Masquerade Page 18

  “Anyone who can corroborate that?”

  “I was in my room, alone. No, no one can verify . . . but I resent—”

  “Reverend Benbow?”

  “Well, as you’ve already mentioned, I took a walk after dinner. And then I returned to this building and went up to my . . . uh . . . our room.”

  “Anyone see you?”

  “The guards. They saw me leave and then return.”

  “It was a short walk. No more than half an hour at most. That leaves plenty of time you were in the building. All that time you were by yourself?”

  “I’m afraid so. Martha was at the movie.”

  “I see. Sister Marie?”

  “Lieutenant, I don’t see the purpose of this. Let’s say your hypothesis is true and that the liqueur was poisoned sometime after dinner last evening. That leaves all of that time—from after dinner yesterday until sometime between 8:00 and 10:00 tonight—for the murderer to act. That’s what . . . better than twenty-four hours. Why, then, are you so eager to know what we were doing for a few hours tonight?”

  “Narrowing it down, Sister. You’ll remember that after dinner last night you went through the psychodrama that Reverend Krieg arranged. Krieg and the kitchen attendants were in the dining room constantly until you returned to ‘view the body.’ Then you all were together in one of the classrooms until I came. After which you all retired. And, because of all the commotion, the head of the campus security force called five of the six guards into this building. They say there was no further movement throughout the building the rest of last night.

  “Then during the day today, people have been in and out of the kitchen and dining room all day long. It’s not likely someone who had to get a key from an adjacent room, open a cabinet, find the specific bottle, and then carefully pour in the poison—it’s not likely the killer would have chanced being seen doing this by all the people who were milling about this area through the day.

  “No, the best opportunity the killer had was after dinner this evening. All the excitement of last night was over. Things were very quiet and, as we are learning, no one will admit to being in this area. On top of that, after dinner everyone announced where they planned to spend the evening. Three of you to the movie, one for a walk, and the rest of you to your rooms. It was the perfect time for one of you to return and pour the poison.”

  Tully paused, but Marie appeared to have nothing further to say.

  “So,” Tully said, “Sister Marie, your whereabouts from 8:00 to 10:00 this evening?”

  Marie seemed to sigh, but it was inaudible. “I’m afraid my case is a carbon copy of Father Augustine’s evening. I went to my room and stayed there . . . catching up on some correspondence.” She brightened. “I have the letters I wrote if you want to see them.”

  Tully shook his head. “You could be a fast writer. You could have written them anytime. Any outside verification?”

  Marie lowered her eyes and shook her head.

  Tully nodded once, concluding one phase and beginning another.

  “I think it would be good,” Tully addressed Janet, “if you would continue with this workshop.”

  “Lieutenant,” Janet said, “as the resident host of this conference there’s nothing I’d like better than to proceed. But what about Reverend Krieg? We can’t let anything happen to him. And from what you’ve said I have to assume that his life is still threatened.”

  “That depends,” Tully said. “The only way we can create a safe environment for you, Reverend Krieg, is to keep you under lock and key in a safe place with police presence and protection.”

  “I’d have to stay in my room?” The mere fact someone had addressed him personally seemed to have awakened something within Krieg. His color began to return.

  “Something very much like that, yes,” Tully replied.

  Krieg pondered that for a moment. “No, I won’t do that. Out of the question.”

  “Then we’ll do our best, but it can’t be perfect. Now, about continuing the conference. Are you all willing?”

  “Funny,” Benbow said, “we had this same choice last night when we wondered whether to continue the conference after some heated words had been exchanged. And the odd thing is that it was Rabbi Winer who said something about having to go on. To see how this would end. And now, this is how it ended for him: He’s gone.”

  Tully gave them a few moments to consider their choice.

  “Reverend Krieg is the one at risk,” Marie said. “If he’s willing, I’m sure the rest of us will go along.”

  Another pause. Tully would wait as long as necessary for them to decide.

  “I’m willing,” Krieg said, quietly.

  “Then so am I,” Marie.

  “And I,” Benbow.

  “All right,” Augustine.

  “Good,” Tully. “Then the next order of business is that each of you will be interviewed by one of our officers.”

  “Now?” Janet said. “Lieutenant, it’s late, and these people will have to work tomorrow in an extremely trying atmosphere. Couldn’t we—”

  “Sister,” Tully interrupted, “this is a homicide investigation. The investigation has top priority. We’ll ask you all to cooperate and give your statements now.” There was something about the way he emphasized, “now,” that made it clear that the time frame was non-negotiable.

  There were no further objections.

  “One thing more,” Tully said, “we will want to search your rooms. All of you.”

  “No you don’t! No you don’t!” Augustine was vehement. “That’s going a bit far. We know better. You can’t do that without a search warrant.”

  Tully regarded him, then said, “If you insist on one, we’ll get one.”

  “You’ll have to show probable cause before a judge will issue one,” Marie said.

  “After all that’s been said here, the things you’ve said to each other in the presence of witnesses, the threats,” Tully said, “it shouldn’t be difficult at all to convince a judge.”

  Tully waited, but there were no further arguments. “Of course we’ll have to wonder why you are so reluctant to have a police search. But that’s up to you. You can give us permission to search or you can tough it out. Up to you.”

  After a few moments, Marie said, “Very well.”

  Benbow, with a glance, checked to see if his wife had any objection. Seeing none, he said, “You have our permission.”

  Augustine seemed to be fighting the issue within himself. “Oh, all right. But you can be sure the people back in Massachusetts are going to hear about what a police state you have here in Detroit.”

  Tully ignored the virtually undeliverable threat. “Good. Now, please, all of you stay where you are. The officers will be here very shortly to take your statements.”

  Tully did not leave a happy group behind him. But as he, Koznicki, and Koesler left the room Tully felt the emotional charge of commencing the investigation. It was off the ground. The chase was on to discover whodunit.

  He quickly dispatched officers, some to interrogate the faculty, some to search their rooms.

  “It was fortunate they backed away from their insistence on a warrant,” said Koznicki.

  “Yes,” Tully said. “That could have taken some time. I’m sure we wouldn’t have any trouble getting one. But we’d have had to limit ourselves to whatever areas we listed in the warrants. Now we can bring to light anything we happen to find.”

  “What did you think of the session with them just now?” Koznicki asked.

  “Interesting,” Tully said. “They’re amateurs, of course, but they are familiar with police procedure. Probably done their research well. But one thing puzzles me.”

  “And that?” Koznicki asked.

  “They’re not turning on each other.”

  “Not turning on each other?” Koesler asked.

  “Sister Janet just doesn’t figure in that group. Martha Benbow might be a stronger suspect if only on behalf of her husband. Bu
t, then, she was at the movie during the 8:00 to 10:00 time of death.

  “That leaves Benbow, Augustine, and Marie. Each of them seems to have some kind of grudge against Krieg. Only we don’t know why. It’s gotta be more, lots more, than that they just don’t want to write for him. Hell, all they’ve got to do is say ‘no.’ Even if they have to say it more than once. God, it’s a free country. Krieg can ask them pretty please as often as he wants. And they can say, ‘Get lost, creep,’ as often as they want.

  “I think, first thing, we gotta find out what’s the kicker. Why are they so sore-assed about it?

  “But the most puzzling thing is that they’re not going after each other. I gave them every chance to jump on each other. Augustine could say Marie or Benbow did this or that, which makes them more likely suspects. Or Benbow could say Augustine or Marie did such and so, which turns the spotlight on them. But no; they stuck together. When one agrees to be interrogated, they all agree. When one agrees to a search, they all agree. It doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. But it will,” he added, “it will.”

  “The statements they made, the questions they asked,” Koesler said, “didn’t you find them rather unusual?”

  “Unusual?” Koznicki repeated.

  “For one thing,” Koesler said, “I know that without their consent you wouldn’t have been able to search their rooms without a warrant. But I didn’t know about “probable cause”—that you wouldn’t be able to get a judge to issue a warrant without convincing him that there was reason to believe they could be guilty of a crime and that the search was necessary.”

  “Yeah,” Tully said. “Well, like I said, they’re amateurs. They’ve done their homework; probably learned a lot from research. That’s good news and bad news. Maybe they can be helpful if they pay attention and let us know what they think, what they suspect, what they see and hear. On the other hand, they are just as likely to get in the way.”

  “And one thing we must never overlook,” Koznicki said. “One of them killed a man.”

  “Yeah,” Tully agreed.

  “If you don’t mind,” said Koesler, “I have one more question.”

  Tully said nothing, but he came close to minding. What he’d said about the others in this ersatz faculty also applied to Koesler. The others wrote murder mysteries. Granted Koesler had been involved in actual homicide investigations. And, to be fair, he had made few mistakes, and had actually been very helpful on occasion. But they all were amateurs and while they could prove useful, they could even more probably get in the way.

  Plus—and this was more like the bottom line—there was the awareness that Koesler was a close friend of Walt Koznicki. And Koznicki, although he needn’t and didn’t throw his considerable weight around, was still the boss.

  It was with all that in mind that Tully accepted another question.

  “The thing that kept bothering me in there was how narrow the scope of this investigation is. Now I know I’m not a detective and I’m not a real part of this investigation—nor should I be.

  “But you seem to be insisting that the crime had to be committed this evening between 8:00 and 10:00. That the liqueur had to be poisoned during that time. And that it had to be done by either Dave Benbow, Augustine, or Marie.

  “Isn’t that a bit restrictive? I know that people have been in and out and around the dining area all day long. But isn’t it just possible that somebody, somehow, managed to get into the dining room, into the cabinet and poison the drink sometime during the day, long before dinner?

  “And if that is possible, isn’t it also possible that almost anyone could have done it?”

  Tully nodded. “Sure, everything’s possible. Thing is, we got a hot potato goin’ on here. People downtown are gonna want this thing closed yesterday, which gives us an advantage we don’t ordinarily get: We’ll get lots of help. With all that help, we’ll be lookin’ into everything. All the things you mentioned and more, Padre. The students, the kitchen people, the security guards—everybody’s being checked and interrogated. When we get done with the initial phase of this investigation, we will pretty well know what everybody has been doing nearly minute by minute all day today.”

  “Well,” Koesler said, “I must say that’s reassuring. I’m sorry I raised the question. No,” he corrected himself, “I’m glad I asked, because it puts my mind at ease. But then . . .”

  “But then,” Tully picked up, “if all that’s goin’ on, why am I concentrating on Benbow, Marie, and Augustine?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “It could be anybody, Padre, like you say. But if it isn’t Benbow, Marie, or Augustine or any combination thereof, I’ll swallow my badge. They make up the list of the likely perps. That’s why with everybody else covering everybody else, I and a few others are gonna zero in on those three.”

  15

  “Father Koesler!”

  The priest spun around. The greeting had been delivered so unaffectedly and enthusiastically that it had taken him by complete surprise.

  It was a woman with an uncommonly pronounced smile. Dark hair styled in bangs, no glasses, hazel eyes, about five-feet-six, comfortably filled out; she looked like someone’s idea of the stereotypical homemaker.

  Who was she?

  It happened all the time. Priests meet so very many people. Especially priests who move from parish to parish during their extensive tours of duty. Inevitably, no matter where he happens to be, people will accost a priest with something like, “Father so-and-so! Remember me?”

  More often than not the answer had to be, “Not really.”

  Which usually was followed by, “You married me!” Or, “You baptized me!”

  A priest Koesler’s age will have witnessed the marriage of hundreds of couples, most of them fading into one unrecognizable mélange. Ditto baptisms, first Communions, and school plays.

  So he tried to be as pleased about this chance meeting as was the young woman who had greeted him. But his hesitation communicated his failure to place her.

  “Angie Moore,” she supplied. “Sergeant Angie Moore. We worked together briefly last year on an arrest . . .”

  Aha! That was it. “Of course . . . Sergeant Moore.”

  It all came flooding back. “The last time I saw you you were sitting on the floor and you were cut . . . bleeding. How are you now?”

  She laughed. An infectious, musical laugh. “That was a year ago, Father. I’m fine. I would’ve lost more blood if I’d given to the Red Cross.”

  “Good, good.” Now what? “So, what are you doing here, Sergeant?”

  “There’s been a murder, Father. I work in Homicide, remember?”

  Damn! “Of course. How stupid of me.”

  “Did you see her, Angie?” Tully was tiring of this reunion.

  “Yeah, Zoo. I saw her. And learned a lot.”

  Tully explained to Koznicki and, necessarily, Koesler also. “I asked Angie to get in touch with Mrs. Winer, the rabbi’s wife . . . widow. So you saw her. How did it go?”

  The transformation was instantaneous. It was as if her happy surprise at meeting Koesler hadn’t happened. Angie Moore was all business.

  “It was rough,” Moore said, “real rough. I guess they must have been real close. One of those exceptions, a long and happy marriage. I thought I was gonna lose her right after I gave her the news. I mean, I thought she was gonna faint. But she didn’t. She hung on. She wanted so much to know what happened she must have forced herself to hold on.”

  “And then?” Tully prodded.

  “And then she wanted to know how it happened. Wait a minute . . .” She took her notepad out of her purse and consulted it. “I told her,” Moore said, “that it had been a mistake—the result of a fluke, an accident. That someone had intended to kill Klaus Krieg, but that her husband had accidentally been poisoned with a drink intended for Krieg.

  “At first she didn’t say anything. Then she said, ‘What a waste! What a waste!’”

  “Strange,” Koznick
i commented.

  “That’s what I thought,” Moore said. “But I got the impression she wanted to open up to me. So I just kind of kept quiet and waited. And then, she did.

  “She said, ‘What a waste! Irv went to that workshop to have it out with Krieg once and for all. And that Irv should die in Krieg’s place—I can’t believe it!’

  “I agreed with her. Then I asked what she meant by her husband ‘having it out’ with Krieg.

  “She didn’t respond immediately. Like she was debating with herself whether to open up or not. Finally, she said, ‘You see, my husband was in a Nazi concentration camp . . .’” Moore looked at Tully. “Did you know that?”

  “Yeah,” Tully said. “He had a number tattooed on his arm.” Tully shrugged. “He was Jewish.”

  “Well,” Moore continued, “I asked her what her husband being in a concentration camp had to do with Krieg. She didn’t say anything for several minutes, just sat looking off into the distance. Finally, I guess everything overflowed. She started to talk, so slowly and quietly at first that I could barely hear her.

  “She said, ‘It was near the end, just before the camp was liberated. Irv had suffered the pains of the damned for seven years. He lasted longer than just about anyone else condemned to that hell on earth. Then something happened.’ She stopped for a moment . . . as if she was struggling with herself. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision—sort of as if she had decided to trust me. Actually,” Angie looked a little ill at the memory, “I think she was so close to breaking down that she had to overflow—you know, confide in another human being. And I guess ’cause it was another woman, it was easier for her.

  “Anyway, she said, ‘He became an informer, a traitor to his own people, a collaborator with the Nazis.’

  “Then she broke down crying. She was sobbing so hard I put my arms around her and just held her. Finally, she pulled herself together. And she said, ‘Irv didn’t know I knew. It was the one thing, the only thing he never told me. I found out when I started researching his genealogy. He was so proud of his heritage, I wanted to get a family tree put together for him. I went to a lot of trouble, writing, getting names of his friends, his family.