I Know Everything

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I Know Everything Page 11

by Matthew Farrell


  “Maybe, but I never heard the name.”

  “How was Amanda’s marriage?” Tommy interjected. “Was it good?”

  “Sure. It was a marriage. Ups and downs.”

  Susan stared at Gina. “Was Amanda having an affair with Hooper Landsky?”

  A single tear ran down Gina’s cheek. She nodded. “Amanda was having an affair. I know that, but I don’t know the guy’s name or what he does for a living. I didn’t want to get involved. Over the last two years my husband and I have become friends with Randall just as much as Amanda, and I didn’t want to keep secrets. I’m no good at it.”

  “But she told you she was having an affair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Amanda unhappy in her marriage?”

  “No. The best way I can describe Amanda is a free spirit. I don’t think she ever regretted marrying Randall, and I know she loved him, but she also was a person who followed her heart. She told me she met this guy, and he knocked her off her feet, and she was seeing him. That’s all I know because that’s all I wanted to know. She understood.”

  “Any idea if Randall knew about the affair? Did he ever mention anything to you or your husband?”

  Gina shook her head. “I got the impression that he was very happy with their relationship. I doubt he knew anything.”

  Susan stood from the couch. “I think that’s all I’ve got for now. We appreciate you taking the time to talk to us.”

  Gina wiped the tears from her eyes. “You think Amanda’s death was more than just an accident, don’t you? I watch the shows on TV. The police don’t come around asking questions about people who died in car crashes unless they’re investigating something they think is suspicious. You think her lover could have something to do with what happened?”

  Susan forced a smile. There was nothing that got on her nerves more than armchair detectives who thought every minute of an officer’s life was CSI or Criminal Minds. “We can’t comment on the details of our investigation.”

  “Sure, I get it. But if it is him, please catch him and lock him away. Amanda was a beautiful person. She didn’t deserve to die so soon.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  Gina stood and shook hands with the two investigators. “Will I see you at the wake? Ed Franklin Funeral Home. Four to seven.”

  “Depends on how the day goes.”

  She walked them to the door and waved as they made their way down the porch steps toward the car in the driveway.

  “We have a second suspect now,” Tommy said, climbing into the passenger’s seat. “Maybe this Hooper guy wanted Amanda to leave Randall, and she refused. He was putting pressure on her to try and cash in on her fortune, and that was a strain on their affair. Maybe after enough noes from Amanda, Hooper decided if he couldn’t have her, no one could.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time I saw something like that,” Susan replied. “Everything is on the table at this point. Everyone gets looked at twice.”

  22

  It took the First Hudson Bank branch manager almost an hour to finally confirm that Randall was, indeed, the executor of Amanda’s estate and entitled to her personal belongings as mentioned in her will. The safe-deposit box was at a branch on 46th and 6th, just a few blocks from her Manhattan office. He’d come to the bank armed with her death certificate, will, and estate paperwork, but the manager had stated that he still needed to follow proper protocol and confirm these details. Randall waited while the manager called their family attorney, Bernie Hayman, and established everything was legitimate. Throughout the time he waited in the office with his ridiculous smile and disguised placidity, all Randall could think about was what could be inside the safe-deposit box. What other secrets was Amanda hiding?

  “I appreciate your patience, Dr. Brock,” the manager said as he returned the paperwork. “We’re all set if you’d like to follow me back to the vault to retrieve the box.”

  “Lead the way.”

  The manager used Randall’s key along with the bank’s master key to open box number M12. The metal box measured five inches high, seven inches wide, and twenty-four inches long, the smallest the bank offered for rent. He handed it to Randall, then led him around the corner, away from the branch floor, and into a small room that held only one chair and a shelf that was bolted to the wall.

  “You can put the box down there,” the manager explained, pointing to the shelf. “Take as long as you want. The door locks, so you’ll have privacy. When you’re done, hit this buzzer, and I’ll come to take you back.”

  “Thank you.”

  He closed the door as he left. Randall reached behind him and turned the lock on the knob. The room was snug, the size of a modest coat closet. A single pendant light hung from the ceiling. He opened Amanda’s safe-deposit box and looked inside.

  The box was full of papers folded in thirds like one would do to mail a letter. He slid the first stack out onto the shelf and took off a blue rubber band that was holding everything together. He unfolded the papers, skimming each one.

  The first document was marked Witness Statement: William Feder–Gary Anderson case #P37G5.

  His breath caught in his throat. Randall flattened the document out on the shelf and ran his finger down the page, reading the text, already knowing what it contained. How could Amanda possibly have this? How could she have known about William Feder?

  He refolded the statement and looked at the next document. It was made up of pages and pages of xeroxed handwritten notes from his sessions with the doctors after he’d been rescued. These sessions were supposed to have been private. How did she get these?

  Rage and panic began to boil within.

  Randall shuffled through the notes, then pushed them away, grabbing for the next set of papers. They appeared to be a draft copy of a new will. From the date stamped on the last page, it had been completed six months ago, at the beginning of the summer. Randall read through the will. He couldn’t believe it. Amanda had been retooling the distribution of her assets. In the event of her death, the foundation was to obtain eighty percent of her net worth. The house was to be sold and folded into the foundation’s take. Another ten percent would be used to construct a financial-literacy wing at their local library, to be named after her father. The last ten would be used to purchase and rehab homes in the tri-state area as women’s shelters for the battered and abused. She wasn’t leaving him anything.

  With fumbling hands, he pulled the final set of documents out of the box. He could hardly breathe now. He was angry and confused and panicked and shocked. The last set of papers was fastened with a red rubber band. Randall frantically pulled at the rubber band, ripping the pages as he did. He felt as if he might be sick. The tiny room had suddenly become suffocating.

  The last set of documents was unsigned copies of divorce papers. Amanda had been planning to leave him. Like the will, the divorce papers had been created over the summer, and according to what he read, she was going to ask him to leave the house and appease him with an annual alimony payment of $200,000 for the next fifteen years.

  “This can’t be,” Randall muttered. His voice was raspy, choking with phlegm. “This simply cannot be.”

  Sam’s words echoed in his mind.

  I know everything.

  He read through the will and divorce papers again. It appeared as though they’d been edited and tweaked over the last six months, with Bernie Hayman acting as her counsel. He’d never said anything. Even after Amanda had died, even during the arrangements Randall had been making with Bernie and the estate, even that very morning when the branch manager had called, Bernie had said nothing. So did he know the entire truth or just that Amanda was going to leave him? Little prick. Bernie had known why Randall was at the bank. Why hadn’t he warned him? Because Bernie wasn’t Randall’s attorney. Bernie Hayman had belonged to the Sturges family since the beginning. He’d served Clifford Sturges for decades and would always be loyal to Amanda. Randall was an outsider, someone who had bee
n brought in through a marriage everyone thought was rushed and inappropriate. They didn’t understand the love he and Amanda had shared, its immediacy and intensity. But now Randall questioned that love he’d thought was so strong and impenetrable. She’d found his truth before he’d discovered hers, and now she was gone. What was happening?

  He took the empty box and placed it on the floor next to his feet, using the shelf to lay each page of each document side by side. He picked up the first sheet of paper and began reading slowly, carefully. He wanted to know every detail of what Amanda knew. Of what Sam knew. Of what others might know.

  I know more than you can imagine. I know everything.

  He would not leave the tiny room for another two hours.

  23

  The funeral home wasn’t large enough to accommodate everyone who wanted to pay their respects. Amanda had touched so many lives. Police had been stationed in the street to direct traffic and move the crowds in and out. Mourners waited in the cold for hours. Randall was seated in the first row of chairs, facing the casket, which was surrounded by flowers. From where he sat, he could see Amanda’s profile. He’d kissed and caressed that beautiful face more times than he could count. But now he could see only the secrets and the betrayal. How could she do that to him? How could she want to end what they had?

  The people came, one after the other, crying, hugging, telling him how sorry they were and what a wonderful person Amanda had been. It was his house all over again, only this time the number of people coming to pay their respects was too many to count. He hugged them back and thanked them, all the while swallowing the urge to tell them how she’d been cheating on him and how she’d been planning on leaving him. He bit his tongue and played along, trying his hardest to keep it together, all the while looking for two people: Hooper Landsky and Bernie Hayman. He had something to say to each of those bastards, and for them, he wouldn’t hold back.

  He wasn’t sure if Hooper would have the guts to show since he knew Randall was onto their affair. But Bernie came. He arrived with his wife, Audrey, arm in arm, walking slowly down the center aisle with the rest of the people in line. He was a short man, round and otherwise shapeless, bald on the top of his head with tufts of gray on the sides. He wore oval, thin-rimmed glasses on his long nose.

  Randall was busy with those in line ahead of Bernie and Audrey, but he kept an eye on their progress as the couple made their way closer to the casket. He watched as they knelt down in front of Amanda and folded their hands in silent prayer. When they were done, they stood and made their way over to him. Audrey hugged him.

  “If you need anything, you call us,” she said, her eyes swollen from crying. “Understand?”

  Bernie shook his hand, and Randall pulled him in to give him a hug.

  “I’m sorry this happened,” Bernie whispered.

  Randall spoke through clenched teeth. “You knew. All this time, you knew what she was planning to do, and you let me find out on the day of her wake. You could’ve warned me. You knew I was at the bank and was about to look into her safe-deposit box. Why would you let me learn the truth alone like that? Why would you do that to me?”

  Bernie pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were wide, searching. “Randall, I—”

  “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. Just leave. I don’t want you here.”

  “I didn’t know what was in the box.”

  “Like hell.”

  He continued to stare at Bernie, their eyes locked. He wanted to throttle him right there in front of everyone. He wanted to tell them all what Amanda had been planning and how Bernie had been helping her. He wanted to—

  “Are we good here?”

  Peter was suddenly by his side, a nervous smile on his face as he gently tugged at Randall’s sleeve.

  “I think I need some air,” Randall said.

  Peter nodded. “Sounds like a good idea. Come on—I’ll walk you out to the porch.”

  “No, I can manage.” Randall took a final step closer to Bernie. “Don’t be here when I get back.”

  He turned and walked past Amanda’s casket and out the french doors that opened onto a back deck overlooking a hidden parking lot. The air was cool against his face, and it wasn’t until he got outside that he realized how stifling it had been in the parlor. He walked to the edge of the patio, shaking with adrenaline and rage. His breath came quickly, illuminated in the overhead porch light, then evaporated into the darkness.

  “You okay?”

  He recognized Inspector Adler’s voice. He didn’t turn around.

  “I’m fine. Needed some air.”

  “Who was the old guy you wanted to punch?”

  “That is the estate’s attorney. And I didn’t want to punch him.”

  “Well, something was uneasy between you two.”

  Randall chuckled. “You read people well. Must be the job training.”

  “That’s exactly what it is.”

  Randall could hear the investigator’s heels clicking on the wooden deck as she came closer. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t know her.”

  “She’s my case. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “But the case is closed.”

  “Not yet.”

  Randall finally turned around. “No? Is there something I should know about?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “There’d be no other reason for you to keep her case open unless you suspected foul play. I mean, if it was an accident, it would’ve been labeled as such and filed away. It’s still open. You’re here. That tells me something’s not right.”

  “I can’t discuss it.”

  He wanted to tell her about Sam but knew he couldn’t do that without telling her everything else.

  “So what happened with you and the lawyer?” Adler asked.

  “Family business.”

  “You seemed pretty upset.”

  “I was.”

  “You get upset like that a lot?” She inched her way closer.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Must be something pretty big to get you angry at your wife’s wake. Tough for people to compartmentalize their emotions in these types of situations. I get it. First you’re sad; then you’re mad.”

  “I’m an emotional mess,” Randall snapped. “I’m not sure how you expect me to act.”

  “Like I said, I get it,” Adler replied. “I just wanted to come out here and make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  A cold breeze blew across the patio, scattering fallen leaves that had been left behind since the last cleanup.

  “Can you answer one thing for me?”

  Randall nodded.

  “Do you know a Hooper Landsky?”

  She knew. She knew about the affair, and she knew about Hooper.

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  The french doors opened, and Peter stepped outside. He stopped when he saw the two of them. “Everything okay out here?”

  “Yup,” Adler replied. “All good.”

  Peter walked toward her. “Investigator Adler.”

  “Dr. Reems. Good to see you again.”

  “She’s still investigating Amanda’s crash,” Randall explained, his voice a strained whisper. “She believes there’s more to her accident than we might think. Foul play.”

  “Is that right?” Peter asked.

  “I can’t talk about an open investigation, as I’ve just stated to Dr. Brock.” Adler looked at her watch. “You have guests inside that’re waiting to see you, and I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll be on my way.”

  Randall watched her leave and didn’t move until he was certain she’d made her way back down the hall and out the main exit.

  “Was she upsetting you?” Peter asked.

  “No. She wanted to know what my deal was with Bernie.”

  “She and I both. What was that?”

  “Nothing. It was no
thing.”

  “Did you tell her about Sam?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Randall, that was the time.”

  “Not here. Not like this. If I tell her about Sam, I have to tell her everything. I can’t do that. I’m not ready.”

  “You can. I’ll help you.”

  “Not now. Not here.”

  Peter sighed and looked out onto the parking lot. “Okay. Let’s go back inside then. People are waiting to pay their respects. Bernie’s gone.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Always.”

  “Did you ever show my medical records to Amanda?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Maybe you thought you were helping by keeping her in the loop?”

  “Randall, no. Never. Why are you asking?”

  “Amanda had this safe-deposit box. I went there this morning and got into it. It was filled with draft copies of divorce papers and a new will. She was going to leave me. Bernie knew. That’s why I was so angry with him. He never said anything.”

  Peter stood frozen on the porch. “Oh, Randall. I had no idea.”

  “She had copies of my medical records too. The ones after Gary’s basement and some from last year. She knew.”

  “How?”

  “That’s what I’m asking you.”

  “I don’t know,” Peter whispered. “Everything from the hospital is sealed. I can make a couple of calls, but I doubt anyone will admit to breaking HIPAA laws.”

  “I’m sure Amanda’s money could unseal a lot of things.”

  “Come on. We need to get back inside.”

  Peter took him gently by the arm, and Randall allowed himself to be guided back into the funeral home. He felt safe when he was with Peter. He was a good friend. One of the best. But now, perhaps, things weren’t what he thought they were. Perhaps Sam was right.

  Everyone had secrets. And no one was the exception.

  24

  The morning traffic heading into Midtown was brutal. There was an accident blocking two lanes on Interstate 87, so Susan and Tommy sat in a line of cars that crawled along, mile after mile, for over an hour, her speedometer never reaching higher than twenty-five.

 

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