Paradise Lost

“Insurance?” Ron Haskell repeated. “We had health insurance, and long-term care—”

“What about life insurance?”

“There isn’t much of that,” he said. “Stephen Richardson, Connie’s old man, was the old-fashioned type, not somebody you’d find out pushing for equal rights for women or equal insurance, either. There was a sizable insurance policy on him when he died, but all he carried on Claudia, his wife, was a small five-­thousand-dollar paid-up whole-life policy. Connie told me one time that her father had started ten-thousand-dollar policies on each of his daughters, but Maggie cashed hers in as soon as he turned ownership of the policy over to her. Connie still had hers.”

“For ten thousand dollars?” Joanna asked.

Ron Haskell nodded. “Not very much, is it?” he returned.

“But you’re the sole beneficiary?”

“Yes,” he said. “At least I think I am. That policy was paid up, so it’s not like we were getting bills for premiums right and left. I know Connie talked about changing the beneficiary designation from her sister over to me right after we got married, but I’m not sure whether or not she ever got around to doing it.”

“And that’s all the insurance there is—just that one policy?” Joanna asked.

Ron Haskell met Joanna’s gaze and held it without wavering. “As far as I know, there was only that one. There’s one on me for Connie’s benefit but not the other way around. I know you’re thinking I killed her for her money,” he said accusingly. “But I didn’t. I didn’t have to. When it came to money, Connie had already given me everything, Sheriff Brady. What was hers was mine. I was doing day-trades and looking for a way to give back what she’d already given me. By the time it was over, I sure as hell wasn’t looking for a way to get more.”

“Did your wife have any enemies?”

“How would she? Connie hardly ever left the house.”

“Do you have any enemies, Mr. Haskell?” Joanna asked. “Someone who might think that by getting to her they could get to you?”

He shook his head. “Not that I know of other than Maggie MacFerson, if you want to count her.”

The room was silent for some time before Ron Haskell once again met Joanna’s gaze. “If you’re asking me all these questions,” he said, “it must mean you still don’t have any idea who killed her.”

Joanna nodded. “It’s true,” she said.

“But last night, when I talked to you out at Pathway, you said something about a series of carjackings. What about those?”

“Nobody died in any of those incidents,” Joanna replied. “In fact, with all of the previous cases there weren’t even any serious injuries.”

“And nobody was raped,” Haskell added bleakly.

“That’s right,” Joanna said. “Nobody else was raped.”

“Anything else then?” Ron asked. “Any other questions?”

Joanna glanced in Frank’s direction. He shook his head. “Not that I can think of at the moment,” Joanna said. “But this is just a preliminary session. I’m sure my detectives will have more ques­tions later. When you get back to Phoenix, you’ll be staying at your house?”

“If I can get in,” he said. “There’s always a chance that Connie or Maggie changed the locks, but yes, that’s where I expect to be.” “If you’re not, you’ll let us know?”

“Right,” he said, but he made no effort to rise.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Haskell?”

Ron nodded. “When I came in this morning, I had to fight my way through a whole bunch of reporters,