The information was on Jennifer’s desk the following morning. Helen Cooper was a dowager who had been left a fortune of four million dollars by her late husband. Her daughter had married the superintendent of the building where they lived and, six months after the marriage, the bride and groom had gone to court to ask that the mother be declared incompetent, and that the estate be put under their control. They had found three psychiatrists who had testified to Helen Cooper’s incompetency and the court had committed her to the asylum.
Jennifer finished reading the report and looked up at Ken Bailey. “The whole thing sounds a little fishy, doesn’t it?”
“Fishy? You could wrap it up in a newspaper and serve it with chips. What are you going to do about it?”
It was a difficult question. Jennifer had no client. If Mrs. Cooper’s family had had her locked away, they certainly would not welcome Jennifer’s interference, and since the woman herself had been declared insane, she was not competent to hire Jennifer. It was an interesting problem. One thing Jennifer knew: Client or not, she was not going to stand by and see someone railroaded into an insane asylum. “I’m going to pay a visit to Mrs. Cooper,” Jennifer decided.
The Heathers Asylum was located in Westchester in a large, wooded area. The grounds were fenced in and the only access was through a guarded gate. Jennifer was not yet ready to let the family know what she was doing, so she had telephoned around until she had found an acquaintance with a connection to the sanatorium. He had made arrangements for her to pay a visit to Mrs. Cooper.
The head of the asylum, Mrs. Franklin, was a dour, hard-faced woman who reminded Jennifer of Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca.
“Strictly speaking,” Mrs. Franklin sniffed, “I should not be letting you talk to Mrs. Cooper. However, we’ll call this an unofficial visit. It won’t go in the records.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll have her brought in.”
Helen Cooper was a slim, attractive-looking woman in her late sixties. She had vivid blue eyes that blazed with intelligence, and she was as gracious as though she were receiving Jennifer in her own home.
“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.”