Missing Persons (15 page)

“I don’t think there’s anything to this delay,” Alex finally said.

“I don’t either.”

“Frank’s mother has gotten wind of the insurance and I’m nervous she’ll figure out the beneficiary before it’s all completed. She’s already so upset.”

“If I were her, I would be too. If there’s any possibility Frank was murdered . . .”

“Which he wasn’t.”

“Of course not. But if there was, why wouldn’t Lynette be upset? I’m upset. We all are.”

Alex reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “She wants me to get Frank’s things back from that woman. Some of them are family heirlooms. There was a watch I got on my twenty-first birthday that I gave him for his twenty-first birthday. And my father’s tie clips, the diamond cuff links we gave him on your wedding day, my dog tags from the army . . .” He sighed. “I don’t know how to reach that woman. I thought maybe you would.”

“Is that why you called me?”

“And I wanted to see how you were doing.” He paused. “It’s just a mess, the way he left things. After all you’ve been through, I couldn’t just ask you over the phone. I shouldn’t come to you for this, but, well, you know Frank’s mother. She won’t rest.”

“I know.”

I thought about all the phone calls over the years. If Frank and I planned to skip Easter dinner or her birthday or any holiday, real or imagined, she would bawl into the phone until we relented. One year we were forced to return from our vacation a day early so we could be on hand for her bunion surgery. Frank would have cut her out of his life, but I couldn’t. I pushed him into going along with all of her requests. She was his mother. I wanted him to respect that. And, more than that, I wanted her to like me. A colossal waste of time, as it turned out.

“If you know anything about this woman of Frank’s. Even her last name,” Alex said.

“I know her,” I told him. “She came to my house last night and brought some of his stuff.” When we had divided the contents of the box, I was left with his Bears hat, wedding ring, a few CDs, the photos of him as a kid, and
Travels with Charley
, which was still in my bed. “She still has his clothes and his paintings and other things. I’m sure she’d give you what you asked for.”

“What’s she like?”

“All right, I guess, as far as home wreckers go.”

He looked embarrassed. “Kate, you know that when Frank left, his mother and I were so angry at him. I thought he was going to throw away his life on that woman. But I don’t think . . .”

I stopped him. I didn’t want to hear that even though he’d chosen someone else, Frank would always love me. Being first runner-up in a love triangle isn’t much of a consolation.

“Her name is Vera Bingham,” I said. “I have her number. I can call her and tell her you would like Frank’s things.”

“You should have some of them too. We can divide up the family heirlooms. You are still family.”

“That’s okay. I don’t need more reminders,” I said.

 

 

After we’d paid the bill, and I’d gotten my English toffee, I walked Alex to his car.

“You sure I can’t drive you home?” he asked again.

“It’s five blocks. And I need the exercise after that sundae.” I smiled, but there was something else I needed to say. “Alex, I think the police consider me a suspect.”

He stared at me, as if taking in my words. “Not possible.”

“I’m going to find out what happened.”

He hugged me. “That Detective Podeski is a fool. You loved Frank. And he loved you. I know that with everything in me.”

He kissed me on the cheek one more time, told me to take care of myself one more time, and drove away. As I watched his car drive north, I realized he knew Podeski’s name. It wasn’t just a call from an insurance agent that had prompted this visit. It was a call from Podeski. That meant there was Andres, Gray, Vera, me, and now Alex. How many more people had heard Podeski’s theories on Frank’s death?

“C
an I see Detective Podeski?” I asked the desk sergeant.

“I’ll call him. What’s your name?”

“Kate Conway.”

After I’d left Alex, I’d walked home. I had the uneasy feeling that someone was following me, but I was walking on a crowded street in a major city, so I tried not to get too paranoid about it. I had something more important on my mind.

Once I’d reached my house, rather than going inside, I’d gotten in my car and driven to the police station. I’d answered his questions; now I wanted him to answer mine. It had seemed like a good idea on the drive over, but waiting in the reception area, I was losing my courage.

After ten minutes of standing there, I was about to leave. But before I could, Podeski, in the same bad suit I’d seen him in before, walked into the room. “Can I help you, Mrs. Conway?”

“I don’t know, but I think we need to talk.”

He led me to a small room with a table and four chairs, brought me coffee, and sat down opposite me. I still had the English toffee with me and, out of politeness or nervousness, I offered him one. Much to my surprise, he accepted.

“You’ve been asking around about Frank’s death,” I said. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me what you’ve found.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? He was my husband. If someone killed him I’d like to know who.”

Podeski leaned back and bit into his toffee.

“Detective,” I continued, “I’m asking if you’ve found evidence that my husband died of something other than a heart attack.”

“You and I are both used to asking questions, not answering them,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“Just an observation.”

I ignored him. “I understand you found digitalis in Frank’s system. Is that a preliminary finding or the results of a complete tox screen?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I’ve worked on a lot of true crime. I understand how cause of death is determined.”

“I’m talking about the digitalis.”

I paused. I was about to say something about not revealing my sources, but I’m not really a journalist. Instead I said, “I have friends.”

He smiled. “You’re probably a well-connected lady.”

“You think I killed Frank.”

“I don’t know that anyone killed Frank. But you’re right about the digitalis. That’s probably what killed him. How it got in his system is the next question. When I answer that, I’ll know if there’s a need for further investigation.”

“If you want to know anything, then ask. Ask me everything you want. Search my house. Search my car. Call all of my friends. Just leave his parents out of it. They’ve been through enough.”

“I’ve already talked to his parents. His mother is a big fan of yours.”

He sounded sincere but I assumed sarcasm. “We’ve always had different ideas about what was best for Frank,” I said.

“She told me you were the best thing that ever happened to her son. She seems to think his girlfriend is who I should be looking at.”

“She said I was the best thing that happened to Frank?” I needed to hear it again. My world really was going upside down if Lynette actually defended me. “Did you tell her who gets the insurance?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he finished his toffee, then looked at me for a long time before speaking. “Mrs. Conway, I want you to understand something. I’m not considering this a murder investigation. I’m considering it an investigation. A healthy man dies suddenly. A drug that would be toxic if taken in large amounts is found in his system. There is an insurance policy of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars and the beneficiary is the man’s soon-to-be ex-wife. Isn’t this the sort of thing that would appear on one of those true-crime shows you work on?”

I sighed. “We always make some poor idiot look guilty for the first three acts of the show before revealing the real killer. And I can see how you would want to cast me as that idiot. But I didn’t know about the insurance policy, so that removes motive. I hadn’t seen Frank in weeks, so that removes opportunity. And I don’t have access to digitalis, so that removes means. Even on a TV show I wouldn’t look like a good suspect.”

He leaned forward and folded his large hands together, resting them on the table in front of me. “All I have is your word on that. Frank had the policy for the entire time you were married, so it’s possible he mentioned it at some point. He was in your house the day he died so it’s possible that you did have contact with him. Maybe he waited back. Maybe you told him you wanted to talk after work,” he said. “And you’ve interviewed a lot of people, learned a lot about how to commit a murder from your work. It’s possible you know how to acquire the drug and what it does. You could have gotten digitalis from nearly anywhere, including your mother-in-law, who’s taking it for her heart.” He paused. “And even if you really didn’t know about the insurance, there’s always the fact that you were a woman scorned. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“And I’m the only person you’re considering?”

He shook his head. “There’s Vera Bingham. I bet you’d like it to be her.”

“I’d like it to be no one. Believe it or not, Detective, I’d like to be arguing with Frank right now over which one of us gets to keep the toilet scrubber. What I don’t want to be doing is burying my husband of fifteen years, splitting up his belongings with his mistress, or sitting in a police station with you.”

He just sat emotionless and waited for me to finish talking. “What do you know about Ms. Bingham?”

“More than I’d like to know.”

“She was with your husband for almost a year, but you were only separated for the last four months, is that true?”

“That’s what I understand.” I sat back, suddenly exhausted and desperate to go home. I can see why people confess to crimes they didn’t commit. Police interrogation rooms are stuffy, soulless places. “I’m tired, Detective.”

“You don’t want to hear my concerns about Ms. Bingham?”

I didn’t, but then again, I did. “What are they?”

He nodded. He was testing me. Hoping to wear me out, catch me saying something I hadn’t intended. I’d played this game many times, though I’d always been on the other side of it.

“Ms. Bingham is the granddaughter of Walter Knutson. Of Knutson Foods.” He waited for a reaction, which I wouldn’t give him. “Do you ever shop at one of their grocery stores, Mrs. Conway?”

“Everyone has shopped there. Even you, I’ll bet, have shopped there.”

“They have a pharmacy in every branch of their stores.”

“That’s stretching it, don’t you think? Just because her family owns the place doesn’t mean she knows anything about it.” Why I was defending her, I don’t know, but Podeski was annoying. I didn’t want him to be right about anything, on principle.

“She would if she were a pharmacist.”

“She’s not,” I said, though honestly I had no idea if she was. She just didn’t seem the type.

“She owned a pharmacy for a time. She’s owned plant shops, a dance studio, a make-your-own-pottery place. She’s had eleven different businesses in the last twenty years.”

“All failures?”

“No. Most were successful. She owned them with friends. She put up the capital, and when the business was strong enough, each friend bought her out. She hasn’t made much money off each deal, as far as I can tell, but for the most part she’s recouped her investment.”

“Good for her.”

“Her love life wasn’t as successful until your husband came along. Did you know they were talking about opening an art studio together?”

“No.”

“And they were engaged?”

“Since he wasn’t even divorced, I think that might be wishful thinking on her part.”

“Not according to Frank’s friend Neal.”

“Neal said they were engaged?”

“Neal has been very helpful.”

“Meaning?”

Podeski smiled and popped the last of his toffee in his mouth.

A
fter throwing Neal’s name at me, Detective Podeski was suddenly anxious to go on his dinner break. I left the station with the feeling that he was trying to get me to do something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

My offer to let him search the house had gone unnoticed. I did it mainly because several cops had told me it was something innocent people usually said, and I was hoping it would make Podeski realize I had nothing to hide. Instead, as I walked out of the police station I wondered if I did have something to hide. Was there something else I didn’t know about my marriage?

If it were an episode of one of my true-crime shows, I’d have a pretty slim list of suspects. Me, because of all the reasons Podeski outlined, and Vera, who had money and potential access to the right drug. But did she have motive? If they were opening an art studio and planning a wedding, what reason would she have to kill Frank? Assuming he had been murdered, and I wasn’t conceding that he had. I just couldn’t figure out how he could have gotten digitalis in his system, especially since Podeski had said something about large amounts.

Ever since Podeski had first shown up at my door I’d had a knot in my stomach. Every unpaid parking ticket, every questionable tax deduction became another reason I might look like a killer. I’d told myself it was irrational, but it kept getting stronger. And now, with Podeski more or less calling me a suspect, the knot was beginning to take over my whole body. Knowing I hadn’t killed Frank provided me little comfort. I just kept imagining Podeski flashing an arrest warrant and handcuffs.

I wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and hide from the world, but Podeski’s final taunt sent me in a different direction. I drove by Neal’s house, not knowing what I was going to say but hoping to catch him alone. Instead Neal was on the lawn with his twins and a few neighbors. I was about to drive past when I saw him looking at me. I pulled over.

“Kate, is everything okay?” Neal was at my car window before I’d even turned off the engine.