Split (Chapter-10)

The crimson mouth drew nearer. Her lips parted to reveal a set of iridescent teeth, as white and flawless as her skin. She bestowed the lightest of kisses upon his left shoulder. In no great hurry, she moved closer, pressing the length of her torso against his. He circled his arms around her, unwrapping layer after layer of silky cloth. Undressed, she was a magnificent work of art. A Modigliani.

Ian’s eyes snapped open. It was morning, and he was alone.

His king-sized bed was half-empty. He wondered briefly if this thought made him a pessimist. Perhaps he should tell himself his bed was half-full?

All joking aside, the dream had aroused him. He lay back on his rumpled pillow and contemplated the woman he’d imagined drawing into his arms. Not his wife. Not his girlfriend, either. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. And there was something more, something behind her gold-flecked eyes, a fiery sparkle that intrigued him. Made him want to learn more.

He was fairly certain she was interested in him, as well. Such a shame she was currently a suspect in his ongoing homicide investigation. For now, he needed to bide his time. Once he closed the case, though, he might be tempted to reconsider.

After a very thorough shower, Ian was ready to hit the pavement once more. He avoided looking up at Angelica’s third-story windows as he passed her front gate. It was only a dream, but he felt like he’d been cheating on her. Which was ironic, as he was already cheating on his wife with Angelica. The whole situation was becoming impossibly confused.

A brief stop at Strawberry Place for a breakfast sandwich and a coffee, after which he purchased a copy of the local paper. He was at his desk minutes later. Before he had a chance to read the headlines, his telephone rang.

“McDaniel here.”

“Hello. Are you the detective looking into Gail Hunter’s murder?”

“Who is this?” He thought it was interesting the caller used the word “murder.” Not “accident” or “death.”

“My name is Ann Gottlieb.”

“Thanks for calling, Ann. You were at the yoga class on Sunday night, right? I got your name from Jewel Ariel.”

“Yes, I was there. Trixie told me you wanted to speak with all of us.” There was a slight tremble in her voice.

“Can you tell me what happened when you were leaving the studio? Did you see or hear anything unusual?”

“Yes, I did.” There was a muffled noise on the line, as if she had covered the mouthpiece with her hand.

“Hello? Ann?”

“Sorry, there’s someone at the door. Can I call you right back?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Ian heard a click, and the line went dead.

While he was waiting for Ann to call back, he decided to try Janice again. Although it was only nine in the morning, he thought he might be able to catch her before she went off to one of her many meetings.

The phone rang only once before a deep, masculine voice answered. “Hello?”

“Sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number,” Ian said. “I'm looking for Janice McDaniel.”

“Just a sec. Let me see if she’s out for a shower yet.”

Ian heard the phone plop down softly, maybe onto Janice’s bed. Maybe onto the bed Janice had recently shared with her new friend. Her friend with the deep voice and a substance abuse problem. Her friend who sounded like he had a beard.

“Hello?” This time it was Janice.

“Hey. I guess I called at a bad time. Sounds like you have company.”

She giggled, a high-pitched nervous twitter. “That was just Topher. He’s in my therapy group.”

“It’s good to know you’re making friends. I wouldn’t want you to be lonely.”

More forced laughter. It made Ian want to slam the telephone down.

“I’m going to let you go back to whatever you were doing.” Ian felt like he had been stabbed again. Only this time it was in the back.

“Okay, babe. Call me later. Like I said, between three and five is the best time.” She actually had the nerve to correct him for calling too early.

He hung up without responding.

He found it amazing how stupid he could be. How many times had Janice shown him she didn’t give two shits about their marriage? How many times had she stayed out all night long, without a phone call, a note, or a message? How many times had she cheated on him? He honestly had no clue.

He remembered the first time he ever laid eyes on her. He was celebrating, standing at the bar at O’Donohue’s Pub with Tim Martinelli. The two of them had just graduated that afternoon from the police academy, two baby-faced recruits in their new uniforms, all stiff and starched. When Janice and a gaggle of her girlfriends burst through the door, every head in the place had turned. All the girls were pretty enough, but Janice was glowing. She shone as bright as the summer sun, blonde hair cascading down her back like a river of warm honey.

Ian paused for a moment in the middle of this stroll down memory lane. Something suddenly hit him like a frying pan to the back of the head. His future wife had waltzed into the bar that night glowing.

Their eyes met across the smoky room full of newly minted cops. She had locked onto him from the moment she entered the place. He was on his second beer, never much of a drinker, so he was feeling just fine. She approached him without hesitation, using that shy smile girls use when they want something.

Why had she been there that night, anyway? Why had she approached him? What exactly had she wanted from him? She didn’t even know him.

Or did she? Had she somehow known he’d be there? Or had she chosen him for his baby face, his gawky lack of charm, his inexperience with women?

Her father was a judge. He would have known where and when the newest police recruits would be celebrating. He could have sent Janice out hunting. Hunting for a patsy. A good guy, a stand-up guy. A guy who’d do the right thing. A guy whose father was the Dean of Students at Nyack College.

Ian’s breath became ragged as he gripped the edge of his desk. The room tilted and threw him off balance. He held on for dear life, his fingertips turning white. The world as he had known it for the past four years—all the comfortable “facts” and assumptions, the things he “knew”—spun around and tumbled and cracked like precious china in an earthquake.

Janice was already pregnant when he met her.

He didn’t want to believe it. He tried to deny his new knowledge. He pushed the thought away, but it refused to leave. The depth of his stupidity was beyond reason. It was too much to contemplate.

The baby had come “early.” That’s what Janice told him when her labor pains began. But the baby wasn’t premature. His son was full term, completely developed, over eight pounds. Ian had never questioned any of it. Until this moment.

Now he had to know the truth.

He dialed her room again, and listened to the telephone ring. And ring. He must have let it ring fifteen times before he replaced the receiver in its cradle. Then he put his head down on his desk, and gently pounded his forehead against the wood.

It was several minutes later when he remembered he was still expecting a call back from Ann Gottlieb.

Digging out the list of phone numbers and addresses, he forced his mind back to the case. He dragged a finger down the left-hand side of the page until he came to the name. He dialed Ann’s number. Again, he listened to several long minutes of ringing. No one picked up.

Strange. She had called him first, obviously planning to have a conversation. The interruption of someone at the door wasn’t part of that plan, but she hadn’t sounded worried when she hung up the phone. He assumed a neighbor had stopped by, or perhaps a delivery person who needed a signature. Maybe it turned out to be more complicated than that.

He skipped over Ann Gottlieb and instead focused on Beth Strauss. So far, he had interviewed everyone connected to Gail Hunter or in the vicinity of her assault. But he had neglected to speak with the lawyer's mother, Ursula Strauss. Martinelli had picked the elderly woman up and brought her to the hospital on the night of her daughter’s death, but Ian still needed to get a statement from her.

He pulled the Crown Vic up in front of the Strauss home on Castle Heights Avenue. The sky was thick with pregnant clouds waiting for the right moment to dump their cold, wet contents on his head. Nyack had yet to see her first snowfall of the season. Today could be the day.

Wiping his feet carefully on the cheerful welcome mat, Ian felt instead like stomping the crap out of the jolly Santa Claus face. So far, it had not been a merry morning. His Christmas spirit was sorely lacking.

Ursula Strauss opened the door with red-rimmed eyes, a handkerchief crumpled in one fist. Her snow-white hair framed a deeply wrinkled face. Ian showed his badge.

“Come in.” Her voice crackled like dry leaves.

She led him to the kitchen where a cup of tea sat on the table. The sight of it startled him. “You’re not drinking any of the tea your daughter left here, are you?”

The mother stared at her cup, her jaw dropping in horror. “I didn’t think…”

Ian reach for the cup. “What kind of tea is this?”

She shuffled to the cupboard and brought down a tin, trembling as she handed it over. “I think Beth bought this at the Herbal Tea Room. That new place on Broadway. She took me there for lunch last week.”

Ian opened the tin and looked at the blend of dried herbs. He didn’t see anything that resembled the evergreen needles, but he was still concerned. “I don’t want to scare you, but I think it would be safer if you threw away all the loose teas in the house. How much of that cup did you already drink?”

“About half, I guess.” The old woman dropped onto a kitchen chair as if her legs had given out.

“How long ago?” Ian remembered it had taken about fifteen minutes before the lawyer collapsed.

She shrugged. “Maybe half an hour?”

He let his breath out. “I think you’re fine. But just to be sure, let’s get rid of the rest of the tea in the house. Okay?”

She nodded. “Can I get you anything else? Maybe some coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Ian took a seat across the table. “I just need to ask you a few questions. Are you feeling, okay?”

“I’m fine,” she told him, but he could see this wasn’t true.

“Was Beth your only child?”

“No, I have a son, thank God. He lives upstate, but he’ll be down here later today. He’ll give me a hand with everything.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He couldn’t bear the thought of this poor woman struggling through the funeral all alone. He knew the pain of losing a child. Or at least he used to think he did. “As far as you know, did your daughter have any enemies?”

“Enemies? What a funny word. I would never have thought so. It sounds like you think someone poisoned her on purpose.” Ursula’s watery eyes grew larger.

“I have to look into that possibility,” he hedged. “I haven’t found any evidence of foul play, but we still don’t know where the yew leaves came from.”

“Few leaves? In her tea?”

“Yes, that’s what killed your daughter. The tea also contained rosemary, which looks almost exactly the same. It’s possible someone made a mistake. Do you have any yew bushes on your property?” He made a mental note to take a walk around before he left.

“Not that I know of. We’ve lived in this house since we first moved to Nyack, fifty years ago. We put in a few shrubs over the years, but not any yew.”

“Did Beth grow her own herbs? Or blend her own teas?”

“No, nothing along those lines. She was very interested in health and nutrition, but she didn’t have time to garden. She sought out the best quality produce, tried to purchase organic foods as much as possible. We always went to the farmers’ market on the weekends.”

Ian nodded. He'd heard all this before. “Where did she buy her teas?”

“A woman at the market had her own herbal tea blends. Beth liked those. She also bought some at the Herbal Tea Room and at the health food store in the mall.”

“Did any of her friends or clients ever give her tea as a gift?”

“Not that I know of. She never mentioned anything like that to me.”

Ian stood up. “Do you mind if I look through your cabinets?”

“Go right ahead. I think I’m going to make myself a cup of Lipton. That should be safe, don’t you think?”

“If you're using tea bags, I think that should be fine.”

Ursula shuffled again to the cupboard and began removing boxes and tins. She placed all the containers onto the kitchen table.

Ian pulled on a pair of Latex gloves in order to keep his fingerprints out of the mix. He examined each package, opening the tins of loose tea and looking for dried needles. He didn't find anything suspicious. He was glad to see a new, unopened box of Lipton teabags emerge from the back of the shelf.

“I’m going to take the rest of these with me to be tested.” He waved toward the table covered in containers. “Please give me a call if you think of anything else.”

He deposited his card on the table and saw himself out as Ursula filled the kettle. After a quick tour of the property, he returned to his vehicle and started it up. No yew bushes or any type of evergreen that resembled rosemary. No herb garden whatsoever.

The poisoning still could have been accidental, but he wouldn’t bet on it.