Mike stopped him. “Please, Terry. Not at all. I know what you mean. And I think, yes, you can maybe take some comfort in that. It’s alright to do that.”
Terry sort of blurred out again, not seeming to look anywhere or at anything in particular, his hands still limp on the table. Mike thought that there was no comparison of suffering. Even if Harriet hadn’t died a slower death like Molly, it was heartrending enough on its own. Her death had been surprising and terrible and certainly painful. And Terry was retired; he didn’t have work to help distract him, or a young child to raise. He was sixty-one, had planned to travel with his wife, maybe sell their house, begin a whole new chapter of their lives. It was all cut short. It would never be.
“How’s Victor?” Mike asked. “He get back home okay?”
Terry nodded, slowly, distantly. “He did.”
“How old is he? He’s twenty-eight, right?”
Another slow nod.
“Did Victor go to high school here? In Lake Placid?”
“He did, for part of it. We bought our first place in ’79, in Lake Haven. We were there about twenty-five years. Then they changed the law, so Harriet could live outside the county, and we’d had our eye on this place. We moved in… well, Victor was in the middle of high school.”
Mike nodded and did the math in his head – the Fogartys had moved to Placid around 2005. “This place must’ve cost you. Lot of acreage, higher comps in Lake Placid.”
“I was able to get a loan, sell off some of the timber right away, pay some of it back. Then Harriet’s parents passed, we took the inheritance and paid off more. The rest went to Victor’s tuition.”
After letting those facts settle in: “So how are you… are you going to be okay, at this point?”
“You mean money? I have my pension,” Terry said. “And some investments. And in a few years I’ll get social security. Is that what you’re asking – do I benefit financially from my wife’s death?”
Mike thought about how to respond. “I’ll be honest with you, Terry. I’ve considered it. But I have to; that’s my job. I have to look at everything and everybody where there might be a motive.”
Terry’s gaze had become sharp. “And you think I have a motive. To kill my wife. Could you have ever killed your wife, Mr. Nelson? Even if it meant you’d get some money out of it?”
“No. But like I said, I’d be doing your wife a disservice if I didn’t at least consider the possibility.”
A heavy silence followed, and then Mike asked, “Was that tough for Victor when you moved? Changing schools at that age?”
Terry took another long breath and seemed to relax. “Victor didn’t have any trouble. Always had his eye on the prize – getting good grades, getting out of the area. We’re not big sports people, Rita and me. I do a little bit of cross-country skiing, and we love to hike, but Victor really got into the team sports. He had the physique for it. He’s big, on my father’s side. He ran track, he was on the wrestling team, and he played lacrosse.”
“Sounds like quite a kid.”
Outside, the dogs had settled down – or, rather, they were both intent on something in the grass, their noses down, paws working. After another gap in the conversation, Mike asked, “Joe left to go to back home, is that right?”
“Yes. Went back Wednesday.”
“You think Joe’s not telling us something? About the place in Gloversville?”
Terry seemed to tense, the way Mike had seen him do during their meeting earlier in the week. “The only thing Joe is doing is downplaying his brother’s menace,” Terry said. “Steve is a violent, callous son of a bitch, and I’m glad he’s locked up. He threatened Rita before, on multiple occasions.”
Mike said, “When we were all meeting, at my office, Victor said something to Joe. He said, ‘Yeah, you’re sorry, Uncle Joe.’ Do you know what he meant?”
“No. I don’t. He was upset.” Terry gestured with his hands. “Why is Steve just sitting there, no murder charge? He’s got a lawyer now. He’s going to get out, be out there, walking around. What does it take to put a guy like him away?”
The temperature in the room seemed to rise. Mike said, “If Steve would’ve stood to gain something, we’d have a clearer motive. But Harriet’s share of the property goes to you and Victor. And—”
“His motive is hate and revenge.”
“I don’t discount that, believe me. Can you think of anyone who might… Who are Steve’s friends around here?”
“I have no idea. I doubt he has any.”
“Steve has someone who says he was with them during the time of death.”
“And you believe this person? Why? Who is it?”
“I can’t tell you that, I’m sorry.”
Terry was becoming more aggravated, color blooming in his cheeks, lower lip quivering. It killed Mike to upset the guy, after all he’d been through. But he had to ask. “Victor seemed to… I don’t know. Do you remember it? Is there something between him and Joe? Has Victor spent a lot of time with Joe?”
“Joe was defending Steve, who is the one who probably killed her – Victor was angry. There’s nothing between Joe and my son. Mr. Nelson, are you finished? Or are you about to insinuate Steve was in collusion with Joe, or even my son?”
One of the dogs started barking. Mike saw that it was the black lab, and it was facing the house. The brown one joined in, both of them pointing toward the kitchen as they barked, as if sensing the tension.
Mike asked, “Did you have a talk with Joe, after your wife died, but before coming into my office, about Joe giving up his share of the estate? After you helped Harriet decide to leave Steve out?”
A dark vein was showing at Terry’s right temple. “That’s what Joe told you?”
The dogs kept barking outside. Mike folded his arms, waited.
“I talked to Joe, yes,” Terry said. “About my wife. About his sister. Before he got his flight out. We talked about her. We talked about her memorial service, her eventual burial. As soon as someone finds her goddamn killer and we can have her back.”
“You didn’t talk about the property?”
Terry glowered a moment, then said, “I think I’d like you to leave now. I’m very sorry to learn about your wife, but please go.”
“Okay. But you should know – that’s what Joe has told us. That it wasn’t worth any of this – he didn’t want the place in Gloversville if it meant infighting.”
Terry stabbed a finger at Mike. “Well maybe that’s what my son was upset about, okay? Maybe Joe should have thought of that before. About what that stupid, rundown farm was doing to Harriet’s family! Joe held onto his half, and he’s out there in Utah, and we see him once every two years. Meanwhile Steve is like a fucking beggar, coming around, threatening Rita. You want evidence? You want to know why I thought Cecilia should cut him out? Here, let me show you this—”
Terry stood up abruptly, his chair scraping over the plank floor, then stalked off into the other room, leaving Mike alone in the kitchen. He listened to Terry slamming drawers, rummaging around for something, muttering curses. Finally, he walked back into the kitchen, sweating, looking crestfallen. “I can’t find it.”
“What?”
“A letter. From Steve to Rita.”
“A letter?”
Terry waved a hand. “Steve never got into computers, doesn’t email, nothing. He sent a letter, just after Cecilia died. Rita stuck it away somewhere – I can’t find it.”
“What was in it?”
Terry stood there with his shoulders drooping, his color ashen, eyes haunted. “Listen to me. Because this is everything. After this, I don’t want anyone else bothering me. Understand?”
Mike was silent.
“Steve wanted that property. Wanted it bad. Joe says he waxed and waned on it, but I remember Steve kept up a real effort, just wouldn’t shut up. He tried to get Rita to give up her half, to give it to him, and when she refused, he tried to get Joe to give up his. Because he thought if Joe gave his up, Rita would want out.”