The Suicide Murders

SEVEN

Back in town I did something I seldom do: I had a couple of belts of rye and a beer chaser at the hotel. Then I went upstairs to my room and nearly brought it all up again. To hell with putting my nose where it wasn’t wanted. On Monday, for sure, I was going over to see my cousin Melvyn. What I needed on a hot spring day was a cool morning searching titles at the registry office. Title searchers live a long time and hardly ever lose their sight to a propane flame. I lay back on my bed, looking up at the ceiling thinking of my resolution, when the phone rang. I grabbed it mostly to stop it making such a racket. It was Mrs. Yates.

“Mr. Cooperman? I’m sorry to bother you on a weekend, but I didn’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate what you have been doing. Mr. Ward was a little harsh with you on the telephone yesterday, and I’m sorry. We’ve all been under a great deal of pressure as you’ll appreciate.” Her voice sounded washed out, almost like she was reciting a chant.

“Mr. Ward’s word for what I’ve done is ‘harassment,’ Mrs. Yates. I know you’ve been through the wringer these last three days and you’re not in the clear yet. What I want to know, Mrs. Yates, is do you want me to go on harassing you? Are you satisfied to hear that your husband wasn’t seeing another woman, but going to see a psychiatrist?”

“Chester is dead, Mr. Cooperman.”

“Mrs. Yates, you know what you asked me to do?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I did that. I was with your husband up to an hour before his death. I can tell you that his afternoon appointment was not with the Water Board as it said on his deck calendar; he went to see Dr. Andrew Zekerman. The name mean anything to you?”

“No.” She said it breathlessly.

“He’s a psychiatrist, across from the Hotel Dieu Hospital on Ontario Street. I’ve been to see the shrink; and found out that he’s scared of something. He thinks he’s being followed. I’d like to find out why. Believe me, it’s not my imagination, Mrs. Yates. You didn’t see his face when I mentioned your husband’s name.”

“But I still don’t see …”

“Mrs. Yates, two hours before your husband died, he ordered a ten-speed bike for himself. You can check at MacLeish’s sporting goods if you don’t believe me.”

“I see.” She didn’t sound as though she did, but I took her at her word. I waited for a minute.

“Can you tell me, Mrs. Yates, who would want to see your husband out of the way? Who would profit by his death? Did he have any enemies? Don’t tell me now. I want you to think about it and let me know later on. May I suggest that we keep what I’ve said under your hat until I can find something that a court of law would recognize as proof? That is if you want to keep me busy, because frankly I don’t think we’ve got enough right now to go to the police with. If you want me to drop everything right where it is, just say so. I can take a hint. But to tell you the truth, Mrs. Yates, I’ll take it better from you than from that stuffed-shirt Ward.”

“Bill Ward? But how …? Oh, on the telephone. Yes, I understand, Mr. Cooperman. Please, Mr. Cooperman, if Chester was killed and you can find out who killed him, I’ll be eternally grateful. If it’s a matter of money …”

“I didn’t say anything about money, although I could use another two hundred. But I can wait until you get back on your feet again. Take it easy. And let me know if you think of anything that might help to shed some light around here.”

“Yes, I promise. Goodbye.” I heard the click, but listened to the dead line hum for a minute before I replaced the receiver. I was back in business. I might get burned to a crisp after all, but at least I wasn’t going to have to be nice to that bastard cousin of mine, Melvyn.