Or was she remembering all wrong?
“Know of any enemies he had?” the detective pressed. Lorraine stared dully at a deep scratch in the wooden table. “Martin doesn’t have any enemies. He’s such a good man.” She couldn’t bring herself to speak in the past tense.
“This guy’s in the mob . . .”
A member of the Mafia had killed her husband in cold blood. And what might that man do to her and Tammy if she talked?
How had Martin met anybody in the Mafia?
Detective Tuckney shifted in his chair, and the legs creaked. “How did your husband act last night when he came home after the bank robbery?”
Lorraine kept a poker face. The detective was reading her thoughts. “He was real shook up. The minute he saw me and Tammy he just hugged and hugged us — ” Lorraine’s throat closed. She lowered her chin and blinked back tears.
“I just want Tammy to get well.”
Detective Tuckney gave her a moment. “You don’t think the two could have been related?”
“How? Why would those bank robbers even know where we lived?”
He spread his hands.
“And if they wanted to kill him, why didn’t they do it last night? Why would they — why would anybody come to our apartment in broad daylight and . . .” Lorraine looked away, her mouth pulling. She swallowed hard and her chest jerked. Tammy stirred in her arms.
Tall and thin, real short and stocky. The descriptions blipped into her brain. Martin had said that’s what two of the bank robbers looked like. Just like the men she’d seen last night in such a hurry, jumping from a truck to open unit seven. A newly rented unit . . .
And one of them had been wearing all black — like the robbers. The driver had at least been wearing a black shirt. She hadn’t seen him from the waist down.
Lorraine’s eyelids flickered.
“Look, can I just go now? I don’t know what else to tell you. I just don’t . . . I don’t know anything right now.”
Detective Tuckney gave a reluctant nod. “I appreciate your time. You have someplace to go for awhile? We’ll want to know where to get hold of you.”
Before the interview Detective Tuckney had called Nate Houger, Lorraine’s landlord and boss who lived in New York, and told him what had happened. The AC Storage office would have to be closed for the day, the detective told him. Sitting next to her apartment, the office was also taped off as part of the crime scene. Lorraine asked Mr. Houger for a second day off, and he said okay. She couldn’t imagine returning to work — answering the phone, posting payments — as if nothing in her life had changed.
“There’s a motel about a mile from our place,” she said. “I’ll stay there.”
“Okay.” Tuckney had pushed back from the table and stood. “Let me go check on something. Be right back.”
And now Lorraine waited.
Those two men last night at the storage unit . . . She calculated the time. It would have been soon after the bank was robbed. While Martin was being questioned by police.
But that was crazy. Why would they put the money there?
Why not? Maybe it was the perfect place. If Martin had been pulled into the crime, and his wife just happened to manage storage rentals . . .
Seven million dollars.
“I just want Tammy to get well.”
Detective Tuckney returned. For a searing second Lorraine considered telling him everything. Her argument with Martin, the Mafia man at the apartment, the two men at the storage unit. Whoever did this to Martin, Lorraine wanted to see him fry.
But a member of the Mafia? She had a young daughter to protect. A little girl now without a daddy. What would Tammy do if she lost her mother too? And how could Lorraine imply anything to the police that would connect Martin to the robbery? He was dead, and now she wanted to drag his reputation through the mud? It would be all over the newspapers. People would accuse him of being some awful criminal, people who never even knew him.
The words dribbled down Lorraine’s throat.
“All right.” Detective Tuckney placed his hands low on his hips. “I’ll take you back to your car at the storage place. If you want I can go into the apartment and get a few items for you and your daughter before you go to the motel.”
Lorraine shuddered at the thought of strangers examining Martin’s body.
“No. It’s okay.”
They drove to the apartment in silence. Tammy fell asleep in the backseat, head lolling. For once Lorraine was glad for her daughter’s tiring sickness. If only she could sleep through this herself. If only she could sleep through the rest of her life.
Beyond the crime-scene tape at her apartment, the media had gathered. Lorraine saw two news vans and other cars. Five reporters hurried toward the detective’s vehicle, TV and still cameras raising up. Lorraine hunched over and buried her face in her arms.
“Sorry about this. I’ll deal with them.” Detective Tuckney slid out.
Lorraine heard him asking the reporters to “Get back, please — I’ll answer what questions I can over there.” Multiple voices — men and women — shouted questions at him.
Something banged against the backseat window behind her. Lorraine jerked around to see a still camera aimed through the glass at her sleeping daughter. Instant rage rocketed up her spine.
“No!” She leapt from the car and rushed the reporter. “Get away!”
He whirled toward her and aimed his camera. It clicked twice.
“Stop, whoa!” Detective Tuckney ran around the front of the car and grabbed her arm. A uniformed officer appeared, pushing the reporter back.
“Mrs. Giordano, I heard you were at home at the time of the murder,” one reporter called. “Did you see the suspect?”
“Mommy!” Tammy’s wail filtered from the car.
Lorraine wrenched from the detective’s grasp and flung Tammy’s door open. Her fingers shook as she unbuckled the seatbelt and pushed her daughter over. She crawled into the car and slammed the door. Wrapping her arms around Tammy, she hid her little girl’s face in her chest. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Together they rocked and cried.
Lorraine would not get out of Detective Tuckney’s car again with the reporters around. He drove them to the motel, a policeman behind them in her car. No reporters followed. No need — they’d already gotten their dramatic shots.
In the motel room it took some time to calm Tammy down. Lorraine berated herself for losing control. It had only scared her daughter. She couldn’t let that happen again.
As Tammy finally slept Lorraine lay beside her, exhausted and heartbroken, staring at the stained ceiling.
“Please tell me this isn’t about the bank robbery.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then why don’t I believe you?”
TWENTY-FOUR
As Kaycee headed out her back door, the phone rang. The sound jangled her nerves. Not even outside yet, and she was trembling.
Hannah.
She lunged for the receiver and checked the ID. It was Tricia’s number at work. Her shoulders slumped. She pressed Talk. “Hi, Tricia.”
“Have they found her yet?”