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Authors: William Lashner
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babies?”
McDeiss didn’t answer, he simply turned the fork on himself. As he chewed, the lines in his forehead rose again.
“Who found her?” I asked.
“The boyfriend,” said McDeiss. “They were living together, apparently engaged. Came home from work and found her hanging from the chandelier. He left her up there and called us. A lot of times they cut them down before they call. He just let her hang.”
“Was there a doorman? A guest register?”
“We checked out all the names in and out that day. Everything routine. Her neighbor, a strange player named Peckworth, said he saw a UPS guy in her hallway that day, which got us wondering, because no one had signed in, but then he came back and said he was confused about the day. We checked it out. She had received a package two days before. Not that this Peckworth could have been any kind of a witness anyway. He’s a real treat. Once that was cleared up there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing suspicious.”
“Did she leave a note?”
He shook his head. “Often they don’t.”
“Find anything suspicious in the apartment?”
“Not a thing.”
“Candy wrappers or trash that didn’t belong?”
“Not a thing. Why? You got something?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. The lady had a history of depression, history of drug abuse and alcohol abuse, years of failed therapies, and she was getting involved in some hippie dippy New Age chanting thing out in Mount Airy.”
“That’s the place for it,” I said.
“It all fits.”
“What about the motive?” I softened my voice. “She’s a Reddman, right?”
“Absolutely,” said McDeiss. “A direct heir as a matter of fact. Her great-grandfather was the pickle king, what was his name, Claudius Reddman? The guy on all the jars. Well, the daughter of this Reddman, she married a Shaw, from the Shaw Brothers department stores, and their son is the sole heir for the entire fortune. This Jacqueline was his daughter. There are three other siblings. The whole thing is going to be divided among them.”
I leaned forward. I tried to sound insouciant, but I couldn’t pull it off. “How much is the estate worth?”
“I couldn’t get an exact figure, only estimates,” said McDeiss. “Not much after all these years. Only about half a billion dollars.”
Three heirs left, half a billion dollars. That put Caroline Shaw’s expected worth at something like one hundred and sixty-six million dollars. I reached for my water glass and tried to take a drink, but my hand shook so badly water started slopping over the glass’s edge and I was forced to put it back down.
“So if it wasn’t a suicide,” I suggested, “money could have been a motive.”
“With that much money it’s the first thing we think about.”
“Who benefited from her death?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“Oh come on, McDeiss.”
“It’s privileged. I can’t talk about it, that’s been made very clear to me. There was a hefty insurance policy and her inheritance was all tied up in a trust. Both were controlled by some bank out in the burbs.”
“First Mercantile of the Main Line, I’ll bet.”
“You got it.”
“By some snot name of Harrington, right?”
“You got it. But the information he gave me about the insurance and the trust was privileged, so you’ll have to go to him.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Look, let me warn you, there was political heat on this investigation. Heat to clean it up quickly. I’ve always been one to clean up my cases, check them off and go onto the next. It’s not like there’s not enough work. But still I was getting the push from the guys downtown. So when the coroner came back calling it a suicide that was enough for me. Case closed.”
“But even with all the heat, you’re talking to me.”
“A good meal, Carl, is worth any indignity,” but after he made his little joke he kept looking at me and something sharp emerged from the fleshy bulbs of his
McDeiss didn’t answer, he simply turned the fork on himself. As he chewed, the lines in his forehead rose again.
“Who found her?” I asked.
“The boyfriend,” said McDeiss. “They were living together, apparently engaged. Came home from work and found her hanging from the chandelier. He left her up there and called us. A lot of times they cut them down before they call. He just let her hang.”
“Was there a doorman? A guest register?”
“We checked out all the names in and out that day. Everything routine. Her neighbor, a strange player named Peckworth, said he saw a UPS guy in her hallway that day, which got us wondering, because no one had signed in, but then he came back and said he was confused about the day. We checked it out. She had received a package two days before. Not that this Peckworth could have been any kind of a witness anyway. He’s a real treat. Once that was cleared up there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing suspicious.”
“Did she leave a note?”
He shook his head. “Often they don’t.”
“Find anything suspicious in the apartment?”
“Not a thing.”
“Candy wrappers or trash that didn’t belong?”
“Not a thing. Why? You got something?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. The lady had a history of depression, history of drug abuse and alcohol abuse, years of failed therapies, and she was getting involved in some hippie dippy New Age chanting thing out in Mount Airy.”
“That’s the place for it,” I said.
“It all fits.”
“What about the motive?” I softened my voice. “She’s a Reddman, right?”
“Absolutely,” said McDeiss. “A direct heir as a matter of fact. Her great-grandfather was the pickle king, what was his name, Claudius Reddman? The guy on all the jars. Well, the daughter of this Reddman, she married a Shaw, from the Shaw Brothers department stores, and their son is the sole heir for the entire fortune. This Jacqueline was his daughter. There are three other siblings. The whole thing is going to be divided among them.”
I leaned forward. I tried to sound insouciant, but I couldn’t pull it off. “How much is the estate worth?”
“I couldn’t get an exact figure, only estimates,” said McDeiss. “Not much after all these years. Only about half a billion dollars.”
Three heirs left, half a billion dollars. That put Caroline Shaw’s expected worth at something like one hundred and sixty-six million dollars. I reached for my water glass and tried to take a drink, but my hand shook so badly water started slopping over the glass’s edge and I was forced to put it back down.
“So if it wasn’t a suicide,” I suggested, “money could have been a motive.”
“With that much money it’s the first thing we think about.”
“Who benefited from her death?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“Oh come on, McDeiss.”
“It’s privileged. I can’t talk about it, that’s been made very clear to me. There was a hefty insurance policy and her inheritance was all tied up in a trust. Both were controlled by some bank out in the burbs.”
“First Mercantile of the Main Line, I’ll bet.”
“You got it.”
“By some snot name of Harrington, right?”
“You got it. But the information he gave me about the insurance and the trust was privileged, so you’ll have to go to him.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Look, let me warn you, there was political heat on this investigation. Heat to clean it up quickly. I’ve always been one to clean up my cases, check them off and go onto the next. It’s not like there’s not enough work. But still I was getting the push from the guys downtown. So when the coroner came back calling it a suicide that was enough for me. Case closed.”
“But even with all the heat, you’re talking to me.”
“A good meal, Carl, is worth any indignity,” but after he made his little joke he kept looking at me and something sharp emerged from the fleshy bulbs of his
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