Widow’s Walk

CHAPTER THREE

We were walking toward the Cone Oakes conference room on the thirty-fifth floor. Today Rita had on a red jacket with a short leather skirt.

“You still with that prissy Jewess?” Rita said.

“I prefer to think of her as the girl of my dreams,” I said.

“Even with me currently available?” Rita said.

“Again?”

“The bank guy didn’t work out,” Rita said. “Why not give it a whirl?”

“I’m emotionally limited,” I said.

“Probably not,” Rita said.

She opened the conference room door and we went in. Mary Smith was there with a young man.

The young man had on blue-tinted rimless glasses. He was nearly bald, and what hair remained he wore cut very short. He had a carefully trimmed blond mustache. He wore a dark gray pin-striped suit and a pale gray tie with a lavender shirt and a lavender pocket handkerchief. On the desk in front of him was a pigskin briefcase with a shoulder strap.

Mary was something else. Dark skin, big dark eyes, big blond hair, a lot of blue eye makeup. She had a big chest. She was in black as befit her recent widowhood. Her clothes were expensive but a little small for her. And the jacket of her black suit rode up a little on her hips. Rita introduced us. The guy was named Larson Graff.

“Mr. Graff is Mrs. Smith’s public relations consultant,” Rita said with a blank face.

I blinked once at her. Rita almost smiled but didn’t.

“He’s like family,” Mary said. “You can say whatever you want.”

Graff took a small tape recorder from his briefcase.

“You don’t mind if we tape this, do you?” he said.

“I wish I’d known,” I said. “I’d have brought my arrangements.”

“What arrangements?” Mary said.

Graff said, “It’s a joke, Mary.”

Rita said, “I mind.”

“Excuse me?” Graff said.

“I mind. This is privileged communication here. I don’t want it taped.”

“I thought it would be good to have a record,” Graff said.

“It would not be good,” Rita said.

Mary looked at Graff.

“Is there a problem?” she said.

“No. It’s okay, Mary. Rita’s just being careful.”

“Well,” Mary said. “Like I said, there’s no need to be careful with Larson. He’s family.”

“Sure,” I said. “Tell me about your husband’s death, Mrs. Smith.”

“Do I have to?”

“No,” I said.

“But you want me to?”

“Yes.”

Graff put his hand on Mary’s arm. “Mary,” he said, “these people are trying to help you.”

“I know they are, Larson. It’s just, the whole subject is just so really, so really, really… icky.”

I was quiet. Rita was quiet. Beyond the big glass windows of the conference room, the tops of the city were quiet. Off to the right I could see the river flowing past Cambridge.

“He died at home,” I said.

“Yes. Louisburg Square. Nathan bought it when we got married. It’s tripled, at least, in value.”

“Real estate is always a sound investment,” I said. “And you were in the house when he died.”

“Yes. He was upstairs in the bedroom. I was in the library downstairs watching ”Survivor.“ Do you watch that?”

“You bet,” I said. “Was your door open?”

“Open?”

“Yes. The library door, was it open or closed?”

“I always close it. Nathan liked to sleep with his door open and the sound of the TV bothered him.”

“And his bedroom is on the second floor?”

“The third. Nathan liked to get away from city sounds at night.”

“Where did you sleep?”

She smiled a little and lowered her eyes.

“Why, aren’t you nosy?” she said.

“I certainly am,” I said.

“My bedroom was right next to Nathan’s. We were very close. Just because we had separate rooms. We had a very full sex life.”

“Everyone should,” I said. “Tell me about when you found his body.”

“Oh, don’t say it that way. ”His body.“ It sounds so, it’s so really…”

I waited. Rita had rocked back in her chair, one spectacular leg crossed over the other. There was no expression on her face.

“How did you come across your, ah, late husband?” I said.

“I went up after the eleven-o’clock news,” she said. “I always watch Channel Five when I’m home. I really like them. You watch Channel Five?”

“Day and night,” I said. “You went up after the news?”

“Yes. I always do, and I always peek in, see if he’s awake, so, if he is, I can say nighty-night to him.”

“And you saw right away that he was deceased?”

“His light was on,” she said.

She was the center of our attention. Her face had a kind of sweet dreaminess about it, as if reciting her story pleased her.

“Which is very unusual. Nathan usually goes to sleep very early. So I went in and, my God, there was blood everywhere on his pillow.”

Her hands were resting on the tabletop in front of her. Graff patted one of them.

“It must have been so awful,” he said.

“It was awful,” Mary said.

We all sat for a time contemplating how awful it was.

“What did you do after you made this discovery?” I said.

“I don’t… I guess I don’t really remember. I think I burst into tears.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Yes.”

“How long after?”

“I don’t know. Soon, I think.”

“And no one else was in the house?”

“No.”

“No one could have slipped in unnoticed?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Alarm system?”

“Yes. I guess. I don’t know really. Nathan took care of that. I’m not very good about mechanical things.”

I looked at Rita.

“Cops say the alarm was on,” Rita said.

“Anyone have a key?” I said. “Or knowledge of the alarm code?”

“Alarm code?”

“The code you punch in to override the alarm,” I said.

“I don’t know what that means.”

I nodded. “How about a key?” I said. “Who might have a key?”

“I have one.”

“Good. Anyone else?”

“Nathan.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. Nathan was very security-conscious. He didn’t even give a key to Esther.”

“Esther?”

Mary Smith nodded eagerly.

“Who’s Esther?” I said.

“Our cleaning woman. I love her. She’s so good.”

“What if she came to clean and no one was there?”

“I don’t know. I guess she’d have to come back.”

“So just you and Nathan had a key to the house.” I found myself speaking very slowly.

“Yes.”

“And only Nathan knew the alarm code.”

“I really just don’t know how those things work,” she said.

“So who shot him?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

She closed her eyes and sat perfectly still for a moment. “I don’t even like to think about it,” she said.

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “But we sort of have to think about it. Because the cops think you did it.”

“I don’t know how they can think that,” she said.

I knew the remark was rhetorical. I let it pass. “You and Nathan get along well?” I said.

“Oh, yes. We were happy as clams.”

“Cops say you tried to have him killed a while ago.”

“I never did,” she said. “I never did any such thing.”

“You have a big fight with him the evening he was killed?”

“No.”

“Cops have witnesses,” I said.

“I don’t care what they got, Nathan and I were happy as clams.”

“Nathan have enemies?”

“No. Not at all. Everybody liked Nathan.”

“Almost everybody,” I said. “Anyone else in your life?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Boyfriends?”

“No. Of course not. Absolutely not.”

“How long you been married?” I said.

“Seven years.”

“You going with anyone before you married him?”

“I dated, of course, I mean, look at me. Of course I dated.”

“Anyone special?”

Her face brightened suddenly, and she smiled.

“They were all special,” she said.

“See any of them since your marriage?”

“Well, of course, you don’t give up all your friends when you get married.”

“Maybe you could give us a list of your friends.”

“My friends?”

“Somebody killed your husband.”

“I can’t give you a list of my friends. So you can go bother them?”

“I’m not your problem,” I said. “I’m working for you. Won’t your friends want to help you?”

“Well, of course.”

I spread my hands. It follows as the night the day. She frowned for a while. Which was apparently what she did when she thought.

“Maybe I could give you a list,” she said.

I waited. Finally she turned to her PR guy.

“Larson,” she said. “You could give them the guest list for the last party.”

“I have it in the computer,” Graff said. “If that would help.”

“Great,” I said. “That’ll be great.”

I could see Rita off to the right. She looked amused.