AUGUST 1972
“I’ve got a name for you.”
Jack tightened his grip on the receiver in his hand. “George, I could kiss you.”
Gifford laughed. “I’m holding out for someone prettier than you, Chief.” There was a rustling sound of paper near the phone. “Okay, the registrar ID’d her. Natalie Epstein, born October eighteen, ’52. Father is Harold Epstein, 41 West Seventy-second Street, New York.”
“The city. I knew it.”
“I got his home and work numbers. Ready?”
Jack scribbled it down. “Did you get the contact info of any friends? Roommates?”
“She dropped out last year, after the first semester. Her roomie from the year before is studying abroad.” Jack could hear Gifford rolling his eyes at that.
“That’s fine. The father’s the real lead.”
“You want me to keep heading south and see if I can interview him?”
“Let me try him on the phone first. If anything sounds hinky, I’ll contact the NYPD before we see him in person. Don’t want to poke a stick at New York’s Finest.”
“I hear you. Okay, I’ll see you back at the shop.”
“Good work, George.” Jack hung up. He carried the notepad he’d been writing on to his secretary’s desk. “Harlene, I want you to connect me to this long-distance number. Send it straight to my phone.”
“Sure.” She settled her headset gingerly over her bouffant hair, then paused. Jack guessed she’d get the job done a lot faster if he wasn’t hanging over her shoulder and retreated back to his office. It took her a few minutes to sort out, but eventually the phone rang. He picked it up. The other line rang twice, then a professionally polite voice answered, “Kriggs, Epstein, and Springer.”
Law firm? Accountants? “I’d like to speak to Mr. Epstein, please.”
“Mr. Harold Epstein? Or Mr. Leonard Epstein?”
“The former.”
“I’m afraid he’s going into a conference. May I take a message for him?”
“This is Chief John Liddle of the Millers Kill Police Department. I’m calling about his daughter Natalie. I need to speak with him in person, as soon as possible.”
“Oh!” There was a pause. “Um. Please hold, while I try to get him for you.”
The line went to the blank non-tone of hold. Jack doodled on his notepad, circles and swirls that became big looping curls. He crosshatched over them and was about to open a drawer for his scheduling folder when he heard a click and a sigh. “This is Harold Epstein.” The man sounded resigned to hearing bad news.
“Mr. Epstein, this is Jack Liddle of the Millers Kill Police—”
“If it’s bail money, I’m not paying it.”
Jack blinked. “No.” Better to get it over with quick. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your daughter is dead.”
There was a long pause. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“Mr. Epstein, I’m sure this is a shock, and if I could have told you face-to-face—”
“Where is Millers Kill? Near Poughkeepsie?”
“We’re in the southern Adirondack region. About an hour and a half north of Albany.”
“North of Albany. Jesus Christ.”
Jack thought there were worse places to die, but perhaps that wasn’t Epstein’s point. “I have a few questions about Natalie—”
“Are you sure it’s her?”
“Her roommates have confirmed her identity, but we’d like a family member to come up if possible.” He paused, but there was no reply. “Did you know your daughter had left Vassar?”
“I knew she dropped out, if that’s what you mean. I told her if she couldn’t carry through with something as simple as studying goddamn English, she wasn’t going to get another cent from me. Goddammit. I can’t believe it. Wait, I gotta get something to write with. What did you say your name is?”
Jack repeated his name and position, and gave Epstein the address and phone number of the station. “Like I said, we’d like you or another family member to ID her, but in the meantime, I’d like to find out what you knew about Natalie’s activities.”
“I knew squat. She came home after the fall term, told me she wanted to get a real education from life, and proceeded to hang around the house for a month, sleeping all day and going out all night. I told her get a job, or leave, and she left. Goddammit. Goddamn—” There was a wet slap of sound. The man was crying. Then the phone went dead.
“Crap.” Jack hung up. He went into Harlene’s office. “I lost the call.”
“Oh, no.” She looked at her switchboard.
“No, no, it’s nothing you did. I got the father, and he was understandably upset. I’m going to give it ten minutes and call him back.” Time enough to get started on the schedule for next month, at least.
He had gotten as far as penciling in extra cars in the school zones for the first week of September when his phone rang. “It’s Mr. Epstein, calling you back,” Harlene said when he picked up. “Hang on.”
There was a click. “Mr. Epstein? It’s Jack Liddle.”
“This is Leonard Epstein, Chief Liddle. I’m Natalie’s brother. I understand you have some questions.”
The brother sounded shaky, but in control.
“I do, thanks. Your father said Natalie left home about a month after dropping out of college. Do you know what she did? Where she went?”
“She read about some commune in Virginia, and went there for a couple weeks. Then she worked her way down to Florida. I know her plan was to meet up with some of her Vassar friends for spring break. That was the last we heard from her.”
“That was when? February?”
“March. Dad says she was upstate?”
“At a sort of mini-commune with a few other kids. It sounds like she and your dad didn’t part on the best of terms. Is there anyone else she might have been in contact with? Maybe her mother?” It wasn’t unheard of for a kid to keep a line open to Mom without the dad knowing about it.
“Our mother died when Nat was little. If she had been in touch with me or any of my brothers, we would have told Dad. Nat’s the—was the youngest. We all looked out for her.”
“I see. How about a few days ago? According to the people she lived with, Natalie decided to leave the commune. One of them drove her to the bus station in time to meet the northbound coach from New York. She didn’t have much money, and we don’t know of any reason why she’d head further north. Could she have called someone to come up and rescue her?”
“I guess? I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head. Sorry.”
“Okay. I know it’s a lot to absorb. When one of you comes up to identify her body—”
“That’ll be me.”
“Good. Before you head north, could you look through Natalie’s belongings? We’re particularly interested in any address books or diaries she might have had. Anything that might connect her to someone at that bus station.” Jack didn’t mention the possibility that she had wandered away and been picked up by some random guy, because if that was the case, he had absolutely nothing to go on. Except Russell Van Alstyne, a cool voice in his head reminded him. He focused on Leonard Epstein, detailing his plan for busing up tomorrow morning. “Great. Thank you. We’ll see you then.”
“Chief Liddle? Just—one thing I didn’t get from my father. How did Natalie die?”