No one believed her.
Howard thought: Would anyone believe him?
What if those kids had killed his wife? You’re living your life, and suddenly a random act of violence changes everything. People start tearing apart your whole world. The police. The media. Pretty soon, they find out your secrets. Things that make you look guilty, even when you’re not. Everybody had things like that. You could take anybody’s ordinary life and turn it into something dark and criminal.
Look at Howard Marlowe. He murdered his wife.
Look at Janine Snow. She murdered her husband.
He heard movement behind him. Carol stood there, arms folded across her chest. She looked like someone who’d opened a closet door and seen the devil hiding inside.
‘I want to get a gun,’ she said.
Howard cocked his head. His wife hated guns. She’d told him over and over that if you brought a gun into the house, sooner or later, it got used, and someone got killed. Accidents happen. Arguments happen. Kids play games.
No guns.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Howard asked. ‘I thought that you—’
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Carol screamed at him. He barely recognized her. ‘I’m never going through something like that again! Get me a gun, Howard! I want a gun!’
11
The North Shore home of Esther and Ira Rose had a For Sale sign in the snow. A moving van was parked in the driveway, and Stride saw two men struggling to relocate an oak china cabinet from the house to the interior of the truck. As he headed for the front door, he saw moving boxes through the picture window.
The Roses had a perfect location on the North Shore highway. Their large yard sloped toward the scenic drive, and the entire house looked out on the blue expanse of Lake Superior. Every day offered a sunrise on the water. However, Esther Rose had obviously decided to move on with her life somewhere else, after her husband died under Janine Snow’s hands on the operating table.
Esther met Stride at the door. She didn’t look like a murderer, but she also didn’t look like a woman who would send a threatening letter in exquisite penmanship — which is what she’d done. You stood there and watched Ira die. You killed him. I hope you can feel something in that cold, cold heart of yours. I hope you suffer the same fate someday — standing helpless over the dead body of someone you love.
She was in her sixties. It was mid-morning, but she could have been dressed for a country club dinner, in silk blouse, skirt and heels. She was small in stature, almost birdlike. She had no gray hair; it was well-colored to an attractive auburn and stylishly bobbed. She wore makeup and knew how to use it. The diamond ring on her finger was large and gaudy, and her earrings sparkled.
‘I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me in the midst of your move,’ Stride said.
Esther’s expression wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t unfriendly. ‘Yes, well, I know why you’re here.’
‘Do you?’
She waved him into the house. With a small gesture of her hand, she directed the moving men outside to have a cigarette in the sun. Stride followed her into the living room that overlooked the lake, and despite the scattered boxes, there were chairs in which to sit. Esther took the end of a yellow sofa that was positioned to take full advantage of the view. A rose-colored china cup sat on an end table next to her. Her knees were pressed together, and she sat with a rigid posture.
‘I assume you found my note,’ she said, looking embarrassed.
‘Yes, we did.’
Esther stared at the water. White ice hugged the shore, and the sun-dappled water beyond it was so blue that it was almost black. ‘Obviously, I regret what I said to Dr. Snow after the surgery. It was foolish to give in to my emotions that way. However, I understand your concerns, Lieutenant. I talked about wishing that she would experience the pain that I did in losing my husband. And now she has. It raises questions.’
‘Why don’t you tell me what happened,’ Stride said.
She glanced around the house with a look of sad nostalgia. Every surface had memories. ‘This was supposed to be our summer retirement home. Ira and I love — loved — Duluth. My children wish I would keep it. They still see it as a place for the family to gather. And my grandchildren love coming up here. But no. I’ll be living permanently in our condo in downtown Minneapolis now. There’s an energy and excitement to the city that helps me. I don’t need a reclusive lake getaway anymore. Being alone, with time to think — well, that’s the last thing I want now.’
‘I understand.’ Stride glanced at the mantle over the stone fireplace and saw that one photograph hadn’t been packed yet. He saw a man in a tuxedo, with curly graying hair, a leathery lined face, and jutting nose and chin. The man’s smile was white and broad. He looked happy. ‘Is that Ira?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Esther got up and retrieved the photo, and she had a hard time looking away. ‘Ira needed heart valve replacement surgery. As you might guess, resources were not an issue for us. We could have gone to the Mayo or any of the finest hospitals in the country. But we had friends up here who expressed the highest vote of confidence in Dr. Snow. We put our trust in her. Tragically, that trust was misplaced.’
Stride was silent. He’d seen people place blame many times. For crimes. For accidents. He said softly: ‘There are risks in any surgery, aren’t there? Especially something as complex as cardiac surgery.’
‘Of course. We both knew that. But this was negligence. The surgery itself seemed to go well, but there was evidence of post-operative bleeding. The nurses saw it. Dr. Snow didn’t take it seriously. She delayed taking action. When it was clear there was a serious problem, she finally opened him up again, but by then, it was too late. Ira didn’t survive the second surgery.’
‘I’m very sorry.’
Esther placed the photograph face-down in her lap. ‘I was angry. Bitter. This woman stole our future. The surgery should have been a new beginning for Ira, and instead, it was the end. I admit, I didn’t deal with it well. I said things — I wrote things — that were inappropriate. By July, I’d calmed down. Now I let my lawyer do my talking for me.’
‘You’re suing Dr. Snow?’ Stride asked.
‘Of course. It’s not a question of money. I don’t need money. It’s about justice. It’s about making sure that no one else suffers the way Ira and I did.’ Esther stared at the lake, and then she turned back to Stride. ‘Believe me, I feel bad for Dr. Snow and what happened to her husband. No one should lose a spouse like that. Are you married, Lieutenant?’
‘I am.’
‘And is she the light of your life?’
Stride smiled. ‘She is.’
‘That’s as it should be. Ira and I were very much in love and had been for decades. Long before we had a dime to call our own. Of course, if you believe what you read in the newspaper, Dr. Snow and her husband had a much more troubled relationship. That’s a shame.’
‘Did Dr. Snow talk to you about her marriage?’ Stride asked.
Esther shook her head firmly. ‘Oh, no. Our relationship wasn’t personal. It was strictly professional. To be very candid with you, both Ira and I felt that Dr. Snow was an unusually cold woman. She had no bedside manner. If our goal had been to find someone who had a caring way about them, we certainly would have gone elsewhere. However, we choose surgeons for their hands, not their warm, fuzzy side, don’t we? We believed that she was the best.’