But an hour later, when we sat across from each other, Jason seemed determined to remain positive, helpful, and composed. Every question, from how they met to why they broke up, elicited the dullest of answers. We’d been rolling tape for thirty minutes when I thought to ask about the day he and Theresa took the photos he had framed in the kitchen.

  “We were at Navy Pier, just hanging out,” he said, smiling at the memory. “Theresa liked doing date stuff, so we did it.”

  “Date stuff?”

  “Like going dancing or to the zoo. She didn’t just want to sit in a bar and watch a game. She wanted to do stuff that we would remember.”

  “I was like that too,” I admitted. “And I do remember those days. They were really happy ones, so Theresa was right.” I could feel tightness in my throat as I remembered Frank and me during our zoo and dancing days. But I was getting off track. I pushed away the memory and returned to the photo. “That day at Navy Pier must have been special, Jason.”

  He shrugged.

  “Well, you chose those photos to frame and hang in the kitchen, so there must have been a reason. I’m assuming you have other photos of Theresa.”

  “We talked about our future a lot that day. We were going to get married, have a couple of kids. We talked about, maybe, someday, building a vacation house in Wisconsin. Just ordinary stuff, that’s what we wanted.”

  “But Theresa’s mother said you broke up because she wanted a commitment and you didn’t.”

  A flash of anger. Then, a deep breath. “Not true. I wanted the same things Theresa did.”

  “But Linda Moretti said Theresa told her that.” I was lying, but I was close to the truth.

  “I don’t care what Mrs. Moretti said; that’s not why we broke up.”

  “Let’s get back to that. The breakup.”

  “I already answered that question. We were just going through a downtime. We needed space. We would have gotten back together.”

  “But she was dating Wyatt.”

  “It wasn’t going to last.”

  “Isn’t that just wishful thinking on your part?”

  He looked about to punch me. “The hell with this,” he said and started to get up.

  “Stop, please,” I said. “I know this is difficult, and I hate asking, but I do understand what you went through. My husband left me for another woman. I thought he would come back too.”

  I could see Jason soften. He sat back in his chair. “When did he leave?”

  “Four months ago.”

  “Maybe he will come back.”

  “He won’t.” I said it out loud for the first time. Just hearing the words left me with tears in the back of my eyes. This is what I wanted Jason to feel, not me. “I just want to know why you were sure.”

  “I’m sorry about your husband.” His voice was warmer. “I guess it’s hard to know. It’s hard to give up on someone you love. I guess maybe I didn’t know if she would come back. But we’d been talking. Things seemed good.”

  “When was the last time you talked?”

  “The day before she disappeared.”

  I hadn’t heard that before or seen it in the police statements or the pre-interview packet I’d received from Ripper Productions. And it didn’t seem to be something Detective Rosenthal knew when I interviewed her.

  “Did you call her?” I asked.

  “She called me.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. She just wanted to talk. I kept feeling like she was going to tell me something, but all she said was that she was just glad I was in her life. She said she always knew who I was. I never surprised her.”

  “What do you think she meant?”

  “I don’t know. I figured that guy she was with had done something and she was finally seeing I was the better man.”

  “Did you see her after that?”

  “No. I was going to call her the next day, but I didn’t want to be pushy. I thought it would be better if I played it a little cool, you know.” His voice was shaking, and he seemed on the verge of breaking down. I almost reached out to comfort him but stopped myself. I didn’t want my hand in the shot.

  “Do the police know about the call?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “They haven’t done anything to find Theresa. They just filed reports and listened to her mother.”

  “Jason, where do you think Theresa is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think she’s dead?”

  Tears filled his eyes. “I don’t . . .” He stopped. “I’m done,” he said to Andres. “I don’t want to talk anymore.” He pulled the mic off and walked into the kitchen, where we could all hear him burst into tears.

  Twenty-seven

  “That guy knows,” Victor said as Andres drove away from Jason’s apartment, with me in the passenger seat and Victor in back.

  “Knows what?” I asked.

  “Come on, he did it,” Victor insisted. “He knocked that chick into eternity. She’s probably in six pieces under the floorboards in his bedroom.”

  “That’s disgusting.” I turned away from him and focused on Andres. “He didn’t seem like a killer to you, did he?”

  “I don’t know, Kate. He seemed a little too into her. She was his ex-girlfriend. If my woman had left me for another man, I don’t think I’d be crying about her a year later.”

  “But he loved her and she’s missing. You don’t think he would still be sad even if it was a year later?”

  “Unless he’s the reason she’s missing,” Victor said.

  “I’ve got to go along with Victor on this,” Andres said. “He’s the only one so far who seems to think that they were getting back together. Her mother sure as hell didn’t think so and neither did Julia, did she?”

  “No,” I admitted. “But you never really know what goes on in someone else’s relationship. And if he had done something to her, wouldn’t he be saying he was over her, instead of making himself look like some wishful sap? His version of the story makes him look too guilty to be a lie.”

  “Kate, he doesn’t have a better story because he’s stupid.” Victor inched himself up so he was practically sitting between Andres and me. “It’s simple. She leaves him for someone hotter, and he kills her. We must do twenty episodes a year where that happens.”

  “People get dumped without resorting to murder,” I pointed out.

  “He’s a loser.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Based on his being dumped. Losers get dumped. And he’s a big-ass loser because a year later he’s still got her picture on his wall.”

  Andres beeped at the car in front of us for not moving on green fast enough.

  “Come on, Kate, you have to agree with me,” Victor said excitedly. “It’s not natural to be so weepy about some chick who leaves you. If someone kicks you to the curb, you don’t sit around remembering the good times. You get revenge.”

  Andres made a sharp right turn and went just a little faster than the posted speed limit.

  “I’m not saying,” Victor continued, “that you wouldn’t miss her. Theresa was hot, in a buttoned-up kind of way. I’d have done her.”

  “I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear that,” I said.

  Victor was ignoring my sarcasm. He was intent on making a point. “And, you know, that Jason kid is okay looking, but he was out of his league with her. He’s not getting laid by her kind again.”

  I turned toward him and said my words slowly. “So you would kill someone who left you for someone else?”

  Andres braked suddenly, and Victor flew forward. “What the hell?” Victor yelled.

  “Sorry, you should buckle up back there,” Andres said.

  Victor flipped him off. “Kate and I are trying to have a conversation.”

  “Sorry.” Andres smiled. “Hate to get in the middle of a good conversation.”

  A few minutes later, Andres pulled up in front of my house. He jumped out of the driver’s seat just as I was getting out of the car.

  “I’ll walk you to the door, Kate.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  Andres followed me up the stairs. “He’s an ass.”

  “I know that.”

  “It will be ten o’clock tonight before he realizes what he said.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “And besides, it isn’t the same thing. What happened in your marriage is totally different from what happened with Jason and Theresa.”

  “I know.”

  Andres gave me a hug. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight sharp. What do we have?”

  “The two final interviews, the boyfriend and Julia. And B-roll at the mother’s bakery.”

  He smiled. “We’ll be busy all day, so that should keep Victor’s mouth shut. And we’ll go out for a drink afterwards, just the two of us. We’ll hang out.”

  “You don’t have to take care of me,” I said.

  “Yes, I do. Most of the producers I shoot with are idiots. I have to keep the good ones in working order.”

  Victor stuck his head out the car window. “Jeez, Kate, I just realized what I said. I wasn’t talking about you. You’re hot, so you don’t need to feel bad you got dumped,” he shouted, sharing his insights with the whole neighborhood. “Besides, it’s not like your old man was murdered.”

  Andres walked back to the car shaking his head, as Victor sat back, feeling as though he had sidestepped a land mine. I went inside the house wanting a stiff drink and a cyanide capsule.

  Twenty-eight

  Neither was waiting for me. Instead there was another message from Alex, sounding more urgent than the first. I called him on his cell.

  “Sorry, it’s been a busy day,” I said, leading off the conversation.

  “I know, kiddo. You’re back doing another one of those TV shows. I just thought we could talk.”

  The last thing I wanted was to talk. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Let’s do it in person. Margie’s Candies okay?”

  “I guess. Alex, is everything okay?”

  “A half an hour?”

  I’d barely said yes when he hung up.

  Margie’s Candies is a Chicago institution. They’ve served their hot fudge sundaes and banana splits to nearly everyone who has spent some time in Chicago, including Al Capone, the Beatles, and me. I knew Alex had chosen it because it was close to my house, but I didn’t want to go there. For years, Frank and I had spent summer nights sitting in one of their booths. I hadn’t been there since he left, and as good as their ice cream was, I hadn’t intended to go back.

  But a half hour after his call, I was walking through the door of Margie’s Candies looking for Alex. He was there ahead of me, sitting nervously at Al Capone’s booth, sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Hey, there.” He jumped up and kissed me on the cheek. “You look tired.”

  “I just got back from work.” I sat down and looked at the menu, but I knew what I wanted. “I’ll have a half caramel, half hot fudge sundae,” I told the waiter, a sixtysomething man who had waited on me at least two dozen times.

  “You also want some English toffee to go?” he asked.

  “It’s nice to know there’s a man who knows me so well,” I said, smiling. I turned back to Alex. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yes, there is. I could hear it in your voice.”

  He smiled. “I guess it’s nice to have a woman who knows me so well.” The smile faded. “It’s the insurance, kiddo. There’s a delay.”

  “The cause of death.”

  His eyes widened. “You know about that?”

  “Did you talk with the police?”

  He shook his head. “The insurance company is talking with them.”

  “A detective came to see me,” I said. “And then someone I interviewed mentioned it. A guy named Gray Meyer. Have you ever heard of him?”

  Alex’s company had done a lot of work for both the city and the state. I hoped their paths had crossed.

  “Yes, Gray Meyer. He’s a smooth one. He’s a good guy as far as I can tell. I’ve only met him at fund raisers and things. He does a lot of work for inner-city kids.”

  “Noblesse oblige?”

  “I don’t know what motivates him. I heard he was going to run for the state senate about a year ago, but then he decided not to announce.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I heard there was some infidelity.”

  The waiter brought my sundae and refilled Alex’s coffee. I dug in before the hot sauce melted the ice cream. Alex sat back and watched me, as if he was my father and I was his little girl. It was a nice feeling to be part of Frank’s family again, if only for the few minutes of silence we shared before Alex brought up the reason we were meeting.

  “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?

  Twenty-nine

  “Can 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.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28