Daddy's Gone a Hunting

39

By noon, the wrecked van had been taken to the crime lab to be examined, inch by inch, to try to learn who had been using it as a shelter. And if that person had been there the night of the explosion, could he or she have had anything to do with it?

“It certainly opens up another possibility,” Frank Ramsey told Nathan Klein. They were on their way to talk to Lottie Schmidt. “We know that whoever stayed there had Wednesday’s newspaper with him. Probably fished it out of a trash barrel. There were pieces of food stuck to it. My guess is that he or she, but I’ll bet it was a he, would get onto the complex at night. No watchman. No security cameras. And probably would leave early in the morning before anybody came to work. And it’s been going on a long time. The earliest newspapers are nearly two years old.”

“And if he didn’t have anything to do with the fire, he may have heard or seen something or someone there.” Klein was thinking aloud. “It will be interesting to see if any DNA or fingerprints match anyone on file.”

“You know that there are two guys who won’t be happy to hear that the explosion might have been set off by a vagrant. Our friends the insurance investigators,” Frank observed. “They’ll have a hell of a time denying payment to the Connellys if this guy is identified as having a criminal history, especially if it includes arson.”

Frank had called ahead to Lottie and asked if they could drop in on her for a few minutes. He had heard the resignation in her voice when she said, “I was expecting that you would want to see me again.”

Thirty-five minutes later they were ringing the bell of her modest home in Little Neck. With a practiced eye, both men observed that the shrubs were neatly cut, the mature Japanese maple tree in the front yard had obviously been recently pruned, and the driveway appeared to have been resurfaced.

“Looks like Gus Schmidt took great care of his house and property,” Nathan observed. “I bet those shutters have all been freshly painted, and you can see where he touched up the shingles on the right side.”

Lottie Schmidt opened the door in time to hear the last comment. “My husband was a meticulous man in every way,” she said. “Come in.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside to admit them. Then she closed it and led them into the living room.

With one glance, Ramsey could see that it was furnished in exactly the same way as his own mother and father had furnished their own living room fifty years ago. A couch, a club chair, a wing chair, and end tables that matched the coffee table. Framed family pictures on the mantel and another grouping of them on the wall. The rug, an imitation Oriental, was threadbare in a number of spots.

Lottie was wearing a black wool skirt, a white high-neck sweater, and a black cardigan. Her thinning white hair was pulled into a neat bun. There was a weary expression in her eyes and both marshals noticed that her hands were trembling.

“Mrs. Schmidt, we’re so sorry to have to see you again. We certainly don’t want to upset you any more than you already are. But we do want you to be aware that the investigation into the cause of the explosion is not over, not by a long shot,” Frank Ramsey said.

Lottie’s expression became wary. “That’s not what I’m reading in the newspapers. Some reporter from the Post has been talking to Gus’s friends. One of them from the bowling team, who still works at Connelly’s, told the reporter that only a few weeks ago, Gus told him to throw a match onto the complex and do it for him.”

“Let’s go back a little. When your husband was fired, was it completely unexpected?”

“Yes and no. They had had a wonderful manager for years. His name was Russ Link. He was running the business ever since the boating accident. Douglas Connelly virtually handed the daily operations over to him. Douglas would show up maybe two or three times a week when he wasn’t on some kind of vacation.”

“Was the business doing well under Russ Link?”

“Gus said that the problems were beginning even before he left. Their sales were really falling off. People just weren’t into that kind of furniture the way they used to be. People want comfort and easy upkeep, not baroque-style couches or Florentine credenzas.”

Lottie paused, her eyes brimming with rage. “Gus was their finest craftsman. Everybody knew that. The market was dwindling, but no one could copy a piece of furniture like him. He put loving care into every piece of furniture. Then that miserable Jack Worth replaced Russ and in a few months Gus was gone.”

“How well did you know Jack Worth?”

“Personally, not very well at all. The annual Christmas party was usually it. Gus told me that Jack was always hitting on the young women who worked there. That was why his wife divorced him. And he has a nasty temper. If he was in a bad mood, he lit into anyone around him.”

“Under those circumstances I would think Gus might have been glad to leave Connelly’s,” Nathan Klein observed.

“Gus loved what he was doing. He knew how to stay out of Jack’s way.”

Frank Ramsey and Nathan Klein were sitting on the couch. Lottie was sitting in the wing chair. Frank leaned forward, his hands clasped. He looked directly into Lottie’s eyes. “Is your daughter still staying with you?”

“No. Gretchen went back to Minnesota yesterday. She is a masseuse and has a very active clientele.”

“She told me she is divorced.”

“For many years. Gretchen is one of those people who is naturally single. She’s perfectly happy with her job and friends, and she’s very active in the Presbyterian Church out there.”

“From the pictures we have seen, she has a very beautiful home,” Klein remarked. “I would say it’s probably worth at least a million dollars. She told us that her father had bought it for her around five years ago, a few months after he was fired. Where did Gus get the money for that?”

Lottie was ready for the question. “If you examine our checkbook, you will see that Gus ruled the roost as far as money was concerned. He paid the bills and gave me cash for groceries and incidentals. He was very thrifty. Some people would even say that he was cheap. Five years ago, around the time I was in the hospital, he bought a lottery ticket and won three million dollars. I forget which state the lottery was in. He was always buying twenty dollars’ worth of lottery tickets every week.”

“He won a lottery! Did he pay taxes on that money?”

“Oh, I’m sure he did!” Lottie insisted. She began to explain: “Gus was always worried about Gretchen, that when something happened to us, she might go through any money we could leave her. When he won the lottery, he did what he thought was the best way to make sure she would be okay. He bought her that house and she loves it. With the rest of the lottery money, he bought an annuity for her so that she’ll always have an income to keep it up.”

Lottie looked directly at both marshals. “I am quite weary, as I think you can understand.” She stood up. “And now may I ask you to leave?”

Silently the men followed her to the door. After she closed it behind them, they looked at each other. They did not need to exchange words. They both knew that Lottie Schmidt was lying.

Then Frank said, “No matter where he supposedly won the lottery, the state would automatically keep part of it as a tax payment. We can easily check this. But I predict that we’ll soon find out that Gus Schmidt never won any big lottery.”