“Hold it. Explain that.”
She stared at me as if I’d fallen asleep halfway through the story. “Sure. First, Paul thought the old lady had just jumped the gun-died too soon… He was in a crunch, you know? Had this big deal, where he needed her to stay alive, but he knew she wasn’t getting any younger, so he was already real nervous. He’d started turning some of his property into cash, but the timing was bad. So when we first heard she’d died, he was really pissed off-like he’d been stabbed in the back. He kept saying, ‘I don’t believe this-that bitch had to stick it to me one last time.’ He really hated her-I guess they all did. Anyhow, when the paper said she’d been killed, he went crazy, ’cause then he knew, you know, that he’d actually been screwed by his own partner, and he was in real trouble.”
I resisted asking who she was talking about and gave her free rein, remembering Dr. Riley saying that Sawyer’s killer must have been an impatient man. “Did they have a falling out?”
“They weren’t getting along too good. This guy kept saying Paul was going to mess things up for everybody if he got too greedy-that if he just kept doing things the way he always had, there’d be more money in it for all of them in the long run. But Paul didn’t trust him-figured it’d be safer if he got his money up front and then split the country-let the other guy make his bundle on his own. Only the partner didn’t see it that way, and I guess he finally killed the aunt to show who was boss. That sure backfired, though, ’cause as soon as Paul heard it was murder and not just old age, he told me he wasn’t going to take any raps on his own-that he’d make sure the other guy went down, too… Sure is sad-we had a good thing going.”
The more we talked, the more impressed I’d become with Ginny’s moral compass. I now allowed myself to ask the obvious question. “Who is this partner?”
Her answer was a disappointment. “I don’t know. When Paul first told me about him, I was real worried-thought maybe the guy would blackmail us or turn us in, but Paul didn’t seem to care. He said the guy was doing stuff a lot worse than us, and wasn’t about to blow the whistle. All Paul had to do was help him out a little, and he was free to do what he’d always done… Except that things got sour between them.”
“What did Paul call this man?”
“His partner. That’s all I ever heard. I asked him a couple of times, but he said it was better I didn’t know. He did say he was a bigwig, though, and that what he was up to really surprised Paul. Paul said there was no telling about people.”
“Were you ever there when they got together?”
She shook her head. “No way. He kept all that real private.”
“Did Paul ever tell you the favor he had to do for this man?”
“Nope-’cept he said it was the best deal he’d ever made. ’Course, that was before they started fighting.”
“Ginny,” I asked hopefully, “would you be able to remember what Paul was doing on the night of January ninth this year?”
She looked doubtful. “We didn’t get too many nights together… You know, his wife… But I could check my diary. I write in it every night-well almost.”
I smiled at that. “Did Paul know about the diary?”
“No-why?” she asked, with beguiling simplicity.
I made a mental note to specify the diary in the search warrant of her home and office. “Nothing. Just wondered.” I stood up and crossed over to the door.
“What happens now?” she asked.
I paused and looked back at her. “You’ve entered a system. You’re going to see cops and lawyers and prosecutors and judges and maybe the inside of a jail for a while. It all depends. I can tell you, though, that you’ve made a good start. Keep playing straight and you should do O.K.-all things considered.”
I left her with that faint comfort, knowing better than she that in Vermont, at least, her chances for a light sentence were better than average.
As expected, my office was empty again. Sammie had taken Ruth Hennessy’s statement and cut her loose, eager to get things organized for Eddy Knox’s interrogation. I got hold of Dispatch on the intercom, and found out Hennessy’s wife was back at home, watching it being torn apart by a search team. I dialed that number.
A tense woman’s voice answered on the first ring. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Hennessy, this is Joe Gunther again-we met this morning.”
“I know who you are, Lieutenant, and I want you to know I resent the hell out of this. I’m not the criminal here-I’m not the one who was stealing and cheating on his wife. But it’s my house that’s been invaded by your people, and it’s me that’s being blamed for something I didn’t know anything about-”
“Mrs. Hennessy, I know you feel like you’ve been caught in a car wreck, but it’s the only way we can set things straight. Please try to bear with us for just a little while longer. Then we’ll be out of your hair-at least out of your house. Do you have any friends or relatives you can call on for support?”
Her voice softened somewhat. “I have someone coming.”
“Good-that should help a little. Look, I hate to add to your troubles right now, but I was wondering if you could tell me something. The date of January ninth has surfaced in relation to all this-do you have any way you could tell me what Paul was doing that night?”
I expected another outburst, so I was pleasantly surprised when all she said was, “Hold on.”
A minute later, she returned, saying, “We keep a family calendar on the kitchen wall-who’s at what meeting when… Not that I know what the hell he was really doing anymore… What was that? The ninth? Says here he was in Albany, New York, for a meeting… God, what a jerk I was.”
I waited a few moments, listening to her fight for composure. “When is that friend arriving?”
Her voice was cracked and tearful. “She’ll be right here. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Let me know if there’s anything we can do to help.” I hung up before the irony of that statement caught up to both of us.
24
The conference room reeked of the pungent, greasy odor of pizza. Several boxes were aligned down the middle of the large table, surrounded by an oval of Styrofoam cups, as regularly spaced as a short, bulky picket fence.
Seated around the room, eating, drinking, or chatting among themselves, were the same people I’d assembled before, but who by now had become an integrated, unofficial task force. The earlier confusion and doubts about what we were up against had been washed away by a common desire to nail a single as yet unidentified nemesis.
That this person could only be called “the partner,” and that no known connections had yet been drawn between him and Shawna Davis or Milo Douglas or Mary Wallis didn’t seem to matter. There was a confidence in the air that we were at last on the right track, and that things would make sense in the end.
I just hoped that trust was well placed.
“Okay,” I began. “It’s been a full day. I thought it might help to compare notes before we pack it in till tomorrow. You’ve all read the report on my interview with Ginny Levasseur-or you should have by now-so I won’t bother repeating it. Let’s go straight to Sam and Marshall instead, and what they got out of Eddy Knox.”
Sammie Martens glanced at her temporary partner and then said, “A documents search of both his home and office revealed a dramatic boost in income beginning at about the same time the convention center project was heading for the zoning board. We talked to his bankers, his wife, other members of his family, his co-workers, and anyone else we could think of to pinpoint the source of his money, but nobody had any answers. Knox had told them all that he’d hit it rich playing the stock market, although a quick check proved that to be totally bogus. As far as we can determine, he’s never bought a stock in his life.