“I spoke with the director from Riverside Memorial. Marianna had also purchased a plot in a cemetery on Long Island,” Hutchison said. “They’ve arranged for her to be buried early tomorrow, first thing, to keep within twenty-four hours, which is what is preferred for people of the Jewish faith.”
“I thought it had to be right away,” I said.
“Unless it’s the Jewish Sabbath, and today is Saturday, of course,” said the doctor. “We’ve acceded to all of Marianna’s wishes. That makes me feel good. We were very close, you know.”
“You signed the death certificate. What was the time of death?”
“Three seventeen this morning.”
“You know that?”
Hutchison looked at me. “Yes.”
“How?”
“You’ll have to trust me,” he said.
“Cause of death? According to you.”
“Her heart gave out.”
“And how did you manage to see her this morning? I gather your wife locks your door.”
He laughed without humor. “It’s our little game. She likes to think I wander in my sleep and she protects me.” He grunted. “Naturally, I have my own keys.”
“So you saw Mrs. Simonova earlier this morning? Before Lily found her? At say, three seventeen a.m.? I had the feeling when you asked me for matches out on the terrace, you already knew.”
“Yes, detective. I knew that she had already passed as I just told you. In any case, I was meaning to raise it with you when my wife called me back into the apartment.”
“She didn’t know?”
“She didn’t know that I often dropped in on Marianna early in the morning.”
“Lily told me she’s the only one who had Simonova’s keys.”
“Things change.”
“And anyway you can go from your terrace to Simonova’s, isn’t that right?”
“Yes. I’m in quite good shape, as you see. I can climb over that foolish little wall that divides us.”
“When were you planning to tell your wife?” I felt like I was being played.
“Why are you badgering Lionel?” Lily said.
“Detective Cohen asks good questions,” said Hutchison. “It’s his habit. Deduction. A bit like Sherlock Holmes, perhaps, wouldn’t you say? Or would it be that doctor on TV, that Dr. House?” In his sharp eyes was a hint of almost joyful malice. He’d had enough of me, and he let it show.
Hutchison had been used to his power in his own world, and he resented my questions. As a doctor, he was used to giving orders, used to people who obeyed them.
“So you knew from early this morning.”
“Yes.”
“That she was dead.”
“That is correct,” he said.
“But you waited to mention it.”
“It was very early. I often take my coffee out on the terrace, take my coffee, juice, the damn pills I have to take. That way I could see if there was a light on in Marianna’s.”
“So you could visit. And was there a light?”
“Candles,” he said. “I was going to talk to Lily as soon as I could manage it out of my wife’s hearing.”
“What did you think when you saw Simonova?”
“I am a doctor. I knew she was at the end. I waited until she passed. She was not alone.”
I thought of the way the dead body had seemed posed.
“You touched her, you arranged the body in any way?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Hutchison.
“But you didn’t tell your wife.”
“Celestina is a silly old woman. She did not like Marianna.”
“Anything between you?”
“I am eighty-two years old, detective, but Madame Seminova had bad breath and, well, if you were asking, she was not my type.” He gave a small measured smile. “We were good friends. We had things in common. I loved her.”
“What kind of things?”
“Politics,” said Hutchison. “Poetry. We discussed literature. We’d laugh about how I had to sneak cigarettes past Celestina. We played cards. Marianna told me her bridge set had been given to her by Anatoly Dobrynin when he was Soviet ambassador. She called him Toli. We discussed international affairs. She played her wonderful old records for me. We both loved this building. That was a bond too.” He looked at his watch. “I must go. You’re satisfied now, detective?”
“When you talked to Dr. Bernard, did she say anything else?”
“She said you seemed rather decent, for a cop, which coming from Lucille Bernard is quite a compliment. In any case, I must get back,” he said.
“You didn’t want her to suffer, of course. Simonova, that is?” I said to him.
“Yes.”
“Had she been in pain?”
“Surely.”
“What kind of pain?”
“Stop it,” said Lily. “Please, Artie, this is hard enough without you playing detective.”
“One more thing,” I said.
“Of course.”
“Amahl Washington.”
Suddenly, it was as though everything slowed down; no one spoke. Dr. Hutchison, who had said he was in a hurry, took his time selecting a chocolate cookie from a plate Lily had placed on the kitchen counter. He picked it up and ate a small bite. He didn’t answer me about Amahl Washington, not then; I saw he was waiting for me to challenge him in some way; Lily was on his side. Then the doorbell rang. Lily hurried to answer it, shut the door, returned carrying a casserole dish covered with a yellow cloth.
“Who was it?”
“Regina McGee, lady who lives down the hall. To see if she could help out with the funeral arrangements.”
“So everybody knows.”
“Of course, they know,” said Lily. “People saw the funeral home take Marianna away. In a black bag, Artie. Like garbage. On a gurney. Garbage on a gurney, that’s what it was like.” Lily pushed her hair back. “They’ll all be ringing the doorbell, they’ll all be wanting to talk about it. Wanting a funeral, a memorial, something. I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Why you?” I said to Lily.
“They know we were friends.”
Hutchison was on his feet. “I’ll talk to them.” He kissed Lily on the cheek. “I’m around if you need me,” he said and started for the door, then stopped suddenly and turned around.
“I don’t know who I’ll be able to talk to ever again, you know,” he said. “Most everyone is dying off. You have a best friend like Marianna, you get that thing only once in a long while. She was different; she knew the world. Crazy as she was.” He smiled. “Oh, we laughed. We were an odd pair for certain, but she never talked foolishness. That was what I liked. You sure you don’t need me to stitch that up?” he asked, looking at my forehead.
“I’m OK.”
“You have something for it?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Let me know if there are any side effects. Rest if you can. You must be feeling pretty raggedy. Call me and we can talk.”
“What kind of pain?” I said again.
“What’s that?”
“Mrs. Simonova. What kind of pain?”
Hutchison’s voice was steady, but his eyes teared up. “The kind of pain that makes it not worth living, the kind that comes when you can’t breathe,” he said.
CHAPTER 19
It’s over now,” Lily said in a flat voice when Hutchison had gone. On the kitchen counter was her laptop. It was open. She began tapping at it.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” I said. “What are you working on?”
“Just checking e-mails,” she said. “It’s over. I told you.”
“You’re sure?” I closed my eyes for a few seconds as the pain sliced against my eyeballs and reached for the pills I had in my pocket.
“Don’t,” said Lily. “It’s too much. I’ll get you some aspirin.”
“I’m OK.”
“Who beat you up, Artie? Do you think somebody wanted you to stop asking questions about Marianna?”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Want me to stop asking? Lily, did you ever know Amahl Washington?”
“I met him,” she said. “I didn’t get to know him.”
“He died. Six months ago.”
“He was old,” she said. “Almost everybody here is old. They live in the past. They live in this building like a little village, as if it’s all that keeps them going, keeps them safe. It contains their history, you can see that? Artie,” she added, “I’m getting old. Maybe it’s the building. Or my feet.”