Who Killed Mr. Garland's Mistress? (21 page)

“I'll take him,” she said.

“Fine. You won't be sorry. He's had all his shots of course, let me clip his toes for you.”

“Oh, no. I'll have to be doing it, let me do it at home.”

“Well, if you're sure?”

“If I have any trouble I'll bring him back tomorrow.”

“O.K., let me get a collar and some other items for you.”

The cab driver seemed on the point of mutiny as she walked toward the waiting car with Neal on a leash. “You're kidding, Lady,” he said. “That's not a dog, that's a horse.”

As they drove toward her house she began to relax. A burden had been lifted, an evil thing expurgated, and now she was cleansed. The fall was beginning to reach its height of color, which reminded her that she'd have to work very hard on her poetry if she were to have anything published this fall. Perhaps her autumn poem would use a cleansing theme … how the year was stripped of all its trappings as nature prepared for a rebirth of all living things. The words began to form, vague phrases and meter were almost within her grasp.

In her kitchen she began to prepare a meal for the dog. First, a box to put his dish on. A Dane shouldn't bend all the way to the floor, Jay had told her, misshapes the neck. She mixed dog chow with lukewarm water as her mother entered.

“You've had two calls, Octavia. A Mr. Haversham and Jack Warren. They both seemed very eager to speak with you. What is that beast?”

“The newest member of the family. His name is Neal. Do you like him?”

“I don't know. Will he bite?”

“The breed is supposed to be very friendly. I had better return those calls.”

She went upstairs to the bedroom phone and sat on the edge of the bed. Surely something had happened by this time. Best to get it over with. She dialed the newspaper and asked for Will.

“Haversham here.”

“Tavie, Will. Is anything the matter?”

“Christ, Hon. You know it. Helen's been murdered.”

“What?”

“They found the body late last night. She'd been shot to death in her dining room, that's all I know now.”

“Oh, my God.”

“All right, listen. Don't get upset. I'm assigned to the story. I'll call you back later. The radio people are already out there, try that for details.”

“Will, it frightens me, it really scares me.”

“Don't get upset. It'll be all right, sit tight and I'll call you later.”

He hung up and she sat staring at the silent phone. The phone rang, and she picked it up, knowing who it would be.

“Hello,” she said.

“Is that you, Tavie? Jack.”

“Let me tell you something, Mr. Warren. I want you to forget what happened the other night at the club. And I don't want you calling me again.”

“Wait … listen …”

“I had too much to drink and was very vulnerable. It meant nothing, do you …”

“For God's sake, Tavie, listen to me. It's about Rob.”

“You told him.”

“No. Rob's been arrested. Helen Fraser was killed last night, and they've just arrested Rob.”

“No.”

“I'm sorry, but he asked that I call you and then his lawyer …”

“It can't be …” She hung up the phone abruptly. Jack's next call would be to Miriam, and she'd be over here before the hour was up. Tavie turned on the bedside clock radio and searched the dial for a newscast.

“The brutally murdered body of convicted killer, Helen Fraser, was discovered early this morning by state police after they had been notified by an alert telephone operator. State Police Captain, Rocco Hubert, theorized to station WDAR that the shotgun killing was sexually motivated. At this time a large group of police specialists are gathering physical evidence from the crime scene.

“Four years ago Mrs. Fraser was convicted of killing her husband, Air Force Major Donald Fraser, in their luxurious Braxton home. She was subsequently sentenced to the State Correctional Center for Women on a manslaughter charge and released less than a year ago.

“Captain Hubert declined to reveal the names of any suspects, but did say that an abandoned car had been discovered with what is believed to be the murder weapon. An arrest is expected shortly. Keep tuned to WDAR for later developments.”

She switched off the radio.

Eugene Gordon drove as he spoke, with meticulous care and a studied concentration. Tavie, sitting at the far edge of the seat knew they were very near Helen's house. They passed the gas station where she had made the phone call. “How much further is it?” she asked.

“Approximately four and a half miles. Octavia, I think you should know that if we don't clear up this misunderstanding shortly, Robert could be indicted. We will probably need to hire trial counsel.”

“Won't you represent him, Eugene?”

“I'm afraid I'm much more at home with a real estate closing than a felony trial. I can hardly remember the last time I went to court on a criminal matter. The firm has never gotten into that type of practice. We'll act as co-counsel, of course, and I can recommend a good trial man for the court work.”

“Thank you, Eugene. What happens to Rob now?”

“Today we'll go before the circuit court and they will bind Rob over to superior court and the grand jury. They'll set bail and …”

“Bail? On a murder charge.”

“Oh, yes. Rob is a responsible member of the community with strong family ties, and since the death penalty has been set aside, even murder is a bailable offense. I don't want to get your hopes up, Octavia. Bail will probably be set at 100,000 dollars.”

“A hundred thousand …” The panic that had begun to rise subsided. In quickly analyzing their assets, she doubted that they amounted to that much.

Eugene Gordon was becoming very indignant. “We'll sue of course. I have always wanted to take a good case through the courts against the state. False arrest … Yes, it will be an excellent case. Why, I've known you and Rob since you moved to Connecticut and we closed your house.”

He bent forward and unconsciously speeded up as he contemplated the civil suit.

The red brick jail faced the town green. She'd passed through this small town a dozen times, and this very building an equal number of times. She had never dreamed that the building was still in use, and in fact, had thought it was maintained as local color for the pretty green with its very New Englandlike atmosphere.

They were able to park in back of the building, and entered through the rear entrance, up a short flight of wooden steps. The ancient corridor cut straight through to the front door; off the corridor were a line of offices with small wooden signs hanging overhead to identify each appropriate town office. Toward the front of the building was the police department. Eugene asked her to wait, and she took a seat on a low wooden bench.

She imagined that the cells were upstairs, as from the outside the upstairs windows appeared barred. In five minutes Eugene reappeared followed by one of the largest men Tavie had ever seen.

“Octavia, this is Captain Rocco Hubert of the state police. He's asked if you would mind answering a few questions for him. Of course, I'll be present.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Garland.” Rocco Hubert offered his hand which Tavie shook mechanically. She felt extremely diminutive before this man who she judged must be at least six-foot-six and weigh close to 300 pounds. His civilian clothes seemed to fit well, he must have them tailored. She noticed that he didn't seem fat, just big, his neck growing trunklike from massive shoulders.

“Is there a vacant office where we can have some privacy, Captain?” Eugene asked.

“I always use the voter registration office, except during election time.” He led them down the hallway and into one of the smaller offices. Captain Hubert moved with the grace of a large, precision-honed machine … each part perfectly attuned with every other. The office held a group of file cabinets, a desk, and two old wooden chairs. Eugene immediately occupied the desk and took a legal pad from his attaché case. The Captain and Tavie each sat in the chairs. She had to smile to herself over Eugene's appropriating the desk. He'd obviously been at many corporate meetings where dominant position was established early.

Eugene pointed his pen at the captain. “Now, I remember. You played tackle for Yale. Runner-up for All-American. Rocco Hubert, of course.”

The captain laughed. “Ancient history. And one season with the Atlantic Coast League. Then, I discovered my weakness. I hate to hurt people. I wanted to be an accountant, but they laughed when I walked in to apply for a job. Size does have its disadvantages. I ended up with a choice, beer salesman or the police. I naïvely thought the state police gave out speeding tickets all day long.” He shrugged. “The vagaries of life.”

Tavie and Eugene both laughed. They couldn't help but like this large man who seemed filled with benign kindness toward the world. “What can I tell you, Captain?” Tavie said.

“Just routine matters. I do want to record it, if that's all right with you, Counselor?”

“It's not admissible,” Eugene said.

“I know. But I've got a lousy memory, it makes for better accuracy. That's the accountant in me. As usual, I forgot the machine. If you'll pardon me, it's just outside in the car.”

Moving lightly, he left the room. Tavie looked at Eugene. “What do I tell him?”

“The truth, Octavia. Try and hedge and you'll only harm Robert.”

The captain returned carrying a small cassette player that Tavie knew was exactly the model she used to transcribe Helen's tapes. He quickly set up the machine and lay the microphone on the tabletop pointed in her direction.

“Now, Mrs. Garland. If you'll identify yourself, and tell me what you were doing on the night of the murder. We'll try and make this as painless as possible.”

“I'm Octavia Garland, thirty-five. I live at ninety-four Penly Drive, West Hartford. I am married to Robert Garland. I went to bed early that night.” She stopped and looked at the police captain. “What else?”

“That's fine. You're very cooperative. Now, let's see. You were home that night. You went to bed early. Who else was in the house besides your husband?”

She looked over at Eugene who was busily making notes. He looked up at her and nodded affirmatively. She continued. “My mother is staying with us, she was there, and of course my two children. My husband wasn't home.”

“Where was your husband?”

“He … he was on a business trip.”

“A business trip?”

She looked over imploringly at Eugene. “I'll answer that, Captain,” Eugene said. “We will establish Mr. Garland's whereabouts at a later time. We accede for the moment that Mrs. Garland thought he was on a business trip.”

“I see.” Rocco Hubert stared at the ceiling a moment and pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No, of course not,” Tavie said.

“After you went to bed, Mrs. Garland, when did you next see your husband?”

“Late at night, or early in the morning. He came in and awakened me.”

“What was his mental or emotional attitude at that time?”

“She doesn't have to answer that, Captain.”

“You're right, Counselor. I shouldn't have asked. I'll try and make this as brief as possible. I know you're upset, Mrs. Garland. Now, let's see … Oh, the shotgun. We found that you bought it … the day before the murder.”

“Yes, that's right. I …”

Eugene interjected hurriedly. “Pardon me, Captain. Mrs. Garland admits to buying
a
shotgun.”

“Yes,” Tavie said. “At one of the sporting goods places in town. At …”

“French's,” Rocco Hubert said.

“Yes.”

“Why?” His voice was more abrupt.

“I … my husband asked me to.”

“Half the homes in this state have shotguns, Captain,” Eugene said.

“Not quite. We estimate about 80,000, that's rough since it doesn't include those weapons purchased out of state and brought in.”

“Are you inferring anything, Captain?” Tavie said.

“No, of course not. However, we find it unusual for a wife to buy her husband a shotgun. A gun is a rather male possession, something a man buys for himself, like golf clubs. Most men are very particular about their guns.”

“He said he just wanted it for protection. We had a fire in our summer place that could have been set by vandals.”

“The fire. Yes, I heard about that. A shame. Why did your husband drive the Datsun that day, Mrs. Garland?”

“I asked him to. I had errands to run and needed a larger car.”

“I see. I don't suppose it would have made any difference either way.”

“How bad is it for my husband, Captain?” Tavie asked.

“We'll have him bound over today.” He stood up and turned off the recorder.

“Exactly how bad?”

“Well, it reminds me of the F.B.I. Academy. I don't know why they sent me down there, maybe because I had a degree. Well anyway, we used to have mock crimes, good practice for discovering physical evidence. This crime, the death of Mrs. Fraser, has enough physical evidence for ten mock crimes.”

“It's categorically impossible for my husband to commit such a crime, Captain.”

“You may be right. It doesn't make much sense.”

“Then why are you holding him?”

“Shall we say there's a rather unfortunate train of evidence. To start with—the car. We found a key to Mrs. Fraser's house in the car, along with the shotgun that had recently been fired. His fingerprints are all over the house, we also discovered certain bodily fluids that match your husband's. And … I'm sorry to hurt you, Mrs. Garland, but we do have witnesses that state your husband was having an affair with Mrs. Fraser. When the car ran out of gas on the Interstate your husband hitchhiked to Hartford. The man who picked him up is able to pinpoint the time since he had just gotten off work; unfortunately that time seems to coincide with the murder sequence. It's our conjecture that your husband was trying to break off the affair with Mrs. Fraser, and that she was becoming difficult. He killed her and tried to make it look like a sexually motivated crime. He might have succeeded if it hadn't been for the car breaking down.”