'Is this the Swenson residence?' Marta asked, with the associate sitting close enough to hear the voice on the telephone receiver. She felt strangely silly, like they were schoolgirls making phony phone calls. In a way, they were.
'This is the Swensons',' said the woman on the other end of the line.
'May I speak to William Swenson, please?'
'That would be my husband.'
'Is he in?'
'He's dead. My husband is dead.'
'I'm sorry, I didn't know,' Marta said, caught off-balance, and Judy deflated like a hot air balloon.
'He died in a car accident four years ago. A drunk driver crossed the median.'
'I'm sorry to hear that.'
'Thank you. Can I help you with something?'
'No, thank you,' Marta said. 'Thanks again for your time.' She pressed down the plastic hook. 'Read me the next phone number.'
'Say please.'
'Before the jury gets back.'
'I hear you,' Judy said quickly, and read off the number.
* * *
Marta punched in the phone number, albeit in a darker mood. She had to solve this thing and she had to solve it soon. She couldn't shake the thoughts of Bogosian or Mary. Was there a killer out there now? Waiting? 'Is this the Minton residence?' she asked when a young woman picked up.
'Yes.'
'May I speak with Helen Minton?'
'That's not very funny, you know. You're a real jerk, whoever you are.'
'Excuse me? What? I have to speak with Helen Minton.'
'No joke?'
'Yes. Absolutely.'
'My mother was murdered,' the woman said with the flatness of deep anger.
'Oh, I'm sorry,' Marta said. What was going on here? 'I'm very sorry.'
'I thought everybody knew, at least around here. She was killed in the pharmacy during a holdup. The scum who shot her just got to court. Sitting there every day with his fancy lawyer, tryin' to beat the rap.'
Marta couldn't ignore the pang she felt. 'I'm sorry. Really sorry.'
'Almost four years later, to the day. That animal had four more years than my mother.'
'I'm sorry. I wish you the best. Thanks,' Marta said and hung up quickly. Hadn't the other woman said four years, too? What did it mean? It seemed too coincidental. Marta was almost there, she could feel it. 'Read me the next number. Quick.'
Judy recited the number and Marta punched it in. 'Is this the Jacobs residence?'
'Yes,' said a young man's brusque voice.
Marta braced herself. 'May I speak to Sherry Jacobs, please?'
'Nope. Sherry died about four years ago.'
Marta stopped. Four years. Bingo. 'I'm so sorry.'
'Don't be sorry. Sherry wasn't the nicest person in the world. I'm her brother-in-law, take it from me. She used to torture my wife somethin' awful. 'You're too this, you're too that.' She could be a real bitch.'
'I see.'
'She left all her money to a dog, can you believe it? Put my wife through the wringer and left two hundred grand to a Welsh corgi. The only good thing she ever did was die and give her body to science. I feel sorry for the schmo who gets her heart. It's empty.'
'What?'
'Her heart. Sherry was an organ donor. Now what did you say your name was?'
* * *
Marta tried another number with a new attitude. 'Is this the Walters residence?'
'Yes,' said a woman's voice. Someone was playing piano in the background. 'But I'm giving a lesson now.'
'Just one minute, we're checking our records. Is it true that one Ronald Walters passed away four years ago?'
'Thereabouts. Yes.'
