Goldilocks

1

There was a white patrol car parked at the curb outside the house. Its dome lights and headlights were out. The street at one A.M. was silent, the neighbors asleep. I pulled in behind the car, cut the engine, and started walking to where Jamie stood in the moonlight, talking to a uniformed policeman. The jacaranda tree behind him was leafless, blossomless. Out on the bayou behind the house, I could hear the chugging of the fishing boat I’d seen while crossing the bridge from Lucy’s Circle. There were only saltwater mullet in the shallow waters on this side of the bridge, and they would not strike a hook; the commercial fishermen were spreading their nets, circling, circling.

Jamie looked drawn and pale. He was forty-six years old — ten years older than I — but in the pale moonlight he seemed much younger, or perhaps only more vulnerable. He was wearing a faded blue T-shirt, white trousers, and blue sneakers. The patrolman was visibly perspiring. Sweat stained the armholes of his blue shirt, stood out in beads on his forehead. I did not know whether he had yet been inside the house. He watched me as I approached.

“I’m Matthew Hope,” I said. “Dr. Purchase’s attorney.” I don’t know why I immediately addressed myself to the patrolman, rather than to Jamie. I guess I was trying to protect Jamie from the very beginning, letting it be known to the Law that I myself was a lawyer who expected no hanky-panky with a client’s rights.

“He call you then?” the patrolman asked.

“Yes, he did.”

“When was that, sir?”

“At about a quarter to one. Ten minutes ago.”

“I didn’t get the radio dispatch till five minutes ago,” the patrolman said. He made it sound like an accusation.

“That’s right,” I said, “he called me first. I advised him to notify the police.”

“Would it be all right if I went inside the house now?” the patrolman asked.

“Yes,” Jamie said dully.

“You don’t have to come with me, you don’t want to.”

“I would... rather not,” Jamie said.

“That’s all right, sir,” the patrolman said, and touched Jamie’s shoulder briefly and surprisingly. He flashed his torch over the lawn then, and walked swiftly to the front door, weaving his way through the sprinkler heads like a broken-field runner. The circle of light illuminated the brass doorknob. He twisted it tentatively, as if expecting the door to be locked, and then he opened the door and went inside.

Alone with Jamie, I said, “I’m going to ask you again what I asked you on the phone...”

“I didn’t do it,” he said at once.

“Tell me the truth, Jamie.”

“That’s the truth.”

“Because if you did, I want to know right this minute.”

“I didn’t.”

“All right, do you have any idea who might have done it?”

“No, Matt, I don’t.”

“Why’d you call me instead of the police?”

“I don’t know why. I guess... you’re my lawyer, Matt, I guess I thought... something like this. I don’t know.”

Another patrol car was pulling in toward the curb. No siren, no dome lights. The man inside cut the engine and got out. Hitching up his trousers, he walked to where Jamie and I were standing near the naked jacaranda. He was a huge man. I’m six feet two inches tall and weigh a hundred and ninety pounds, but I felt dwarfed beside him. There were sergeant’s stripes on the sleeve of his blue uniform. He was perspiring even more profusely than the patrolman — the temperature that day had hit ninety-nine degrees, and it was now eighty-six and oppressively humid. This was weather more suited to August than the last day of February.

“Sergeant Hascomb,” he said, and politely touched the peak of his hat. “I’m looking for whoever called the police.”

“I did,” Jamie said.

“Could you tell me your name, sir?”

“James Purchase.”

“I ran over the minute I caught it on the radio,” Hascomb said. “I knew Furley’d be calling me, anyway — this is a signal five. I’m his supervisor.” I had the impression his size made him feel awkward with men smaller than himself. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket, removed the hat from his head, and wiped his brow. “Is he inside now, is that it?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’m sorry, sir, you’re...?”

“Matthew Hope. I’m Dr. Purchase’s attorney.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, excuse me,” he said, and walked toward the front door. Before he went into the house, he wiped the sweatband of the hat with his handkerchief. He came out again a few moments later and walked swiftly past us to the car. Black batwing blots of perspiration covered the back of his shirt. I saw him reaching for the car radio. His face was ashen.

I am not a criminal lawyer.

I’d practiced law for seven years in Illinois before moving to Calusa, and I’d been practicing law here in the state of Florida for the past three years, but I’d never represented anyone involved in a crime. The first thing I’d asked Jamie on the telephone was whether or not he wanted me to contact a criminal lawyer. Wait, that’s not quite true. I first asked him if he’d committed the murders. When he assured me he hadn’t, I then reminded him that I was not a criminal lawyer and asked if he wanted me to call a good one. Jamie replied, “If I didn’t kill them, why do I need a criminal lawyer?” I had no answer for him at the time. I’d simply advised him to call the police at once, and told him I’d be there as soon as I was dressed. Now, at one-thirty in the morning, with law enforcement officers and related personnel swarming all over the house and the grounds, I felt completely out of my element and wished I had insisted on expert help.

There were three marked patrol cars at the curb, and the patrolmen from those cars had set up barricades at either end of Jacaranda Drive. Inside the barricades, there were four vehicles belonging to the captain in command of the Detective Bureau, the two plainclothes detectives he’d assigned to the case, and the assistant medical examiner. The man from the State’s Attorney’s office had parked his car across the street, behind the Ford Econoline van from the Criminalistics Unit. The ambulance from Southern Medical was backed into the driveway, its rear doors open. The activity had wakened neighbors all up and down the street. They stood just outside the barricades, whispering, speculating, stopping one or another of the patrolmen to ask what had happened. Most of the neighbors were still in pajamas and robes. The moonlight illuminated the lawn and the street and the house.

“Who’s in charge here?” the medical examiner asked.

“I am.”

The detective’s name was George Ehrenberg. He looked to be about my age, maybe a year or so younger, thirty-four or — five. He had red hair that fell onto his forehead like a rust stain. His beetling brows were red, too, and his eyes were a brown so dark as to be almost black. There were freckles on the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. He was wearing a loud plaid summer-weight jacket and dark blue trousers, blue socks and brown loafers. Under the jacket, a wine-colored polo shirt was open at the throat. He was a big man, like most of the other policemen who were now at the house.

“I’m finished in there, you can have them now,” the ME said. He was referring to the corpses of Jamie’s wife and children. “Your cause of death is multiple stab wounds,” he said. “Hard to say which of them was the fatal cut. Whoever done it...”

“This here’s the husband here,” Ehrenberg said.

“Sorry,” the ME said. “Anyway, the coroner’ll pinpoint it for you. Sorry,” he said again, and walked to where a blue Chevrolet was parked at the curb.

Ehrenberg went over to where his partner was standing with the technician from Criminalistics. I hadn’t caught the partner’s name. He was a small dark man with intensely blue eyes. Ehrenberg said a few words to him, and he nodded and then went into the house with the technician. Ehrenberg came back to Jamie and me.

“Would it be all right to ask Dr. Purchase some questions?” he said.

“He’s not a suspect here, is he?”

“No, sir, he’s not. I can read him his rights if you want me to, sir, but this is just a normal field investigation, and I’m really not required to. If you want me to, though, I’d be happy...”

“No, no, that’s all right,” I said.

“Well then, is it all right, sir? To ask him some questions?”

“Yes, go ahead,” I said.

“Dr. Purchase, I’m assuming you didn’t kill your own wife and kids, am I right in assuming that?”

His voice was only mildly southern, with scarcely a trace of dialect. You had to listen very closely to catch the occasional softened vowel or missing final consonant. His manner was friendly and pleasant, even though he was here to ask about bloody murder.

“I didn’t kill them,” Jamie said.

“Good, and I’m further assuming you want to help us find whoever did kill them, am I right in assuming that, Dr. Purchase?”

“Yes.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have done a thing like this?”

“No,” Jamie said.

“Have you had any threatening letters or phone calls recently?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You’re a physician, is that right, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Do you practice here in Calusa?”

“Yes, I have an office in Belvedere Medical.”

“Would any of your patients have had reason to be angry at you, or to...?”

“No, none that I can think of.”

“How about your nurses? Any arguments with them recently?”

“No.”

“Do you pay them good salaries?”

“I do.”

“Any of them ask for a raise recently?”

“I gave them both raises only last month.”

“What about your associates?”

“I’m in practice alone, I have no associates.”

“Do you have any professional rivals who might want to harm you or your family?”

“None that I can think of.”

“How about any recent disputes with the families of patients you’ve treated? Anything like that?”

“No.”

“Have you been dunning anyone for nonpayment of bills?”

“No.”

“Dr. Purchase, I’m going to ask you something personal now, but I need to know the answer because it’s important. Were either you or your wife fooling around outside the marriage?”

“We were very happily married.”

“How long have you been married, Dr. Purchase?”

“Eight years.”

“This your first marriage?”

“No.”

“Is your first wife still alive?”

“Yes.”

“She live here in Calusa?”

“Yes”

“Any children by the first marriage?”

“Two.”

“Where do they live?”

“My daughter’s been living in New York for the past three years. My son’s here in Calusa.”

“How old are they?”

“My daughter’s twenty-two. My son is twenty.”

“Had any family arguments with them lately?”

“No.”

“You get along fine with them, is that it?”

“I get along...” Jamie shrugged. “Well enough,” he said. “They didn’t much like the idea of my divorcing their mother, but that was eight years ago, and I’m sure they’re over it now.”

“When’s the last time you saw your daughter?”

“At Christmas.”

“Here in Calusa?”

“No, in New York. I went up there to see her, we exchanged gifts. It was very pleasant.”

“And your son?”

“He was here for dinner last Tuesday night.”

“He get along with your second wife?”

“Yes, they got along fine.”

“What’s his name, sir?”

“Michael.”

“And he lives where?”

“On a boat. It’s docked at Pirate’s Cove.”

“Out on Stone Crab Key?”

“Yes.”

“Does he live alone?”

“There’s a girl he lives with.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met her.”

“How about your daughter? What’s her name?”

“Karin.”

“And your former wife?”

“Betty.”

“I’ll need their addresses later.”

“Fine.”

“Dr. Purchase, from what I understand, you weren’t home much of the night tonight. Is that correct?”

“That’s right, I was out playing poker.”

“What time did you leave the house, sir?”

“At twenty to eight.”

“Where did you play?”

“On Whisper Key.”

“Somebody’s house?”

“Yes. A man named Art Kramer. On Henchey Pass Road.”

“What time did you get there?”

“A few minutes before eight. The traffic was very light.”

“Went over the Santa Maria Bridge, did you?”

“Yes.”

“How many players in the game?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll need their names. I’d appreciate it if you wrote them down for me later, Dr. Purchase. Their names and addresses.”

“I don’t know all the names. There were some new players.”

“Whichever ones you remember.”

“All right.”

“What time did you leave the game, Dr. Purchase?”

“A little before eleven.”

“How come?”

“I was losing heavily.”

“You came straight home, did you?”

“No.”

“Where did you go?”

“I stopped for a drink at The Innside Out.”

“How long were you there?”

“I left there at about twelve-thirty. A little before twelve-thirty, I guess it was.”

“How many drinks did you have?”

“Two.”

“You got there at what time?”

“At about eleven.”

“And you left at twelve-thirty.”

“A little before twelve-thirty. About twenty after.”

“See anyone you know there?”

“No.”

“No one who might recognize you, huh?”

“No. Unless... I don’t know. I was sitting at the bar, maybe the bartender would remember me. I really couldn’t say.”

“But you don’t know the bartender personally, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“What time did you get back to the house, Dr. Purchase?”

“About twenty to one, I guess it was.”

“See anything unusual when you drove up?”

“Nothing.”

“Anybody outside?”

“No.”

“Were the lights on?”

“Yes.”

“Was that usual?”

“Maureen always left them on when I wasn’t home.”

“How’d you enter the house, Dr. Purchase? The front door?”

“No, I put the car in the garage and then went around to the side door. The kitchen door.”

“Was the door locked?”

“Yes, it was.”

“You used your key to open it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you play poker every Sunday night?”

“Every other Sunday night.”

“That’s a fixed routine, is it?”

“Yes, more or less. We sometimes have to cancel a game because we can’t get enough players that particular week.”

“Is it the same players each week?”

“We try to keep the same players, yes. We have a list of standbys if one of them can’t—”

“I’d like the names of the players now, if you don’t mind,” Ehrenberg said.

An intern and an ambulance attendant were carrying out Maureen’s body when Ehrenberg placed his call. A rubber sheet covered her. Her left hand dangled over the side of the stretcher. There were cuts on the fingers and palm. The ring finger was almost severed, hacked to the bone. A pair of patrolmen carried out the second stretcher. Jamie’s little girls were six and four years old respectively. The last time I’d seen them alive was two Saturdays ago, when I’d taken my own family to swim in Jamie’s pool. Emily, the six-year-old, had told me then that her boyfriend had braces on his teeth. She asked me if I thought braces were bad. I told her braces were fine. She seemed dubious.

Ehrenberg had tented a handkerchief over his hand before picking up the receiver, and he’d dialed the number with the eraser end of a pencil. I thought this excessively theatrical, but I guessed he knew what he was doing. Into the phone, he said, “Mr. Kramer? This is Detective Ehrenberg of the Calusa Police Department, I’m sorry to be calling you this time of night.”

Two more patrolmen were carrying out the third stretcher. The intern and the ambulance attendant were on their way back to the bedroom. They stopped short when they saw the stretcher coming out. The intern looked annoyed. He shook his head and went out the front door again. The ambulance attendant said, “You need any help?” and the patrolman at the front end of the stretcher said, “No, we’ve got it,” and all three of them went out of the house.

On the phone, Ehrenberg said, “I wanted to ask you, sir, whether a Dr. James Purchase was at your home this evening. Uh-huh. What time did he get there, sir? Uh-huh. And what time did he leave? Uh-huh. Well, thank you very much, sir, I certainly am obliged. Thank you, sir,” he said again, and put the receiver back on the cradle, and his handkerchief back in his pocket. “Well, that’s fine,” he said to Jamie. “You’ve got to forgive me checking up like this, Dr. Purchase, but we’ve got to touch all the bases with a homicide. You didn’t plan on sleeping the night here, did you?”

“I hadn’t given it any thought,” Jamie said.

“’Cause there’ll be men here till morning at least, there’s lots to do. You’d be better off at a friend’s house or a motel, you don’t mind my suggesting it.”

“Thank you,” Jamie said. “I’ll pack some things.”

He started toward the master bedroom, and then stopped. He shook his head then, and turned abruptly, and walked out of the house. I went after him. It was ten minutes past two when we left the scene of the crime.