She lifted her eyebrows in a shrug. “We weren’t close. We had little in common. But there was no animosity.”
She seemed goddamn guarded to me; I decided to try and knock her wall down, or at least jar some stones loose.
I said: “Do you think your mother killed Rheta?”
Her dark eyes rose to mine and flashed. “Of course not. I never heard my mother speak an unkind word to or about Rheta.” She searched her mind for an example, and came up with one: “Why-whenever Mother bought me a dress, she bought one for Rheta, also.”
She returned her gaze to the coffee, which she stirred methodically.
Then she continued: “She was worried about Rheta, actually. Worried about the way Earle was treating her. Worried about all the…well, about the crowd he started to run around with down at the World’s Fair. Mother asked me to talk to him about it.”
“About what, exactly?”
“His conduct.”
“You mean, his girl friends.”
She looked at me sharply. “Mr. Heller, my understanding is that you are in our family’s employ. Some of these questions of yours seem uncalled for.”
I gave her my most charming smile. “Miss Wynekoop…doctor…I’m like you. Sometimes I have to ask unpleasant questions, if I’m going to make the proper diagnosis.”
She considered that a moment, then smiled. It was a honey of a smile, making mine look like the shabby sham it was.
“I understand, Mr. Heller.” She rose. She’d never touched the coffee once. “I’m afraid I have afternoon rounds to make.”
She extended her hand; it was delicate, but her grasp had strength, and she had dignity. Hard to believe she was Earle’s sister.
I had my own rounds to make, and at a different hospital; it took a couple of streetcars to do the job. The County Jail was a grim, low-slung graystone lurking behind the Criminal Courts Building. This complex of city buildings was just south of a West Side residential area, just eight blocks south of Douglas Park. Old home week for me.
Alice Wynekoop was sitting up in bed, reading a medical journal, when I was led to her by a matron. She was in the corner and had much of the ward to herself; the beds on either side were empty.
She was of average size, but frail-looking; she appeared much older than her sixty-three years, her flesh freckled with liver spots, her neck creped. The skin of her face had a wilted look, dark patches under the eyes, saggy jowls.
But her eyes were dark and sharp. And her mouth was a stern line.
“Are you a policeman?” she asked. Her tone was neutral.
I had my hat in hand. “I’m Nathan Heller,” I said. “I’m the private investigator your son hired.”
She smiled in a business-like way, extended her hand for me to shake, which I did. Surprisingly strong for such a weak-looking woman.
“Pull up a chair, Mr. Heller,” she said. Her voice was clear and crisp. Someone very different than the woman she outwardly appeared to be lived inside that worn-out body.
I sat. “I’m going to be asking around about some things…inquire about burglaries in your neighborhood and such.”
She nodded, twice, very business-like. “I’m certain the thief was after narcotics. In fact, some narcotics were taken, but I keep precious few in my surgery.”
“Yes. I see. What about the gun?”
“It was my husband’s. We’ve had it for years. I’ve never fired it in my life.”
I took out my small spiral notebook. “I know you’re weary of telling it, but I need to hear your story. Before I go poking around the edges of this case, I need to understand the center of it.”
She nodded and smiled. “What would you like to know, exactly?”
“When did you last see your daughter-in-law?”
“About three p.m. that Tuesday. She said she was going for a walk with Mrs. Donovan…”
“Who?”
“A neighbor of ours who was a good friend to the child. Verna Donovan. She’s a divorcee; they were quite close.”
I wrote the name down. “Go on.”
“Anyway, Rheta said something about going for a walk with Mrs. Donovan. She also said she might go downtown and get some sheet music. I urged her to go out in the air, as it was a fine day, and gave her money for the music. After she left, I went for a walk myself, through the neighborhood. It was an usually beautiful day for November, pleasantly warm.”
“How long were you gone?”
“I returned at about four forty-five p.m. I came in the front door. Miss Shaunesey arrived from school about six o’clock. I wasn’t worried then about Rheta’s absence, because I expected her along at any minute. I prepared dinner for the three of us-Miss Shaunesey, Rheta and melf-and set the table. Finally, Miss Shaunesey and I sat down to eat…both wondering where Rheta was, but again, not terribly worried.”
“It wasn’t unusual for her to stay out without calling to say she’d miss supper?”
“Not in the least. She was quiet, but rather…self-absorbed. If she walked by a motion-picture marquee that caught her eye, she might just wander on in, without a thought about anyone who might be waiting for her.”
“She sounds inconsiderate.”
Alice Wynekoop smiled tightly, revealing a strained patience. “She was a strange, quiet girl. Rather moody, I’m afraid. She had definite feelings of inferiority, particularly in regards to my daughter, Catherine, who is after all a physician. But I digress. At about a quarter to seven, I telephoned Mrs. Donovan and asked her if she had been with Rheta. She said she hadn’t seen her since three o’clock, but urged me not to worry.”
“Were you worried?”
“Not terribly. At any rate, at about seven o’clock I asked Miss Shaunesey to go and get a prescription filled for me. She left the house and I remained there. She returned about an hour later and was surprised that Rheta had not yet returned. At this point, I admit I was getting worried about the girl.”
“Tell me about finding the body.”
She nodded, her eyes fixed. “Miss Shaunesey and I sat and talked in the library. Then about eight thirty she asked me to get her some medicine for an upset stomach. I went downstairs to the examination room to get the medicine from the cabinet.” She placed a finger against one cheek, thoughtfully. “I recall now that I thought it odd to find the door of the examination room closed, as it was usually kept open. I turned the knob and slipped my hand inside to find the electric switch.”
“And you found her.”
She shuddered, but it seemed a gesture, not an involuntary response. “It is impossible for me to describe my feelings when I saw Rheta lying there under that flood of light! I felt as if I were somewhere else. I cannot find words to express my feelings.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, I knew something had to be done at once, and I called my daughter, Catherine, at the county hospital. I told her Rheta was dead. She was terribly shocked, of course. I…I thought I had asked Catherine to notify the coroner and to hurry right over. It seemed ages till she got there. When she did arrive, I had her call Dr. Berger and Mr. Ahearn. It wasn’t until some time after they arrived that I realized Catherine had not called the coroner as I thought I’d instructed her. Mr. Ahearn then called the authorities.”
I nodded. “All right. You’re doing fine, doctor. Now tell me about your son and his wife.”
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t a happy union, was it.”
Her smile was a sad crease in her wrinkled face. “At one time it was. Earle went with me to a medical convention in Indianapolis in…must have been ’29. Rheta played the violin as part of the entertainment, there. They began to correspond. A yr later they were wed.”
