Serena turned to Ben Larsen, who had yet to say a word. “Mr. Larsen, when you drove Delaney home, did she say anything to indicate that something was wrong?”
“Nope. Not a thing.”
“Did she say anything at all? Did she talk about Zach? Or about her mother?”
“No. She was playing with her phone, and I was listening to the radio.”
“Were you surprised when she broke it off with Zach so soon after that?”
Ben shrugged. “I guess, but if you ask me, Zach’s better off without her. She had that boy wrapped around her finger. Manipulative, you know? She was turning him into a pussy.”
Serena watched annoyance flash across Barbara Larsen’s face. That was a word she didn’t like.
“When you took Delaney home that Sunday, did you see her mother?” Serena asked. “Was Nikki there?”
“I don’t know. If she was there, I didn’t see her. I dropped the girl off, and I left.”
“How well did you know Nikki?”
“Not well at all. She always had her nose in the air, although I don’t know what she had to be stuck-up about. Barb’s right about her being a boozehound. When I saw her, she was usually drunk.” He checked his watch again and tapped his foot on the carpet. “What’s this all about anyway? Why are you asking questions after all this time?”
Serena chose her words deliberately. She kept her eyes locked on Ben’s face and waited for his reaction. “I’m looking into the possibility that Nikki was murdered.”
She heard a gasp from Barbara, but Ben looked at her with a kind of sour surprise, as if he’d found shit on the bottom of his boot. “Murdered? You’re nuts.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Who would bother murdering Nikki Candis? She was a nobody. A drunk. She took a gun and put herself out of her misery. End of story.”
“You sound pretty sure about that,” Serena said.
“Hey, it’s not like it was such a big surprise. Delaney knows that better than anyone.”
Serena frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Zach’s father hesitated, momentarily at a loss for words. “I just mean, she knew her mom was a loser. We all did.”
“Ben,” his wife chided him quietly. “The woman is dead.”
“Exactly. She’s dead. It’s been two years. I don’t know why you’re dredging this up now. Did you talk to Delaney about it? Is this murder bullshit her idea?”
Serena stared at him. “No. Delaney’s adamant that her mother committed suicide.”
“Well, there you go. You should listen to what she says. She knew her mother better than anyone.” He checked his watch yet again, although almost no time had passed in between. “Look, I’m busy. I run a business. Are we done?”
“Yes, we’re done,” Serena replied, measuring out her words.
Ben Larsen bolted to his feet. Without lacing up his boots or kissing his wife, he stomped across the living room and slammed the door on his way out of the house.
27
Rain poured from a dark sky as Stride returned to police headquarters. It was almost noon, and the search in the woods surrounding Datka Road and Fredenberg Lake had been underway for several hours. There were dozens of square miles to cover in wet, dense conditions that made it hard for dogs to pick up the scent of a body. He suspected they would be at it until nightfall.
As he got out of his Expedition, he noticed a black Mercedes on the far side of the lot. It was parked on a slant, taking up two spots. This was no ordinary Mercedes. Stride recognized the sleek AMG GT model, which was priced at well over a hundred thousand dollars and definitely wasn’t a fixture on Duluth streets. The personalized Minnesota license plate read nights. His eyes narrowed with curiosity as he studied the car through the heavy rain, and as he started walking toward it, the vehicle flashed its headlights at him like a greeting.
The passenger door clicked open as he approached the car. He shook off as much rain as he could from his clothes, then climbed inside and pulled the door shut. On the other side of the front seat, Broadway sat behind the wheel. He was dressed in a similarly trendy suit to the first time they’d met, this time in royal blue instead of plum. His close-shaved chin came to a sharp point. He wore sunglasses, but he took them off as Stride joined him, and Stride could see that the man’s eyes were a honey shade of golden brown.
“Jonathan. Hello.” His boyish voice, and the lightness of his eyes, made the man appear even younger than he was.
“Broadway,” Stride said. “It’s not game night, is it? What are you doing in town?”
“I have other business. I come and go a lot.”
Stride ran his fingers along the car’s leather seat, which had a rich, buttery feel. “Sorry to be getting your interior wet. It looks expensive.”
“It is, but don’t worry about that. Do you like the car? Some people don’t think that a Mercedes can be cool, but they haven’t driven the GT.”
“It’s impressive. Maybe I’ll get one when I win the Powerball.”
Broadway gave him the faintest smile.
“I noticed the license plate, too,” Stride went on. “‘Nights on Broadway’? Are you a Bee Gees fan?”
“It’s Barry’s world, and we’re all just living in it,” the man replied.
“You know I’ll be looking up the registration as soon as I’m inside the building.”
“Naturally. You won’t find anything helpful, though. The car is registered to one of my companies. Actually, when you learn more about my identity, you’ll be disappointed. I’m just a businessman.”
“A thirtysomething businessman who runs an illegal gambling operation and drives around in a hundred-thousand-dollar car,” Stride said.
Broadway’s eyebrows flicked playfully. “The Stealth Edition is north of one hundred and twenty-five thousand, actually.”
“But no chauffeur? No security guard? I’m surprised you’re driving yourself.”
“Gavin said you wanted to talk, and I assumed you wanted a private meeting,” Broadway said.
“You’re right.”
“Well, here I am. Are you any closer to finding Chelsey?”
“She’s still missing,” Stride replied.
“That’s very sad. And yet I understand you have a major search operation underway in the woods north of the city.”
“How did you hear that?”
Broadway shrugged. “My police sources tend to be pretty reliable. I gather you’re looking for a body?”
“No comment.”
“Of course not. Well, on one hand, I want your search to be successful, so Gavin has some kind of closure. Then again, as long as you don’t find Chelsey, there’s still hope.”
“Did you tell Gavin about the search?” Stride asked.
“No, I figured I would leave that to you. He’s bound to take it as bad news. For what it’s worth, he still appears to be genuinely shocked by his wife’s disappearance. I like to think I have something of a knack for knowing when people aren’t being sincere. Then again, I respect your judgment, too. If you consider him a suspect, I have to take that seriously.”
“Who told you that he’s a suspect?” Stride asked.
“Common sense would be enough, but actually, he told me that himself. He’s a lawyer, so he knows how the game is played. You were bound to treat him as a suspect. It’s an old story, isn’t it? Husbands kill wives, and wives kill husbands.”
“What about you? Are you married?”
“I’m not. Too busy to settle down.”
“Have you ever met Chelsey Webster?”
Broadway played with the buttons on his cuff while he formulated an answer. “In fact, I have. She and Gavin were at the NorShor. I bumped into the two of them before a show. What an extraordinary restoration they did with that venue, don’t you think? Chelsey and I had a lovely chat. Arts, city politics, climate change, whiskey. She has a very agile mind and a wicked sense of humor. Extremely attractive, too. I’d be hard-pressed to think Gavin would have much interest in trading her in for a younger model. In fact, I’d say he’s the lucky one in that marriage. I was with a beautiful young woman myself that night, but I admit, Chelsey made me forget all about her while we were together.”