Slice and Dice (37 page)

So shortly before noon I hooked up my lapel mike, the one I use when my subject is uncooperative and won’t allow me to record the interview. It’s probably illegal in this state to record someone’s voice without his or her knowledge, but I always do it, just for my own protection. The special tape recorder consists of a cordless mike inside a gold pin I wear on the lapel of my blazer. The recorder itself remains in my purse.

At noon, I was seated on a bench a few yards from a small bridge, where I passed the time by feeding the remains of my lunch to a couple of unusually friendly squirrels. The park itself is fairly flat. Right in the center is a small lake — man-made, I’m told, but lovely nonetheless. People were sitting on the grass eating lunch. Some men were playing horseshoes on a dirt range. The tennis courts were full. Across the street from the park is the Guthrie Theater, the Walker Art Center, and the Minneapolis Sculpture Gardens. Up the street is the Basilica of St. Mary s. So Pluto had kept his word. He did pick a spot that was highly public, with lots of foot traffic.

As I waited, hiding behind my sunglasses, I checked out everyone that approached. By twelve-fifteen I began to wonder if I was going to be stood up. Then, strolling over the bridge carrying a briefcase, Pluto appeared. Was I surprised when I finally saw who it was?

Not really. The truth is, if I’d had to bet, I would have placed my money on Paul Buckridge. He had the most tenuous connection to Constance. He wasn’t related by blood. When his real mother died all those years ago, he may have resented the fact that Constance became his “new mom.” Then yesterday he found out that Constance had allowed his father to die without so much as lifting a finger to help. And after reading the interviews I’d sent him, he had to have some questions about Constance’s role in his mother’s death. Perhaps he’d had those questions even before I began my research. I was about to find out.

INTERVIEW: PAUL BUCKRIDGE, LORING PARK, FRIDAY, MAY 14TH

M:
I thought you weren ‘t going to make it.

Paul:
I was delayed at the hotel. My mother s on the warpath about you, Ms. Damontraville. She wants you stopped. You were smart to leave the Maxfield when you did.

M:
I didn’t have a choice. Your mother had some thug blow up my bodyguard and his car. I could have been killed — and Rafferty was.

Paul:
But you ‘re okay. I was horrified when I heard the news, but as long as you remain undercover, you’ll stay that way.
M
.It’s no way to live.

Paul:
It’ll be over soon. Once Connie realizes she can’t win, that she’ll be exposed one way or the other, she’ll back off.

M:
From your lips to God s ears.

Paul:
I’m right. You’ll see.

M:
You haven’t told her anything specific, have you? You’ve kept all our communications a secret?

Paul:
I want you to be free to do your work. That’s why I’m here. I’ve got something for you. (Opens briefcase and removes some papers) You asked for my mother’s medical records. Here they are. I’ve also included all her insurance reports. I’ve had these copies for some time, even before I came back to Minnesota. You can see that my mother was sick from May of ‘63 through December. She died on the sixteenth. Just to refresh your memory, Connie Jadek took over as cook in June ‘63.

M:
So you suspect your mother s death wasn’t natural?

Paul:
I think she was poisoned.

M:
By Constance?

Paul:
(Nods) I can’t prove it, but I think she was after my fatherfrom the day she began working for us. The only way she could get him to marry her, which was what she was after, was to get rid of my mother.

M:
You really believe she’s that ruthless?

Paul:
Without a doubt. I mean, she let my father die after she got what she wanted, right? Laurie Lippert said exactly that.

M:
She married yourfatherfor his money?

Paul:
Sure, and his position in the community. She used him. He loved her — God knows why — and he bent over backward to give her everything her heart desired. When he wasn’t needed any longer, when he stood between her and her Endless appetites, she as good as killed him with her own two hands. She’s sick and perverted, and evil to the core. Look at what she was willing to do to you to stop your bookfrom being published! Yes, Ms. Damontraville, I think Connie Jadek is capable ofanything.

M:
So what did she use to poison your mother?

Paul:
It’s right there in your interview with Phil Rapson. Antifreeze.

M:
You mean the antifreeze Nathan tookfrom the garage?

Paul:
(Nods)

M:
But Nathan said that it was Wayne who asked him to get it for him.

Paul:
Isn’t it obvious? Nathan lied. My father didn’t even know what Phil was talking about when he asked about that leak in the car’s radiator. There never was a leak in my father s radiator. Nathan got the antifreeze for his mother.

M:
You think Nathan was in on it?

Paul:
(Shakes his head) He was a poor dupe, just like my father.

M:
I’m curious. What do you think of Nathan?

Paul:
I like the guy. I mean, we never agree on anything, not even the time of day, but that’s okay. He’s a decent, hardworking person, and an extraordinarily talented chef. I respect that. I just wish he weren’t related to Connie. If she’d been out of the picture, I think we could have been really good friends. He’s always felt such loyalty to her that I could never completely trust him. She inspires loyalty in some people, I guess, but she’ll never get it from me. I see right through her act. So does my sister. We ve never been able to put any pressure on Nathan because we both knew he’d always take her side, and neither Emily nor I want to lose him. He’ll never be a Buckridge, like Emily and me, but after all these years he’s family.

M:
What about Arthur Jadek?

Paul:
Yeah, what about him? He’s a pervert, just like his sister. He tried to be a fatherfigure to us after Dad died, but I didn’t buy it. I resented him, almost as much as I resented Connie for trying to replace my mother.

M:
Do you think he and Constance continued their sexual relationship?

Paul:
It wouldn’t surprise me. Then again a couple years after Dad died, Arthur went away to get his doctorate. He was gone for several years. And then he lived in Chicago for a while, where he did postdoctoral work at Northwestern. He finally settled down in Boston. Became a professor of clinical psychology at Boston College. He wrote a few books during that period. Since we were in New Haven by then, he and Connie got together quite often. And he was always around at Thanksgiving and Christmas. He’d take his summer vacations with us. So I suppose if they were sexually involved, they must have gone for long periods apart. Maybe it was just that one time. I don’t know andfrankly I don’t care. I hate them both for what they’ve done to my family. I wish we’d never heard of Arthur and Connie Jadek

M:
Tell me, Paul. Why did you contact me several months back with that tantalizing offer to help me dig up dirt on Constance Buckridge? What precipitated it? And why the anonymity and the name Pluto?

Paul:
(Holds up his hand) That’s a lot of questions. I was hoping to make this a short meeting.

M:
But you can’t leave without giving me some answers. Please. It s important to me, especially if you want me to risk my safety by continuing my research.

Paul:
(Thinks about itfor a few moments) Well, I guess, in the back of my mind, I’d always felt there was something odd about my mother’s death. I was only a kid at the time — four when she died — but I had eyes and ears, and things didn’t feel right to me. People were sneaking around. Doing a lot of whispering.

M:
What people?

Paul:
I don’t remember. I just remember that people stopped talking when I came into a room. Maybe it was my dad. Or maybe it way Connie. But I was left with the impression that the adults around me knew something I didn’t. And since my mother had just died, I assumed it had to do with her. You realize, of course, that the big scandal I thought you’d uncover was the fact that Mom had been poisoned. The other stuff you’ve found came as a complete shock But we still don’t have the answer to my mother’s death, and we can’t give up until we do. I hired some private investigators a couple years ago, but they never got anywhere. All it did was make me more frustrated — and more determined.

M:
But
was
it just a childhood feeling you were going on? That’s all? There has been nothing else that led you to the conclusion that your mother had been poisoned?

Paul:
This may sound sort ofsilly, but the fact is, a few years back a neighbor of mine came rushing over to my house one day. His dog was sick and he needed to get him to the vet right away, but his wife had the car. They had a second car, a beater, but it wasn’t working. He’d been puttering around with it in the garage for days, trying to figure out why it wouldn’t start. Anyway, he wanted me to drive him. When I saw the dog, I was shocked. I mean, Id known him since he was a pup. He was a cute little guy, about fifteen pounds. Curly brown hair. He was always bright and frisky, ready to play at the drop of a hat, but that day he seemed disoriented, almost drunk He was dizzy. Very unsteady on his feet, and at the same time lethargic. By the time we pulled into the parking lot of the pet clinic, he d begun to vomit. He was obviously in pain. We got him into the examination room right away and the vet checked him over, but it was too late. He died on the examination table. That’s when the vet started asking a bunch of questions. Did my neighbor have any open bottles of antifreeze around? Sure, he said. He’d been working on his car in the garage. He’d drained the old antifreeze into a pan so that he could work on the radiator. The vet said that the dog had probably ingested some of it. Apparently tons of dogs and cats die every year because of antifreeze poisoning. It tastes good, kind of sweet, and given any chance at all, they’ll go for it. It doesn’t take much to kill a dog, and even less to kill a cat. Needless to say, my neighbor was devastated. He said he didn’t know how he was going to explain it to his wife and kids. If he’d only known, he would never have been so careless. We stayed and talked a few more minutes, and then the neighbor went into the back room, where they got the dog ready to take home. He wanted to bury him in the backyard. Anyway, the vet and I were in the examination room by ourselves for a few minutes. I mentioned, jokingly, that it seemed like the dog had had the same general symptoms my mother did before she died. He said, Oh, humans are easily poisoned by antifreeze, too. Every now and then he’d read a case about it in the paper. It was hard to trace, because it mimicked so many other health problems. I told him my mother had been ill for about seven months before she died. She’d gone to a lot of doctors and had a bunch of tests run, but nobody had ever been able to help her, or even figure out what was wrong. Every guy had a theory, but none of them matched. I told him that I thought my father had finally given up in frustration and decided she was a hypochondriac. She did have those tendencies, I guess. That’s when the vet asked what her specific symptoms were. I thought about it for a minute, then said that she had been very tired all the time. She’d slept a lot. She hadfrequent bouts of vomiting and abdominal pain. I remember that vividly. She’d lost a lot of weight. Also, she’d been dizzy, had major trouble with her balance, and that’s why she had eventually stopped driving. And then she’d always complained of headaches and back pain, especially when I wanted her to play with me. I think my father mentioned once that she had unusually low blood pressure. And right before she died, she’d had some vision problems. I recall that because I used to have to sit very close to her when I’d go into her room. Otherwise she couldn’t see me. The vet listened to all of it, then said that it was really hard to diagnose something like that years after the fact, but that everything I’d told him was consistent with antifreeze — he called it ethylene glycol — poisoning in humans. I left that veterinary office with my head spinning. Surely my mother hadn’t been poisoned. It was unthinkable. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. That s when I sent for the medical and insurance records. I did my own research and it sure looked to me like a definite possibility. I even considered having my mother s body exhumed, but I knew I’d have a fight on my hands with the rest of the family if I didn’t have more proof. The private investigators were a bust, so —

M:
You found me.

Paul:
(Smiles) I was at a bookstore one afternoon, browsing, and there was the book you’d just done on Elton John. You were exactly what I needed. I don’t mind telling you that I have no qualms about destroying Constance Buckridge, Ms. Damontraville. I’d survive the scandal justfine. So would the academy. And so would Emily. Beyond that, let the chips fall where they may. When I read that interview with Rapson, the part where he mentions Nathan sneaking into the garage for a gallon jug ofantifreeze, well, right then and there I knew we had her. I mean, it just made me more positive than ever that Connie poisoned my mother. One serendipitous element to this whole poisoning thing is, my mother liked to drink. And the worse she felt, the more depressed she got, the more she drank TUrns out that the antidote to antifreeze is alcohol. If you know someone has inadvertently drunk some ethylene glycol and you get them to an emergency room, that s one of the treatments. Because Mom was drinking fairly heavily at the time of the attempted poisoning, the alcohol interfered with the breakdown of the antifreeze. See, the booze competes for the same metabolizing enzyme as the antifreeze. And since plain alcohol wins, the antifreeze is excreted unmetabolized by the kidneys. That s why it took her so long to die.