"Do you think you'd recognize this Bobby Wexler if you saw him again?"
"I might," Millie said.
Aaron showed her a photograph of the Wexler fwnily taken several months before they were slaughtered. Millie studied it. "Yeah, that's him," she said. "It's been years, but the smile's the same, the old lecherous smile." She looked up at Janek. "Yeah, it's him, I'm sure. Now are you going to tell me what this is all about?"
"While you're at it, show her the picture of the Scottos," Janek gently instructed Aaron.
Aaron showed Millie the picture. they both watched as she studied it. "I may have seen the woman," Millie said. "What's her first name again?" :,Laura." 'And she was married to this guy?" Aaron nodded. "Do you know her maiden name?"
Aaron checked his notebook. "Laura Gabelli."
Millie nodded. "I may have seen her. Around Tufts University, I think. Bev transferred there from Bennington. Did you know about that?" they didn't know. Millie filled them in. It was after the big falling-out with Cynthia Morse. Bev took a year off, came back to Cleveland, took a job as an aide at a psychiatric hospital, then for the next two years attended Tufts, where she majored in psychology. After that she moved back to Cleveland to et her doctorate at Western Reserve.
"Do you know of any falling-out she might have had with this Laura Gabelli?" Aaron asked.
"No. But it wouldn't surprise me. Just like Mama, Bev had fallings-out with damn near everyone." Millie paused. "Look, guys-all these questions about the two of them, then all these old names of people Bev didn't like. You're scaring me a little bit. I think the time's come for you to explain."
She looked to Janek, then to Aaron, and then back to Janek again. There was something so open and vulnerable about her that Janek was hesitant to fill her in. But he knew he had to. He owed her that, and he could see that she was the kind of person who'd rather know the truth, no matter how harsh, then be lied to or kept in the dark.
"Bertha Parce, the MacDonalds, Cynthia Morse an her two daughters, the Wexler family, and the Scotto family all had one thing in commofi," he said. "they all were murdered within the past fourteen months by a woman named Diana Proctor, who also happened to be your sister's patient."
Millie, mouth partly open, gazed at Janek. For a moment she appeared to be relieved. Then, abruptly, she sat up, as if the implications of what he'd said had hit her like a blow.
"But you don't really think-! I mean, you couldn't possibly believe-!" Her forehead creased; her pupils dilated. "You think Bev had something to do with… that Bev may have directed-?" And then: "You do think that, don't you? Yes, I see you do." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, my God!" Millie Cannaday began to scream. Her shrieks of anguish echoed through the house. they stayed with her until she calmed down. Then Janek explained to her that yes, Beverly was a suspect, although so far no more than that.
He and Aaron had come to Cleveland, he explained, on account of the portrait of her mother, which they'd seen in Beverly's bedroom. Certain objects, taken from the homicide victims, had been arranged in what seemed to be votive offering style before the painting. Thus the question arose as to whether Victoria Archer had in some way been the inspiration for the Wallflower murders. Janek readily admitted that such a theory must seem farfetched; he was certainly not prepared to tell Millie her sister was a murderess. Still, the case remained open. By the way, did Millie know anything about the portrait?
"The full-length one of Mama in her red dress? Sure, I know about it. A man named Peter Aretzsky painted it about twelve years ago.
It took up a whole wall of Mama's bedroom."
"Your sister inherited it?" Millie smiled. "Bev wanted that picture something awful. That, Mama's red dress, her miniature piano, and her big old four-poster bed." Millie rolled her eyes. "Bev always had her eye on the picture. She loved it, said it showed Mama the way she really was. Which is pretty funny… considering. You see, there's a story behind that painting." Millie turned to Aaron. "Are you taking him to see Melissa Walters?" Aaron nodded. "Ask her about the painting, Lieutenant. She can fill you in about that and a lot of other stuff. She was Mama's best friend..
. if in fact, Mama ever had one."
"Shit! She knew Bobby Wexler and Laura Scotto. That's proof she lied to us, Frank. So we got her, don't we?" Aaron hit the steering wheel with delight. "I'm starting to feel good about this case." they were back in their rental car, driving to their final appointment of the day. The snow had stopped falling. Although it was only four-thirty, the sky was already turning dark.
Janek wasn't sure that proof of Beverly's lies quite meant that they'd "got her." But he did think it might be enough to persuade Kit to grant them more time. So far the trip to Cleveland was working out.
Now how the hell am I going to get a confession? he wondered.
The lobby of the Alhambra Residential Hotel was a Moorish fantasy, a pastiche of thick walls, Arab col umns, C6rdoba arches, a central courtyard embracing a fountain, and a rectangular tiled pool stocked with carp.
Built in the late 1920s as a luxury establishment, the hotel was so well constructed that even now, after years of wear, it still emitted an aura of luxury and class. Palms planted in large teffa-cotta pots occupied the comers. Ceiling fans,- still now that it was winter, stood poised to whirl and cool perspiring guests. A creaking elevator, paneled in mahogany and trimmed with brass, took them to the fifth floor. Here they followed a corridor, one side open to the courtyard, until they reached the door to Melissa Walters's suite.
A short old lady opened up, a lady who clearly did not wish her visitors to find her old. Her hair was blued, her forehead was powdered, her cheeks were rouged, her eyebrows were drawn, and her lips were waxed bright scarlet. Melissa Walters showed the soft smile and refined social mannerisms of another era.
It was so exciting to meet real live detectives! Would the gentlemen like something to drink? Port? Sherry? She had some fine old Madeira@ould she tempt them with that? And she had taken the liberty of ordering in some prepared cana@s, as well as a good selection of cookies from Damons, Cleveland's finest bakery.
Melissa Walters settled into her favorite chair.
Oh, yes, she remembered Vicky Archer. My goodness, they'd been the best of friends! Impossible to forget her. A great entertainer, a great personality. She'd been the life of this city for a time. Had the gentlemen been to the Fairmount Club Lounge? Perhaps they should go down there and take a look. Not that the place was anything now but a shadow of its former self. Still, at one time, not too long ago either, the lounge had been Cleveland's premier night spot and Vicky Archer had been its most glittering star. But please forgive her. She was rambling; she knew she was. She apologized for that. She had so few visitors these days, most of her friends having passed away. Vicky had been one of the first. It was tragic the way she died so suddenly and so young. They'd been confidantes even though she, Melissa, was fifteen years Vicky's senior.
Oh, they'd had some great times together, wonderful times…
What? What was that they were asking? The painting, Aretzsky's painting? Of course, she remembered it! She'd seen it practically every day. Whenever she visited Vicky's suite, just two doors down the hall. A story? Oh, yes, there was a story about that picture, a scandal if they wanted to know the truth. Oh, they did, did they? What sly devils they were! Well, certainly, she'd tell them about it. In fact, it would be a pleasure. But would the gentlemen take a glass of Madeira first…?
Janek and Aaron accepted her glasses of Madeira. they even licked their lips over her delicate canap6s and grinned foolishly as they nibbled on her tasty little cookies. Anything to keep the old lady talking.
Janek, who'd conducted thousands of interviews over the course of his career, recognized that Melissa Walters was a potential gold mine of information. If there was a secret about Beverly and Victoria, a secret even deeper than what he and Aaron had managed to dig up so far, this lady might reveal it if she were handled carefully enough. The way she sang Victoria Archer's praises suggested a profound ambivalence.