Dirty Blonde

CHAPTER 39

Cate left her heavy coat in the rental car, feeling warm enough in the black wool suit, and walked up the front path to a modest gray stone twin house, much like the others on this winding street in Wynnefield, about half an hour outside Center City. Her black pumps clicked on the frozen flagstone, the cadence slowing as she approached the front door.

She was beginning to regret coming here, though she’d been asked. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Cate didn’t know what she’d face inside. What if people recognized her? At the rent-a-car, the young clerk had made her instantly, his eyes lighting up the moment she’d walked in. He’d offered her a free upgrade from the Acura, which she didn’t accept, but she still didn’t relish the notoriety. What if she caused a fuss inside? How would everybody react to her after she’d introduced herself? She wouldn’t find any friends here and wouldn’t expect any.

She reached the front door, noting the silvery bowlful of water beside the doorjamb, and followed the instructions, plunging her fingertips into the water, though the surface had almost frozen over. The thin ice shattered like red syrup on a candied apple, and the frigid water chilled Cate’s hands to the bone. She wiped her hands on her coat, whether or not that was permissible, and followed the rest of the directions, opening the front door without knocking and finally slipping off her pumps, revealing her stocking feet. She looked around the room, hoping that reinforced toes were in order at a shiva.

But the living room was completely empty. The house was quiet. Cate had been told the door would be left open, so that mourners wouldn’t be disturbed, but there were no mourners. Odd, low benches ringed the small living room in front of a beige sectional couch and chairs, but they were all unoccupied, like empty chairs at a canceled show. A cushioned stool sat at the fireplace, vacant.

“Hello?” Cate called out, wondering if she was in the wrong house.

“Judge Fante?” Mrs. Marz came hurrying in from another room, walking toward Cate with a nervous smile, her hand extended. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said in a soft voice.

Cate relaxed and shook her hand. “I’m very sorry about your loss, Mrs. Marz.”

“Please, call me Sarah.” Richard Marz’s young wife looked prettier up close than she had in the front row of the courtroom gallery, though her eyes were a bloodshot blue, ringed by weary gray circles. She wore no eye makeup, and her small mouth was unlipsticked, her lips tilted down, her grief undisguised. Her brown hair had been styled into a bob that seemed overly coiffed until Cate realized it was a wig, and she wore a black knit suit that was too old for her, draping in a way that hid her compact form. “Judge, come, would you like something to eat? It’s lunchtime.”

“Yes, thank you.” Cate realized how hungry she was when she was led into a dining room filled with the aromas of seasoned roast beef, a fresh spinach salad dotted with tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs, and three baked chickens. The delicious feast looked untouched next to a stack of glistening dinner plates and clean silverware. “This is amazing. You must have food for fifty people here, easily.”

“I didn’t make it, we’re not permitted to. My family brought most of it, but they went back last night.” Sarah’s face fell, and her voice grew soft. “My mother passed away when I was little, and my father is from California and he had to get back to his business. He couldn’t sit the entire week. He’s not as observant as we are-as I am. Richard was Orthodox, and his family came for the sedat havra’ah, the meal of consolation after the funeral, and they’ll be here later.”

“That’ll be nice.”

“My friends from temple choir, they came, and some of our friends from the congregation, but they’re all so uncomfortable, with the circumstances. I can tell.” Sarah shook her head unhappily. “They seem distant. And there are many people I thought were friends who didn’t come.”

“Why not?”

“I can only guess that I’m the wife of a murderer now. The wife of a suicide.”

Cate fell silent, watching hurt etch lines into Sarah’s young face, as surely as a drawing pen filled with ink.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I think there would have been more people here, everyone, if Richard had been killed in a car accident. But a suicide, and a murderer? People don’t know how to react. Maybe out of respect for me, or because of their own discomfort, I don’t know. I feel like a social pariah, overnight.” Sarah picked up a plate and filled it with the choicest slices of medium-rare roast beef, a few florets of broccoli, and a scoop of golden noodle pudding, replacing a heavy silver ladle on a spoon rest so as not to drip on the lace tablecloth. “I know this will sound terrible, but a woman down the street, her husband was killed in a car crash. She had cars around the block, from all the shiva calls. Evidently all widows are not created equal. But enough. Would you like salad?” she asked, which was when Cate realized the food plate was for her.

“Yes, thanks. And I could have done that myself.”

“It’s the least I can do, for your coming, for your kindness. Have you made a shiva call before?”

“No. I’ve been to plenty of bar mitzvahs, but not a shiva.”

Sarah lifted a pair of silver tongs and plucked some fresh greens from the huge salad bowl, then set a slice of hard-boiled egg on top. “The round food served at shiva reminds us of the circle of life. Dressing?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“It’s Italian.”

“Works out perfect.”

“Yes.” Sarah laughed, a surprisingly girlish sound, and spooned some oil and balsamic vinegar carefully onto the salad. Between the wig and the heavy, mature pantsuit, she gave the appearance of a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes, which Cate found endearing.

“You’re handling all of this very well, in the circumstances. I don’t know if I could bear up with such style.”

“It’s all an act,” Sarah shot back, then laughed.

“Tell me about it.” Cate nodded, laughing with her.

Sarah shook her head, seeming finally to relax. “This has been so terrible, as I said in the letter. The family, torn apart, in an uproar. Everybody hurting, in pain.” Sarah sighed. “As a suicide, Richard couldn’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery, but his father was an Orthodox rabbi and he passed away two years ago. It was out of respect to him and my mother-in-law that they admitted Richard and gave him a proper burial.”

Cate’s heart went out to her.

“Then the reporters came like locusts, but they’re finally gone. That’s why I’m glad you came. Just for the company, and the honor. Of course.” Sarah finished the plate, and Cate grabbed a cloth napkin and silverware.

“Aren’t you eating?”

“I’ve been eating all morning. Please, sit down.” Sarah led Cate back to the living room, where she gestured her into a regular chair, and she took the stool in front of the fireplace.

“Thank you.” Cate accepted the food plate and balanced it on her lap, on top of her skirt. More Chanel, but it wasn’t making her feel as good as it usually did. Nothing could, with the sorrow that pervaded the empty house. Cate stabbed a piece of salad and ate. “Delicious.”

“My aunt made most of this. I love to cook, but can’t during shiva.” Sarah looked up at her from her baby stool.

“Why the stools, may I ask?”

“It symbolizes being struck down by grief. Visitors don’t have to sit on them.”

“I see.” Cate scanned the room discreetly, noting the covered mirror, which she had seen before, at an Orthodox Jewish wedding. The air smelled a little smoky, from a large white candle burning on the mantelpiece among an array of framed photos, undoubtedly the couple in happier times. Cate got on with it. “So, to your letter. I must tell you, I’m skeptical.”

“I know, I understand. That’s why I’m so thrilled you came today, just to hear me out.”

“That’s what you said you wanted, so here I am.”

“Well, first,” Sarah nodded, hugging her knees, oddly high on the low stool, “I felt that I could turn to you because of what you said about my husband at the trial.”

Next time I shut up. Cate cut some beef, which oozed warm juices, and ate a pinkish piece, which melted in her mouth.

“You understood my husband, I thought, and you showed a real sense of justice, and injustice.”

“Thank you.” Cate nodded, chewing so she wouldn’t comment further. She had promised herself only to listen, and didn’t want to do anything unjudicial, in case she ever got her job back. Or hell froze over.

“Judge, I know my husband didn’t kill anybody, and I know that he didn’t kill himself. He would never do such things.” Sarah’s tone rang with love and certainty. “I spoke with his lawyer after the funeral and told him, but he didn’t believe me. He thinks I’m in denial.”

“Are you?” Cate took another bite.

“No, and I thought you might understand better. First, Richard came from an extremely observant family. As I said, his late father was a rabbi. Richard almost became one, too. He knew a violent crime such as murder, and later suicide, would violate express Jewish law.”

Cate listened, dubious. Six months of being a judge had taught her that respect for law was a flexible concept. Correction, one day of being a judge.

“He would have known that both crimes would kill his mother, and he loved her very much. She lives with us, and since this happened, she’s on round-the-clock tranquilizers. I even had to hire a nurse for her. He would never do that to her, and she knows it. We both do.”

Cate ate, listening. She had remembered from trial about the mother upstairs and wondered where the dog was that she walked for them.

“Also, we loved each other. We did. He felt bad enough that the trial was going so terribly, just for the strain it put on us. He never would have left me alone, this way.”

Cate ate, though she was losing her appetite. Every bereft wife felt like this. Suicides left so much pain in their wake.

“What do you think? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“Yes.” Cate rested her fork on the plate. “I’m very sorry for you, for your loss. I was moved by your letter. But you said there was something you had to tell me, something that would convince me that your husband didn’t commit murder, or suicide.” Cate paused. It was so hard to say to this girl, her young life in ruins. “And to be honest, Sarah, I’m not hearing anything like that. I know you’re in pain, but when there’s enough despair, even the most reasonable-”

“Judge, I’m pregnant,” Sarah blurted out. “I’m two months along. My mother-in-law doesn’t know. My father doesn’t know. I told Richard’s lawyer, the other day, to try to convince him. And of course, Richard knew.”

Cate blinked.

“We had been trying for three years, since the day we got married. We both wanted this baby so much. I told Richard the night before he supposedly committed murder, then killed himself. I have never seen him so happy in my life, and I’ve known him since high school.”

Hmm. Cate couldn’t help considering it, given the new facts.

“We were waiting until the third month to tell our families. He insisted that he be the one to tell, when the time came.” Sarah’s eyes glistened, but her voice held firm. “He wanted a child even more than I did. He even picked out the name. Ariel, after his favorite aunt, who died of breast cancer, or Jacob, after his father, of course.”

Cate felt touched.

“We both sensed it was a girl, and Richard wanted a girl so badly. Judge, why would a man who just found out the happiest news of his life kill himself? Or kill someone else?”

Cate had no immediate answer. Her head resisted the conclusion, but her heart was listening. And she didn’t know what she could do about it, anyway.

“Richard always had a great perspective, and he loved kids. He coached girls and boys basketball at the JCC on City Line.”

“When did you tell Temin about your pregnancy?”

“When he came over after the funeral. But I don’t think he understood the significance. He’s not a woman.”

Cate let it go. She didn’t think that sympathy had a gender. “But he knew Richard, didn’t he? They seemed close at trial.”

“Nate didn’t know him that well. Not well enough, anyway. He only knew Richard’s professional side.”

“But what about at the trial, after I ruled? Richard got so upset about my judgment, he attacked Simone.”

“He lost his temper, but it wouldn’t last. It never did. He would never kill Simone. He would never stay angry enough to kill Simone, or anyone. He would never ever do that, not knowing a baby was on the way. His baby.”

“Maybe he felt even worse because he’d lost, with a baby on the way. Now he knew he’d have a family to support.”

“No. My family has money, and I have a trust fund, that’s why we’re not in financial trouble. We’ve lived on my trust fund for this past year, after Richard quit his job to write screenplays. His lawsuit was never about money, it was about his pride in his writing and the fact that Simone was getting away with stealing his work.”

Cate began to feel the tiniest wedge of doubt that Marz had been the killer.

“He told me, more than once, that he wouldn’t be that upset if he lost the lawsuit. He expected to lose the lawsuit, and Nate told him he would, too. Besides, Richard was a lawyer, he knew the law. He knew his case was a long shot, but he thought if he got to the jury, he had a chance. And he really wanted to hold Simone accountable.”

“He wanted his day in court.”

“Exactly.”

Cate nodded. It was just what she’d thought. She would have done the same thing.

“Richard did not kill Art Simone. And he did not kill himself. I just know it.”

“The police are sure of their case, and it’s closed. They’re good cops. Smart.” Like Nesbitt, Cate thought but didn’t say.

“But other detectives don’t agree at all, like Frank Russo. He knew Richard better than any of them.”

“Russo?” Cate burst into laughter.

“What?”

“He tried to kill me last night, upstate. He thinks I killed Art Simone.”

“What?” Sarah’s brown eyes flared in disbelief.

“It’s in the newspaper, didn’t you see it? A small headline, relatively, and almost no article. Maybe I should have been offended.”

“I didn’t see it. I haven’t seen a newspaper since Richard died. We suspend our normal activities to sit shiva, and it lasts seven days.”

Maybe I should convert. Maybe everybody should.

“What happened?” Sarah asked, and Cate told her, making attempted murder as entertaining as possible. This girl didn’t need more tsuris. “So I’m not sure Russo is your best argument. Did he know Richard well?”

“Well enough to know Richard wasn’t the type to commit suicide. Don’t you see?” Sarah leaned forward on the tiny stool. “Russo’s instincts told him that my husband wasn’t the killer, but he was just wrong about who was. I don’t know who did it, either. I just know that Richard didn’t. And I think that that person killed Richard and made it look like a suicide.”

“Let me ask you something,” Cate said, against her better judgment. She set the plate of food down on the glass coffee table. “What happened after that day in court, after I ruled from the bench?”

Sarah thought a minute. “You made your ruling, and Richard got into that fight in the courtroom, then you left the bench and they separated Richard and Simone. Simone left with his lawyer, and Richard hugged me and said he wanted to be alone and asked would I please take Mom home, because she was upset, too. So I did.”

“And he disappeared after that?” Cate frowned, and Sarah raised a hand, as if to stave off the thought.

“It’s not as weird as it sounds. Richard frequently went off alone, to think. He was a scholar, a philosophy major at Swarthmore. He thought about things.” Sarah’s eyes came alive with love. “He was internal, always pondering. That’s why he liked computers so much. He was an intellectual. Not a man of action, or violence.”

“He attacked somebody in open court, Sarah.”

“Attacking isn’t shooting to kill, Judge.”

Cate smiled. True, that. “Where did he go, to think?”

“To temple, to the library, or sometimes the park. Off by himself. That’s where I think he was when whoever it was killed Simone, outside the restaurant.” Sarah raised her voice, vehement. “Richard would never do that! We didn’t own a gun. Where did he get it?”

“Where everybody does. Bought it or got it off the street from somebody.”

“We didn’t know anybody who could get him a gun ‘off the street’.”

“But he was an assistant DA. Didn’t he meet criminal types there?”

“No, he handled computer crime. He met geeks. And when did he buy this gun, supposedly? He rushed right out after court and bought it?”

“Why not?”

“He wouldn’t even know how to fire a gun.”

“It can’t be hard,” Cate said, though she had never fired one, either. “Too many dumb people are good at it.”

“Judge, don’t you see what I’m saying?” Sarah asked, newly urgent. “Don’t you agree with me?”

“I don’t know.” Cate shook her head. “I see your point, I do. And even if I was agreeing, I don’t know what I could do about it.”

“Ask the police to reopen the case. I’ve already written them, and they refused. Maybe they would do it, if you asked. A federal judge, who heard the case.”

An ex-federal judge, but you don’t read the papers. “Forget the police, they won’t do anything officially. They reopen cases for newly discovered evidence, not supposition.”

“But Richard didn’t do it, and the killer is still out there. Free.”

“Tell you what, I’ve come to know Detective Nesbitt, who worked on the case. I’ll bring it up with him and see what he thinks, unofficially. I’m sure I’ll be talking with him later.” At least I hope I will be.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Sarah jumped up and impulsively threw her arms around Cate, giving her a heartfelt hug. “I knew you would help.”

“Please don’t have any false hopes, though.” Cate rose and hugged her back, then held her off, steadying her. “Hear me? You have to be realistic. Nesbitt believed his original theory and he has hard evidence to support it. I’m not sure your pregnancy changes anything for him, or anybody else.”

“I know, I know, but I think it will. I pray it will.”

“Chillax,” Cate said, using as motherly a tone as she could muster, borrowing Nesbitt’s expression, and Sarah laughed, her tone lighter than before.

“I can’t, I’m so pleased.” Sarah clapped her smallish hands with delight, and Cate started to worry she was getting carried away.

“You know, even if we manage to get them to reopen the case, which I swear we won’t, it wouldn’t bring Richard back.”

“I know that,” Sarah said, her expression growing suddenly serious. “That’s not what I’m hoping for.”

“What are you hoping for?”

“That his name is cleared. That the world knows he’s not a killer, and that justice is done. I know it will never bring Richard back, but it will bring back my friends. My community. Look around you.” Sarah gestured at the empty room. “I don’t want to raise a baby like this, apart from community. I don’t want people whispering about our family, or her father. Can you imagine what that does to a little girl?”

Uh, as a matter of fact, I can.

“People will whisper about him, about us, and it’s unnecessary. Her father was a great man, and I don’t want her raised knowing only lies about him, even if it protects her.”

“Good girl!” Cate said, her heart speaking for her.

“Thank you. I don’t want my baby to grow up thinking that her father was a murderer. Or that he committed suicide. I want her to know the truth about her father, that’s the only way to truly know him. If you don’t know your own father, how can you know yourself?”

Yikes. “How did you get to be so smart?” Cate asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

And she couldn’t help but think ahead.