in the dead woman's hand.

This, as you may already realize, was new information. The police must have made a decision to withhold it from the press and the public. Only the murderer
—
or someone who happened to be in the car that night
—
could have known these details.

As we continued to talk I asked Jonnie if Sally had ever reached Bud Manderbach that evening. She said yes. She had. She'd called the mansion to make sure he was home, then left shortly before seven to go meet with him. That was the last time Jonnie had seen or heard from Sally, and she couldn't help but fear the worst. She was positive Bud Manderbach had done something to shut her up
—
possibly even threatening her with physical harm unless she promised to continue her silence. But Jonnie also feared that any threat Bud made had fallen on deaf ears. Before Sally left the apartment, she told Jonnie she'd made a decision. No matter what happened to her, no matter what her punishment turned out to be, she had to tell the police the truth. She wasn't going to let some slippery bastard like Manderbach wipe the floor up with her.
He'd betrayed her, and now it was payback time. But first, she intended to give him a piece of her mind.

I can only guess what happened next. I assume that Sally found Manderbach at home, and that she told him what she planned to do. Maybe he begged her forgiveness, or tried to use his charm to get her to see reason
—
or even tried bribing her with more money
—
but in the end we both know what happened. Bud Manderbach murdered Sally Nash, and then drove her body out of the city and dumped it in a frozen cornfield.

At the time I knew only that Sally was missing. Even though I hated Manderbach, I couldn't bring myself to believe he'd kill to cover his tracks. On the way to the university, where I dropped Jonnie off, I explained everything that Kay and I had learned. Jonnie knew Kay had gone out of town for two nights, but didn't know why. Now she understood.

I explained that I was meeting Kay at four, and as soon as we were done, the two of us would come back to the apartment so she could see Kay's engagement ring. Maybe by then Sally would have called or returned. I thought there was an outside possibility that she might have been detained at one of the local police precincts. Maybe she hadn't thought to call Jonnie and let her know what was happening.