“Let’s recap,” Detective Goldman said. “Owen tells us he met his wife five years ago. But we find a picture of him on Irene’s camera roll from fourteen years back. When we show the evidence to Owen, he has a brain melt—a convincing one, I admit—and suddenly remembers that he spent a night with Irene in London back then. He also remembers a rather damning story she told that night. Do you believe him?”
“I think I do,” Burns said. “Memories are flexible and unreliable. And he seemed genuinely confused.”
“If we believe him,” Goldman said, “all it tells us is that Leo is a creep. What does it give us for Irene’s murder?”
“Not sure. But it does establish Leo’s murky ethics. It’s possible he thought he’d get something upon Irene’s death. Either way, let’s bring him in.”
“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?” Goldman said.
“Well, I won’t not enjoy it.”
An hour later, Whitman was sitting in an interview room with Detective Burns. Noah watched the proceedings on a monitor. Burns started the interview by asking for insight into Irene and Owen’s marriage.
“I can’t say I was hopeful about it, even at the beginning. Of course, not in a million years did I think it would end like this. God, her mother would kill me if she knew I let this happen,” Leo said.
“You’re saying that Owen and Irene’s marriage was always rocky?” Burns asked.
“Indeed.”
“In what way?” she said.
“The usual. Fights and infidelity.”
“Both of them were having affairs? Or just Owen?” Burns asked.
“I’m sure you know more than I do,” said Leo. “May I ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“How common is it for someone to be shot in broad daylight without a single witness?”
“Not common,” Burns said. “But the cemetery wasn’t a heavily trafficked area.”
“Can’t you trace the gun through ballistics?” Leo said. “I’m ashamed to admit I’ve watched a few episodes of Law and Order in my day.”
“The gun would have had to be used in a previous crime,” Burns said.
“I see,” Whitman said.
“What was Irene’s relationship like with her mother?”
“Fraught. Well, more so when Irene was younger.”
“Fraught how?”
“Chantal was conservative in many ways. She had some trouble with Irene’s lifestyle.”
“Lifestyle?”
“Nothing unusual. Late nights, drinking, smoking hash. I don’t think she was into anything harder, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Tattoos?”
“She didn’t have any tattoos,” Leo said. Then, after a pause: “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Do you remember how they were getting on before your wedding?”
“There was definitely some tension,” Leo said.
“About what?”
Leo took a moment to consider the question. Or pretend to consider it, Burns thought.
“Chantal didn’t want Irene to have blue hair in our wedding photos.”
“She had blue hair, did she?”
“Yes,” Leo said, smiling, remembering. “She was something back then. Not that Irene wasn’t an attractive older woman.”
“I apologize,” Margot said. “I’m not following. Who are we talking about?”
“Irene.”
“She was thirty-six when she died,” Burns said. “That’s an older woman to you?”
“Older than she was, that’s all I meant. Don’t take offense, Detective.”
Burns felt the lascivious tone that Owen had described. Mann’s story was adding up, at the very least.
“How much money has Irene given you in the past year?” Burns asked.
“Pardon me?”
“We know that Irene gave you fifteen thousand in April. That’s the limit for tax-exempt gifts,” Burns said.
“Well, we are family,” Leo said.
“Was she just being generous, or were you having financial problems? Doesn’t have to be one or the other,” she said.
“I think Irene felt guilty about the way her mother’s estate was settled. I was married to the woman and she left virtually everything to her daughter.”
“It was my understanding that Chantal established a trust in your name,” Burns said. “What happened to that?”
“It was hardly anything,” Leo said. “It kept me afloat a few years.”
“When the trust ran dry, Irene continued to give you money,” Burns said.
“She helped out now and again. It was the least she could do.”
“How much did she give you in the last two years?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ballpark.”
“Are you moonlighting for the IRS, Detective?”
“I’m trying to make sense of the numerous cash withdrawals Irene made in the last six months. If all of those funds went into your account, that’s fine. As you said, you were family. But let’s say she was giving money to someone else. Maybe there was an innocent explanation. Maybe not. Maybe someone was blackmailing her. Either way, we need to know. Would you mind giving us a detailed accounting of Irene’s gifts or loans in the last two years? I promise we won’t rat you out to the feds.”
“Two years. I can barely remember last week,” Whitman said.
“You can go home, review your records, and come back with the information,” Burns said.
“I won’t be able to do that overnight,” said Whitman. “I’ll probably have to contact my accountant.”
“You need an accountant just to print out bank records?”
“I’m afraid I’m terrible with computer stuff.”
“I’m sure your assistant could help you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You hired Amy Johnson, right?”
“For a trial period. I’m not sure it will work out.”
“Why not?”
“Myriad reasons, Detective. Are we almost done?”
“Did you hire Amy because she was Owen’s mistress?”
“Of course not.”
“What was your angle?” Burns asked.
Whitman got to his feet. “I’d like to go home now.”
“Of course,” said Burns. “Detective Goldman will drive you.”
* * *
—
In the car, Leo sat frozen, like a side of beef. Some people got really still when they were scared.
“I love this time of year,” Noah said, genuinely moved by the way the leaves revolted in beauty before they gave up and rejoined the earth.
Silence.
“What, it doesn’t do it for you?” Noah said.
“I prefer the simple austerity of winter,” Leo said.
“Huh. Interesting.”
“You do understand that Irene giving me money is hardly a motive. In fact, it’s the opposite of one,” Leo said. “With Irene dead, so is my benefactor.”
Goldman pulled up in front of Leo’s house.