Thursday, August 16
“Toll of Ten Lives in Motor Crashes, One Murder, Saturday,” read the front-page headline in the weekly edition of the East Hampton Star, the local paper of record. The article led with the story of Pollock and his passengers, including the fact that one of them was dead before the crash.
“Dammit,” growled Harry Steele as he slammed the paper down on the breakfast table. In answer to his wife’s raised eyebrows, he explained, “Somebody blabbed. Now the cat’s out of the bag.” He read down the column:
Sunday morning’s radio announced that ten people were dead in three Saturday automobile accidents in East Hampton and Southampton, but one victim, a passenger in a car driven by Jackson Pollock, 44, an internationally known artist, was later determined to have been dead when the car ran off Fireplace Road into the woods and overturned.
The victim, Miss Edith Metzger, 25, the assistant manager of a beauty salon in New York City, was visiting Mr. Pollock, who made his home at The Springs, about a mile from the accident scene. Another passenger in his car, Miss Ruth Kligman, 26, an art gallery assistant in New York City, was taken to Southampton Hospital, where she is recovering from multiple injuries. Mr. Pollock’s wife, Lenore Krasner Pollock, also an artist, was in Europe at the time of the accident, which occurred at about 10:15 p.m. on August 11.
Miss Metzger was originally thought to have died of a broken neck at the scene, but was later found to have been fatally strangled not long before the crash. Her death is being investigated as a homicide by the East Hampton Town Police Department, assisted by Captain Brian Fitzgerald and his wife, Detective Juanita Diaz, of the New York City Police Department, who are vacationing here at the Sea Spray Inn.
The article went on to describe the accident scene and paraphrase the police report, although not the Metzger autopsy results. Apparently the reporter didn’t get the document itself, but the leak must have come from someone in the coroner’s office. And someone at the inn must have given up Fitz’s and Nita’s names. There was also a description of the funeral tacked onto the end of the article, evidently just before the paper’s Wednesday evening deadline. At least they don’t have anything on the skin fragments, thought Steele. Small blessing.
He decided to drive over to the Sea Spray with a copy of the paper, and found the Fitzgerald family relaxing on the cottage deck. Another perfect summer day about to be spoiled, he said to himself as they waved enthusiastically at his approach.
“Morning, Harry,” called Fitz. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Any new developments?”
“I’ll say. Take a look at this.” He handed over the Star.
“Oh, boy, that tears it,” said Nita. “I’d better try to get to Kligman before someone at the hospital spills the beans. I know Doc Abel said to wait for his call, but I think we should drive over there now.” She looked at Fitz and TJ, who agreed reluctantly to sacrifice their morning on the beach.
“No, you boys stay here, I’ll do the honors,” offered Steele. “I can pull rank on Doc Abel if necessary. It’s time we got to the bottom of this, at least find out what Kligman knows, which I’m sure is plenty.”
“I’ll just get my handbag,” said Nita, “and a piece of evidence you haven’t seen yet. Our junior detective here found it yesterday afternoon. I’ll explain on the way.”
They arrived at the hospital to find Abel conferring with the head nurse at the second-floor charge desk. He saw them coming, and moved to head them off before they could get to Kligman’s room.
“Iris is in with her,” he explained. “She’s sitting up, and she ate a good breakfast. I don’t see any reason why you can’t talk to her, but I think only Detective Diaz. She might be put off by your uniform, Harry.”
Steele chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right, Bill. My bedside manner is nonexistent. Besides, Nita here doesn’t need any help from me. By the way, who’s Iris?”
“Believe it or not, Kligman has an identical twin sister. That’s Iris. She looks just like her, at least before the crash. Don’t be concerned by the way Ruth looks now—it’s just the progression of the bruising. The scrapes on her face are healing nicely. I doubt there’ll be any scarring, but she’s still somewhat swollen and livid.”
Abel asked them to wait while he went to collect Iris.
“Ask her to come see me out here,” said Steele. “I’ll question her about Ruth’s family and friends, get some background, just to keep her occupied for a little while. She may actually have some helpful information she’s not aware of. Like who might have had it in for Edith.”
Nita greeted Iris with genuine concern as she emerged from the room.
“I’m so glad to learn that your sister’s condition has improved,” she said. “I hope she’ll soon be well enough to go home. I’m sure your mother will be relieved.”
“Poor Mamma is in a state,” said Iris. “I call her every morning and evening. She needs constant reassurance that Ruthie is on the mend. I haven’t told her about Edie—that would be too much for her to take right now. I haven’t told Ruthie, either. I just want this nightmare to be over. Besides, I have to get back to work.”
“What do you do?” asked Nita.
“I’m a music teacher. I live with Mamma in Newark and work at home, but I have regular students who come in every week. I took a week off, and I hope it won’t be too much longer or they’ll find someone else to teach them piano.”
With assurance from Abel that he would release Ruth in just a few days, Iris went to join Steele in the hall while the doctor and Nita entered Ruth’s room.
Certain that Ruth would have no recollection of their earlier conversation, Nita reintroduced herself and took a seat beside the bed. She could tell that, in spite of her appearance, Ruth was indeed much improved. The IV drip had been removed from her arm, and the back of the adjustable bed had been raised so she could sit in a more comfortable position for meals and conversation.
Before launching into her interrogation, Nita asked Ruth how she was feeling. She wanted to get a sense of how coherent she was, and to put her at ease as much as possible. A little sympathy could go a long way toward encouraging cooperation.
“They’re giving me pain pills, but I ache all over. I wish they’d put the drip back in. It made me numb. And they won’t let me look in the mirror, but I can feel how cut and bruised my face is. Just look at my arms, all yellow. My whole body’s like that—it’s horrible!”
Well, thought Nita, she can talk in complete sentences, and she has a clear idea of her condition. She decided to reassure her.
“The doctor tells me you’re making excellent progress. He says you’ll be out of here in no time, but it could take a while for you to get back to normal. You know you had a concussion, right?”
“Yes, he told me. That’s why I can’t remember what happened.”
“When I was here before, you did remember a little. You had a flashback to the moments just before the crash, when the car swerved off the road. Has anything else come back to you? Take your time.” Nita held her breath.
Ruth closed her eyes and laid her head back on the pillow. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Suddenly her eyes opened wide.
“My hair! Edie! I need her to do my hair; it’s a mess. Where is she? She was in the car with us. She came out with me for the weekend. We were going to the concert. Oh, God, everything is so jumbled up.” She covered her eyes and winced as her hand touched her injured cheek.
Nita decided that this was the moment. She reached into her handbag, removed the necklace, and held it out so Ruth would see it when she opened her eyes.
“Do you recognize this?” she asked.
Ruth saw it and gasped. “That’s Edie’s! Nick gave it to her. Where did you get it?”
“From the accident scene,” answered Nita, then asked a question of her own. “Who is Nick?”
“Her boss at the Beautique Salon. He’s also her boyfriend, but he’s married, so Edie’s going to break it off.” Suddenly she stopped short.
“But she can’t. Because she’s dead.”