Gerry Weinstock returned to the family’s summer cottage on the other side of Fireplace Road to find his wife and children piling beach chairs, inner tubes, pails, shovels, towels, and a folding sunshade into the Packard. With a large lunch basket already stocked and waiting on the kitchen table, he didn’t have to ask where they were going, or for how long.
The beach at nearby Louse Point was a family favorite. With a long, shallow slope out into Gardiner’s Bay, no rough waves or undertow, the water was perfect for youngsters. Margaret was sure to find other mothers to gossip with, and the kids would have lots of playmates.
“Coming with us, Gerry?” she called as he entered the kitchen. “I’ve packed plenty of food.” He joined her at the table, where she was filling the Thermos with lemonade. He caressed her cheek and kissed her, just warmly enough to distract her while he stole a cookie from the pile she was about to wrap.
“Naughty boy, you’ll spoil your lunch,” she scolded, grinning indulgently. “Now get changed if you’re coming.”
“I think I’ll skip the beach today, Mags,” he said. “I want to make a few notes after my conversation with Lee. She wants me to draw up her will, and it needs to be done right away to protect her interests. I should get on it while the terms she wants are fresh in my mind.”
Margaret was disappointed, but inclined to be sympathetic to Lee’s demands on her husband’s time and attention. “I understand, Gerry. My heart goes out to her. She must be going through hell emotionally, losing Jackson in such a terrible way, and then that girl’s murder on top of it. At least Jackson’s been cleared of that.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I was over at the General Store getting some stuff for lunch, and Mrs. Collins was in there, talking to Dan. She said the police have ruled out Jackson as the killer. Apparently the poor girl struggled with her attacker and scratched him, probably on his face. They found skin under her nails. Jackson didn’t have a wound like that, so they’re looking for someone else.”
Gerry sat down at the table. “A face wound, you say. I wonder . . .”
But in his lawyerly way, and knowing how tales get around, Gerry first needed to check that it wasn’t just a rumor. He went to the front hall and telephoned the police station.
Fred Tucker confirmed the story. “That’s right, Mr. Weinstock, we believe Miss Metzger scratched whoever strangled her—most likely a man, but not Mr. Pollock. He had to be strong enough to crush her windpipe, but not before she clawed at him. Most likely got him on the face or neck. That’s not consistent with Mr. Pollock’s injuries.”
But it is consistent with an injury I saw, said Gerry to himself. And I saw it on the night, and around the time, Edith Metzger died.
“If it isn’t confidential, Mr. Tucker, can you tell me if there are any suspects?”
“I can’t say, Mr. Weinstock, but you bein’ a family friend, I can tell you that the chief interviewed somebody this morning. Not a suspect, but somebody who may have information.”
Gerry paused, then came to a decision. “Is Chief Steele in? I’d like to speak to him.”
“No, sir, he’s still out. But we have a detective from the city helping us out. She knows the details. I’ll ask her to call you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tucker. I’ll be at home.” He gave the clerk his number.
Instead of returning directly to the station, Harry Steele had decided to report his findings to the Fitzgeralds. Once again he caught them finishing a leisurely breakfast and planning a day out. They had only three more left before their vacation ended and they returned to the city on Tuesday.
“I’m not gonna keep you,” he told them, “but I could use your advice about a new development. The bait landed us a fish, and I’m hoping to reel him in. Only first I have to find out what kind of fish he is.”
“You’re being very cryptic,” said Fitz, “and I wouldn’t know a cod from a catfish, but if we can help, just say the word.”
Steele recounted his interview with Charlie Osborne.
“I’ll tell you, that boy’s got the sharpest eyes in town. He even got a partial on the license plate. Do you think you could have someone at your precinct check the car rental places in Brooklyn? Just call around and see who booked a car last Saturday?”
“Sure,” said Fitz. “Can’t be too many outfits, they’re probably all in the Yellow Pages. Only problem would be if it’s just a local garage, or if he rented it for more than one day—in other words, he already had it before Saturday and didn’t turn it in right away. But we’ll start with the assumption that it was a rental agency and a one-day deal and see if we get lucky.”
He went inside and emerged with some change for the pay phone. “I wouldn’t want Millie Dayton spreading this around,” he remarked. “She’s a pretty effective broadcaster.”
Steele chuckled. “You’re not kiddin’. But I told Mrs. Pollock the good news myself. Didn’t want her learnin’ it secondhand. And she’s had enough bad news to last her a lifetime.”
“That was thoughtful,” said Nita. Even though she’d never met the woman, and had heard enough about her to form a somewhat negative opinion, she hated to think of her dealing with the possibility that her late husband was a murderer.
“I’ll have the clerk call you directly,” Fitz told Steele. “No need to go through me. Besides, we can’t hang around here all day. TJ wants to go on a fishing expedition of his own, a real one. We’re thinking of driving out to Montauk and renting a boat and some tackle so all three of us can try our luck.”
“Well,” said Steele rather sheepishly. “I hate to delay your family outing, but I wasn’t to ask Nita another favor.” A collective groan went up from the Fitzgeralds. “Maybe it won’t take all that long,” he added. “I got a radio call from Fred that a city fella named Gerard Weinstock wants to talk to me, and maybe has some information about the case. I thought Nita might talk to him instead.”
“Of course,” Nita replied. “I’ll go to the pay phone with Fitz.” Steele gave her the number and said he’d wait for her report.
“You’ll be on your way to Montauk in no time,” he assured them. “Gosman’s Dock will have everything you need. Tell Bob Gosman I sent you. That way he’ll charge you the local price.”
“Thank you for calling, Detective Diaz,” Gerry began. He recognized her name from the article in the Star. “I understand you’re helping out with the Metzger investigation. I’m an attorney. Lee Pollock is one of my clients, as well as a neighbor in Springs. That’s how I met her and Jackson. My family has a place almost opposite theirs on Fireplace Road. Over the years we’ve become good friends, and I wrote Jackson’s last will and testament. Lee and I had a conference this morning about the estate, and something came up that prompted my call to Chief Steele.”
Nita detected the hesitancy in Weinstock’s voice. “How’s that, sir?”
“It’s a bit awkward, considering my close personal and professional relationship with Lee. It would be helpful if you could share some information about your latest line of inquiry. About the search for a suspect other than Jackson, I mean. My wife heard about it this morning, and she told me.”
“What kind of information?”
“Do you have a line on anyone?”
He knows something, guessed Nita, or thinks he might. Her years of experience had given her a keen ear for hidden meanings. She decided to draw Weinstock out.
“It’s possible we do, Mr. Weinstock. As you must have heard, we haven’t much to go on, only the assumption that the killer was wounded in a certain way. We think he was scratched on the face. It seems a man answering that description was seen around the time in question.”
“What time was that?”
“A little after ten last Saturday night.”
“Have you identified the man?”
Nita laid her cards on the table. “Can you help us with that, sir?”
Weinstock was taken aback. Had he been so transparent? Apparently he had. He felt like one of the mercenary clients he walked through the intricacies of contracts, wills, and other complex legal agreements, probing their motives until they admitted to hidden agendas. But he was not about to drop his professional discretion.
“As I said, I’m in an awkward position. My client’s interests come first, and I need to consider how best they may be served. Please answer another question for me.”
“If I can without compromising the investigation,” Nita replied.
“Where was the suspect seen?”
“Pratt’s Service Station on Montauk Highway.”
Gerry’s heart sank. “Thank you, Detective Diaz. I appreciate your being so forthcoming. I need to verify something, and I’ll report back as soon as possible.” He rang off.
The suspicion that had been nagging at him since he spoke to Fred Tucker had been confirmed.