THE CASE OF THE DRUNKEN HEIRESS (A BEACON HILL MURDER MYSTERY)
By Karen Carson
INTERIOR. 9:00 A.M. TAXI PULLS UP TO THE CORNER AS 70ISH WOMAN WITH GROCERY BAGS WALKS UP HER FRONT STAIRS AND CHECKS MAILBOX.
WOMAN LOOKS THROUGH MAIL AND SHAKES HER HEAD. SHE WALKS BACK DOWN HER STAIRS. VIVECA GETS OUT OF TAXI. CHECKS HER PHONE FOR ADDRESS AS WOMAN REACHES THE SIDEWALK.
VIVECA: (LOOKING UP AT WOMAN) Ma’am? Excuse me. I’m looking for the Blue Hill YMCA.
WOMAN: (WALKING TOWARD HER HOLDING OUT ENVELOPE) I haven’t picked up my new glasses yet. Can you read this, dear?
VIVECA: (TAKING ENVELOPE) “4908 Blue Hill Avenue. Roxbury, Massachusetts…”
WOMAN: I knew it! Wrong house again! The day that mailman delivers 4908’s mail to them, I’ll buy him lunch! I get a letter for that address at least once a week! I guess I shouldn’t complain. At least I don’t get their bills…
VIVECA: Ma’am. I’m looking for the Blue Hill YMCA--
WOMAN: Of course you are (LOOKS HER UP AND DOWN DISCREETLY EXAMINING HER CLOTHES) What a lovely dress. Is that silk?
VIVECA: Yes it is
WOMAN: (REACHING OUT TO TOUCH THE EDGE OF HER SLEEVE) May I?
VIVECA: Of course.
WOMAN: (FEELING THE TEXTURE) Oh. Yes. Marc Jacobs. I know my designers. I was a seamstress for fifty years! Had my own shop too. But I had to finally give it up. Arthritis, you know--
VIVECA: The YMCA, Ma’am. Is it on this block?
WOMAN: Right in front of you, dear. That storefront is the Y. You were expecting a big building, weren’t you? No. Just that little storefront. But they do a lot for the community. Classes and activities for the teenagers. Book club and computer classes for the older people. Fresh
vegetable and fruit market every Thursday morning at 11. Even a notary public and somebody to help you with your taxes. What do you need, dear?
VIVECA: Nothing. I’m looking for…
WOMAN: Nothing? You certainly didn’t come out of your way to Roxbury in those heels for nothing, Cabs are expensive. Oh! You must be looking for The Dude! You know, The Dude! The Ole Surfer Boy. He’s not a boy. Must be in his 60s. His ponytail is gray.
VIVECA: Dean. Dean Donohue.
WOMAN: Yes. Dean. He’s in there. He’s probably getting ready for the GED class. Go on in. The classroom’s on the right past the coffee machine. Why don’t you stay for the yoga class? I’m going in myself in a few minutes.
VIVECA: Thank you, Ma’am.
WOMAN: Isabella. Isabella Sutton.
VIVECA: Thank you, Mrs. Sutton.
ISABELLA: Ms. My husband died ten years ago. (WHISPERS) But I have a gentleman caller (SMILES)
(AS VIVECA WALKS TO THE DOOR OF THE YMCA, A TALL, THIN MAN WITH A WAIST LENGTH SALT AND PEPPER PONYTAIL AND LOOSE JEANS, COMES TOWARDS HER HOLDING A LARGE GARBAGE BAG)
DEAN: So you found me! This must be really good, Viv, for you to come out to Roxbury. You slummin’ these days?
VIVECA: There’s no need to insult me. (DEAN PUTS THE BAG ON THE CURB) Do you need help?
DEAN: No thanks. I’m used to it. I was used to it when we were married. You don’t want to get garbage juice and mud on those spiked leather pumps. Rag and Bone? I know you too well, Viveca. You can’t play poor with me. You’ve got something stashed away for a rainy day.
VIVECA: And you won’t give me a divorce because you want to cash in! I told you, I’ve been telling you, it’s all gone! My inheritance, the stocks, the bonds--
DEAN: Come inside, Viveca. Let’s not air our dirty laundry like we did when we were newlyweds. I’ve got coffee ready for you. Black. No sugar. I put my herbal tea away, when
Barbara Salerno tipped me off that you’d be paying me a visit. Don’t look so surprised. She told me all about Ian. I’m surprised you hadn’t knocked him off sooner--
VIVECA: Stop it! Shut up! You know I could never kill anyone!
(A 20ISH YOUNG MAN IN BLOND CORNROWS PEEKS HIS HEAD OUT OF A ROOM)
HAKIM: Everything okay, Mr. Donahue?
DEAN: I’m good, Hakim. Thanks. I’ll just be a few minutes. Could you take over and have everyone review the writing homework for a few minutes? I’ll be right there.
(BRINGING COFFEE OVER TO THE TABLE AND PUTTING A MUG IN FRONT OF VIVECA)
Viv, you’ve got to calm down. You’ll live longer. Oops! That was cruel of me. I’m sorry. Barbara Salerno just doesn’t want to see you get into more trouble than you’re already in by skipping town. Yeah. The cops should be shakin’ down your place right about now. You can tell me anything, Viv. I’ll keep all of your secrets in the vault...in my heart.
VIVECA: Spare me.
DEAN: I am sparing you. I know about Colin. I’ve known about Colin--
VIVECA: Ssshhh! Be quiet! You promised me, Dean! You promised me--
DEAN: Give me some credit, Viv. I would never tell anyone. I swear. I didn’t tell Ian.
VIVECA: Then who did? Who told Ian?
DEAN: You did! And that’s why you killed him! The man was practically giving you a blank check every month. Literally. And you’re walking around with a Gucci bag on your arm. Not a knock off, either. You taught me the difference, remember?
VIVECA: A lot of good it did me back then. A 21-year-old kid stuck in the house while you surfed all day and shtumped my friends every night.
DEAN: We were kids! What did you expect? It was Venice Beach. You said you’d go anywhere with me, so I took you to Paradise, baby. You could swim all day, we could make our own food. What more did you need?
VIVECA: I needed you, Dean! I needed you to grow up! Did you really ever love me? Did you really even care about me, Dean?
DEAN: (HURT) How can you ask me that? Why do you think I’ve never agreed to a divorce?
(SILENCE) (CHANGING THE SUBJECT) What happened with your “comeback”? Didn’t Ian foot the bill for that movie you’re shooting of your memoir?
VIVECA: That’s on hold. My condo...I owe money on it. Big time.
DEAN: Damn it, Viveca! What have you been buying now ? You’ve got a real problem, you know that? There’s no way anyone could go through all that money--
VIVECA: (IN TEARS) Dean, what am I going to do? I didn’t do it. I didn’t. I swear. All I remember is leaving the condo board meeting the night before. And the next thing I know, I’m in Ian’s bed in my pajamas with blood all over me and he’s dead! Dean, help me! Please! I did not kill him!
DEAN: Okay. Okay. (PUTTING HIS ARM AROUND HER) Barbara said the police let you out on bail but they’re not done with you. She said the gun they found had no fingerprints and there are no wounds on Ian’s body. Tell me the truth, Viv, is that your gun?
VIVECA: No. I swear, Dean. I don’t own a gun. I did not kill Ian.
DEAN: Okay, baby. All right. I believe you. You can stay here while I teach the class. You’ll be all right. We’ll figure something out. The detectives are tossin’ your place right now, so don’t go home. They’ll keep tryin’ until they find something. Don’t worry, Viveca. You’ll be safe with me, darling.
VIVECA: (CRYING ON HIS SHOULDER. POINTS TO A NEON COLORED IRONING BOARD IN A FAR CORNER OF THE ROOM) That’s wild. Where’d you get that?
DEAN: (CHUCKLING) I let some of the mothers wash and iron their kid’s clothes here at the center for free. I think they like the fancy ironing board! Groovy, right? Hey, you always told me to grow up and get rid of my old surfboard. Old fart surfer dudes don’t die, they just repurpose their surfboards!
INTERIOR. MORNING. VIVECA CHATWORTH’S CONDO. DETECTIVES BAHITI PATEL AND KENYATTA GROSSMAN ARE SEARCHING FOR EVIDENCE. VIVECA IS A HOARDER: THERE IS GARBAGE, DUST AND DEBRIS EVERYWHERE. THERE ARE SHOPPING BAGS FROM HIGH-END STORES LIKE NEIMAN MARCUS, SAK’S, NORDSTROM’S AND LORD AND TAYLOR AND BRAND NEW CLOTHES WITH PRICE TAGS STILL ON THEM. BAGS OF SHOES, CLOTHES, BOOK, CDS AND TAPES BLOCK THEIR PATH. AN OLD TV SET WITH RABBIT EARS SITS IN ONE CORNER WITH STACKS OF OLD FASHION MAGAZINES ON TOP OF IT. OLD MOVIE POSTERS LINE ONE WALL WITH BOXES OF PLAYS AND BROADWAY PLAYBILLS ON THE FLOOR.
BAHITI IN JEANS AND HIS DAUGHTER’S RUTGERS UNIVERSITY WOMEN’S BASKETBALL TEAM SWEATSHIRT, SITS ON A BIG PILE OF BOOKS, FILES, AND PHOTO ALBUMS, SIFTING THROUGH HEADSHOTS, PERSONAL PHOTOS AND DOCUMENTS.
KENYATTA’S HAIR IS IN A BEAUTIFUL CORNROW DESIGN. SHE WEARS A BLACK TURTLENECK AND FITTED BLACK JEANS AND RED KEDS. SHE HAS JUST ARRIVED.
DETECTIVE BAHITI PATEL: (EATING A BREAKFAST SANDWICH. HOLDING OUT ANOTHER SANDWICH FOR KENYATTA) Watch where you step, K. Who knows what’s under all of this! Here, I bought two. Egg and sausage. Real sausage. Not tofu! It’s still warm.
DETECTIVE KENYATTA GROSSMAN: (GINGERLY STEPPING OVER BOXES TOWARDS HIM) Thanks. I’m starved! (CATCHES HERSELF BEFORE SHE STUMBLES OVER A BOX OF CHRISTMAS ORNAMENTS) If she had a garage sale, she’d make a fortune! She’s got everything here but the kitchen sink!
DET. PATEL: Don’t speak too soon. I’m sure that’s in here someplace too! Whew! You see a window in here? It smells. You know, we should contact that show about hoarders. She certainly fits the profile. Let’s hope that smell isn’t a dead mouse from last winter! Ballistics called. The gun Dr. Washington found was registered to Ian Chenoweth…
DET. GROSSMAN: (CHEWING, MOVING A BOX OF BOOKS) His own gun? But the M.E. said there was no indication he was shot. Maybe the murderer placed the gun there as a smoke screen (SIFTS THROUGH BOX OF SHOES. HOLDS UP A SHOE EXAMINING IT)
DET. PATEL: Remember, he had human tissue under his fingernails.
DET. GROSSMAN: (HOLDS DESIGNER DRESS UP TO HERSELF. IT’S TOO LONG. SNIFFS THE SLEEVE AS AN AFTERTHOUGHT) And there are no defense wounds. No indication that Chenoweth was strangled. (HER CELL PHONE RINGS)
“Detective Grossman. Oh. How are you? Yes, it’s good to hear your voice too, Leo (LOOKS AT BAHITI WHO GRINS) Yes, Leo. Um hmm. Yes. We’re at her condo right now. We got a search warrant this morning. Yes. Oh, really. (DET PATEL LOOKS UP HOLDING A FILE OF PAPERS)
That’s interesting. Are you sure? Yes, I’ll tell him. We’ll be here for a while. That’s very kind of you. You’ve been very helpful, Leo. Have a good day”.(SHE PUTS PHONE IN HER POCKET)
(TO DET PATEL) Leo says-- (HE SMILES) Stop smiling! Don’t start! (LAUGHS)
DET. PATEL: He’s a very nice young man. Does he know your husband is six foot four and can bench press 300lbs?
DET. GROSSMAN: 400 lbs, to be exact, and Leo has no eyes for me, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s an evening law student at Suffolk. But guess what? Barbara Salerno met with Dr. Washington--
DET. PATEL: Oh man! What is he getting into now?
DET. GROSSMAN: It’s fine, B. He’s not interfering...too much. Barbara found an estranged husband in Viveca’s past. Every board member has an emergency contact in their file. On her original condo application, Viveca listed her emergency contact as a Dean Donahue. After some digging, Dr. Washington found out Viveca has been married to this guy since they were in their 20s! Some surfer guy.
DET. PATEL: (HOLDING UP A LETTER) Here’s a letter that she wrote apparently to this Dean character. (READS) “Dean. You know how you are. You’re never home. I don’t know if I can count on you. Now when I need you more than ever. You’re too irresponsible to raise a baby, and I can’t go back home,,,” Wel-l-l-l-l...that makes the cheese binding, like they say in the old movies!
DET. GROSSMAN: Keep reading,
DET. PATEL: That’s all there is. No date. She never said she had a child when we questioned her.
DET. GROSSMAN: Well, we know where to find this Dean guy. Just follow her and she’ll take us right to him. Anyway, Leo said Dean moved to Boston years ago. He’s a youth services worker in Roxbury.
DET. PATEL: Roxbury? You sure?
DET. GROSSMAN: I’m sure. Leo says Viveca is at his job right now.
DET. PATEL: Well at least she didn’t skip town. The M.E. still can’t identify the tissue under Ian’s nails. She’s sure it’s not Viveca’s.
DET. GROSSMAN: (OPENS A WINDOW) Ah! That’s better. Not much, but better.(LOOKING AT PHOTOS AND POSTERS ON THE WALL) Vincente says Viveca was planning a big comeback. She’s got enough old theater pictures and memorabilia to start her own archive. I wonder why things never worked out for her--
DET. PATEL: (HOLDING UP A HEADSHOT) Her pictures are very professional looking and they actually look like her. Very nice. I don’t know. It’s not fair. She’s a 60-year-old woman and it’s hard to find good parts after 50.
DET. GROSSMAN: 50? Try 30! You know, her baby must be in her 40s by now...If she had that baby. She mentions a baby in the letter but it sure doesn’t sound like Dean was too thrilled.
DET. PATEL: You think she had an abortion? That fits. Young woman with a young stoner husband. Living in Venice Beach in the late ‘70s. Who raises a baby on the beach?
(LOOKING AT A PAPER IN THE FOLDER) Hey-- This looks official. K, you speak a little French, right? (HE HOLDS THE PAPER OUT TO HER)
DET. GROSSMAN: (LOOKING AT THE COVER OF AN OLD BROADWAY CAST ALBUM)
Hmm? Yeah. I remember some. Creole? Book French? Patois? (SHE WALKS OVER TO HIM AND TAKES THE PAPER. READS SILENTLY FOR A MINUTE)This is from the ECHR, the European Court of Human Rights. In a nutshell, the Parisian court is coming after Viveca for a crime she supposedly committed in France along with some friends when she was in her 20s.
DET. PATEL: France? What would she have been doing in France? That doesn’t add up. She was in California surfing and spending her millions with surfer Dean.
DET. GROSSMAN: But what if she did get an abortion and left him?
DET. PATEL: Okay. But why France?
DET. GROSSMAN: Did you notice all these shopping bags from Saks, Gucci, and Neiman Marcus? Look closely. Some of these bags are frayed at the corners. She’s saved them. They’re old. I save bags from favorite stores and use them again as tote bags. I saw one just now from Tati. Here it is. Very old but carefully preserved.Folded up neatly and saved in plastic. And this from a hoarder who probably has trouble finding her keys every morning.
DET. PATEL: What’s Tati? I’ve never heard of it. Is it a small store?
DET. GROSSMAN: I studied at the Sorbonne in Paris one summer back in high school. My Aunt Bebe in Trinidad paid for it when I got perfect SAT scores. She said it would be a better experience than renting a house in Virginia Beach with my friends like I really wanted to do. It was a chaperoned summer! Anyway, my friends and I went to Tati in the Montparnasse district of Paris. Tati is right at the Barbes-Rochechouart metro station stop. It was a neighborhood with a lot of immigrants and a lot of cool vendors. Tati is a huge bargain basement discount center with great sales on brand names. There were these huge bins with all kinds of bargains in them. You could get name brand underwear for a dollar! The Tati bags are famous. People carry them all over Paris unless they’re trying to be counter cool, posing like they’re too good to bargain hunt. (TAKING FOLDED BAG OUT OF PLASTIC AND HOLDING IT UP) Tati bags were pink and white gingham with blue lettering. See? My friends and I bought tee shirts that said “J’aime Tati” and wore them out when we got back home. It was kind of like wearing an “I Love NY” tee shirt if you weren’t from New York City. Cool if you’re a tourist but a little nerdy if you live there.
Tati was always crowded with students and starving artists. I’m sure it was like that even in the ‘70s. And here’s something else: there was a bombing in the mid 1980s at a pub on the Champs Elysees. It had been dropped in either a trash can or at the metro stop. Several Tati workers had been injured and even a few were killed. Where would Viveca have been in the 1980s? There’s a newspaper article from Le Monde in the same plastic bag.
DET. PATEL: Viveca is in her early 60s now. She would have been in her 30s then. If she’s had the baby and kept her, she would have had to get a job to support herself after she’d blown her family’s money.
DET. GROSSMAN: The Montparnasse area is very busy. The rents were probably cheaper back then. A perfect place to hide with your child. (HOLDING THE ECHR PAPER OUT FOR HIM) Viveca had been arrested while trying to return to the states from France. It says that there was a discrepancy as to whether the French court was justified in trying her years later for a violation that wasn’t initially considered a violation when it happened.The original crime back in the 1980s was for shoplifting at Tati. She and three employees were searched and charged. If she was with Tati employees, chances are she was working there herself. When my friends and I shopped there, it was crowded and busy, and the clerks were all our age. Apparently, the French authorities let them go for lack of evidence. All these years later they must have revived the case and want Viveca back for a court hearing.
DET. PATEL: And if the French court violates the law because of a new amendment that didn’t exist when she was first arrested, the case is thrown out. In other words, because of a change in the law that was added after her initial arrest, technically, she committed no crime.
DET. GROSSMAN: Exactly!
DET. PATEL: Okay. So where’s the baby? Did Ian know about any of this? And could she have killed him because he did? That beach bum husband must know something. Should we take your car or mine?
DET. GROSSMAN: Mine. Let’s get out of here. This musty smell is starting to get to me. Don’t forget the evidence,
DET. PATEL: Good idea. Better take your car. My girls left a bag of laundry in the back seat of mine. I suspect it’s got uniforms and gym clothes in it! Ugh! Don’t forget to call Leo on the way…
DET. GROSSMAN: All right. Don’t start! (LAUGHS. THEY EXIT)
EXTERIOR. BOSTON PUBLIC GARDENS. MORNING.
SMITA JOSHI, MIT GRADUATE STUDENT AND NANNY FOR COLIN & LYDIA O’SHEA, SITS READING ON A PARK BENCH. LIAM, THE O’SHEA’S TODDLER,. BRINGS HER A LEAF.
SMITA: Thank you! Does this mean you’re my boyfriend now, Liam? (HE GIGGLES. DR. BLAISE WASHINGTON APPROACHES)
DR. WASHINGTON: Such a lovely morning. Ah! The Public Gardens are absolutely beautiful in the spring. Wouldn’t you say so?
SMITA: (LAYING ASIDE HER BOOK) Yes! We love this park. If it were up to Liam, he’d stay here all day chasing squirrels!
DR. WASHINGTON: My children did that. They seem to be the only things that move faster than they do! Liam. What a wonderful name. Germanic for “William”, but in Olde English, it means “guardian”, you know. Is he your son?
SMITA: (LAUGHING HEARTILY) Oh no! I don’t have children. I’m Liam’s nanny. I’m a graduate student in nuclear science and engineering at M.I.T.
DR. WASHINGTON: Very impressive! But a difficult caseload. Especially the applied nuclear physics and fundamentals of advanced energy conversion courses. My! You are a very serious student! My granddaughter considered it but in the end she decided to go with her parents’ alma mater. What family do you work for? Are Liam’s parents engineers or professors at M.I.T.?
SMITA: No, sir. Mr. Colin Sean O’Shea. He’s an environmental consultant. You must have read his white papers or his books. His wife Lydia is studying for her doctorate. It keeps her quite busy. (GOSSIPY) When she’s not shopping at Neiman Marcus or Louis Vuitton at Copley Place!
DR. WASHINGTON: (CHUCKLES) Ah! After a hard morning studying and attending classes, she likes to put in a hard afternoon of shopping! And, uh...Mr..O’Shea, is it? Maybe he meets her at Panificio on the Hill, or Stephanie’s on Newbury for brunch?
SMITA: Oh, no. Mr. O’Shea prefers a livelier atmosphere. The casinos.
DR. WASHINGTON: (SURPRISED) Oh, really?
SMITA: Yes. He’s a regular at Encore Boston Harbor in Everett at least three times a week.
DR. WASHINGTON: That often, eh?
SMITA: Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays he’s gone from his office by 1:00 in the afternoon and doesn’t get home until 11 at night. He’s a high roller. Got bored with Plainridge Park and even the live harness racing. He was thrilled when Encore opened last year. He said it’s like Vegas! Private gambling salons. High-limit gambling rooms. He’s thinking of even getting a red chandelier for his condo!
DR. WASHINGTON: How does he..what I mean is...does his wife object?
SMITA: She doesn’t know a thing about it. He tells her he’s working (GIVES DR. WASHINGTON A KNOWING LOOK). Who knows why he does it. Mrs. O’Shea is a wonderful person, too. And she adores Liam. (LIAM APPROACHES DR. WASHINGTON AND HOLDS OUT A LEAF).
DR. WASHINGTON (TO LIAM) Hello, Liam. Whatcha got there? (TAKES THE LEAF AND TURNS IT OVER IN HIS PALM, FROWNING) Look at this. It’s got spots. Mold.This is from a Belgian elm tree. Looks like the tree has Dutch elm disease. It’s a fungus spread by elm bark beetles. (TO SMITA) You must watch that he doesn’t put leaves in his mouth. There is a slight chance of oral toxicity, especially if he has asthma or respiratory problems. The beetles bite too.
SMITA: Oh no!
DR. WASHINGTON: He’s fine. No need to be alarmed. But please be careful. Horticulture and botany are hobbies of mine. There are lots of different kinds of trees in the Public Gardens: elm, redwood, maple, oak, weeping willow, you name it.
So, it sounds like your boss may have a gambling problem. How is his wife handling that?
SMITA: I hear them arguing about money. Mr, O’Shea yells at her about spending too much money on clothes. She says he makes a lot of money, so why is he worried about it? I wonder sometimes. (GOSSIPY) Last week, Mr. O’Shea told her he was going to put her on a budget, and even sell her car! He said she didn’t need a bus and she could take the T to Cambridge.
DR.WASHINGTON: Oh, my. Well, young lady, (LOOKING AT HIS PHONE) it’s been a pleasure talking with you (SHAKES HER HAND. TO LIAM) And you too, Liam! (TO SMITA) I hope you don’t have far to walk. Do the O’Sheas live far from here?
SMITA: In a condo just across the street (POINTING) right over there. It’s really swanky. The doorwoman is very nice too. It’s so close to the park. I love it.
DR. WASHINGTON: Sounds like you really like your job.
SMITA: Oh yes. I love taking care of Liam.
DR, WASHINGTON: That’s wonderful. Well, have a wonderful day. I’ve got to run.
SMITA: Thank you, sir. You too.
(DR. WASHINGTON WALKS NORTH TO BEACON STREET AS HIS PHONE RINGS)
(LEO IS OUTSIDE NEAR THE ENTRANCE TO SUFFOLK LAW SCHOOL BEFORE CLASS.HE IS ON THE PHONE TO DR. WASHINGTON)
LEO: Good morning, Dr. Washington. I’m sorry to disturb you sir, but I wanted to catch you before class. The second phone, the prepaid cell phone that was found at the crime scene at Mr. Chenoweth’s condo, shows texts to and from Colin O’Shea. One text discusses money owed to Hugh Masterson for gambling debts.
DR. WASHINGTON: How much money are we talking about?
LEO: $250,000, sir. Mr. Masterson threatens Mr. O’Shea in the text as well.
One more thing, sir. The detectives spoke to the doorwoman at the condo building. She gave them the box that was delivered to Mr. Chenoweth the day before his body was discovered. The package was leaking but the detectives had no warrant to open it, so they took it to the precinct. The captain has it. They’re still checking on a DNA match for the second phone.
DR. WASHINGTON: Thank you, Leo. I appreciate it. I’ll call the Captain. What class are you going to?
LEO: Torts, sir.
DR. WASHINGTON: Ah. Torts. Seems like yesterday. I’m lying. That was a lifetime ago. Thanks again, Leo. Don’t be late for class.
LEO: Yes sir. Have a good day.
(DR. WASHINGTON CROSSES BEACON STREET, TURNING RIGHT TOWARD THE POLICE PRECINCT)
INTERIOR. BEACON HILL POLICE PRECINCT.
LUCIA PENNBRIDGE, 70ISH, IN BLACK CAPEZIO PANTS, BLACK TURTLENECK AND BLACK BERET, WITH FEATHER EARRINGS, BRINGS THE CHAIR ON THE SIDE OF THE LIEUTENANT’S DESK ALONGSIDE HIS WHEELCHAIR.
LT. SMITH: Uh..Mrs--
LUCIA: Ms. Pennbridge. Lucia Pennbridge. I dropped my married name back in the ‘60s when all the women started burning their bras. I’m an independent woman, Lieutenant.
LT. SMITH: Yes, well, Ms. Pennbridge.
LUCIA: Call me Lucia. I feel as if I’ve known you in another life. Your eyes are like deep, deep pools. (LT. SMITH SHIFTS IN HIS WHEELCHAIR, EMBARRASSED. LUCIA PICKS UP HIS NAMEPLATE FROM HIS DESK AND READS:)
“LIEUTENANT SOKANON JAMES SMITH”. Sokanon. That’s Wampanoag for “it pours, it rains.” My family had a summer home on the Vineyard. Gay Head. There’s Indian culture there everywhere you look.
LT. SMITH: Native People. The culture of Native People.
LUCIA: Yes. Of course. Native people led tours of the island when I was a girl. Mostly day-trippers, tourists taking the ferry over from Hyannis. There’s a little museum there, in a church, where you can see the very first Bible published in America. Translated into Wampanoag by the missionary John Eliot--
LT. SMITH: --who got credit for what Cockenoe translated. Cockenoe was Eliot’s interpreter and taught him all he knew. He had no choice. He was Eliot’s servant.
LUCIA: Can you speak Wampanoag, Lieutenant Smith?
LT. SMITH: Ms. Pennbridge, I’m sure your father taught you that no one has spoken Wampanoag in one hundred years. But back to Mr. Chenoweth, Ma’am. You told the detectives that he was still alive an hour after the condo board meeting. Did you see him, Ma’am? Were you..uh..in his condo? How well did you know him? Maybe you were...close friends?
LUCIA: (SMILING SLYLY) Now, Lieutenant Smith. What are you implying? Naughty, naughty. No. I admit, he was attractive. Well-groomed. Good bank account. But...no. I was chatting with Poni, our doorwoman. We were talking when I returned from walking Blue Dahlia, my bichon frise. We like a brisk walk in the early evening.
LT. SMITH: And you actually saw Mr. Chenoweth? Did Poni see Mr. Chenoweth too?
LUCIA: No. Poni asked me if he was home.She had a package for him. She does extra things for us--setting aside deliveries, bringing up items that seem valuable, getting rid of people we don’t want to see. Things like that. Well, Poni told me she’d taken the package to his door that evening. She could hear music playing and voices, but no one answered the door when she knocked. She didn’t want to leave the package in the hallway, so she took it back down to the lobby with her. Poni told me she was about to lock it in the security room for safekeeping when I returned from walking Blue Dahlia. (LOOKS AT HIM) You don’t believe me? I’ll have you know, young man, I am not in the habit of telling tall tales. I will tell you one thing, though (TOUCHING HIS HAND) I saw Ian Chenoweth arguing with Viveca Chatworth at the board meeting earlier that evening!
LT. SMITH: (TAKING NOTES ON A PAD) Did you hear their conversation?
LUCIA: Oh. No. I am not an eavesdropper. I mind my own business. She’s a bit of a troublemaker and a (MIMES DRINKING FROM A BOTTLE) you know! I didn’t think much about their arguing. Until we all heard the awful news the next afternoon that Ian had been killed...Just awful…
LT. SMITH: Ms. Pennbridge, how well did Ms Chatworth and Mr Chenoweth know each other?
LUCIA: Well, when Poni told me she’d heard voices in his condo, I thought maybe Ms Chatworth had been “meeting” with Mr Chenoweth (GIVES HIM A KNOWING LOOK).
LT. SMITH: Did you actually see them after the board meeting?
LUCIA: Well, no. I can’t say that I did.
LT. SMITH: (PULLS HIS WHEELCHAIR BACK AND OVER TOWARDS HER, EXTENDING HIS HAND) Well then. Thank you very much for coming down, Ms Pennbridge. I truly appreciate your help solving this case. Thank you so much for your time.
LUCIA: (CARESSING HIS HAND) The pleasure was all mine, Lieutenant Smith. Shall I call you some time? (PAUSE) That is, if I can remember anything else about it…
LT. SMITH: Of course, Ma’am. Please do. Thank you again. Have a good day. (LAUGHS TO HIMSELF AS DR. WASHINGTON COMES INTO HIS OFFICE WITH A PACKAGE)
DR. WASHINGTON: (PUTTING THE PACKAGE ON A SIDE TABLE) I had Puccerelli check this just to be sure. Want me to open it the rest of the way? There’s something clear leaking out of the bottom. (SNIFFS IT) It’s not glue or water, and there’s no smell. Puch says it’s safe.
(HE TAKES OFF THE BROWN PAPER WRAPPING AND OPENS A RED GIFT BOX FULL OF LEAVES AND DEAD BUGS)
Whoa! (HE JUMPS BACK BRUSHING OFF INVISIBLE BUGS) What the hell? They’re dead at least. (HE TURNS OVER THE BROWN PAPER)
(READS) “Angela Wierzbicki. 2357 ALLSTON-BRIGHTON ROAD. CHESTNUT HILL”.
Who’s that?
LT .SMITH: I have no idea. Who would mail a box of leaves and dead bugs to Ian Chenoweth?
By the way, that second cell phone they found in Chenoweth’s place? Forensics finally got a match. The prints were Colin O’Shea’s. His prints on Chenoweth’s second phone. A prepaid cell. With texts on it about money he owed. And the nanny told you about his gambling.
DR. WASHINGTON: It’s not solid, but it sounds like you have cause.
LT. SMITH: (ON HIS PHONE) Yeah. Right. Pick him up. (HE HANGS UP)
INTERIOR. NEWBURY STREET. COLIN SEAN O’SHEA’S CONSULTANT FIRM.
DETECTIVES BAHITI PATEL AND KENYATTA GROSSMAN ENTER A BRILLIANTLY WHITE OFFICE, WALKING PAST A YOUNG ASSOCIATE AT THE FRONT DESK, TO A FULL CONFERENCE ROOM. A MEETING IS IN PROGRESS. COLIN, POWERPOINT CLICKER IN HAND IS GIVING A PRESENTATION.
DET. PATEL: (APPROACHES COLIN FROM ONE SIDE, DET. GROSSMAN ON THE OTHER TAKING COLIN’S ARM)
Colin Seamus O’Shea. Come with us please. You’re under arrest for the murder of Ian Chenoweth. You have the right to remain silent…
(THE DETECTIVES LEAD COLIN O’SHEA FROM THE CONFERENCE ROOM AND OUT THE DOOR)
INTERIOR. YMCA BOSTON. PICK-UP BASKETBALL GAME. ROXBURY TEAM. 7:00 P.M.
DETECTIVES GROSSMAN AND PATEL, LEO, AND DEAN DONAHUE WATCH FROM BLEACHERS AS TEENS FROM DEAN’S YMCA GAIN THE LEAD.
DEAN: I owe all of you an apology. I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time. It’s just that Viveca has been so upset. She couldn’t believe that you could even consider her as Ian’s murderer.
DET. KENYATTA GROSSMAN: We’re just doing our job. Now that they have Colin O’Shea in custody, she can relax. You put yourself out there to take her in, so she could lay low for a while. You really took a chance at being considered an accomplice. She really has you to thank.
DET. BAHITI PATEL: I don’t know if I could have done what you did. I know you were married for a while but that was long ago.
DEAN: You married, Detective?
DET. PATEL: (NODDING) With twin girls. Basketball stars! (HE SMILES AND SIPS A COKE)
DEAN: Then, you know how it is. We were so young when we got married that nobody thought we’d have a chance in hell of staying together. To tell you the truth, I had my doubts. I always loved Viv but when you’re 22 and hanging out on the beach, you can’t think of anything beyond
the next wave. I wasted a lot of years. One day I made up my mind that I just had to get her back or at least be near her. So I went to rehab, got my head straight, and I moved back East.
I like working with kids so I got a job at the Blue Hill Y in Roxbury, worked my way up, and now I’m the Director.
DET. GROSSMAN: Did you ever discuss having a family? I mean…
DEAN: (SMILES) I know what you mean. That’s really why you’ve come here. I had a feeling that you knew all along that Viveca was innocent but you’ve been to the condo already. She keeps everything. You must have found her letter. You know she was pregnant and she gave the baby up for adoption. I didn’t find out until later. Ian knew but he kept her secret. So did I. I knew she was really hurting but before I knew it, ten years had gone by, then 20, then longer, and I thought, what’s the use? Sometimes I wonder, though, what life would have been like if--
DET. GROSSMAN: You have to believe that things sometimes turn out the way they’re supposed to. I bet your baby grew up happy in a home where he or she had loving parents, a good education, and lots of love.
DEAN: Hmm.
LEO: I don’t want to interrupt but..I’m confused. Why would Colin O’Shea want to blame Ms Chatworth for Mr. Chenoweth’s murder? He was so adamant about her being arrested. Why Ms Chenoweth?
DET. PATEL: He knew Viveca and Ian had spent a lot of time together working on her comeback and they’d even been seen together at restaurants before. He knew it was platonic but people like to gossip. Besides, she was accepting money from him. They weren’t involved, Dean. You don’t have to worry about that. She just wanted to finally get her career going again. But, unfortunately instead of stardom, the whole thing played out more like Sunset Boulevard, with a dead playwright and with no comeback in the end…
DET. GROSSMAN: At least they didn’t have to bury a monkey!
LEO: Yes, but why did he kill Mr. Chenoweth? For money to pay gambling debts? But murder?
DET. GROSSMAN: Colin and Ian were very good friends. In fact, Ian had made Colin his Power of Attorney. Ian Chenoweth was Vice President of Malarkey Management, one of the most powerful management firms in New England. He had influence too. He knew everybody. And don’t forget, he was a venture capitalist. Dr. Washington talked to Colin’s nanny. Not only did he
have a gambling problem, but he also had a young child and a young wife who loved to spend his money. Put all that together and it adds up.
DET. PATEL: I don’t know. There are still some loose ends. What about that package that was mailed to him from Chestnut Hill? And the gun was in Ian’s name, not Colin’s. Something’s off. The great Dr. Blaise Washington has either missed something or is leaving us in the dark intentionally. So much for the great private investigator, famous lawyer, and publicity seeker! Why is he in the middle of all this anyway?
DEAN: (TO THE TEENS ON THE BASKETBALL COURT) Okay guys. Let’s go to half time. Get some water. Jesse! You’re limping. Let me see that ankle. (DEAN GETS UP AND CLIMBS DOWN TO THE COURT. TO PATEL AND GROSSMAN) Be right back. I have to check this out.
LEO: You know. Dr. Washington has been such a big help. I’m just a second year law student, but he’s been so encouraging. He’s even spoken to my class. My study group is researching the Fair Housing Act and discrimination cases. Did you know that back in the ‘70s a real estate broker tried to bar him from buying his condo? It was a major case and would have gone further, but his father convinced him to settle out of court so he could pay off his law school tuition. I’ve been reading the cases he tried years ago with Thurgood Marshall. Dr. Washington was brilliant..
DET. PATEL: What do you know about a man like that? You’re looking at what you want him to be, not who he really is. Do you really know him? (DET PATEL GETS UP AND EXITS)
(LEO, SHOCKED, IS CONFUSED AND QUIET. DET. GROSSMAN SITS NEXT TO HIM)
GROSSMAN: I’m sorry for my partner’s attitude, Leo. He’s got a lot on his mind. This case. He’s been thinking about retiring. He’s been on the force for 25 years. His twins will be graduating Rutgers in a few years. He wants to spend more time with his wife. He’s really a good guy. Just has a lot on his plate. He didn’t mean to take it out on you.
LEO: That’s okay, Ms. Grossman. I understand. You guys have a tough job.
(DET. GROSSMAN CATCHES A GLIMPSE OF DET. PATEL WALKING TOWARD THE EXIT)
DET. GROSSMAN: Leo. I’ll be right back. (SHE GETS UP AND CATCHES DET. PATEL BEFORE HE LEAVES) Hey, B. What’s wrong? Is there something going on between you and Dr. Washington?
DET. PATEL: You mean the esteemed, renowned Dr. Blaise Washington, don’t you? Let’s give him full honors! Why don’t we erect a statue to the great Dr. Blaise Washington?!
DET. GROSSMAN: Hey, B. Where’s all this coming from? The man was your dad’s best friend. You said yourself he saved your dad’s life at Normandy during the War! So he brags a little. So
he namedrops and likes applause. So what? He’s 100 years old, for goodness sake! You said everything they say about him is true. Maybe he is a great man. You said he hung out with your dad when they came back from the War. You said he played ball with you. You must remember a lot of good times, right?
DET. PATEL: Yeah, K. I do remember a lot. I remember watching “Boomtown” with him on WBZ some Saturday mornings, and singing along with Rex Trailer, and the cowboy hat he bought me. I remember the baseball and glove he bought me for my 9th birthday. I remember walking up Landsdowne Street with him to see the Red Sox, and seeing Carl Yastremski from the nosebleed section in Fenway Park. That’s the year they won the pennant on the last day of the season. I remember he and my dad and I and my mom riding the bumper cars and going on the Ferris Wheel and flying kites at the beach. I remember all that. (SITS AND GLARES AT HER) And I remember coming home early from school one day when our principal let us out early. My dad was at work. Dr. Washington had promised to take me to the park to practice my fast ball. I couldn’t wait to get home. I’d been practicing on my own and I’d gotten pretty good and I wanted to show him. I wanted to surprise him. I liked being with him and I liked how he and my dad laughed when they were together. Big belly laughs that made them fall on the ground. I started running home. He said he’d meet me at my house after school. He said he had a surprise for me. I ran so fast I must have set a personal record.
The door was locked when I got home. My mom never locked the door when she was home. The laundry was still on the line outside and she hadn’t made my tuna fish sandwich yet. I loved tuna fish sandwiches the way she made them--with Miracle Whip, not mayonnaise, one olive
sliced as thin as paper, a whole Vlasick pickle sliced in half on the side---and an ice cold “tonic” like Mountain Dew to wash it all down with. Where was she? It was 12:30 in the afternoon and she hadn’t brought the laundry in yet. The table was as neat as it was when I’d left for school that morning. The breakfast dishes had already been washed and put away. I didn’t hear the record player. She always listened to jazz records in the afternoon. When I stayed home sick from school we used to pretend we were musicians. She imitated Miles Davis’s trumpet, and I’d be Hugh Masekela when she played “Grazin’ in the Grass”.
It was too quiet. Something was wrong. Then I heard a faint sound. Soft. Faint. A low moan. Once. Twice. Then it stopped. Maybe it was the radio. But then I heard another moan and another and they got louder and stronger and I got scared and ran up the stairs and right into my parents’ bedroom. At first I just saw a tangle of yellow daisies, a mound of daisies in the middle of the bed. Then a leg. Then my mother’s right hand, gripping the blanket for dear life, her red manicured fingers perfect except for the thumb, smudging and peeling now as she pressed her fist down deeper, harder, into the fabric. Then I saw him. He rolled off of her, naked
except for the dog tags that glistened against his skin in the darkened room. The dog tags that he’d take off and show me when he and my dad would talk about the War. Talk finally about how
scared they were on that beach in Normandy, and how they were so happy they’d made it back home alive.
To me, a second generation American kid, with a mixed race Indian father who’d passed for white, Dr. Blaise Washington was an Adonis! Movie-star handsome like Denzel Washington would be decades later. And so nice to me. We were pals.
“Whatcha know, Joe?!” he’d shout, as soon as he saw me, and throw me up into the air! I was flying! I’d secretly wished he was my dad, even though I loved my own dad too.
Back in 1944, the former Corporal Blaise Washington had mistaken Private First Class “Nate” N. Patton--pale almost to the degree of translucence--for a young white soldier, nearly drowning in the Normandy surf. Pulling the kid out of the sucking sand, the future Dr. Washington, a soldier of the still segregated U.S. Army, didn’t realize that the young man he was saving was actually Nitin Patel, an Indian, who had been so successful at passing for white, that he had almost come to believe the lie himself. Washington, Corporal in the 320th Barrage Balloon Battalion, was on the beach to set up explosive-rigged balloons to deter German planes. His unit was the first to come ashore that June morning. He was also the only Black man on the beach, which made him nervous, feeling conspicuous, and open to any wild accusations that he had killed this white man that he was actually dragging to safety. Washington had almost passed the kid by. He was exhausted after picking up dead bodies, none of whose faces--thank God--were Black. The kid was coming to, and when he bent further down to get a better grip on the kid’s belt, he saw the rustic undertone and familiar bone structure, recognizing them as his own.
This is a colored kid! An Indian! he thought. He’d avoided enough stares and ducked out of enough uncomfortable conversations to know that this kid was passing just as he’d done for years until a brutal conversation with his father that set him straight and led him on the path to pride in his own rich family history--a history dating back to Sally Hemmings, the slave wife of Thomas Jefferson himself! Dodging bullets and struggling to stand, he freed the frightened soldier from his belt, giving him a knowing look that said “I know you. You don’t fool me. Stop fooling yourself.”
That, even more than his first day in the Army, was the day that my father became a man. When he returned to the States, he gradually accepted his own Indian heritage, and, in a guilty effort to right the wrongs he had inflicted on his ancestors, married my mother, the glamorous Bollywood star, Rani Joshi! Herself the daughter of a white businessman and Indian servant, she did not realize until it was too late, the true identity of “Nate Patton”--that he was not a white man, but a young man with a lot of questions. A young Indian searching for answers, just like her. Together they made up for lost time by immersing themselves in traditional Indian cuisine
and culture--a “Berlitz” approach that provided a bridge to a belated, but fulfilling, relationship with extended family.
My mother was breathing easily now under the daisies. Then she laughed, a carefree, delightful laugh, and Dr. Washington laughed too. Then he turned and saw me standing in the doorway, shaking, and as I turned and ran, stumbled, then ran some more down the stairs, out the front door and, wildly, blindly, up the street, the water rushed down my right leg and kept coming and coming as if it would never stop.
About the Author:
Trained at Emerson College in Boston and Herbert Berghoff (HB) Studios in New York City, with a Masters degree from Rider University, Karen has been interviewed by U.S.1 newspaper, and featured on “Your Career is Calling” on WRRC 1077.7FM, and NJTV’s “Classroom Close-up”, on her original collection of monologues about job loss presented throughout New Jersey at a play festival, bookstores, libraries, and Princeton’s Theatre Intime.
Also a contributing writer for Trenton Daily’s online publication, Karen has written a memoir about volunteerism and being a struggling artist in New York City. She has also written entertaining crime stories and scripts like “The Case of the Drunken Heiress”.
Karen may be contacted at karencarson21@yahoo.com.