Black Cat Weekly #44

Chapter 6

I was floored. Could I see to it? What was I to say besides, “I’ll try my best, sir. I’ll ask my grandfather right away if he will take on the investigation.”

A buzzer went off on Reis’ desk. I looked at my watch—it was 9:25. Reis rose and shook my hand again. “Yes, do your best, Gordon. Sam Gold is an important client, and he’s only going to become more so as we expand into other states. Please keep me informed.”

The painted sign on the smoked glass door to my grandfather’s office read FRANK WOLF DETECTIVE AGENCY. It had beginning to fleck and fade after 20 years. That’s how long my grandfather had been in this same office near Brooklyn’s Boro Hall. I had called him immediately after meeting with Reis. Grandfather asked me to come over right away. I started a new charging section in my legal Daytimer with the heading, Ori Gold—Dorm Murder and headed over to the Lexington Avenue Express train. It would be a few more years before I felt comfortable charging a “no quicker” cab ride to a client.

Grandfather was at his desk going through newspaper clippings. “Zaida,” I greeted him, using the Yiddish word for grandfather, “what are those?”

“Ah, Yoeli,” he said. That was his pet name for me. “These are old articles from the New York Times on the Ori Gold murder. I began clipping them when I first read of the crime. A terrible tragedy.”

Zaida put down the clipping he was holding. A slight gleam that settled over sadness appeared in his eyes.

“I see we have been brought to work together again, but in a most surprising way. I will devote my entire energies to the case. It is a terrible thing for a family to suffer over three years without understanding what occurred. You must please bring Mr. Samuel Gold to this office for an interview as soon as possible. Such a meeting is most necessary.”

I was drawn into Grandfather’s intensity. “So you’re familiar with the case. Please give me an overview.”

“Yes, of course.” My grandfather removed his reading glasses and faced me where I had sat down on the office’s sole visitor’s chair. He spoke in an elegantly accented English never using a contraction.

“Consider my knowledge is superficial based on secondhand information, even from the best of any newspaper reporting. We must examine the crime scene, interview those present in the dormitory on the night of the murder, listen to Mr. Gold speak of his son, examine evidence, and look at the official police report. It is only then that we may allow our critical analyses engine to shape our conclusions.”

I could feel Grandfather’s determination as he leaned forward and continued. “As for the police report, I have spoken to our friend, Sergeant Max Fink of the 90th precinct in Williamsburg who helped us immensely with the Rosenstock case. He has arranged for it to be available at the 34th precinct in Washington Heights. If you do not mind, Yoeli, after we have a quick lunch, would you kindly pick up the report and bring it to me? I would like to peruse it tonight for our review here tomorrow morning at 8:00.”

The realization that I had other client work besides this quirky Sam Gold account rushed at me, but I shook it off. Eighteen-hour days would just have to become longer, and I hoped Aliya wouldn’t mind. She, too, was devoting long hours to her studies.

“Okay, Zaida, I’ll pick up the report and be here at 8:00 tomorrow.”

“And one further request, Yoeli. Please contact Mr. Gold and ask him if he could kindly come to my office in the next few days, tomorrow if at all possible. Consider that it is now two hours earlier in Denver for him to make arrangements.”

“Tomorrow,” I blanched. “Tomorrow may be…well, okay, I can ask.”

“Good, good,” Grandfather said. “Here is the overview you requested. During the early hours of Saturday, September 18, 1971, between one and five o’clock in the morning, Ori Gold was murdered in his Washington Heights dormitory room at the Manhattan Jewish Academy High School. It was two days before Rosh Hashonah, Ori was sixteen years old and a junior. According to the newspaper, he was struck on the head by a sharply edged, heavy object. The police found no signs of a struggle nor of a robbery. Also, they did not find the weapon.

“His body was clothed in pajamas was discovered at eleven o’clock in the morning by his dormitory Resident Assistant, who grew concerned when Ori did not appear at Saturday morning religious services. After a few months of exhaustive police work, which led to various suspicions but no arrests, the investigation was placed into what I believe they call a ‘cold case’ file.”

“That’s it?” I objected.

Grandfather rose and reached for his brown fedora hat. “I am afraid there is no more.”

He took me gently by the arm and headed us toward the door. “For the sake of the Gold family and of justice,” he stated softly, “I hope we will be more successful.”

The next morning, I was a few minutes late, but Grandfather still greeted me with a smile.

“Before we commence, Yoeli, two things. One, may I inquire as to how is Aliya? Such a dear girl. I hope she is not working too hard.”

Aliya! Working too hard! What about me, I pouted within. But I caught myself before speaking childishly. Grandfather never “poor babied” me about how hard I was working, but I knew he cared for me deeply. He had lived with my parents and me all my life in our Flatbush duplex until I moved out in July. I was 14 when my father passed away, and Grandfather assumed a parenting partnership with my mother.