Rage of Angels
“It was good of you to come and visit me,” Mrs. Cooper said, “but I’m afraid I’m not quite sure why you’re here.”
“I’m an attorney, Mrs. Cooper. I received two anonymous telephone calls telling me you were in here and that you didn’t belong here.”
Mrs. Cooper smiled gently. “That must have been Albert.”
“Albert?”
“He was my butler for twenty-five years. When my daughter, Dorothy, married, she fired him.” She sighed. “Poor Albert. He really belongs to the past, to another world. I suppose, in a sense, I do too. You’re very young, my dear, so perhaps you’re not aware of how much things have changed. Do you know what’s missing today? Graciousness. It’s been replaced, I’m afraid, by greed.”
Jennifer asked quietly, “Your daughter?”
Mrs. Cooper’s eyes saddened. “I don’t blame Dorothy. It’s her husband. He’s not a very attractive man, not morally, at least. I’m afraid my daughter is not very attractive physically. Herbert married Dorothy for her money and found out that the estate was entirely in my hands. He didn’t like that.”
“Did he say that to you?”
“Oh, yes indeed. My son-in-law was quite open about it. He thought I should give my daughter the estate then, instead of making her wait until I died. I would have, except that I didn’t trust him. I knew what would happen if he ever got his hands on all that money.”
“Have you ever had any history of mental illness, Mrs. Cooper?”
Helen Cooper looked at Jennifer and said wryly, “According to the doctors, I’m suffering from schizophrenia and paranoia.”
Jennifer had the feeling that she had never spoken to a more sane person in her life.
“You are aware that three doctors testified that you were incompetent?”
“The Cooper estate is valued at four million dollars, Miss Parker. You can influence a lot of doctors for that kind of money. I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. My son-in-law controls the estate now. He’ll never let me leave here.”
“I’d like to meet your son-in-law.”
The Plaza Towers was on East 72nd Street, in one of the most beautiful residential areas of New York. Helen Cooper had her own penthouse there. Now the name plate on the door read Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Hawthorne.
Jennifer had telephoned ahead to the daughter, Dorothy, and when Jennifer arrived at the apartment, both Dorothy and her husband were waiting for her. Helen Cooper had been right about her daughter. She was not attractive. She was thin and mousy-looking, with no chin, and her right eye had a cast in it. Her husband, Herbert, looked like a clone of Archie Bunker. He was at least twenty years older than Dorothy.
“Come on in,” he grunted.
He escorted Jennifer from the reception hall into an enormous living room, the walls of which were covered with paintings by French and Dutch masters.
Hawthorne said to Jennifer bluntly, “Now, suppose you tell me what the hell this is all about.”
Jennifer turned to the girl. “It’s about your mother.”
“What about her?”
“When did she first start showing signs of insanity?”
“She—”
Herbert Hawthorne interrupted. “Right after Dorothy and me got married. The old lady couldn’t stand me.”
That’s certainly one proof of sanity, Jennifer thought.
“I read the doctors’ reports,” Jennifer said. “They seemed biased.”
“What do you mean, biased?” His tone was truculent.
“What I mean is that the reports indicated that they were dealing in gray areas where there were no clear-cut criteria for establishing what society calls sanity. Their decision was shaped, in part, by what you and your wife told them about Mrs. Cooper’s behavior.”
“What are you tryin’ to say?”
“I’m saying that the evidence is not clear-cut. Three other doctors could have come up with an entirely different conclusion.”
“Hey, look,” Herbert Hawthorne said, “I dunno what you think you’re tryin’ to pull, but the old lady’s a looney. The doctors said so and the court said so.”
“I read the court transcript,” Jennifer replied. “The court also suggested that her case be periodically reviewed.”
There was consternation on Herbert Hawthorne’s face. “You mean they might let her out?”
“They’re going to let her out,” Jennifer promised. “I’m going to see to it.”
“Wait a minute! What the hell is goin’ on here?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.” Jennifer turned to the girl. “I checked out your mother’s previous medical history. There has never been anything wrong with her, mentally or emotionally. She—”
Herbert Hawthorne interrupted. “That don’t mean a damn thing! These things can come on fast. She—”
“In addition,” Jennifer continued to Dorothy, “I checked on your mother’s social activities before you had her put away. She lived a completely normal life.”
“I don’t care what you or anybody else says. She’s crazy!” Herbert Hawthorne shouted.
Jennifer turned to him and studied him a moment. “Did you ask Mrs. Cooper to give the estate to you?”
“That’s none of your goddamned business!”
“I’m making it my business. I think that’s all for now.” Jennifer moved toward the door.
Herbert Hawthorne stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “Wait a minute. You’re buttin’ in where you’re not wanted. You’re lookin’ to make a little cash for yourself, right? Okay, I understand that, honey. Tell you what I’ll do. Why don’t I give you a check right now for a thousand dollars for services rendered and you just drop this whole thing. Huh?”