I thought about how to put this and chose the direct route. “There’s still a connection.”
Regan nodded as if that explained a lot. “You were aware that she got married?”
“Cheryl—that’s Lenny’s wife—she told me.”
“And you knew her husband was shot?”
“I learned about it today.” Then, realizing that it had to be after midnight, “I mean, yesterday.”
“Rachel told you?”
“Cheryl told me.” Regan’s words from his late-night visit to my abode came back to me. “And then you said Rachel shot him.”
Regan looked back at Tickner. Tickner said, “Did Ms. Mills mention that to you?”
“What, that she shot her husband?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You don’t believe it, do you?”
Lenny said, “What’s the difference what he believes?”
“She confessed,” Tickner said.
I looked at Lenny. Lenny looked away. I tried to sit up a little more. “Then why isn’t she in jail?”
Something dark crossed Tickner’s face. His hands clenched into fists. “She claimed the shooting was accidental.”
“And you don’t believe that?”
“Her husband was shot in the head at point-blank range.”
“So again I ask: Why isn’t she in jail?”
“I’m not privy to all the details,” Tickner said.
“What does that mean?”
“The local cops handled the case, not us,” Tickner explained. “They decided not to pursue it.”
I am neither a cop nor a great student of psychology, but even I could see that Tickner was holding something back. I looked at Lenny. His face was emotionless, which, of course, is not at all like Lenny. Tickner took a step away from the bed. Regan filled the void.
“You said you still felt a connection with Rachel?” Regan began.
“Asked and answered,” Lenny said.
“Did you still love her?”
Lenny couldn’t let that one go without comment. “Are you Ann Landers now, Detective Regan? What the hell does any of this have to do with my client’s daughter?”
“Bear with me.”
“No, Detective, I will not bear with you. Your questions are nonsense.” Again I put my hand on Lenny’s shoulder. He turned to me. “They want you to say yes, Marc.”
“I know that.”
“They’re hoping to use Rachel as a motive for killing your wife.”
“I know that too,” I said. I looked at Regan. I remembered the feeling when I first saw Rachel at the Stop & Shop.
“You still think about her?” Regan asked.
“Yes.”
“Does she still think about you?”
Lenny was not about to surrender. “How the hell would he know that?”
“Bob?” I said. It was the first time I had used Regan’s first name.
“Yes.”
“What are you trying to get at here?”
Regan’s voice was low, almost conspiratorial. “Let me ask you one more time: Before the incident at the Stop & Shop, had you seen Rachel Mills since you broke up in college?”
“Jesus Christ,” Lenny said.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“No communication at all?”
“They didn’t even pass notes during study hall,” Lenny said. “I mean, get on with it.”
Regan leaned away. “You went to a private detective agency in Newark to ask about a CD-ROM.”
“Yes.”
“Why today?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Your wife has been dead for a year and a half. Why the sudden interest in the CD?”
“I’d just found it.”
“When?”
“The day before yesterday. It was hidden in the basement.”
“So you had no idea that Monica had hired a private detective?”
It took me a moment to answer. I thought about what I had learned since my beautiful wife’s death. She had been seeing a psychiatrist. She had hired a private detective. She had hidden his findings in our basement. I hadn’t known about any of it. I thought about my life, my love of work, my wanting to keep traveling. Sure, I loved my daughter. I cooed on command and marveled at the wonder of her. I would die—and kill—to protect her, but in my honest moments, I knew that I had not accepted all the changes and sacrifices she’d brought to my life.
What kind of husband had I been? What kind of father?
“Marc?”
“No,” I said softly. “I had no idea she had hired a private investigator.”
“Do you have any idea why she did?”
I shook my head. Regan faded back. Tickner pulled out a manila folder.
“What’s that?” Lenny said.
“The contents of the CD.” Tickner looked at me one more time. “You never saw Rachel, right? Just that time in the supermarket.”
I did not bother answering.
Without fanfare, Tickner withdrew a photograph and handed it to me. Lenny snapped on his half-moon reading glasses and stood over my shoulder. He did that thing where you tilt your head up to look down. The photograph was black and white. It was a shot of Valley Hospital in Ridgewood. There was a date stamped on the bottom. The photograph had been taken two months before the shooting.
Lenny frowned. “The lighting is pretty good, but I’m not sure about the overall composition.”
Tickner ignored the sarcasm. “That’s where you work, is it not, Dr. Seidman?”
“We have an office there, yes.”
“We?”
“My partner and I. Zia Leroux.”
Tickner nodded. “There’s a date stamped on the bottom.”
“I can see that.”
“Were you in the office on that day?”
“I really don’t know. I’d have to check my calendar.”
Regan pointed to near the hospital entrance. “Do you see that figure over there?”
I looked harder, but I couldn’t make much out. “No, not really.”
“Just notice the length of the coat, okay?”
“Okay.”
Then Tickner handed me a second glossy. The photographer had used the zoom lens on this one. Same angle. You could see the person in the coat clearly now. She wore sunglasses, but there was no mistake. It was Rachel.