The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

  “What?”

  “You have something to discuss with Frank?”

  “No,” Philip said returning his gaze to her eyes. “Just picking something up.”

  “You may as well have a seat,” she gestured to the chair next to Philip. “I’ve been waiting on him for over half an hour.”

  “Determined,” Philip commented as he sat. “Have you known him long?”

  “What makes you think I know him?” she asked.

  “You knew I wasn’t him,” he said.

  “Maybe I’ve seen his picture?” she challenged.

  “You’re sitting in his chair. You refer to him as Frank rather than Mr. Garcia,” Philip countered. “Signs that you are familiar with the man.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give you that.”

  “So,” Philip said. “How long have you known him?”

  “A while,” she grinned. “Now, my turn. Who are you?”

  Philip smiled. “I’m Detective Philip Smalls.”

  “You work with Frank?” she asked.

  “Not exactly,” Philip said. “But our jobs do entwine from time to time.”

  “Entwine?” she said. “I like that word. But not for you and Frank.”

  “How’s collide?” Philip asked. “Our jobs collide. A more appropriate picture anyway.”

  “Collide?” she repeated seeming to examine the word from a number of different angles. “I like that. It’s the way I would describe the way Frank does things. He collides with them.”

  “You know him well, then,” Philip said.

  “You could say that,” she said, raising a hand to brush strands of dark hair from her face. “As well as anyone could know him anyway. And you?”

  “Only through work,” he said. He crossed his legs and studied her. “How do you know him? You almost sound like you’re married but I don’t see a ring.”

  “Close,” she smiled. “I divorced him about a year ago.”

  “And you still come see him?”

  “Not by choice,” she said. “I’m here because he won’t return my messages. I figure the only chance I’ll get him to talk to me is sit here and wait for him.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Philip said. “There’s a meeting down the hall. He may be in there. I’ll stay and keep you company?”

  “Suit yourself,” she said. “I was getting bored. Before you came, I mean.”

  "You seem young for him," Philip observed.

  "That's what everyone told me," she said. "I didn't listen."

  Philip grinned and leaned forward. They made small talk for a while and were soon asking and answering private questions. They confided things to one another they would never dream of telling anyone. Several times they laughed at Frank’s expense and it felt good. The time passed without notice. When Frank finally walked into his office, they both looked at him with temporary surprise, forgetting where they were and why?

  “Maria?” Frank barked. “What are you doing here?”

  “Getting to know Philip,” she answered. “You won’t return my messages, so I came down to confront you directly.”

  “Messages?” Frank said. “What messages?”

  “Don’t give me that, Frank,” she said. “I left messages on your phone and here at the office for you and I know you got them. You just didn’t bother calling and you know it.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Frank said. “Still am. So, if you’ll excuse me. I have a job to do.”

  “I’m not moving until I get what I came for,” Maria said. “I have papers for you to sign. After that you won’t have to hear from me or see me again.”

  Philip watched Frank’s face while Maria rifled through a small briefcase she had picked up from the floor. In Frank’s eyes Philip could see, without a doubt, why the man never called his ex-wife. Sadness. Philip knew Frank did not call because, as she said, he would probably never see her again. He was holding on to some hope she would return to him. Philip shifted his eyes to Maria who held out the papers. He had only met her less than an hour ago and he too felt a concern he would never see her again.

  “Fine,” Frank said, taking the papers. “I’ll sign your papers and you can go. It’ll be good to have you out of my life for good.”

  He scribbled his signature on the appropriate lines. He flung the pages back to her and rounded the desk. “I have work to do, Marie. You’ll need to leave, now.” He turned to Philip, “You here for the safe?”

  Philip nodded in response. Frank turned away from them and used a key to unlock a door behind him. He stepped through and disappeared from view. Philip glanced at Marie who was busy returning the papers to her briefcase. She looked up at him and smiled. Philip turned back just as Frank emerged carrying a charred metal box in a large, clear plastic bag. He pushed it into the detective’s arms.

  The fire inspector stood behind his desk looking from one to the other. He said, “Why are you both still here?”

  The two of them turned away without a word and left the office. They walked all the way out of the building in silence. In the parking lot, the two of them went to their respective cars preparing to leave.

  Philip lowered the firebox into the trunk of his car. He was aware of someone nearby and turned toward the driver’s side and saw Marie leaning against the car next to his. He smiled at her.

  “I know we just met,” she said. “And I know that you knowing Frank could make things awkward. But I’d love to have a cup of coffee with you. That is if you’re interested.”

  “Well, I . . .” Philip stammered. “I mean . . .”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  She spun on her heals and started walking away briskly. She was a good four cars away before Philip caught up to her.

  “Marie,” he said. “I would love to see you again. It’s just that I’m on duty right now. Maybe after, I could give you a call.”

  “I’d like that,” she said. She reached into her purse and produced a business card. “Here. My cell number is the best way to reach me.”

  “Okay,” he said, taking the card. “I’ll call as soon as I can. If my partner comes up with a lead to follow, it could be late.”

  “Call anyway,” she smiled. “You didn’t mention you had a partner. Where is he?”

  Philip’s eyes grew wide. He was supposed to have met Dave at the Cutter’s almost an hour ago. He excused himself and ran back to his car slamming the trunk as he passed it. He pulled out of his parking space and sped north toward the ranch.

  Chapter 72

  (Peter ‘The Greek’)

  The plane shook and the captain’s voice came over the loud speaker in a calming tone to explain that although air currents were having a negative effect on the smooth ride, there was no danger. The stewardesses moved down the aisle confidently, telling everyone they would be fine. The uniformed woman with long red hair reached the third row of the business class section, repeated the same line she had told each of the other passengers on the way.

  “How ‘bout you get me a vodka-tonic, sweetie?” a large man in a black leather jacket said to her. He sat in the aisle seat and looked up at the stewardess who was looking down at him with surprise in the eyes.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “We aren’t serving drinks right now.”

  “I didn’t ask you to pull your little cart out and ask everyone what they wanted,” the man said in a thick eastern accent. “I asked you . . .” He pointed at her with a meaty finger. “. . . to get me . . .” He pointed at himself. “. . . a vodka-tonic. Now what’s so hard about that?”

  “But, sir . . . “

  The man’s hand moved so fast she didn’t see it coming. The fingers clamped down on her wrist hard and tightened slowly. Tears came to the stewardess’ eyes. She wanted to cry out. Looking into his eyes, she knew she couldn’t. What she saw there was even more frightening than his touch. He pulled her closer to him.

  “You’ll get me my drink now,” he said in a low calm
voice, rivaling the captain’s. “Or I will kill you and everyone you have ever met. And if you mention this,” he shook her arm, “to your captain or authorities, I’ll make sure it’s a slow death. Got it?”

  The woman nodded and the man released his grip on her arm. She instinctively rubbed at the spot he had held her. He grinned at her and her breath caught in her throat. She took a step back glancing up and down the aisle for anyone who might have seen. On this flight the business class was nearly empty. No one was seated where they could have witnessed the exchange. She knew the man was aware as well. She knew deep down there was no way the man could ever kill every person she had ever met. Instinctively she knew killing her would be enough for him. And she was sure he was capable and even willing to do it. She could see all of this in his eyes.

  “What are you waiting for?” he snapped.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. With her head down she walked briskly to the end of the aisle to the food compartment where she could fix the drink.

  She returned, holding out his drink with shaking hands. He looked up at her and saw tears forming in the corners of her eyes and it made him grin again. “Thanks doll face.”

  He leaned into the aisle to watch her walk away. He loved watching women walk away. She would avoid him the rest of the flight, which was okay because they were going to be landing soon anyway. She would not say a word to anyone. The tears told him that. She was too afraid he would carry out his threat. Which, if it came to it, he would. Not here on the plane, or even today most likely. But someday soon she would be in her apartment, wherever it may be, and he would stop in to pay her a visit. He did not make idle threats. They were bad for business.

  He was glad she brought the drink. It would be a shame to have to waste an ass like that. He sipped from his drink savoring the cool liquid. It was good. Sitting back in his seat, he closed his eyes, the grin never leaving his lips.

  As a little kid older boys made fun of Peter DeVine saying he had a sissy name. “Peter’s divine. Peter’s divine.” They tormented him with the chant over and over when they saw him. It was a horrible feeling. He always arrived home after school in tears. His mother would pat him gently and say, “There, there.” It didn’t help.

  Nothing helped until one day his old man looked him in the eye and told him to stop crying and do something about it. He was in middle school. The next time the chanting started, he took a short length of lead pipe he found on the street and started beating one of the boys with it. Others came to their friend’s aid and Peter turned on them. By the time adults arrived to stop him, there were countless broken bones and one kid beaten so bad he never returned to school. Peter was sent to juvenile detention. No one ever made fun of his name again.

  He spent his second stretch in lock up after a college boy tried to rape his younger sister. Although unsuccessful, the boy began bragging that she put out for him. A few days later, Peter caught up with him after a football game. He used a broken broomstick this time, beat him unconscious. Peter then stripped him naked and left him in the center of the football field with a fraternity banner wrapped around his head. He got two years. That was when everyone started calling him Peter ‘The Greek’ even though he never attended college.

  He was released after serving his time with nowhere to go. His parents refused to let him stay with them, afraid of what he might do to them or his sister, even though protecting his sister is why he was in trouble in the first place. So, he took a job with a local mob ring collecting debts. He was good at it. He was able to pay the rent and have some spending money. Soon he moved up the ranks and was in charge of all collections on the east side. For the past ten years he has lived very well. He never saw his parents and only heard from his sister from time to time. So, when she called him while he was eating lunch with some of the boys he was surprised.

  His parents had it wrong all those years ago. He cared a great deal for his family. He adored his sister and would do anything for her. She was why he spent two years in prison, and was glad to do it. He would gladly do it again. Although now that he was more mature and experienced, he knew how to not get caught. His sister knew he cared about her. She knew he would take care of her any way he knew how.

  That was why he was on this plane, flying to a small town in the middle of nowhere. Stephanie called and said there was this man who, if he talked, could ruin things for her. She could lose her job. He offered to pay her bills for her but she insisted she liked her job as an assistant to a literary agent. And she liked her boss. She wanted to protect both. He agreed to fly to this nowhere town, find this nobody man and make sure he never talked.

  There would be some problems. Problems he had faced before. Problems he looked at more as challenges. The man was currently in jail. It would be difficult to get to the man behind bars. Not impossible, but difficult. There was no photo of the man. There was no description because Stephanie had never seen him. All Peter had to go on were the names: Jack Bolder and Allan Tuttle.

  Chapter 73

  (A New Plan)

  Sarah sat in her living room considering her situation and the possible outcomes. Her greatest fear was that the truth about Allan may land her in prison for the rest of her life. At best she would be too old to enjoy life when she was released. Four people were dead because of her. The irony of course was, if none of this had happened, Mike would still be dead. It would have been him on that plane rather than Jimmy. No involvement from her at all.

  Instead, it was her that told Jimmy to strangle Mike. It was her that put Jimmy on that plane. She sent Ray to the cabin. And of course there was Birdie Logan; the one who died by Sarah’s own hand, even if it was just an accident. Add the pain and suffering her actions had caused Allan and the fraud of trying to sell his manuscript, they would lock her up and throw away the key. That’s what she would do if she were the judge.

  She could run. If she took her bag and left right now, she could be at least two states away by the time they realized she was gone. The money she took from the bank account was enough for a new, albeit meager, start. She could abandon her car and buy a cheap ‘get me to where I want to go’ vehicle. She could head somewhere sparsely populated where no one would be looking for her. Or maybe she would go to a giant metropolitan area where she would just blend in to the crowds. Either way she would simply disappear and become someone else. All of this would be behind her. They would look for her. Running would only serve to place the focus on her and help Allan prove his case. Innocent people don’t run.

  If the truth never came out, she could stay in the house, keep her name and make a living selling Allan’s writings as her own. She could make her life what she wanted it to be. She might even find out Detective Parker was interested in her. She liked the idea of the big detective using his handcuffs on her, holding her down and having his way. He was the kind of man she could spending time with, in the bedroom or just a night out on the town. She thought she could even enjoy a life with Dave Parker.

  Everything hinged on Allan or more specifically his identity. At one time she would have thought there was no chance he would be able to stand up for himself, be able to convince the police of the truth. The man who hit Mike in the head with the bookend, the man she saw sitting in the courtroom, that man was nothing like the Allan she married and lived with for nine years. He was more confident, stronger. He was a man who could threaten her plans.

  The thought of Allan unraveling everything she worked so hard to get angered her. She wasn't going give it all up. She wasn’t even willing to give up a small portion. It was hers. She deserved it. And she would have it. She was not going to let him get in the way.

  There was only one way to keep Allan from interfering in her plans. If she wanted to live her life the way she wanted, in peace, she would have to fix the one thing that could take it all away. Allan Tuttle would have to go. It was obvious to her now. She supposed she knew it from the moment she identified Mike's body as Allan. Living with the weak little man for so
long made her sympathize with him. She didn’t want to see him hurt. Even when she sent Ray to kill him, she wasn’t completely onboard with the idea. She just didn’t want to see him at all. Now she knew there were just no other options left to her. Allan would continue to insist on having his life back, and she had no intention of letting him have it.

  She wished Jimmy or Ray were there. It would be handy to have someone willing to do the dirty work for her. However, they were not there. She could not depend on anyone else. She did not want to fail. The night she sent Ray, she wasn’t convinced Allan needed to die. That was why the plan failed. Now there was no doubt in her mind. She would succeed. Allan would die. She would be free to live out the rest of her life.

  It would be impossible for her to get to Allan while he was in jail. She would have to wait until he was released on bail and seize an opportunity to get him alone. Dave mentioned a ranch where Allan was staying with a couple. If she could find the ranch, maybe she could get to him there. If nothing else, she could kill the three of them and make it look like a murder suicide. The idea of killing two complete strangers was not one she took lightly, but the memory of how she felt after Birdie Logan died, the feeling of power, made it palatable. The difficulty with such a plan was that ranchers usually owned guns. Trying to kill three people, at least one of whom might be armed, would be a risky undertaking.

  She could tamper with breaks like she had seen in numerous movies if she knew more about cars. She wasn’t sure where to find a brake line. And there was no guarantee Allan would be in the vehicle when the brakes failed. Another movie method would be the gas stove leak. Her knowledge in that area was limited as well. And so many homes had electric stoves these days. No, she needed something more dependable, something up close and personal. She would have to use a knife or a gun.