We know he did it, but do we have enough to indict him?” Barbara Krause threw the question out to Assistant Prosecutor Tom Moran, the head of her homicide squad. Six days had passed since the remains of Susan Althorp had been found on the unfenced grounds of the Carrington estate. An autopsy had been performed and positive identification had been established. The cause of death was strangulation.
Moran, a balding and somewhat overweight twenty-five-year veteran of the prosecutor’s office, shared his boss’s frustration. Since the body had been discovered, the wealth and power of the Carrington family had become evident. Carrington had lined up a team of nationally known criminal defense attorneys, and they were already at work preparing to defend a possible indictment. The cold hard facts were that the Bergen County prosecutor did have enough evidence to establish probable cause to file a murder complaint against Carrington, and a grand jury would almost certainly indict him. But the odds were that a trial jury, with the burden of proof being beyond a reasonable doubt, would either acquit him or end up a hung jury.
Nicholas Greco was expected at the prosecutor’s office momentarily. He had called and requested an appointment with Barbara Krause, and she had invited Moran to sit in on it.
“He says he may have come across something useful,” Krause told Moran. “Let’s hope so. I’m not crazy about outsiders involved in our cases, but in this instance I’ll be happy to give him any credit he wants if he helps us convict Carrington.”
She and Moran had spent the morning discussing the strengths and weaknesses of the case, and found nothing new. The fact that Carrington had driven Susan home and had been the last person known to see her was diminished by the fact that both her mother and father heard her come into the house, and that she had called out “good night” to them. When foul play was suspected, Carrington, then twenty years old, had answered all of the questions their office had thrown at him. When he realized that his son was a suspect, Carrington’s father had allowed, even demanded, a thorough search of the mansion, the grounds, and Peter’s car. The search had yielded nothing.
By the end of the first day that Susan had not contacted her family, Carrington’s summer tuxedo and shoes had been tested for any possible evidence, with negative results. The formal shirt he had been wearing could not be found. He claimed he had put it in the hamper as usual and the new maid had sworn that she had given it to the dry cleaner’s pickup service the next morning. The cleaner claimed to have received only one dress shirt, the one belonging to Carrington’s father, but that lead had gone nowhere. Investigation showed that the particular cleaner had a long history of mishandling clothing and mixing up orders.
“In fact, the delivery they made when they supposedly picked up the shirt had a neighbor’s jacket in it,” Krause said, exasperation evident in her voice. “That shirt Carrington was wearing is the piece of evidence we’ve always needed. Dollars to donuts it had blood on it.”
The buzzer on Krause’s intercom sounded. Nicholas Greco had arrived.
Greco had met Tom Moran when he initially reviewed the files of the Althorp case. Now he wasted no time in getting to the reason for his visit. “You can imagine how Mrs. Althorp is feeling,” he said. “She told me that at least she knows that before too long she and Susan will be lying side by side in the cemetery. But of course the discovery of the body on Carrington property has reinforced her need to see Peter Carrington brought to justice.”
“Exactly our reaction,” Krause said bitterly.
“As you know, I have been interviewing people close to the Carringtons, including some of the staff. Sometimes memories can be jogged long after the excitement of the initial investigation has taken place. I saw in your files that at the time of the disappearance, you questioned Gary and Jane Barr, the former and present Carrington housekeepers.”
“Of course we did.” Barbara Krause leaned forward slightly, an indication that she sensed she was about to hear something of interest.
“It’s noted in your files that Barr mentioned that the morning of the brunch he overheard Carrington tell Vincent Slater that Susan had left her pocketbook in his car, and he asked Slater to run it over to her home in case she needed anything from it. It seemed to me to be a very unusual request, since Susan was expected at the brunch, and her mother remembers that she was carrying a very small evening bag at the dinner. Slater reported that he looked in the car; the purse was not there. When I pressed Barr, he told me he recalled that when Carrington got that response from Slater, he said, ‘That’s impossible. It has to be there.’ ”
“The purse was found with Susan’s body,” Barbara Krause said. “Are you suggesting that Carrington returned it to her after he supposedly went to bed, then forgot that he had done so? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Was there anything found in the purse that might have been significant?”
“The material was rotted through. A comb, a handkerchief, lip gloss, a compact.” Barbara Krause’s eyes narrowed. “Do you believe this sudden spurt of precise memory from Gary Barr?”
Greco shrugged. “I do, because I spoke to Slater. He verified the conversation, although with different emphasis. He insists that Carrington told him that Susan may have forgotten her purse. I might add two personal observations: The question upset Slater, and Barr seemed very nervous to me. Don’t forget, I talked to Barr before the body was found. I know that he and his wife helped out at parties at the Althorp home from time to time. So he would have been in contact with Susan there as well as at the Carrington estate.”
“Jane Barr swears that after the dinner party she and Gary went directly to their condominium, which was not on the grounds of the estate,” Tom Moran told Greco.
“Barr is hiding something,” Greco said flatly. “And, I’ll bet you anything you want to wager that whether or not Susan Althorp had her purse with her when she got out of Peter Carrington’s car is significant, and may have a lot to do with solving this case.”
“I’m even more interested in the missing dress shirt Carrington was wearing the night of the dinner party,” Barbara Krause said.
“That was the other thing I wanted to discuss. I have a stringer in the Philippines. He managed to track down Maria Valdez, the maid who gave that statement about the shirt.”
“You know where she is!” Krause exclaimed. “About one month after our initial investigation, she quit the job, went back to the Philippines, and got married. We know that much. She had promised to keep us informed of any address change, but then we lost track of her. The most we could find out is that she had gotten a divorce and disappeared.”
“Maria Valdez is remarried and has three children. She lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I saw her yesterday. I would suggest that someone authorized to make a deal with her accompany me back to Lancaster tomorrow. By that I mean a guarantee in writing that she would never be prosecuted for lying when she was questioned years ago.”
“She was lying about the shirt!” Krause and Moran shouted at the same time.
Greco smiled. “Let’s say that as a mature woman she can no longer live with the knowledge that her statement twenty-two years ago has kept a murderer from being punished.”