husband’s blood on the floor to put her daughter to bed?
Emotions were a strange thing. Lorraine had gone from wild crying to frightening calm. In between she’d tried to appear as normal as possible for Tammy’s sake. Her little girl refused to be separated from her. Like it or not, the detective had resigned himself to letting her stay on Lorraine’s lap while they talked.
“Who do you think might have done this?” he asked.
Lorraine’s mind flashed to Martin, standing nervously before her in their apartment.
Lorraine shook her head. “I have no idea.”
Could the detective see the questions in her eyes? The confusion and guilt? In the closet she’d heard gunshots but convinced herself she hadn’t. She couldn’t afford to deny reality again. Martin, her loyal, law-abiding Martin, had gotten himself mixed up in something. Even when he came home last night, hadn’t he acted a little odd? Lorraine figured it was shock. But now that she thought about it, he hadn’t seemed shocked
Or was she remembering all wrong?
“Know of any enemies he had?” the detective pressed. Lorraine stared dully at a deep scratch in the wooden table. “Martin doesn’t have any enemies. He’s such a good man.” She couldn’t bring herself to speak in the past tense.
A member of the Mafia had killed her husband in cold blood. And what might that man do to her and Tammy if she talked?
How had Martin met
Detective Tuckney shifted in his chair, and the legs creaked. “How did your husband act last night when he came home after the bank robbery?”
Lorraine kept a poker face. The detective
Detective Tuckney gave her a moment. “You don’t think the two could have been related?”
“How? Why would those bank robbers even know where we lived?”
He spread his hands.
“And if they wanted to kill him, why didn’t they do it last night? Why would they — why would
And one of them had been wearing all black — like the robbers. The driver had at least been wearing a black shirt. She hadn’t seen him from the waist down.
Lorraine’s eyelids flickered.
“Look, can I just go now? I don’t know what else to tell you. I just don’t . . . I don’t know anything right now.”
Detective Tuckney gave a reluctant nod. “I appreciate your time. You have someplace to go for awhile? We’ll want to know where to get hold of you.”
Before the interview Detective Tuckney had called Nate Houger, Lorraine’s landlord and boss who lived in New York, and told him what had happened. The AC Storage office would have to be closed for the day, the detective told him. Sitting next to her apartment, the office was also taped off as part of the crime scene. Lorraine asked Mr. Houger for a second day off, and he said okay. She couldn’t imagine returning to work — answering the phone, posting payments — as if nothing in her life had changed.
“There’s a motel about a mile from our place,” she said. “I’ll stay there.”
“Okay.” Tuckney had pushed back from the table and stood. “Let me go check on something. Be right back.”
And now Lorraine waited.
Those two men last night at the storage unit . . . She calculated the time. It would have been soon after the bank was robbed. While Martin was being questioned by police.
But that was crazy. Why would they put the money
Why not? Maybe it was the perfect place. If Martin had been pulled into the crime, and his wife just happened to manage storage rentals . . .
Detective Tuckney returned. For a searing second Lorraine considered telling him everything. Her argument with Martin, the Mafia man at the apartment, the two men at the storage unit. Whoever did this to Martin, Lorraine wanted to see him
But a member of the Mafia? She had a young daughter to protect. A little girl now without a daddy. What would Tammy do if she lost her mother too? And how could Lorraine imply anything to the police that would connect Martin to the robbery? He was dead, and now she wanted to drag his reputation through the mud? It would be all over the newspapers. People would accuse him of being some awful criminal, people who never even knew him.
The words dribbled down Lorraine’s throat.
“All right.” Detective Tuckney placed his hands low on his hips. “I’ll take you back to your car at the storage place. If you want I can go into the apartment and get a few items for you and your daughter before you go to the motel.”
Lorraine shuddered at the thought of strangers examining Martin’s body.
“No. It’s okay.”
They drove to the apartment in silence. Tammy fell asleep in the backseat, head lolling. For once Lorraine was glad for her daughter’s tiring sickness. If only she could sleep through this herself. If only she could sleep through the rest of her life.
Beyond the crime-scene tape at her apartment, the media had gathered. Lorraine saw two news vans and other cars. Five reporters hurried toward the detective’s vehicle, TV and still cameras raising up. Lorraine hunched over and buried her face in her arms.
“Sorry about this. I’ll deal with them.” Detective Tuckney slid out.
Lorraine heard him asking the reporters to “Get back, please — I’ll answer what questions I can over there.” Multiple voices — men and women — shouted questions at him.
Something banged against the backseat window behind her. Lorraine jerked around to see a still camera aimed through the glass at her sleeping daughter. Instant rage rocketed up her spine.
“No!” She leapt from the car and rushed the reporter. “Get away!”
He whirled toward her and aimed his camera. It clicked twice.
“Stop, whoa!” Detective Tuckney ran around the front of the car and grabbed her arm. A uniformed officer appeared, pushing the reporter back.
“Mrs. Giordano, I heard you were at home at the time of the murder,” one reporter called. “Did you see the suspect?”
“Mommy!” Tammy’s wail filtered from the car.
Lorraine wrenched from the detective’s grasp and flung Tammy’s door open. Her fingers shook as she unbuckled the seatbelt and pushed her daughter over. She crawled into the car and slammed the door. Wrapping her arms around Tammy, she hid her little girl’s face in her chest. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Together they rocked and cried.
