by Lee Harris
“Married?”
“Both of them.”
“But the dinner was just the men.”
“That’s the way it always was. They loved being together, making their own celebrations.”
“What did Val do?”
“Val works with computers. He builds clones to fit clients’ needs. He services them.” She used the present tense with determination.
“What’s happening now that he’s not there?”
“His partner is running the business.”
“When did you hear about the tragedy?”
“The next day, the fifteenth. My office called me. I flew back from Chicago, but there wasn’t anything I could do.”
“Whose car was found near the lake?”
“Matty’s. He had a big four-wheel drive. Where he lives, you need one, and it’s one of his big-boy’s toys.”
“Carlotta, I don’t see where I fit in all this. I can’t imagine what you want me to do.”
“I have a theory.” She crossed her legs. “I think the idea to walk across the lake was Matty’s. Matty’s crazy, always has been. He’s a practical joker, a dare-taker. He makes me nervous, although I’ve always been careful what I said about him to Val. Clark is kind of a quiet guy, though when the three of them got together, they were always boisterous. I’m trying not to point a finger. I want to be fair. I’ve known these people—and their wives—for as long as I’ve known Val. But if I had to make a judgment, I would say Matty said, ‘Hey, let’s walk across the lake to Canada. We may not have another chance for a lot of years.’ And I think Clark probably went along with him because it’s what Clark always did. But Val isn’t stupid, he doesn’t take chances, he’s a grown-up, not just a big kid that dresses like a man. I don’t think Val went with them.”
“That’s a big theory. Can you back it up?”
“Not with anything hard. But I know my husband. He knew the value of life, the value of our marriage. I don’t think he’d take a chance like that.”
“That’s very interesting,” I said. “But where is he if he didn’t go with them?”
“That’s what I want you to find out.”
So that was the story, and I turned her down. She had no proof whatever that her husband had not drowned in the icy waters of Lake Erie on the night of Valentine’s Day, nor had she any idea where he might go if he had not accompanied his friends. No one had heard a word from any of the three men since they had left the restaurant that night, and apparently, no one expected to. A university scientist predicted that the bodies would surface, if at all, in late May or possibly early June, depending on the water temperature, and until then, there was nothing anyone could do but wait. The other two wives, Carlotta told me, accepted their husbands’ fate and presumed they were dead. One of them had had a funeral service for her husband a few days ago, but the other was waiting for the bodies to be recovered. It was a very sad affair, made worse by the not knowing, by the little ray of hope that lives in all of us when we cannot prove that the worst has happened.
I pressed Carlotta for reasons why her husband, if he were still alive, would not come home, but she had no answers for me. The story had come out smoothly until her bombshell; then it faltered. Would the other two men have crossed the lake without Val? She couldn’t be sure. If Val had decided not to accompany them, why would he not have simply returned home? Well, the car wasn’t his, but, of course, there were taxis, there were neighbors who might be persuaded to come out and pick him up, although none had come forward.
There was nothing to go on except her strong feeling that her husband was the smartest of the three and therefore still alive. I told her that wasn’t enough for me and besides, I was involved in another investigation, I had my teaching, I had a husband I didn’t want to leave. She was very understanding, and we agreed that if anything happened, if her husband or either of the others turned up somewhere, she would let me know. And when that time came in the spring, if indeed the bodies surfaced, I wanted to know about it.
She promised she would keep me informed, and she left a few minutes before twelve, before Jack returned from his Saturday morning ramblings among lumber and power tools.
Amy Grant called me twice, several weeks apart, to tell me that nothing had happened. And that was the last I heard until I answered the phone that beautiful spring day and heard Carlotta’s voice.
2
There was a hopeful note in her voice as she said there had been an interesting surprise. “What happened?” I asked.
“Only two bodies have surfaced, Matty’s and Clark’s.”
“Your husband’s still missing?”
“Yes, and if his body doesn’t turn up very soon, they’re going to be out looking for him.”
“Why? Couldn’t it have gotten tangled in stuff at the bottom of the lake?”
“I suppose it could have, but there’s something else I haven’t told you. There’s a bullet in Matty’s body.”
“He was shot?”
“Before he went into the water. So Val’s a prime suspect.”
“That is a shocker. Did Val own a gun?”
“Not that I ever knew about. The police have already run a check. He never registered one. Matty owned hunting guns, of course. He was a big hunter. It’s why we gave him the red scarf for Christmas last year, so he wouldn’t get himself shot. I guess it didn’t work.” It was a rather flip comment from a woman whose husband was a suspect in the murder.
“Do they know what kind of gun was used?” I asked.
“A handgun, not a hunting rifle. It’s not likely he shot himself.”
Not very, I thought. “You told me these three men loved each other like brothers. Could you have been wrong? Could there have been disagreements that might have led to murder?”
“How can I answer that?” she said. “How much does anyone know about any other person? But if there were, I didn’t know about them because Val never said a word, and neither did the others that I ever heard about. And if they weren’t getting along, why did they go out for dinner on Valentine’s Day?”
“To set up an opportunity for murder,” I said.
“If that’s true, then Clark killed Matty, which is what I think happened. I told you in February I didn’t think Val was part of the group on the ice and so far I’ve been proven right. I think the two men went together, got into a fight over something, and Clark shot Matty and they both went down together.”
“What did they fight about?”
“I don’t know.”
“And why was Clark carrying a gun?”
“Chris, I want you to find the answers to all these questions. I think if you do, I’ll find Val. And whatever happened on the lake that night, I want him back.”
“I don’t know, Carlotta. It’s very intriguing. I have to admit I thought you were fantasizing that your husband didn’t join the other two men that night, but it certainly looks as though you were right. I’d love to find out where he was that night, and why he didn’t go with them, and what’s become of him. It’s just that my life has changed since February.”
“Are you tied up in a job?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, I see. That’s wonderful,” she said, almost as an afterthought.
“It is wonderful. I’m feeling fine and I expect to continue to, but I wonder if I just shouldn’t stay close to home.”
“This makes me feel very awkward,” Carlotta said. “I don’t want to press you. You have my number if you want to call, and you can leave a message on the machine if I’m not home. If you think you’re feeling up to it, I’d really like you to take this on. The police have pretty much made up their minds that if Val doesn’t turn up dead, he’s a killer. It’s not much of a choice for me. I think he’s alive and I know he isn’t a killer. If I could give up my job and look for him, I would, but I have to support myself. Will you think about it?”
“I will. Thanks for calling.”
When I hung up, my mi
nd was flooded with questions I wanted to ask. What had appeared to be a foolish venture by three old friends, possibly under the influence, had become much more, much more interesting and sinister. If, as it appeared most simply, Clark had killed Matty and in the scuffle both had broken through the ice, what had happened to Val? Had he witnessed the shooting and run? Had he been shot, too, and was his body stuck on something at the bottom of Lake Erie? Or had he managed to shoot Matty from a great enough distance that he could escape with his life, while poor Clark had stayed behind to help his friend and then died for his efforts? I wondered whether Clark had tried to pull Matty from the icy waters using the red scarf, only to be pulled in himself. But the question I could never get away from was what had happened to Val and where was he, dead or alive?
“Only two bodies?” Jack said, when we were sitting at the kitchen table for his late supper after returning from evening law classes.
“You sound as surprised as I am. When she told me all that stuff in February, I thought she was dreaming.”
“Where did Carlotta say she was when all this disaster happened?”
“Chicago, I think. Anyway, on a business trip. Val took her to the airport after they had lunch together.”
“I suppose it’s true,” Jack said. “Her company would have called her there to tell her the news—if they knew before she got back that her husband was missing and presumed drowned. But you know the drill, Chris. Check the items you can verify, establish facts, then go on to the rest of it.”
“You think she’s involved in those deaths?”
“You know me. I don’t think anything, not at this point anyway. It’s too early to be thinking. It’s evidence-collecting time. But that’s one weird story.” He filled his plate again. “So a dumb prank by a trio of men who should have known better turns out to be a homicide. I don’t have to ask you if you’re interested.”
“Carlotta wants me to look into it. She says the police have decided that if Val isn’t dead in the lake, he’s a living murderer.”
“Pretty obvious assumption. But she’s holding out for a third possibility, right?”
“Right.”
“Alive and innocent. So why did he run? And did he run before or after the killing? Does he know there’s been a killing?”
“If he didn’t know when he ran, he must have found out about it soon after. It was in the papers, on TV. He couldn’t really have missed it.”
“Unless he went far away, maybe out of the country. But what did he use for money?”
“I haven’t asked Carlotta about bank accounts, but I’d guess the police are looking into that now. And I wonder if she can tell if he stopped off at home to pick up some clothes before he left. Maybe he went home, Jack. Maybe he’s home, he goes to sleep, he wakes up the next morning, ready to go to work, and turns on the news.”
“They don’t know about it yet, Chris. It’s too early. True, the men didn’t return home, but I’ll bet that wasn’t the first time. Their wives may even have been used to it, may have been waiting for their husbands to toddle home after a hard night at the bar rail. It takes awhile to make the decision that he should have been home a couple of hours ago. So wife number one calls wife number two and finds out both the husbands are missing. Wife number three, of course, is on a business trip so no one reaches her. But no one answers at her house, so the other two wives know husband number three isn’t home either.”
“But when the three men don’t show up for work, everyone gets the message and someone calls the police.” I got up and brought the coffee to the table. “And that’s when everyone starts to panic.” I poured and brought over a box of store-bought cookies. “So that means that if Val went home, he didn’t answer the phone when the other wives called, which is suspicious in itself, or he was already gone by morning.”
“I love it,” Jack said. “And you do, too.”
“I do. I wonder if anyone took Carlotta seriously in February when she said she didn’t think her husband would have crossed the lake with the others. That would have been the time to check the taxi companies and the buses. It’s months later now, and no bus driver would remember a particular passenger that rode his bus on February fourteenth. A taxi driver might, though, especially if he saw pictures on the news of the men who were missing. If Val was trying to disappear, I think he would have gotten on a bus to anywhere rather than take a taxi to his home.”
“That makes sense,” Jack said. “It also means he planned this disappearance, making him look like a good suspect for the homicide. You want to take this on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you know. You’re just worrying about what I’m worrying about.”
A bit of tissue that was half his and half mine and would be our first child before year’s end. “Maybe I should ask the doctor.”
“What’s she going to tell you? That flying in a plane and doing some legwork won’t hurt, and the exercise is good for you?”
I smiled. “Probably.”
“How do you feel?”
“As good as the day I met you.”
“You nervous?”
“Yes, I’m nervous. I’m not nervous about going to teach my class or driving to the supermarket. It’s just that this is so new and so important, and I keep thinking that I’m over thirty and maybe that makes a difference.”
“Did you talk to Dr. Campbell about it?”
“She said she was exactly my age when she had her first child.”
“So there you are.”
“You sound like you’re encouraging me.”
“Chris, we both know you’re going to do this.”
“We do?”
“Don’t we?”
I shook my head. “Maybe we’ve been married too long.”
He leaned across the table and kissed me. “Not long enough. Just watch out for our mutual interest.”
3
Carlotta, of course, was very happy that I had decided to give the case a try. She saw my job as finding Val, dead or alive, wherever he was. I saw it from a larger perspective, figuring out who had killed Matty and, if possible, why, and also, because there had to be some connection, what Val’s role in all of this was. I was pretty sure that answers to any of the questions would lead to answers to all. The first thing I wanted to do, I told Carlotta, besides reading everything in the papers about the Valentine’s Day walk across the lake and the recent discovery of the bodies, was to talk to all three wives.
“I’ll get us all together as soon as you arrive,” she said.
I said, “Great,” and regretted it almost immediately. “On second thought, it might be better if I speak to all of you separately.”
“Why is that?” she said with a wary edge in her voice.
“Because although you may have been best friends before February fourteenth, there’s a large possibility now that one of the husbands killed another of them—or even two of them—and that may not sit well with the survivors.”
“Whatever you say.” But I thought she sounded disappointed, as though she had hoped to hear what the other wives had to say, or perhaps because she had thought she was directing the investigation and now realized that could not be. “When do you think you can come?”
“I teach a class on Tuesday, and we’re coming to the end of the semester pretty soon. I don’t want to fly up tomorrow and rush back on Monday. Let’s say I’ll come up next Wednesday and stay till the following Monday, if I have to. In the meantime, if anything happens,” I was sure she knew what I meant, “let me know. I can always cancel the flight.”
“You still think Val’s body will surface, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what to think. I have so many questions I’ll probably go nonstop for days. One of the people I want to talk to is your husband’s business partner.”
“Why?”
Again there was the edge to her voice. “Carlotta, partners are intimates. Whether they love or hate each other, they know a lot about eac
h other. If a man is making—or getting—phone calls, his partner is sure to be aware of it. Sometimes mail is sent to the business address instead of the home address. I have to know these things. If you have a problem with any of this—”
“No, of course not. I just hadn’t really thought about what an investigation entails. When the men disappeared in February, it was assumed to be an accident and the police hardly questioned me. I just have to get used to looking at this differently. I’ll cooperate with anything you want to do, Chris. There won’t be any problems. And you’ll stay with me, if that’s all right.”
“It’s fine.”
“I have a big house, and you can use Val’s car. I start it every once in awhile to keep the battery going. It’s in good shape and it’ll be better when it’s driven.”
“Then I’ll see you next Wednesday?”
“Yes. I’ll get you a plane before noon, and I’ll pick you up myself at the Buffalo airport.”
“And you’ll arrange for me to talk to Val’s partner.”
“I’ll call him right away.”
I must admit to an immediate surge in my spirits. Not only was it spring, with all the pleasure that the fresh air and sunshine give me, but I was embarking on one of those great journeys I had come to look forward to in the last two years, digging for information, development of a theory, and finding who knew what—a killer or killers, a victim or victims, a reason, a motive, an explanation I could not begin to imagine on the day I began.
And more than that, I sensed it was my last case, at least for a long time. With a baby coming I would not be hopping on a plane to go anywhere, not even picking up and going into the city for a day. I knew about as little about babies as one could at my age; I had never had anything to do with them after an occasional job as a sitter when I was young, and I had sat only with children whom I could talk to. Diapers were a mystery. I was aware that they had been transformed from cotton to disposable only because I saw shelves of them in the local supermarket and occasionally caught an ad on TV. I had a lot to learn, and I would do it at home with my child.
