Pete felt adrenaline surging through him. This hadn’t been in any of the papers. “You found her with another guy?”
Frank’s eyes were wet, his voice almost a whisper. “I came home early one day. I was sick to my stomach and the boss told me to go home. I walked in and I heard noises. In the bedroom. They were . . . they . . .”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Malone.”
“The guy just picked up his clothes and ran past me. I wanted to grab him. Wanted to hit him so damn hard he’d never go near my wife or anyone’s wife ever again. But I was so . . . I just . . .”
His voice trailed off and he passed a hand over his face. It was as though he’d forgotten Pete was there.
“She was crying. I thought she was sorry. I went to her—and she screamed at me to leave her alone.”
Now he looked up. “You know, I would have forgiven her. I never wanted us to split. But she . . .”
Tears filled his eyes and he blinked them away. Swallowed.
Pete gave him a moment and then asked, “Is that why you were going for custody? She was seeing other men?”
Frank nodded. “I thought . . . the guy I caught her with, I thought it was a one-time thing. But Frankie told me . . . he used to tell me that they’d wake up and there’d be men in the apartment. Different men.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t have that. Lord knows what it would do to the kids, growing up like that.”
Pete pushed aside their plates, took out his cigarettes, and offered one to Frank, watched him inhale a little shakily.
“So what happened then, on the thirteenth? You played golf in the morning—then what?”
“Uh . . . I had a drink in the clubhouse with Ed. He left around noon. I had a couple more beers, ate a sandwich, watched the game on TV.”
“You see the whole game?”
“No. I left around two.”
“Did you go home?”
Frank sighed. “I feel dumb saying this. I didn’t tell the cops. But I guess it’ll have to come out.”
Pete tried to make his voice calm. “What will? What did you do?”
“I drove out to Huntington.”
“Huntington?”
“Yeah. To Redwood Drive.”
“Why? What’s out there?”
Frank drained his soda, waited until the waitress had taken his glass.
“There’s a guy who lives out there. Salcito. He’s a friend of Ruth’s.”
He sighed.
“I thought they were . . . you know. I thought they had something going on. That he was another one who . . . that she was having an affair with him.”
“So what was on your mind when you drove out there?”
Frank leaned forward, his face flushed.
“She’s my wife. I wanted to . . . I guess I wanted to teach him a lesson about playing around with another guy’s wife.”
“So what happened?”
A sudden, harsh laugh. “The bastard wasn’t home! I parked on the street, psyched myself up. I walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell. Rang it twice. And no one was home! I could hear a dog barking in back, but no one answered.”
“What did you do then?”
“Just turned around. Drove away.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I was pissed at first. Then I thought maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t home. He might’ve had people with him. A gun, maybe. Anything. Anything could have happened.”
“Where did you go next?”
“I drove around the neighborhood for a while.”
“Were you looking for him?”
“I guess at first I was looking for Ruth’s car. I wanted to be sure she wasn’t there. But I didn’t see it. There were cars everywhere, but they were mostly new. Station wagons, Chryslers. You know, mom cars. But they were mostly shiny, like they were taken care of. I would’ve noticed her car there.
“A while later, I realized I wasn’t even looking for her anymore. I was just driving. It was a nice neighborhood. Quiet. Green lawns. It seemed like a place you’d want to bring up kids.
“Anyway,” Frank cleared his throat. “Anyway, she wasn’t there. Then I drove home and took a nap. Then I watched some TV. About eight, I got hungry, so I headed out along Union Street. There’s a guy has a stand there, makes good pizzas. I bought a large pepperoni. Went home again to eat.”
“Did you stay home the rest of the night?
“Mr. Malone?”
“I drove back to the Union. Went to a bar—the Lakeside. Had a few drinks.”
“What time did you leave there?”
“About eleven. Maybe a little before.”
“You talk to anyone?”
“The bartender, Al. He knows me, I’ve been there a coupla times. He’ll remember me. I was drinking gin. We talked about the Mets game. He’ll remember.”
“You normally drink gin?”
“Felt like a change.”
“Okay, then what? What did you do when you left the Lakeside?”
“Drove around some more.”
“Where did you go?”
Silence. Then: “I went to Ruth’s. I drove to her place and parked outside.”
“How long were you there?”
“I dunno. Fifteen, twenty minutes. There was a light on in the bedroom and in the living room.”
“Did you get out of the car? Speak to her?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone while you were there?”
“No.”