Eye of the Beholder

with mine. Leo had some trouble, and his family felt he would be better off here, in the States.”

“What kind of trouble?”

She shakes her head dismissively. “Disciplinary, I assume. I don’t know. His family asked if I would take him and I did.”

“And when was this?”

Koslenko’s sheet showed that he immigrated to America in 1986. He wants to hear Mrs. Lake’s answer.

“Mid-eighties,” she answers. “During the Reagan administration.”

He nods. “And he came to live with you?”

“Yes.” She crosses her leg. “He worked for us. His quarters were here, in fact” She gestures with her hand. “This was my sister Mia’s home, originally. I lived on the other side of town.”

“Where Mr. Bentley still lives.”

She smiles weakly. “We’re both too stubborn to move.”

“Leo, you called him-Leo lived here?”

“Yes. There is a coach house.” Her eyes run over him. He imagines she has made many judgments of many people with those eyes, most of them unfavorable. “Am I to assume that Leo is under suspicion? They mentioned a homicide over the phone.”

“More than one homicide.”

“More than-Oh, dear God.” She touches her face, her hand trembling. “Leo was a sweet boy, but-well, he’d been in therapy. I thought he’d come along quite well.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him or saw him?”

“Oh, quite some time ago.” Her eyes cast off. “Well. Cassie died in June of 1989. I left Harland almost immediately afterward. It was-oh, it was-it was rather chaotic, to say the least.” She picks absently at a fingernail, shaking her head slowly.

McDermott watches her but keeps silent. In his experience, the best Q and A’s are long on the A’s.

She clears her throat with some difficulty and continues. “When I left,” she says delicately, “I never went back. I moved in with my niece Gwendolyn, and I no longer wanted our staff to intermingle. I wanted Harland’s staff to be Harland’s and ours to be ours. I wanted the separation to be complete.”

He nods. “And Leo?”

“Leo probably should have stayed with us, with me,” she says. “But he didn’t.”

“Did Leo stay at Harland’s place?”

Natalia closes her eyes. She brings a hand to her forehead, pushing back hair that is already pushed back. “You would think I would know that answer,” she says. “You would think someone who took responsibility for Leo would see to it that he was doing all right.”

“But you didn’t.”

She offers the tepid smile again. “After my daughter’s death, I was hardly functional for a good year. I’ve had some abuse problems of my own, if you didn’t know.”

He shakes his head no.

“Yes, well-my daughter had been the best antidote.” She sighs, and continues in a flat tone. “I was not sober for at least twelve months after they found Cassie. So no, Detective, I did not know what became of Leo.”

McDermott scribbles some notes on his pad.

“Could you tell me what’s become of him?” she asks.

“I wish I could. Can I ask-the reason for your divorce? So soon after Cassie’s death?”

“You can ask.” She removes a gold case and produces a cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s the only vice I’m allowed.” She lights the cigarette and holds it close to her face, her elbow held high.

McDermott opens his hands.

“Is that really important to your investigation?”

“It might be,” he says.

“I can’t imagine how.”

“Mrs. Lake, in my job sometimes you don’t know what’s important until you discover it.”

The smoke billowing around her face, Natalia picks at her lip with a long fingernail. “That’s rather evasive of you.”

“I’d like the answer, please. I’m in a hurry.”

She smokes her cigarette a moment, as if she’s deciding whether to answer. McDermott thinks she’s deciding how to answer.

“My husband,” she says, “had an ongoing struggle with fidelity.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. He thinks of the note found in Koslenko’s house, the reference to Harland’s relationship with Ellie Danzinger.

“Anyone in particular?” he tries.

She taps her cigarette with earnest in a fancy ashtray. “I suppose the point is that it’s no one in particular.”

McDermott stares at his notepad. At the top of the small page, he has scribbled a few bullet points, a cheat sheet. This line of questioning seems to be hitting a dead end.

“Mrs. Lake, how well did you know Cassie’s friend, Ellie Danzinger?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She shields her eyes, as if she’s avoiding sunlight. “Mr. McDermott, if you already knew, you could have simply told me and spared me the embarrassment”

“You’re talking about Ellie.”

Her hands fly open, her face ashen. “Well, isn’t that the point of this-this dancing around? Yes, Detective, yes-Harland was sleeping with Cassie’s best friend. She was just another beautiful young woman he couldn’t resist. Forgive me,” she adds, her tone softening.

McDermott stays quiet a moment. He’s not good with emotions, especially from women. But this is too important to back off.

“I’m sorry to ask these questions, Mrs. Lake. I’m trying to solve a series of murders. Murders that haven’t stopped. This-affair-was something you discussed with Harland?”

“Oh, God no. Of course not.” Her body is now entirely turned away from McDermott. “Harland would never have wanted me to know about his extracurricular activities.”

McDermott waits her out, but when she doesn’t elaborate he starts, “Then how-”

“Well, Cassie of course.”

He jots another note. This is getting interesting. Cassie knew that Harland was carrying on with Ellie.

“I need some kind of time frame, Mrs. Lake. When did Cassie tell you about Mr. Bentley and Ellie? When was this happening?”

Natalia stands by a window, a hand cupped under her elbow, the cigarette burning near her nose. “You mean,” she asks, “was it near the time Cassie died?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

“Yes. It was that school year. It was within a month of-of when she died.” She turns and looks at McDermott, speaking in a controlled, angry tone through clenched teeth. “One of the