The Day Trader (9 page)

“I won’t. Thanks, thanks a lot,” he says graciously. “I’ll let you get back to work. I won’t take any more of your—”

I hold up my hand to indicate that our conversation is over, and suddenly I feel like Don Corleone. Roger nods obediently and slips out the doorway into the trading room. I know I’ve just committed a cardinal sin in the day trading game. Never take on another person’s problems because ultimately you’ll have enough of your own. But what the hell, he seems nice enough, and I understand where he’s coming from.

Anna comes into the conference room after Roger leaves. She isn’t the blue-eyed blond type I’m typically attracted to, but her sexy body, provocative wardrobe, and Spanish accent make her incredibly seductive.

“Good morning, Augustus.”

“Hi.”

“This came for you a few minutes ago.” She hands me a Federal Express package that’s already been opened.

“Thanks.”

“Talk to you later,” she says with a quick smile.

Inside the FedEx package is a letter-size envelope, and the return address is that of the Great Western Insurance Company. The letter inside makes my mouth run dry. It explains that Great Western has received my claim and that “once a routine investigation is completed without exception, the payee, Augustus McKnight, shall receive $1,000,000.” The amount is typed in bold.

The letter shakes as I hold it up and stare at the bold type. A million dollars. I often paid bills months late—only when I thought creditors were about to cut off a utility or send a collector to our door to repossess something—because Melanie and I literally had no money in our account. Now, a few weeks after bouncing a four-hundred-dollar check, I’m about to bank over a million. If Melanie and I could have had this kind of money, our lives would have been so much better, I think to myself, choking up as I flash on the image of her body lying on that silver gurney.

“Augustus.” It’s Anna again.

I quickly push the tips of my thumb and forefinger to the corners of my eyes to conceal my emotion. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.”

“It’s okay. What’s up?”

“There’s a man in the lobby to see you.”

I glance up into her huge brown eyes. “Who is it?”

“He says he’s a detective with the Washington, D.C., police department.”

I follow Anna’s catwalk stride back through the trading floor and out into the lobby, wondering what Reggie wants. Perhaps there’s been a break in the case, but how in the hell did he find me here? The buzz of voices fades as the doors swing shut behind me and I see Reggie Dorsey relaxing on the couch.

“Hello, Augustus,” he says pleasantly, rising to meet me in front of Anna’s desk.

I can tell she’s listening closely to what we’re saying even as she pretends to focus on sorting mail. “Good morning, Reggie. Let’s go in there,” I suggest, taking him by the elbow and guiding him away from her prying ears toward the conference room off the lobby where Seaver, Roger, and I met last week.

“How have you been?” he asks, sitting down in the chair at the head of the table.

“All right. Still hurting.”

“Started a new job, I see.”

“Yes.” I haven’t spoken to Reggie since he stopped by the house more than a week and a half ago. “How did you know I was here? I don’t remember telling you I was coming to Bedford.”

“We’ll get to that,” he replies, brushing aside my question. “I need to ask you a few things first.”

I’m suddenly aware that the Great Western envelope is sticking out of my shirt pocket. I can’t remember how I slid it in there—with the return address visible or not. His eyes flicker down to my chest, but I can’t read anything in his glance. I want to look down, want to hide the envelope because he might get the wrong idea, but, of course, I can’t do that now.

Reggie crosses his arms and his sports jacket rides up, exposing thick forearms. “How were you and Melanie getting along in the months before her death?”

He’s never started a conversation like this before, and I’m on the defensive immediately. “I don’t understand.” I clasp my hands together tightly beneath the table and feel cool perspiration between my fingers.

“Any arguments or fights?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I say. “What’s going on here, Reggie?”

“What was ordinary?”

He pays no attention to my request for an explanation. “We argued once in a while.”

“About what?”

“Fall fashions, usually.”

“Come on, Augustus.”

“Oh, I see. I answer you, but you ignore me.”

“Augustus.”

“We didn’t have much money, which was difficult.” I shouldn’t have to endure this kind of questioning. “Our financial situation was frustrating for both of us. We couldn’t buy things we wanted or take nice vacations. We saw lots of people our age enjoying the good life, and we felt we were missing out. That caused problems. I told you all this the last time you stopped by the house. I’ve been very honest with you.”

“Do you have any reason not to be honest with me?”

“Of course not.” I think back to the speech Reggie delivered in his car after giving me a ride home from the morgue. The one about asking me questions that might upset me. About how he would just be doing his job. This is what he was talking about. He’s given me a few days to recover, and now he’s treating me like a suspect. There won’t be any sympathy for me from now on because, as he warned me, he doesn’t care about my feelings. He only cares about finding Melanie’s killer.

Reggie leans forward, elbows on the table. “So you fought over money.” He opens his hands, palms up like a minister, and his voice takes on a compassionate quality. “Most couples do. I bet Melanie was the one who wanted to spend all the money, and you wouldn’t let her. Weren’t you the one who managed the finances?” He shakes his head. “That’s a tough job. I know. I manage the money in my household.”

I’ve been to this movie before. The cop whose manner is typically brusque turns sympathetic when he wants something. Russell Lake and Reggie Dorsey are alike in this way. “I was the one who paid the bills,” I confirm calmly. “I knew how little money we had. Melanie didn’t want to know.”

“She wanted all those nice clothes and jewelry, like any woman does. She probably went to that Body Beautiful shop in the strip mall near your house for a manicure once a week. Damn, there’s thirty bucks up in smoke.” He chuckles without a hint of a smile. “My wife does the same thing. But those things are important to women and we men have to realize that.”

“True.” Reggie’s right. Melanie had to have her nails done every Wednesday or she was miserable. Like some people have to have coffee first thing in the morning or they turn into the creature from the black lagoon. And it was
thirty-five
dollars for each visit to Body Beautiful, not thirty. I wonder what else Reggie knows about our life together.

“Money is a problem for almost every couple. Ever argue about anything else?” he asks.

I feel like I ought to tell Reggie I need a lawyer present, but I don’t want to take the conversation to that level. He probably knows that. He’s got experience in these matters and I’m naive. “Little stuff. Everyday things. Nothing important.”

Reggie’s eyes narrow as they pan down again, then flicker back to mine. “Did the arguments ever become violent?”

I take a deep breath, thinking through my answer. I want to be very careful here. “Melanie had a temper. Her friends will tell you that.”

“They already have, Augustus.”

I can feel his eyes boring into me, and after a few moments of silence I feel compelled to say something. “She would . . .” I hesitate, uncertain of how much I should reveal.

“What, Augustus? She would what?”

“She would become physical once in a while when we argued. You know, throw a lamp or something. Nothing really bad, though. And I never did anything to her,” I add quickly.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Never pushed her down or restrained her to protect yourself?”

I press my lips tightly together. “I might have pushed her away once or twice, when she’d get in my face and start yelling. But, as you said, it was simply to protect myself. I’m a big man but she could have hurt me if she wanted to. Some people might not understand that, but it’s true.”

“She was tall and in excellent physical condition according to the coroner’s report. I’m sure she could get your attention,” Reggie agrees. “I’ve seen tiny women beat the hell out of men bigger than you.”

We’re back at the movie. Second scene.

Reggie removes a pack of smokes from his jacket and puts one in his mouth, then takes out a lighter and holds the flame several inches from the end of the cigarette. Finally he extinguishes the flame without lighting the cigarette and stows the lighter back in his jacket with a groan. “It’s a real pain in the ass trying to quit,” he mutters.

“I can imagine.”

“But I want to watch my grandchildren grow up, you know? I want to be around to see them graduate from college.”

I nod, hoping we’re done with the interrogation. “How many do you have?”

“Four.”

“How old are they?”

“Seven, five, three, and two,” he says proudly with a wide smile. I’ve noticed that he doesn’t smile a whole lot.

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is.” He takes a long whiff of the unlit tobacco, then looks up at me. “Did you and your wife have a normal sex life?”

The interrogation isn’t over. “What kind of question is that? Jesus!” Right away I wish I could take back my outburst, but I’m being cooperative. I don’t think my sex life is any business of the Washington police.

“You’ve been so helpful up until now, Augustus,” Reggie says regretfully, as if I’ve let him down. Then he just looks at me, waiting.

“We had sex a few times a month,” I say after a long pause. God, I hate dead air. “Maybe once a week. We were married for eleven years. I’ll be honest, it wasn’t new and different after all that time.”

“Of course it wasn’t. You both probably needed to use your imaginations to get things going. Who usually initiated it during the last year?”

“Sometimes me, sometimes Melanie.” I look away. Actually, I was always the one asking for it near the end.

Reggie taps the table. “Did she ever discuss her sexual fantasies with you?”

“That’s none of your damn business! Give me a break, Reggie.”

“Did she ever perform for you?” he asks, ignoring my plea.

“Perform?”

“You know, striptease in the bedroom or the living room before getting to the sex. Did she ever do anything like that?”

“No, of course not.”

“How about bondage?”

I freeze. “Bondage? Jesus Christ! How can you ask me that?”

“The autopsy report indicated that Melanie’s wrists and ankles were bruised, like someone had tied her up and she had struggled. But the coroner determined that the marks were made well before her murder. As much as a day before.” He looks down. “And she’d had sex just a few hours before she was murdered. Rough sex. She had internal bruises and scratches.”

“Oh, no,” I whisper.

“But there were no fluids. Nothing to trace.”

“God.”

“Did you and Melanie have intercourse the night or morning before her murder?”

I put my face in my hands. “No.”

“In your eleven years of marriage, did she have an affair?”

Reggie is relentless. I hate that about him. “Not that I’m aware of,” I answer, my voice low. “But how can you ever really be sure?”

He replaces the cigarette in its pack. “I met with Frank Taylor late last week.”

My eyes flash to Reggie’s.

“He told me that Melanie asked you for a divorce the day before she was murdered. Is that true?”

“Taylor’s an asshole.”

“Maybe, but that’s not an answer to my question.”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, she asked me for a divorce. But she would never have followed through.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Taylor was filling her head with all kinds of ridiculous ideas. Mel would have come to her senses sooner or later.”

Reggie pauses. “Was Mel
your
nickname for her?”

“Yes.”

“When did you give it to her?”

“A few years ago.”

“Did she use it? Did she introduce herself that way to others?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Taylor referred to her that way while I was talking to him.”

I take a deep breath and I’m sure my jealousy is obvious.

“Do you think Melanie and Taylor were having an affair?”

“I don’t know,” I answer grimly, rubbing my forehead with both hands.

“Taylor’s face was pretty banged up when I met with him last week. Do you know anything about that?”

“I told you. He’s an asshole. I’m sure there are lots of people who would like to take a swing at him. After all, he’s a divorce attorney.”

Reggie goes quiet for a few moments, but this time he gets nothing out of me. “All right, Augustus. Well, I appreciate your help. Sorry to have put you through all of that.”

I don’t respond. He’s not sorry at all.

“Oh, just one more question.”

“There’s always one more question, isn’t there, Reggie?”

“Were there any insurance policies on Melanie’s life?” he asks, paying no attention to my sarcasm.

I meet Reggie’s eyes. Frank Taylor mentioned the policy at the Grand last week. That must be where Reggie got his information. “Yes.”

“How much was the death benefit?”

“A million dollars. There is a policy on me for the same amount. It was all Melanie’s idea. She filled out the paperwork for both of us. You can check that out. Except for the signature on mine, it was all her handwriting on both applications.”

“When were the policies put into effect?”

I know how this will sound to Reggie, but facts are facts and it’s better for me to be honest. “Several months ago.”

“Who was the beneficiary of her policy?” he asks, his face expressionless. I’m sure he already knows all about this and is just testing me to see if I’ll be honest with him.

“I was, of course.”

“And who was second behind you?”

“I’m not sure,” I answer slowly. “I think she said it was her mother, but I never looked at that part of the application. All I did was sign it, and then she grabbed it and took off.”