2 Murder in the Winter Read online

  Hungry, Lou and I gave Rosie our orders, then told her about our trip to Purgatory. She listened with a constant grin upon her face.

  “I already knew some of it. Thelma told me some other policeman came in the other night and picked up some food for you because you were dying of malnutrition.”

  “Rosie, my love, I’ll tell you all about the stuff that place fed us as long as you promise never to serve any of it here.”

  I milked it for all that it was worth. I wanted to tell her about our trek through a blinding snowstorm, uphill all the way, even after our shoes had rotted from our feet, and frostbite had set in, but I had to refrain from revealing anything about the case. Neither could I tell her the food was so bad that two people died of poisoning. Okay, maybe the food didn’t have anything to do with the poisoning, but a good story is made better if the storyteller has an ability to embellish.

  All stories ended when our food arrived. Bacon, sausage, eggs cooked right, pancakes, biscuits, gravy that looked like gravy, and hash browns. All the good food groups. Well, everything except chocolate. Everything tasted so good that when Rosie told us the first pecan pie of the day had just been taken from the oven, we decided to celebrate some more. No one else tasted pecan pie that day until the second pie had been baked. Just as the first of the lunch crowd entered the Blue Moon, Lou and I took leave of our senses, and the Blue Moon. There was work to be done. There were people to see. There were questions to ask.

  +++

  I drove to Oppenheimer Arms with my Blue Moon face still on, but replaced it with my Lieutenant’s face a block before we arrived at our destination. Lou and I knew the routine. We’d done this for many years.

  I pulled up in front of the apartment building, removed my seatbelt, gave my food one last chance to settle, opened the door, and hoisted myself from Lightning.

  Oppenheimer Arms spread out over a large lot. A very large lot. When there are eight apartments on the same floor, they need to spread out somewhere. Lou opened the building’s front door, and we stepped inside. I was pleased to see that there were no steps. Everything was at ground level. I looked around and spotted the mailboxes. A sign above them showed us that the manager lived in apartment number one. I perused the names on the mailboxes. Most were unfamiliar. The resident of apartment number one was L. Crouch. Since we wanted to talk to the manager first, we decided to take the apartments in order, one through eight.

  I knocked on the door of apartment one. A woman opened the door. She was short, had curly gray hair, and carried a few extra pounds.

  “May I help you?”

  I took out my credentials, showed them to her.

  “I’m Lt. Dekker with the Hilldale Police Department. This is my associate Sgt. Murdock. We have a few questions to ask you.”

  “Have I done something wrong, Lieutenant?”

  “If so, I don’t know about it, yet. You are Miss Crouch, the manager?”

  “That’s right, only it’s Mrs. Crouch. I’m a widow.”

  “Well, Mrs. Crouch, we just have a few questions we’d like to ask you. Privately. Do you mind if we come in?”

  Mrs. Crouch opened the door, invited us in.

  “Would you gentlemen like some coffee. I just made some.”

  “No, thank you, but go ahead and get yourself a cup.”

  She offered us seats while she went to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee. She came back, and as she sat down, she said, “Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

  “We are investigating an incident that concerns some actors. I understand that all of your residents are actors. I was wondering what you can tell me about them, and oh, by the way, are you yourself an actress?”

  “No, Lieutenant, I’m not an actress. I have been manager of Oppenheimer Arms since it opened back in 1998. I answered an ad, came for an interview, and was offered the job. I’ve been here ever since and I love my job, what there is to it. I hate to sound brash, but I can’t see any of our gentlemen running afoul of the law.”

  “Well, maybe they haven’t. You said gentlemen. Are all your tenants men?”

  “While that has not always been the case, it is currently. The last of our ladies got married early last year and moved away. We offer our apartments to any deserving actor, and as it turned out, after our lady tenant got married, the next person to inquire about the availability of an apartment was a gentleman. We checked him out. He met the qualifications to be a tenant here, so I rented the apartment to him.”

  “And what are the qualifications to be a tenant at Oppenheimer Arms?”

  “Very simple. A person must be a legitimate actor or actress with fine character. We check out both aspects of a prospective tenant’s life before agreeing to rent the apartment. We also check into their financial background, but that has no bearing on whether or not we rent to them. That is merely to see if said actor needs financial considerations.”

  “Let’s look at your current tenants, beginning with apartment two. Tell me a little about each resident, and to the best of your ability, tell me what each one’s schedule has been the past week.”

  Mrs. Crouch took the next ten minutes or so telling me a little about each of the tenants. Four of the tenants had been away over the weekend. That left three tenants at home, but one of them is confined to a wheelchair and a second one’s sister was visiting him all of last week. If that turned out to be true, that meant the actor who played two parts over the weekend lived in apartment three or apartment eight. I’d talk to both men and see if I could spot our busy actor friend.

  “Mrs. Crouch, I’d also like to know everyone’s whereabouts on Wednesday afternoon.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you there, Lieutenant. I met a friend for lunch and we went to a movie afterward. I left home about 11:00 and didn’t return until 5:30.”

  “And as far as you know, everyone else was here Wednesday afternoon?”

  “Not everyone. A taxi picked Mr. McArthur up just before I left. I didn’t see him again until this morning. Mr. McArthur just returned from a trip out of town. He was auditioning for a play. I was surprised he was gone so long, because when I talked to him on Tuesday he told me he would be back on Friday. Maybe the auditions took longer than he thought.”

  I didn’t tell Mrs. Crouch any different. Either she wasn’t home on Wednesday, or she was giving herself an alibi. But if she wasn’t home, someone had ample opportunity to roam the halls and dispense the poison, even if that someone came from outside the building. Of course, we still didn’t know if the murderer poisoned his or her victims inside that apartment building. They could’ve received the kiss of death in front of the police department for all we knew. Frank arrived at the time of death, but, for once, the poison could’ve been administered anywhere. Anywhere close enough to allow them to check in at the Overlook Inn on Thursday. Too bad we didn’t know where they were all of Wednesday. Both men could’ve followed Mrs. Crouch out the door.

  After learning the name of the friend she spent time with on Wednesday, finding out where they ate and what movie they saw, Lou and I thanked her for her time and left to talk to the occupant of apartment two.

  15

  I knocked on the second door and received a “Come in.” I opened the door, and spotted a man reclining on the couch, a wheelchair by his side. He didn’t seem surprised that his guests were strangers, but merely said, “Come on in. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m Lt. Dekker with the Hilldale Police Department, and this is Sgt. Murdock. We’re here to ask you a few questions.”

  Nothing about my declaration seemed to alarm the man. He merely introduced himself.

  “In case you don’t already know, I’m Arthur Rothschild. Forgive me for not getting up. Just grab a couple of kitchen chairs and bring them over.”

  Unlike Mrs. Crouch’s residence, Mr. Rothschild’s apartment was all one big room, except for the bathroom. The kitchen stood on the left, inside the front door. On
back, actually facing the street, was the living room. A bed stood behind the couch. There were two doors other than the one we entered. I figured one was the bathroom, the other a closet. Lou and I picked up a couple of chairs and put them down in front of the couch. I smiled to disarm Mr. Rothschild. He smiled back.

  “So, what brings you gentlemen by to see me today? Collecting for the policemen’s auxiliary fund?”

  “No, merely trying to locate an actor who spent the weekend at Overlook Inn.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. This building is full of actors. Did anyone see the person you’re looking for?”

  “I did.”

  “So, you know who he is, just don’t know his name.”

  “No, he came in disguise, even changed disguises during the weekend. Know anyone here who’s that gifted?”

  “I’d say anyone here could meet those qualifications. It looks like you’ve only eliminated myself and Mrs. Crouch.”

  “You’re not gifted?”

  “Oh, I’m gifted all right. At least I was, but I assume the actor you saw is capable of walking.”

  “He walked okay when I saw him.”

  “Well, that let’s me out. I’m not walking much these days.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Rothschild. How did you come to be a cripple?”

  He cringed at my mention of the word “cripple,” but answered my question.

  “It’s funny you’re here looking for someone who spent the weekend at Overlook Inn. It was at the Overlook Inn where I broke my leg. Winter of ’97. I fell off the stage into the orchestra pit, rehearsing for an upcoming play. Broke my leg in two places. If I could have gotten to the hospital, they could have set it correctly, but it just so happened that a blizzard had hit Hilldale the day before. I contacted the police, but they said there was no way to get through. The road was blocked to any type of traffic, and there was no way a helicopter could land in that wind, or on that small of a piece of property, with all those trees around. Longworth did the best he could trying to set it, but he had no medical experience, and he set it incorrectly. The result was that anytime I tried to walk the pain was so excruciating that I fell immediately to the floor. By the time the roads cleared and they could get me to a doctor, there was nothing he could do. Maybe if I lived in a large city or had money to go to a big city hospital, they could have helped me, but that didn’t happen. And so today, I stay home most of the time, and roll around the apartment.”

  “Didn’t this make you bitter?”

  “You bet it did. I had no place to go. No way to pay my bills. There weren’t enough parts for actors in wheelchairs. I stayed bitter all the time. If it wasn’t for Mr. Oppenheimer opening this place, I don’t know what I would have done. That man saved my life, but now I’ve gotten used to staying at home, and actually enjoy it. But I don’t know what I would have done if it wasn’t for Mr. Oppenheimer. I probably would have ended up a homeless cripple. I doubt if I would still be alive today.”

  “Mr. Rothschild, are you aware that the Overlook Inn will offer plays again soon?”

  “I wasn’t until the other day. Tony McArthur stopped by early Wednesday morning. He’d just found out. He came up with an idea for actors to book rooms for this past weekend at the inn, and to show up in costume and see if Longworth recognized anyone. He was on his way out of town to try out for a new play and asked me if I would check with some of the actors in the building to see if anyone was interested.”

  “And did you?”

  “Well, yes, but I didn’t get very far. I knocked on Martin Mulroney’s door, the guy who lives directly across from me, but he wasn’t home. I rolled back to my apartment to get something to write on, and left Mulroney a note. I was about to go to the next apartment, when the pain in my leg flared up. I came back to my apartment and took something for the pain. As is many times the case, it knocked me out. I didn’t wake up until the phone woke me. It was Mulroney. I told him that it looked like Longworth would soon be back in business, and about what McArthur suggested. He seemed excited about the idea. Then, I asked him if he would mind telling the other residents about McArthur’s idea. He said he would be delighted to.”

  “Mr. Rothschild, please give me a rundown of your acting career, and any of the building’s other tenants, if you can.”

  “Well, I caught the acting bug when I was in college. They were putting on the play Our Town, by Thornton Wilder, and I secured a part. A small part, but that allowed me to ease into acting. Otherwise, I might have succumbed to the pressure of learning all those lines. But, it was enough. The acting bug bit me. I continued to act all the way through college, snaring bigger roles as I grew in my craft, until I finally changed my major to Theater Arts. When I graduated, I went to New York at first, but the city was much too large for me. I stayed long enough to gain a little experience, then moved on. Over time, I hooked up with Longworth and ended up in Hilldale.”

  “What about the building’s other residents? Were their starts much the same as yours?”

  “Over time you forget what people tell you about their beginnings, except for the ones who began with you. Once I came to Hilldale, I never again saw anyone from college or the New York theater scene. I would say, however, that most of the actors I know began their careers in high school or college. A few might have begun later.”

  “Have you acted in any plays with any of the other people in this building?”

  “Oh, my yes. Many times.”

  “And does everyone get along?”

  “Well, there are spats from time to time, but I would have to say that most of us get along as well as most people get along with the people they work with. I had no complaints.”

  “Mr. Rothschild, let’s get back to Wednesday afternoon. Have you seen any of your neighbors since then?”

  “I haven’t been out of my apartment since, except to go to my mailbox out in the hall. I didn’t see anyone then.”

  I’d promised myself I’d check each resident’s boots, and threaten them with having someone return to take their fingerprints. I had indelibly committed to my brain the boot imprints left in my driveway, and a fingerprint expert could match the prints left in the two rooms in Overlook Inn to the actor who left them. I didn’t expect that Arthur Rothschild was either man, but I wanted to practice my lines anyway and see how he reacted.

  “Mr. Rothschild, I’d like to see any boots and shoes you have. And I might want to send a fingerprint expert by later today to take your prints.”

  “There’s a pair of shoes at the end of the couch.” He pointed to their direction. “I’ve got a pair of boots and a pair of athletic shoes in that closet,” he said, indicating the door. “I don’t have an occasion to wear any of them often. I spend most of my time right here in the apartment. I use this chair to get around the place, but most of the time I lie here just where I am now. I must say I’ve never been fingerprinted. So, you think I’m your man, huh, Lieutenant?”

  “It looks that way. We found a little old lady down the street and the tire tracks across her forehead resemble the ones on this chair.”

  “That’s what I get for doing away with her in broad daylight.” Rothschild held out his hands. “I assume you have to cuff me.”

  The three of us shared a laugh.

  “No, seriously, Mr. Rothschild, we’re checking everyone. I doubt if anything comes of it, but orders are orders.”

  “I understand, Lieutenant. You know where my shoes and boots are, and I’m not going anywhere in case you want some prints.”

  After I checked his shoes and boots and found them not to be the ones that interested me, I stood and Lou followed suit. The two of us returned the chairs to the kitchen table and said, “Goodbye.”

  +++

  I knew that walls had ears, so the sergeant and I didn’t discuss anything in the hall. Instead, we walked across the hall to apartment number three and knocked. The look on the man’s face when he opened the door told me that his prints might match the
ones at Overlook Inn. After I introduced myself, the man reluctantly admitted us to his apartment.

  “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Mulroney. Martin Mulroney. What’s all this about, Lieutenant?”

  “I just have a few questions about some actors. You are an actor, aren’t you, Mr. Mulroney?”

  “I’m sure you already know that all of us in this building make our living from acting, or did at one time.”

  “Does that include Mrs. Crouch?”

  “No, I meant the men.”

  “Mr. Mulroney, can you tell me where you were on Wednesday afternoon?”

  “Wednesday? Let’s see. What day did it snow?”

  “It snowed on Thursday.”

  “Then Wednesday might’ve been the day I went out. I believe it was. Yeah, that’s right. I was out Wednesday.”

  “All day?”

  “No, I didn’t go out until just before noon.”

  “And what time did you return home?”

  “Probably about four.”

  “And where were you over the weekend?”

  “The weekend?”

  “Yeah, you know the weekend. It was just yesterday. After the snow.”

  “I was in and out. Mostly in.”

  “Mr. Mulroney, I’m looking for some boots. Do you happen to own some boots?”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t be much help in telling you what kind of boots to buy. I seldom wear them.”

  “I don’t want to buy any boots, Mr. Mulroney. I want to see your boots.”

  “My boots. Whatever for?”

  “For the time being, let’s just make it my secret. Now, will you get your boots for me?”