the finger she held up, waited while she placed a call to one of the other offices.
When she finished her business, she turned to him with her usual expectant petulance. 'I told an Inspector Bracco that you would be here at one o'clock,' she said. 'Which is when you told me that you would be here.'
'I know, Phyllis. I'm sorry. Something came up.'
'And your cell phone broke?'
'You know, now that you mention it'-Hardy held his jacket down over the holster for his phone-'I've been looking all over for the damn thing. Have you seen it? Maybe I left it in my office somewhere. Or the car. I bet I left it charging in the car.'
She shook her head with an icy disdain. 'He waited forty minutes.'
'I'm sure he did. Did he leave a number? We can get back to him.'
'Of course, but I wanted to be sure you were here.'
'As well you should, Phyllis. As well you should.'
'Would you like me to call him now? He may not be far away. It's only been twenty minutes, after all, since he left.'
Hardy considered that for a second. He had thought about driving down the Peninsula and getting some unscheduled time to ambush Mary Patricia Whelan-Miille on his Scholler appeal, but if Bracco was still close to the office, he was all but certain that it would be a short meeting. 'Sure,' he said, 'call him back if he can make it.'
Phyllis started punching buttons. Hardy made it to the door of his office when his cell phone rang on his belt, stopping him in his tracks as he lifted the phone and looked at the display screen. The call was from his office's main number. His shoulders fell and he turned around to face her.
Phyllis, her mouth set in disapproval, shook her head at him. 'Maybe you left it charging in your car. Or maybe not.'
Busted.
'I'll try to reach Inspector Bracco now,' she said.
Bracco could have been the poster child for the good homicide cop. He went about five foot ten, a hundred and seventy pounds of muscle. He wore a tailored camel-hair sport coat over a pair of brown slacks, a light tan dress shirt with a plain brown tie. Under a close-cropped head of straw-colored hair, gray eyes animated his square, ruddy, clean-shaven face.
Now Bracco sipped a cup of freshly brewed coffee and sat comfortably in a leather chair by one of the windows that looked down on Sutter Street. This was in the more casual of the two seating areas that distinguished Hardy's office-the other, formal, more intimidating space with the Persian carpet, the Queen Anne chairs and lion's claw coffee table, complete with doily, claimed the area more or less in front of his large cherry desk.
Hardy went to the twin of Bracco's chair and sat down. He began on a conciliatory note. 'I'm sorry you had to wait last time you were here. There was some confusion about my schedule.'
Bracco turned up a palm, dismissing the apology. 'You're doing me the favor, seeing me at all. I appreciate it.'
'Sure. But I told Abe it'd probably be pretty slim pickins.'
'That's what he said. He also said you offered to have one of your people go through Bowen's files, but that you didn't expect to find Mrs. Bowen's diary in them.'
'Only because she would have still been writing in it, I presume, when the files had already been removed here to our storage. Glitsky said you weren't even sure there actually was a diary.'
'No. Well, Jenna-Bowen's daughter-she's pretty sure there was a diary. Although I went through the house again this morning with a comb and nothing turned up.'
'Well.' Hardy wasn't sure where he fit in this picture, but he didn't want to give Bracco the bum's rush after his wait earlier. Let the man at least finish his coffee. 'I can't speak for the files we've already finished with, but if you want me to light a fire under this, we can probably get through the rest of them in a couple of days. I've just gotten back to the office, otherwise I would have had somebody on it already. Is there some kind of hurry I don't know about?'
Bracco shook his head. 'Just Jenna, to be honest with you. For the first few weeks after her mom's death, she was pretty much out of commission with grief. Now she's trying to process it, close the book one way or the other. If there's a diary and some clue…' He shrugged. 'Anyway, so no, there's no real hurry, but I feel like a owe her another look if it's that important to her. And it is.'
Hardy sat back and crossed his legs. 'So I take it you had the mom's case?'
'Right.'
'And you were okay with the coroner's call?'
'Pretty much.'
'Did you see anything or talk to anybody that made you think it wasn't a suicide?'
'Generally, no. I mean, her husband had vanished a few months before. She'd made plans to go to Italy this summer, but the general feeling was that that was to try to put the desertion behind her, not to party. Most of her friends, and I talked to a lot of them, described her as devastated and depressed.'
'So what's her daughter's take?'
'I think pretty much the usual. Her mother just wouldn't have done that. That's not who she was. Then she points to the Europe trip. Hanna-the mom-was evidently pretty frugal. Tight as a drum, Jenna says. She would never have bought tickets to Italy and not used them. She would have killed herself afterward.'
Hardy allowed a small grin. 'I know some people like that. Although putting off your own suicide until after you get your money's worth might be stretching it. And that's it? That's the daughter's reason she thinks it wasn't suicide?'
'Originally, basically, yes.' Bracco drank some coffee, stared out the window for a moment.
Hardy had the impression he was trying to decide if he should say any more and thought he could help him along. 'That's a lot of disclaimer you're throwing around. Originally. Basically. Do you have some doubts yourself? Is that why you're digging here?'
Bracco's mouth pursed as he continued to wrestle with whatever it was. 'It was their rope, she slung it over a beam in the garage, got up on a little step-up ladder, and dropped off.'
'But…?'
Noticing that his coffee was finished, Bracco came forward in his chair and put the cup and saucer on the low table in front of him. Now he looked straight across at Hardy. 'None of this worried me too much at the time, you understand. I had three other actives. This one went to the coroner and went away in a couple of days. It wasn't until Jenna called me back a few days ago that I looked at it again.'
'And?'
'And her neck was broken.' He paused, then made his point more clearly. 'Regular slipknot, no hangman's noose, fifteen-inch fall.'
'You're thinking she should have strangled.'
'Most people, those same conditions, that's what happens.'
'But not always? Did you ask Strout?' This was the city's medical examiner, who'd ruled the death a suicide.
'He says he's seen a few where the fall and the weight breaks the neck.'
'Well, there you go.'
'Nobody who weighed as little as she did, though. A hundred and five pounds.' Hardy made no response; by itself this was interesting, certainly, but not conclusive. 'And then,' Bracco went on, 'there was the other thing Jenna didn't think about originally, but remembers now.'
'What was that?'
'That her mother had decided that Charlie didn't just disappear. That he'd been killed.'
'Someone in her position,' Hardy said, 'that could easily be wishful thinking. That he didn't leave her, he was taken from her instead. Big psychological difference.'
'Yeah,' Bracco said, 'but the main thing is that Jenna says her mom was on a mission to find out who killed her dad and wouldn't have killed herself in the middle of it.'
'Maybe she got to the end and found he'd really run out on her.'
