Cooper apologized to Nita and Fitz, who had been patiently waiting to give their statements, for keeping them so long, and for the diversion.
“No apology necessary,” said Fitz. “The IDs are more important, and all this background is interesting. East Eighth Street is just outside my precinct—the border is Sixth Avenue—so I know the neighborhood well. Nita and I had our first date at the Cedar Tavern, when it was on West Eighth Street.”
Nita poked her husband in the ribs. “It was supposed to be a business meeting, so I could report a development in the homicide case we were both working on at the time. I could have given him the information over the phone, but he insisted we meet in person.”
“You’ve got a lousy memory,” he replied with a grin. “You were the one who suggested the meeting. I just named the place.” His arm went through hers. “We got the business part over with pretty quick. From then on it was pure pleasure, for me anyway.”
She returned his smile. “The feeling was mutual. And still is. But please, Dr. Cooper, make your call. We can wait a bit longer. The housekeeper at the Sea Spray is looking after our son ’til we get back, but I don’t want to take advantage of her. And we made a date for him to go fishing up in Springs this afternoon.”
“I’ll take Jim and Charlotte to my place,” said Ossorio, “and we can call Sande from there. There are others to be notified as well, people in the city who may not have heard.” He turned to Cooper. “When will you release Jackson’s body? I’d like to be able to tell them when the funeral will be.”
“I’ll do the autopsy this afternoon. It should be routine, the cause of death is pretty evident. You say his wife will be back tomorrow? See if Fred can schedule the funeral for Wednesday. That should give folks enough time to make travel arrangements.”
Ossorio thanked him, and left with Jim and Charlotte.
“Interesting fellow, that Ossorio,” remarked Nita. “He looks Spanish, sounds English, yet he doesn’t seem to be exactly either.”
“I’ve never met him before,” said Cooper, “but I’ve heard a lot about him. He’s Filipino—Spanish father, Chinese blood on his mother’s side. He bought a big estate out here a few years ago. His family’s very rich, the father owns a sugar mill. He went to boarding school in England, that’s where the accent comes from. But he’s something of a black sheep, turned up his nose at the family business to be an artist. And he’s a pansy, got a ballet dancer for a boyfriend, so I’m told. But let me get you out of here before your whole day is shot.” He motioned them back to their chairs by the desk.
With a policeman’s precision, as if he were reading from notes, Fitz described the accident and its aftermath, his finding Pollock’s body, and Officer Finch’s discovery of Metzger’s body under the car. Nita gave an equally concise report of tending to Kligman, and of Dr. Abel’s ministrations.
“I couldn’t tell right away if Pollock was dead,” said Fitz, “he looked like he might just be unconscious. He was lying on his side, so any visible injuries must have been on the side that was hidden. I didn’t want to move him, but I checked the carotid, and there was no pulse.”
“The cranial and thoracic lacerations are on his right side,” said Cooper. “He’s still in rigor, but I can feel a severe skull fracture and broken ribs.”
“Officer Finch must have told you how we got the dead girl out from under the car,” Fitz continued. “I didn’t think there was much chance of her being alive, and when I pulled her out I could tell her neck was broken. Of course I thought that was what killed her. It was pretty dark, and she was covered in dirt and leaves, but I should have noticed the neck bruises.”
Cooper hastened to reassure him. “I didn’t see them myself at first. She also has bruising on her upper arms that could easily be mistaken for dirt smudges. Of course, under the circumstances, you would assume she died as a result of the crash. If she hadn’t already been dead, the broken neck certainly would have been fatal.
“I hope the Kligman girl can shed some light on this,” he continued. “I’d better ring the hospital and see how she’s doing. Do you mind waiting just a few minutes more while I make the call?”
Of course not, they said, and Cooper lifted the receiver and dialed a number he knew well.
“Not good,” he told them, replacing the receiver. “No broken bones, but she’s still not conscious. She’s in severe shock, and they’re afraid she’s going to lapse into a coma. We need to locate her family. Metzger’s, too.”