It was a good question, but Hardy believed he had a good answer. ‘So if you had a problem just like the one you’re experiencing now, you’d have a place to hide out for a while, to take the kids until you could relocate.’
‘Well, as you say, I’m having this problem now. You’ll notice I didn’t take them there. Doesn’t that tell you anything?’
Hardy hated to acknowledge it, but it did.
‘This is God’s truth. I’ve never heard of Rita Browning in my life. She owns nine oh two?’
‘Maybe. That’s the name on the mailbox, on her checks. David Glenn – your supe? – he says he’s never seen her.’
‘How long has she been there?’
‘Five years, a couple of months longer than you have as a matter of fact.’
‘David came on after us,’ Ron said helpfully. ‘A couple of years later, I think. It’s not impossible, I suppose, that he hasn’t met her… She makes her mortgage payments for the year every January.’
‘For the year?’ Ron went quiet while he considered this. ‘You think I’ve been paying for two apartments in that building for five years?’
‘Let’s say I don’t think there’s a Rita Browning. All your aka’s have the initials RB-’
‘Yeah, but I’ll tell you something about those accounts, those lines of credit. If you studied them at all, you realized I never carried any balance in them. They were in case things here went to hell. A thirty-day parachute, maybe forty-five, to give me time to start out someplace else. That’s all. Just out of curiosity, though, how in the world did you find out about those?’
‘Bree’s files from Caloco. Somebody over there shipped them to the DA to make it look like you’d premeditated this and planned your escape.’ Hardy noted Ron’s reaction – unfeigned, frightened. ‘I didn’t see any Rita Browning in those records, it’s true. But I don’t think anyone’s living in nine oh two.’
‘Can you find out? Have somebody check it?’
‘Sure, eventually. With a warrant. They could take the place apart and might get lucky if that’s where Bree… if that’s where it happened. But any of that will take time and’ – Hardy consulted his watch – ‘that’s in short supply right about now. We’re in court in forty-five minutes.’
Ron swirled his mug a couple of times. His eyes met Hardy’s. ‘Bree,’ he said.
‘That’s what I’m thinking.’
‘She set up my accounts for me. It would have been cake to do one for herself.’
‘Even if this one wasn’t a credit card?’
Ron lifted his shoulders. ‘Same thing, basically. Bogus numbers, false identity. There’s nothing simpler, especially if your base account is a trillion-dollar multinational like Caloco. Banks are lining up to help you out.’
‘But what would she have needed another apartment for?’
The answer came to both of them as Ron spoke. ‘Love.’
‘She met men there?’
‘Why not? It’s perfect when I think about it – discreet, close by, no hassles…’
‘But for this, for the mortgage, there had to be real money somewhere. Did Bree make enough-’
Ron was saying no before Hardy finished. ‘Up until this year, she made a lot, but not enough for that.’
‘How much would it be?’
‘In our building, the one-bedrooms go for like four fifty. Our place was seven and a half.’
Hardy whistled.
‘Tell me about it. But she got enough bonuses to just cover us.’ He hesitated. ‘We’re still house poor, to tell you the truth. And after she left Caloco…’ He stopped, and stalled with the coffee. ‘You might as well know. Maybe you do already. We were going to have to move.’
‘And did you fight about that?’
Ron sighed wearily. ‘I’ll tell you, by the end, we fought about everything. It was terrible.’ He hung his head for a long moment, then looked up. ‘I’m just so tired.’ His voice was almost gone. ‘So incredibly tired.’
Hardy leaned over the table. ‘Did you kill her, Ron? Did you kill Bree, maybe by mistake?’
Ron raised his head, his eyes reflecting the depth of his resignation and loss. ‘You know, I didn’t. She was my sister. I loved her. The kids loved her – she was their mother. I never would have even hit her, much less killed her. I didn’t kill her. I really didn’t. Even by mistake.’ His hands imploringly crossed the table. ‘I wasn’t even there. I wasn’t even there.’
Even with Freeman making sure at the bar, it made Hardy nervous as hell to leave Ron alone at the Greek’s. He told him to have himself another cup of coffee or something and be at the back door to the Hall, by the entrance to the jail, at nine twenty. Hardy was marginally confident that he’d boxed him in adequately. Having come this far, with Cassandra held hostage, Ron wouldn’t run now.
He hoped.
It was unusual, but Hardy had persuaded Glitsky to use some juice with the bailiffs so that they would allow Frannie to wear a respectable outfit for the hearing. So he had to get it delivered to her in time for her to change from her jumpsuit. Protocol, appearances, details.
But he couldn’t have it both ways. She could take the time to change into pleasant civilian clothes that would subliminally humanize her to Marian Braun, or they could take a last few tense, private moments together in the attorney’s visiting room.
There was no choice. After she was free, they’d have time to visit. Time for everything.
It left him with nearly a half hour and he was tempted to go back to Lou’s and sit with Ron. But no. He’d worked that through. Ron would be at the back door at the appointed time. He had no other option.
Setting his heavy briefcase on the hard wooden bench just inside the entrance to the jail, he once again unsnapped the clasps, once again lifted his pages into his lap. He’d been through every scrap he carried at least once, except the final pages that Glitsky had delivered last night.
But now, unexpectedly, maybe he had just enough time to get through the rest of it – not that he thought he would discover anything. But if nothing else, he prided himself on his thoroughness. He wouldn’t lose this thing out of sloppiness or fatigue. He would be prepared for his hearing when he walked into the courtroom. Scott Randall wasn’t going to surprise him with something he should have read, should have noticed, should have figured out.
So he started where he’d left off- Canetta’s autopsy.
And this time, he saw it. Went back and reviewed Griffin. Crossed the corridor to the coroner’s and made sure. And then, finally, knowing where else to look, went back and found it.
Glitsky was in his office when Hardy called upstairs. He had sent his task forces out on Thorne’s search warrant, which left him free until after the hearing, which he would be attending. Hardy didn’t want to say anything over the phone. He’d see Glitsky in five minutes and if they could get any privacy, he’d tell him then. In the meanwhile, they’d meet at the back door to the Hall.
As Hardy came out of the jail, he gave a surreptitious nod to Freeman, now loitering in the corridor that led to the morgue, and continued to the employees’ back door to the Hall. The plan was that Ron and Hardy were going to take the little-used rear stairway to the second floor and make a break for Braun’s courtroom, Department 24, when they got out into the hallway.
Glitsky opened the door for them. When Hardy introduced who they would be escorting, however, he could tell that it wasn’t a pleasant surprise. But the lieutenant seemed to accept the situation, silently leading the way up the stairs until they reached the landing before the door into the main hallway. When they got there, though, he turned and faced them both. ‘You guys just run into each other out front? Was that it?’
‘Not exactly.’ Unruffled, Hardy had guessed this moment was coming. He was ready. ‘This time yesterday I had no idea where he was.’
‘How about when I came to your office last night as a courtesy? The last time we talked, say?’