My drive to the Mission would have been a laugh riot if I’d been in a laughing mood. I got suggestive gestures and horn toots and more than one offer to race, but on the positive side, the car went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat, handled beautifully around curves, and braked on a bottle cap. The motor pool had tooled this crass beast into a first-class cop car.
When I got to the intersection of Mission and Cortland, Conklin was waiting outside a cheap variety store near the corner. He was not alone. Three squad cars were at the curb and a load of interested citizens stood behind the yellow tape. Broken glass glittered on the sidewalk.
Conklin met me at the car and took me over to talk to the first officer, saying, “Officer Dow spoke with the lady a few minutes ago. Dow, tell the sergeant what you told me.”
The uniformed cop was young and keyed up and clearly wanted to make his report.
He said, “Girl in there says she’s had enough of her old man. She shot him and yelled out to me that she doesn’t trust men at all and won’t be taken alive.”
“Father? Or husband?” I asked.
“Husband.”
“SWAT is on the way?”
Dow said, “She says if she sees men in black, she’s just going to blow her brains out. But she’ll talk to you, Sergeant. She saw your picture on the news after the Chinatown bust.”
I was back on the job, working a case that didn’t involve spies or orphaned children or multiple homicides. It wasn’t exactly blue skies with a side of roses, but it wasn’t bad. There was even a chance that I could do some good.
My vest was in the back of my Explorer, which was still undergoing a forensic postmortem at the crime lab, but I was wearing my lucky socks.
I asked Officer Dow, “What’s her name?”
CHAPTER 99
BY 2 P.M., I was home again with my shoes and cell phone off.
Mrs. Rose was at her daughter’s bedside. The victim of the variety store shooting was in stable condition, and the young female shooter had a lawyer and was under suicide watch.
Joe was with Alison Muller at some black site in DC or on foreign soil, and I didn’t know when he was coming back or if I would let him into my life again.
I could make a good case for moving on.
I thought of Alison Muller’s taunts about the closeness of her relationship with Joe, and although she was a five-star liar, he had an equal number of stars on his chest, maybe more, and they made a pretty good pair.
Mrs. Rose liked to say, “When feeling pathetic, make tea.”
I boiled water and took a look at the big pile of mail that had been accumulating for weeks on the kitchen counter. Joe had been paying the bills for a while, but I still knew how to balance a checkbook.
I blew on my tea, switched the radio to Radio Alice, 97.3, for their adult contemporary sound, and put the mail and my computer on the coffee table. I tossed the flyers and catalogs to the floor, separating out the utilities and condo maintenance and the bank statement.
I was going through the statement when I saw a charge for a safe-deposit box that I didn’t know we had. I’m not saying it was a secret. Only that I hadn’t noticed it before.
The time was now 2:35. Our bank was at Ninth Avenue and Clement, five blocks away. If the baby would cooperate, I could get there before closing time.
I went to the drawer in Joe’s office and removed the key I’d found days ago at the bottom of a stationery box. I put on my shoes, strapped Julie into the baby sling, and arrived at the bank five minutes before closing. I told the woman in charge of the vault that I wouldn’t take long. I just had to get into the box before the weekend. It was urgent.
Was it urgent? I asked myself, even as she opened the doors. Was I setting myself up for one more hideous disappointment?
“Please, Mrs. Molinari,” said the vault keeper. “I have an appointment with the coach at my son’s school. I promised.”
Joe’s key had the number 26 engraved on the shaft. The vault lady put her key into one of the locks and I put my key into the corresponding lock. After the tumblers clicked into place, I slid the long metal box out of the cabinet and took it into the tiny viewing room next to the vault.
I fumbled with the hasp and finally got the box open. I stared in at the contents. There were several unsealed envelopes inside. One of them held our condo lease. I found our marriage license, Julie’s birth certificate, and Joe’s father’s death certificate. Under those envelopes was a long flat candy box with gold edging and a stylized drawing of a bow on top.
As I bridged the lid of the candy box with my fingers, preparing to open it, I reflected on the fact that I was snooping—again, but screw it. I was entitled to whatever truth I could find in this haystack of lies a.k.a. my marriage to Joe.
If there were mementos of Joe’s secret life with Alison Muller, I absolutely needed to know.