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When Nicholas Greco was escorted by the housekeeper into the study where previously he had met with Gladys Althorp, he felt protectively a
“The ambassador will be with you shortly,” the housekeeper said.
Is this a power play? Greco wondered. I asked to come at 12:30; he insisted I be here at noon. Now is he going to keep me waiting?
Greco remembered how concerned the housekeeper had been about Gladys Althorp. What was her name? he asked himself, then remembered it. “Brenda, I witnessed how solicitous you were of Mrs. Althorp. I am sure you were a great comfort to her.”
“I hope I was. I haven’t been here that long, but I was very fond of her. And I do know she died happy, knowing that the man who killed her daughter was finally going to pay for his crime. Mrs. Althorp told me that the day she was in court watching Peter Carrington in chains was something she’d prayed for every single day for twenty-two years.”
Charles Althorp had come into the room while she was speaking, and had overheard her. “We’re delighted to have your opinion, Brenda,” he said sarcastically. “You may go now.”
Greco took an instant dislike to Althorp. Humiliating his housekeeper in front of another person was probably indicative of the employer-employee relationship that existed in this house, and given Althorp’s attitude on the phone, he expected nothing more.
Brenda reacted as though she had been slapped. Her body stiffened. Then, with quiet dignity, she turned and left the room.
Althorp indicated a chair for Greco and sat down himself. “I have a luncheon engagement,” he said, “so you do understand that fifteen minutes means fifteen minutes.”
“I am aware of the time constraints,” Greco said. Deliberately avoiding the use of Althorp’s courtesy title, he began, “Mr. Althorp, you were very angry at your daughter, Susan, that last evening. It was noticed and remarked upon by a number of people. Why were you so upset with her?”
“I don’t even remember, and it isn’t important. Naturally, I have always felt terrible that my last contact with Susan was under those circumstances.”
“You and Mrs. Althorp left the di
“We left shortly after di
“Before you left, you ordered your daughter to be home by midnight. The party, from what I understand, lasted well over an hour after that. Why the curfew?”
“Susan was overtired. I was concerned about her. I wanted her to leave with us. The dancing had just begun. Peter asked if she could stay for a little while; he offered to escort her home.”
“You liked Peter.”
“Very much, at that time.”
“Mr. Althorp, I will ask you again: why were you concerned about your daughter?”
“That is none of your business, Mr. Greco.”
“Oh, but I think it is. If what I believe is correct, it is the reason Susan is dead.”
Greco watched as Althorp’s face turned crimson. Rage or fear? Greco asked himself.
“When Mrs. Kay Carrington was a six-year-old child, she was sitting outside the Carrington mansion waiting for her father, Jonathan Lansing, who, as you know, was the landscaper there. It was the same day as the party. He was attending to a problem concerning the lighting. Kay had heard about the chapel, and, being a typically curious child, went into the house to look at it. While she was there, she heard the chapel door opening and hid between the pews. She did not see the people who entered, but she heard the words they exchanged. It was a couple, and the woman was demanding money from the man.”
Greco paused, then, his tone bitingly cold, said, “I believe that the woman in the chapel was your daughter, Susan. I believe that she had developed a drug problem, and that she needed money because she needed more drugs. I believe that you knew of the problem, but wanted to control it your own way, by making sure she had no money, and by keeping such a close watch on her that she would not have access to whoever was her supplier.”
“No wonder you have such a fine reputation as an investigator, Mr. Greco. But even if this were true, what does it prove? Why does it matter now?” Althorp’s voice was equally cold.
“Oh, I would say it matters very much, Mr. Althorp. If you had sought professional help for Susan, she might still be alive today.”
“When she disappeared, I thought she had run away with her dealer. I thought she’d show up again someday,” Althorp replied.
“And, thinking that, you committed the unpardonable sin of letting Peter Carrington be a suspect in her disappearance? Despite the fact that you actually thought there was a possibility she might still be alive?”
“I simply didn’t know. I couldn’t have opened up that possibility. It would have killed my wife,” Althorp said. “Susan’s mother thought she was a perfect child. The idea that Susan was a drug addict would have destroyed her.”
“When did you first suspect that Susan was using drugs?”
“Shortly after she returned from her freshman year at college. There was something different about her that last summer. She’d get irritable, or cry easily, and that was totally unlike her. I didn’t know what to believe, but then one evening when she was out, I passed her room and saw that she’d left all the lights on. I went in to turn them off, and spotted something on the floor. It was tinfoil and there was some white powder in it. It appeared to be cocaine. I knew then what was going on. When Susan came home, I confronted her and demanded to know where she was getting the drugs. She wouldn’t tell me. That was about a month before she disappeared.”
“If you had told the police about Susan’s problem, it would have immediately changed the nature of the investigation, and her dealer might have been apprehended. Why did your wife hire me six months ago? It was to find something that could bring your daughter’s presumed killer, Peter Carrington, to trial. The arrest and imprisonment of Susan’s killer surely would have brought her peace and closure.” Greco heard his voice rising. “Was it better to let your wife suffer every day of her life as she did? Was that your idea of being merciful? That is a comfortable excuse for your silence, isn’t it? Isn’t it true that you hoped to be appointed to another ambassadorship and didn’t want any hint of scandal attached to your name? The beautiful debutante presumed to have been murdered by a wealthy young man engendered public sympathy for the family. You were content to leave it at that.”
“That is your opinion and I will not dignify it by responding,” Althorp said. “Why are you here, Mr. Greco? What difference does any of this make now? It won’t bring Susan back, and as my son pointed out to me yesterday, if there is an art museum in heaven, Susan and her mother are there, discussing paintings. It is a scenario in which I find comfort.”
“You may find comfort in your scenario, but do you really have the nerve to ask what difference it would make if the truth were told now? Didn’t it ever occur to you that Susan may have been murdered by the drug dealer, and not by Peter Carrington?”
“Peter’s shirt was missing. I thought that he might have had an argument with Susan that got out of hand.”
“It was either a drug dealer or Peter who took her life, and you are content with either answer! I have another theory, Mr. Althorp. You may have heard Susan trying to sneak out that night. You may have been angry enough to harm her yourself. It was noon the next day before anyone realized that she was not in her room. You had plenty of time to hide the body until you could dispose of it permanently.”