The Girl Next Door

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “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.

  16

  THE 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.

  17

  “GODDAMMIT,” 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.

  At that moment, a burgundy-colored Honda pulled up in the road beside her and stopped. The driver lowered the window and hailed her. Nina looked up and saw Gemma waving at her. Nina blushed, immediately thinking of her encounter with Patrick at Lindsay’s store. Had Gemma found out somehow? Was she about to ask about Patrick and Lindsay? Nina felt her stomach churning at the prospect of lying for Patrick’s sake. She could see that Gemma was calling to her, but the wind made it difficult to hear. Nina stepped off the curb and bent over so that her face was beside the open window.

  “Nina, are you going into the city?” Gemma asked.

  Nina nodded. “Eventually. I just missed the bus.”

  “Do you want a ride? We’re on our way there. I can give you a lift.”

  “You could? Are you sure?”

  “Sure. I’m going right into Manhattan,” said Gemma.

  “That would be great,” said Nina, truly relieved.

  The driver behind Gemma honked his horn.

  “Hop in,” said Gemma, pushing the button that unlocked the doors. Nina opened the back door and threw her bag in the well of the backseat. She bent down and smiled at the twins, who were buckled into their seats. “Hi, guys.”

  Simon, who had a mouthful of cookies, attempted to smile and say, “Hi, Aunt Nina.” In the process he sprayed his brother with cookie crumbs. Cody whacked Simon with a plastic action figure and Simon shrieked indignantly and then began to cough.

  “Cody, stop it,” cried Gemma.

  Before the fight could begin in earnest, Nina pointed out the window on the street side. “Look, you guys, look out there. A motorcycle.” Both boys quickly swiveled their heads to look, as if the hog were an exotic bird.

  Nina slammed the door, walked around to the passenger side, and slid into the front seat, brushing her tangled, windblown hair back off her face. “Gemma, you are a lifesaver,” she said.

  Gemma was looking in the rearview mirror, and gliding out into the traffic. “I’m glad we saw you. I thought you must be headed to the bus.”

  Nina nodded. “I have a commercial shoot today and I was going to catch the last bus, but I was waylaid at the police station. I thought I’d have to wait another hour.”

  “At the police station? What was that all about?” Gemma asked.

  “Well, it was about my dad,” said Nina. “Did Patrick tell you …?”

  “Tell me what?” Gemma asked.

  She really doesn’t know, Nina thought. Immediately, she regretted mentioning Patrick. How could he keep the information that Duncan had been murdered from his own wife? Didn’t they communicate at all? “I was there to find out if there were any new developments,” Nina said carefully. “They’re now working on the assumption that my dad did not commit suicide. They think he was murdered.”

  “Murdered,” Gemma exclaimed.

  “Yes,” said Nina. “They’re sure now that it was murder.”

  “My God,” said Gemma. “Do they know who …?”

  “No.” Nina didn’t want to tell the whole seamy story in front of the twins. But she felt as if Gemma was entitled to know. She was a part of the family. Nina tried to think how best to explain it.

  Gemma interrupted her thoughts. “Does Patrick know this?”

  Nina could hear the anxiety in her voice. The idea that her husband might not give her such a significant piece of information was beginning to dawn on her. Gemma clutched the wheel and stared straight ahead, but Nina could see that her bony wrists were trembling.

  “Just the barest details,” said Nina, trying to sound reassuring. “There’s very little to know at this point.” Nina was a little taken aback that Gemma would be more interested in her husband’s mind-set than in learning about Duncan’s murder. Of course, Duncan was a stranger to her. A man she barely knew. Patrick was the one she lived for. Nina thought of Patrick, caught in Lindsay’s office, defying his sister to criticize his behavior. She felt as if she were watching a marriage heading toward the edge of a cliff. It’s not your business, she reminded herself. They have to work out their own problems.

  “I don’t understand your brother no matter how hard I try,” Gemma said.

  Nina glanced over at Gemma’s drawn, anxious-looking face and felt a stab of pity for her. “My brother,” Nina said, with as much circumspection as she could muster, “can be very self-centered.”

  The twins, who had been fairly quiet, suddenly erupted into a battle. Gemma glanced in the rearview mirror. “Stop,” she yelled. “Please.”

  Nina swiveled around in her seat and saw that Simon was hoarding several toys, impervious to his brother’s shrieking. Nina rapped him on the knee. “Hey! Give your brother one of those,” she said.

  “This is mine,” Simon started to protest.

  �
��I don’t want to hear about it,” said Nina. “Just pick one and give it to him. Or I’ll pick one.” Nina turned back around in her seat. Before Gemma could say any more about Patrick, Nina changed the subject. “So, you guys having a day in the city?” she asked.

  “No,” said Gemma. “We’re going to pick up the new housekeeper.”

  “The new housekeeper,” said Nina, surprised. “What happened to Elena?”

  “She had to rush back to Panama. Her sister was in an accident.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” said Nina, remembering the Mass card, the compassion in Elena’s eyes.

  “The new person is named Cora,” Gemma said.

  NINA slammed the car door with effusive thanks and rushed into her building and up to her apartment to get dressed for her appointment at the studio in SoHo. She didn’t bother with any makeup. The photographer would have his own makeup artist at the studio. Her nerves were jangled by the time she caught a cab and got back downtown, but she arrived on time, and allowed herself to be moved about numbly, like a prop, while technicians adjusted lighting and tried different makeup and outfits on her and the photographer shot endless Polaroids, which he and the director then mulled over. Nina learned her few lines and then was leafing through a magazine when she thought she heard her cell phone ring in her satchel on the floor. She could hardly tell if it was hers, given the general hubbub in the studio. As she reached into her bag she saw two set carpenters and a makeup artist reach for their phones at the same time. Nina pulled out her ringing phone as if it were a grab bag prize, while the others tucked theirs back away in disappointment.

  “Nina?”

  Her heart leaped. “Andre? How are you? Where are you?”

  “I’m in Sante Fe. I just got here. Listen …”

  “How was the trip?” she asked.

  “All right,” he said, deflecting her question and abruptly getting down to business. “I just wanted to tell you—I did what I said I’d do. I checked around with my … contacts among the prison population. No luck there. Nobody had given anything to Duncan to deliver. A lot of the guys were quite broken up about your dad’s death, by the way.”