The Girl Next Door (19 page)

Patrick sighed and turned to Lindsay. “I’d better go. I’ll see you later,” he said.
He turned back to Nina. “Come with me,” he said, putting a hand under her arm.

Nina shook him off. “Don’t tell me what to do. Don’t touch me.”

Patrick glared at her and dropped his hand. “Fine. I’ll follow you.”

“You two can talk right here,” Lindsay said. “I have customers to attend to.”

“I don’t want to run you out of your office,” said Patrick.

“Really,” said Lindsay, pulling the door open. “It’s no problem. Be my guest.” Before
Patrick could protest any further,
Lindsay went out and pulled the door shut after her. Patrick turned and looked at
his sister.

Nina returned his gaze balefully and stood behind the gilt-edged armchair with a needlepointed
back and seat where his jacket had recently been draped. “I hope you know what you’re
doing, Patrick.”

Patrick walked around and sat down behind the gleaming burlwood escritoire covered
with accounting books that served as Lindsay’s desk. He drummed his fingertips on
the edge of the desk and did not look at her. “What couldn’t wait, Nina?”

Patrick’s relationship with Lindsay is none of your business, Nina thought. Just tell
him what you came to say and get this over with. She took a deep breath. “All right.
I suppose you’re going to tell me that you don’t care about this, but I thought you
should know. The police have now determined that Dad did not commit suicide. It was
murder, as I suspected.” She could not keep herself from adding that last little dig.

Patrick’s ruddy face paled visibly but otherwise he showed no expression. “Really,”
he said flatly. “Who killed him?”

“They don’t know that yet. But they’re investigating …”

Patrick stared into space without speaking.

Nina studied her brother’s face. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

Patrick turned his head and looked at her. “I guess I wasn’t the only one who hated
him,” he said.

“Oh, Patrick,” said Nina in disgust. “He was your father, for God’s sake. Somebody
murdered him. Don’t you have the … the decency to care?”

Patrick leaned across Lindsay’s desk and gazed earnestly up at his sister. “Nina,”
he said. “Suicide, murder? What difference does it make? He got what he deserved.
You have got to let go of this crap about Duncan. You know I don’t want to hear about
it. You know that.”

Nina shook her head. Why had she thought it might matter to him? He was as hard-hearted
as ever. She wanted to hurt him back, to make him squirm. But at the last minute,
she wasn’t able to be as harsh as he was. Her accusation came out sounding feeble.
“Yeah, I can see where your mind is. Nice work, Patrick.”

“You don’t see anything …” he started to say in a warning tone.

But she did not wait for him to finish. She left the office, slamming the door. Lindsay,
who was changing the shade on a lamp whose base was a porcelain shepherdess, looked
up as Nina emerged from the office.

“Nina?” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Nina avoided her gaze. “Just great,” Nina said.

“Look,” Lindsay said, looking around cautiously. “I don’t know how much Patrick has
told you …”

“Patrick doesn’t confide in me,” Nina snapped.

“But I know he feels close to you,” Lindsay persisted. “And I’m sure you know that
Patrick is … um … very unhappy. And I don’t think it’s a good idea to live that way.
Not if you can help it.” Lindsay peered at her with narrowed eyes. “Has he said anything
to you about his plans?”

Nina resisted the urge to slap her. “I don’t care about his plans,” she said indignantly.
“If you want to know about Patrick’s intentions you’ll have to ask him yourself. I
have a lot more important things to worry about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need
some air.”

“He is your brother,” said Lindsay.

“Don’t remind me,” said Nina. Turning her back on Lindsay, she made her way through
the store as quickly as she could without upending some valuable piece of merchandise.
She could feel the curious gaze of the salesman and his customer following her. She
didn’t care. Poor Patrick, she thought.
Patrick wasn’t happy? What about Gemma? Gemma had stuck with Patrick through thick
and thin and this was her reward. A husband who wasn’t happy and was busy making other
arrangements. Why should I be surprised? she thought. How quickly had he turned on
his own father? Betrayal came as naturally to Patrick as breathing. Nina pulled the
door to the antiques store closed with more force than she should have, and heard
the sound of the crystals on the sparkling chandeliers tinkling in her wake.

T
HE
stores on Lafayette Street were just beginning to open, their awnings whipped by
the wind, when Nina hurried, on foot, toward the police station the next morning.
She had to wait while the security officers pawed through her overnight bag, only
to be disappointed to learn from the sergeant on duty that Chief Perry was at a regional
meeting and would not be back in the office until much later in the day. Was there
someone else who could help her? the sergeant asked.

Nina thought about it for a minute. She didn’t want to have to explain the whole thing
to a stranger. Perhaps she ought to stay in Hoffman until the next day. But then she
chided herself. She had an appointment she had to keep. When she had checked her messages
the night before there was an urgent summons from Len, her agent, telling her that
the ad agency was ready to begin production on the floor wax commercials and she needed
to get back to New York.

In a way it was a relief. Nina was glad to have a reason to go back. She didn’t even
feel like herself in this town, and she definitely needed to get to work and start
making money. But she wanted to tell Chief Perry what she had learned about her father’s
medication, and the resulting improbability of his having had a rendezvous for sex.

“Miss?” the sergeant prodded.

Oh hell, Nina thought. This job might be lucrative, depending on how successful the
commercial proved to be. At any rate, it was a job and she had to take it. It wasn’t
as if her father’s death had left her an heiress. He didn’t even have life insurance.
Her discussion with Chief Perry would have to wait. If they found the prostitute in
the meantime, they would learn about Duncan from her.

“No, I’ll come back,” she told the sergeant. She walked glumly out of the station
and back into the biting wind of a day that was gray and more like winter than autumn.
She buttoned her leather jacket and wound her long rose-and-teal-colored challis scarf
more tightly around her neck. As she walked down the steps to the sidewalk between
the parking lot and the station house, she heard someone calling her name and looked
up.

The man who hailed her was wearing a wool cap, but when he took it off and smiled
at her, she saw that it was Lieutenant Hagen. The retired guy, she thought, ready
to spend another day hanging around the working guys. “Hello, Lieutenant,” she said
gently, deliberately using his old title. A gust of wind whipped her black hair in
front of her face but she pushed it away with a gloved hand as Hagen, dapper in a
corduroy jacket and neatly pressed pants, approached her on the sidewalk.

“Nina, I’m glad I ran into you,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you the other day,
but you were busy with the chief. I want you to know I was very sorry to hear about
your father’s death. I mean that sincerely.”

“Thank you,” said Nina politely, although she couldn’t help thinking about the fact
that this man had been instrumental in putting her father in prison. It was his job,
after all, she reminded herself. She didn’t hate him for it. “That’s nice of you to
say.”

“Yeah,” said Hagen, jamming his hands in his pockets. “It’s kind of strange.”

Nina glanced up Lafayette Street to see if there was any sign of the bus. She didn’t
want to miss this one. She’d have to wait an hour until the next. “What is?” she asked
distractedly, afraid the retired detective with not enough to do might be getting
ready to wax philosophical.

“About your dad. He came to see me, you know,” Hagen said.

Nina held her windblown hair back and stared at him. “He did? When?”

“Well, it must have been just after he got back to town here. A lot of cops have unlisted
numbers, but I had teenagers so I keep mine in the book. Anyway, he looked it up and
gave me a call. After he identified himself, I wondered for a moment if he was into
some kind of revenge thing …”

“What did he want?” Nina interrupted.

“Well, he assured me that he meant me no harm, so I talked to him. He started right
in on how he never was the one who killed your mother. I told him, you know, Doc,
this is all water under the bridge. But he was really fired up about it. He wanted
to talk about the investigation.”

“He did? What about it?” Nina asked.

Hagen nodded and put his cap back on, shivering. “Damn, it’s freezing out here. I’d
ask you to come into the station, but it’s not really my place to invite people inside
anymore.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m meeting a buddy of mine here for coffee soon
or I’d …”

Nina interrupted him. “What did my father want to talk about?”

Hagen pressed his lips together and shook his head. “He wanted me to review the files.
I told him I didn’t have the files, that they were in the station. I said to him,
you know, why are you bothering about this? I mean, you’re a free man now. You’ve
done your time. Why waste your time on this? But your father was determined to … uh
… look into the matter. Clear his name, he said.” Lieutenant Hagen nodded, and peered
into the distance. “Wanted to clear his name.”

Nina shivered, only partly from the chilly breeze. “But he told me he wasn’t optimistic
about that because it was all so long ago,” she said.

Hagen shrugged. “He said he had some brand-new information.”

“What information?” Nina demanded.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. Anyway, I got to thinking about it and I thought, you
know, he had no real reason to want to dig the whole thing up. He was out of prison.
It wasn’t a question of trying to regain his freedom …”

Nina kept picturing her father’s weary face, and remembered so clearly that he had
said there was little chance of turning up anything new after all these years, after
all the professional detectives had failed. So what had changed?

“I thought it over and I finally decided to try to help him. I mean, you can never
tell. You try to make sure you do your job right, but mistakes are made sometimes.
It’s been known to happen.”

Nina stared at him. “You think you made a mistake in my father’s case?”

Hagen held up his veiny white hands. “Not as far as I know. But we all know about
cases where it happened. Anyway, I did go to my buddy in Records. I’ve still got a
lot of friends here. My buddy let me take a look at the file.”

“Did you find anything there that he thought might be helpful?” Nina asked eagerly.

Hagen shook his head sadly. “No. After I went over all the notes and photos and whatnot,
I tried to get in touch with your dad. But then I heard about … you know, that he
… um … shot himself. I felt bad about it. But I guess it wouldn’t have made any difference.
I didn’t realize he was so down.”

Nina stared at him. “He didn’t kill himself,” she said. “Don’t you know that? The
police determined that it was murder.”

Hagen was indignant. “Who said that?”

“Chief Perry told me,” said Nina with satisfaction. “The other morning when I ran
into you. I had begun to doubt the whole suicide idea, so I came in to talk to Chief
Perry about it. That’s when he told me that the autopsy showed it was actually murder
and not suicide at all.”

“Nobody told me that,” said Hagen ruefully. The old man had a flinty, indignant look
in his eye. Even though he was officially out of the loop, he clearly felt entitled
to inside information. “That was my case,” he said.

Nina had a feeling that she might be able to win him to her cause. She was happy to
tell him what she knew. “They’re looking for some prostitute they think killed him,
but I happen to know that my father wasn’t in the market for the services of a prostitute.
He was taking a medication that made him … that rendered him impotent.”

“Oh jeez,” said Hagen, wincing sympathetically. “Jeez. I didn’t know about any of
that. Your father didn’t say a word. How about that?”

Nina studied Hagen’s aging face. He looked uneasy, and as if he felt guilty. “Well,
he didn’t tell me either. His doctor told me.”

“Hmmm. How about that?” Hagen repeated ruminatively.

Nina glanced up the street again. Still no sign of the bus, but she knew she had to
hurry. “I have to go. I’m in a hurry right now, but the next time … when I’m back
here I’d like … if it would be all right … Do you think I could see that file—the
one on my mother’s investigation? I’d really like to see it.”

Hagen avoided her gaze. “Yeah. Well, it’s kind of grisly stuff. You need a strong
stomach …”

“Detective Hagen, I found my mother’s body. I walked into that kitchen and stepped
in the blood …”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he said.

Nina fished in her satchel and pulled out one of her cards. “I’m going back to New
York for a few days, but I’ll come back whenever it’s convenient. Call me, won’t you?
If you have a chance. I would really appreciate it. Oh damn, there’s the bus.”

Nina began to run. Hagen studied the card and then tucked it carefully into the inner
pocket of his corduroy jacket.

“G
ODDAMMIT
,” Nina cried, as the bus driver, ignoring her frantic signals, sailed up the street
toward the turnoff for the parkway. She had narrowly missed being at the bus stop
in time. Would it have killed him to stop? she thought angrily. Nobody will give you
a break in this world anymore. Shaking her head, she began trudging up the avenue
cursing the fact that she would now have to rush to get to the shoot on time.