Ed McBain - Goldilocks

“No.”

“You did not leave the way you came in?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I had blood on my clothes.”

“How did you leave?”

“Through the door at the side of the house. I locked it behind me.”

“How?”

“I twisted the button on the doorknob.”

“All right, you went out through the side door and then where did you go? Can you describe your route?”

“I began walking west toward the beach.”

“Were you still carrying the knife?”

“I... don’t remember.”

“Where is that knife, can you tell me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what happened to the knife?”

“No.”

“Did you leave it in the house?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Or throw it away someplace on the grounds?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you walk toward the bayou when you came out of the house?”

“No.”

“You didn’t go anywhere near the bayou?”

“No.”

“So you couldn’t have thrown the knife in the water there at the back of the house.”

“I don’t remember.”

“But you do remember that you didn’t go toward the bayou?”

“That’s right.”

“You left the house—”

“Yes. And came around the side of it, and began walking west on Jacaranda, toward the beach.”

“Did you still have the knife in your hand?”

“I guess so.”

“What did you do then?”

“There’s this property that belongs... it’s an access road to the beach, it belongs to the people who live in the development, a private access road. There’s a chain across the entrance to it, I climbed over the chain, and walked down through the pine forest—”

“Still carrying the knife?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Go on.”

“I came out on the beach, the access road leads directly to the beach...”

“Yes?”

“And I walked on the beach for a while.”

“Still carrying the knife?”

“Let me think.”

“Take your time.”

“I must have thrown it in the water.”

“In the Gulf?”

“Yes. While I was walking along, I threw it in the Gulf.”

“Then what?”

“I sat down and began crying. In a little while, I got up and walked back toward the pine forest. There’s a small gazebo just off the beach — the association had it built, there’s a table there and benches on either side of it. I climbed up on the table and stretched out with my hands behind my head. I was planning to sleep there, I guess. I hadn’t figured things out yet. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

“About what, do you mean?”

“About... Maureen being dead. And the girls. I didn’t know whether to... to go to the police and tell them I’d done it, or... just see what happened. I didn’t want to go to the police, I was afraid they’d beat me up or...”

“But no one here has abused you physically or—”

“No, no.”

“Mentally.”

“No, everyone’s been... it’s just that you hear stories about the police. And this was... I thought they might have... you know... thought I’d... you know... done something to... Maureen.”

“What do you mean by ‘done something’?”

“Well, you know.”

“Could you explain what you mean?”

“You know.”

“I’m not sure.”

“You know, her being in a nightgown and all.”

“Yes, what about that?”

“The police might have got the idea I’d done something to her. Like, you know, molested her or something.”

“ Did you molest her?”

“No, sir. No, I didn’t.”

“You held her in your arms, though. You embraced her.”

“Yes, but I didn’t... you know... I didn’t do... I didn’t do what the police might think I’d done if I... if I went to them and told them... told them... what I’d done.”

“You embraced Emily, too, isn’t that so?”

“Yes, but I didn’t...”

“Go on. I’m listening.”

“Didn’t do anything to her.”

“But you were afraid the police would think you’d done something to her.”

“That’s right.”

“Something sexual?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“Not to Emily or to Maureen.”

“She was... you know... the nightgown was all torn.”

“Maureen’s nightgown.”

“Yes, but I didn’t do anything to her, I swear to God.”

“And the reason you didn’t go to the police at first—”

“They might think I’d done something.”

“You were afraid they’d think you had sexually abused her.”

“Yes.”

“Maureen.”

“Yes.”

“And that they’d beat you up if they found out.”

“If they found out, yes. If they thought I’d done it, do you understand?”

“Mr. Purchase, why did you kill Maureen?”

“I don’t know why.”

“Why did you kill Emily?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or Eve?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mr. Purchase, I’m going to turn off the tape recorder now, and have this interview typed up in transcript form for you to read before you sign it. At that time, if you want to change anything or add anything to it, you can do so. In the meantime, before I turn off the machine, is there anything you’d like to add to your statement?”

“Nothing.”

“Then that’s everything,” Ehrenberg said.

Jamie and I got back to my office at a little before one-thirty. I was ravenously hungry, but I didn’t want to have lunch with him, and so I said nothing about it. His personal tragedy had lurched into the realm of genuine horror. I was numb and wanted no more of him or his son for a little while at least. I got out of the Ghia, and walked to where he was parking his car. Immediately, he began talking about Michael. Listening, I had the same feeling I’d had in that two A.M. bar last night — that he was talking to himself, soliciting my nods or my grunts only as punctuation to what was essentially a monologue.

“I thought he was over it by now,” he said. “He was at the house only last Tuesday, he and Maureen sat at the kitchen table half the night, just talking. A real heart-to-heart talk. About my having stopped the alimony payments, about his going back to school — they’d have gone on forever if I hadn’t told them I was going to bed, I had a busy day tomorrow.”

Tomorrow would have been Wednesday. And Jamie would most certainly have had a busy day in the cottage at the beach. On Tuesday night, nonetheless, his son Michael sat at the kitchen table and had a long heart-to-heart talk with Maureen. This did not sound like someone who five days later would sit at that same table and abruptly reach for a knife.

“He was the one it hit hardest, you know,” Jamie said. “He was only ten when I left his mother, it took me a full year and a half to reach an agreement with her, she made things miserable for all of us.” He opened the door, climbed in behind the wheel. “But you know,” he said, “I really thought he was over it. Came down here to live in September, started at U.S.F.... well, all right, he dropped out again in January, but I honestly think he was planning to start again in the fall. I honestly think he was beginning to... respect me again. Love me again.”

Jamie shook his head. He was not looking at me. His hands were on the steering wheel, he was staring through the windshield at the bright white wall that surrounded the office complex.

“Then this afternoon, alone in the office with him, I said, ‘Michael, why’d you do this? Michael, for the love of God, why’d you do this?’ And he looked at me, and he said, ‘It’s your fault, Pop, you caused it,’ and that was when I called him a son of a bitch, a little son of a bitch, and grabbed him by the throat. Because he was... he was right back where we’d been, don’t you see? He was ten years old again, and blaming me again, only this time he was blaming me for the terrible thing he himself had done — it was my fault, he told me, I was the one who’d caused it. Matt, I... wanted to kill him. I was ready to kill him. If Ehrenberg hadn’t come in... I’d have done it. God forgive me, I’d have done it.”