I barked a hello, and a woman’s voice said, “This is Deanne Goldman. Mitch Krochek’s friend?” She made the last a question, the way some people do when talking to strangers.
“Yes, Ms. Goldman.”
“Mitch had to leave this morning before seven-an emergency at one of his job sites-and he didn’t want to bother you so early. So he asked me to call and let you know he won’t be available all day.”
“When will he be available?”
“He didn’t know. Probably not until sometime this evening.”
“Ask him to call me when he gets in,” I said. While she was saying she would, I had a thought. “Would it be possible for you to meet with me today? For a few minutes on your lunch hour, say?”
“… Why?”
“A few questions I’d like to ask you.”
“About what? I don’t know anything about Mitch’s wife.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Just some general questions.”
“Well… I suppose it’d be all right.”
“Suggest a time and a place that would be convenient.”
It took her a few seconds. “There’s Heinold’s at the foot of Webster Street. Do you know it?”
“I’ve been there, yes.”
“I’ll try to be at one of the outside tables.”
“What time?”
“Noon?”
“Fine,” I said. “How will I know you?”
She described herself. I told her what to expect in return.
When I got to the agency I filled Tamara in on what had gone down with Phil Partain. “So now we’ve got the beating cleared up, but I can’t see Partain as the person responsible for the disappearance. Two separate events.”
“Who, then? Lassiter’s out, QCL’s out, Partain’s out. One of her gambling friends? Somebody else she owed money to?”
“Possibilities, both. There’s another, too: Mitchell Krochek.”
“You think?” she said. “Why would he call you if he’s responsible?”
“Smoke screen. Make himself look innocent if the law steps in.”
“That’d mean he killed her and did something with the body.”
“If he did kill her,” I said, “chances are it was an accident-end product of a fight. He’s not the premeditated type.”
“Not the violent type, either, according to his BG.”
“You don’t have to be the violent type to lose control in a screaming argument. His wife gave him plenty of provocation and he’s been on the ragged edge. Still… What’s his first wife’s name again?”
“Let me check the file.” I went into her office with her while she brought it up on her computer. “Right-Mary Ellen Layne.”
“What have you got on her?”
“Let’s see. Not too much-I didn’t go very deep. Remarried, one daughter. Lives in San Bruno, works here in the city-”
“Where?”
“Tarbell Jewelers, on Post.”
Ten minutes from South Park. I said, “I think I’ll pay her a visit, see if she feels like talking about her ex-husband.”
T arbell Jewelers opened at ten o’clock. The address was half a block off Union Square, which meant street parking was impossible; I left my car in the Square’s underground garage and walked over to Post through a thin, misty overcast. It was five past ten when I got there. The two employees, one male, one female, gave me those bright-and-hopeful, early-morning looks that disappear when they find out you’re not the first customer of the day after all.
The woman was Mary Ellen Layne. Krochek’s age, conservatively dressed as befitted the surroundings-Tarbell’s was one of the more exclusive downtown jewelry stores-and a general body double for Janice Krochek. Mitch evidently liked his women slender, brunette, high-cheekboned, small-breasted. Her professional smile evaporated when I showed her the photocopy of my license and asked if she’d mind answering a few questions about her ex.
“Why?” She said it softly, with a glance across at where the male employee was polishing the glass top of a display counter. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention. “Are you investigating Mitch for some reason?”
“Not specifically, no. He’s involved in a case I’m working on.” Little white lie to maintain confidentiality and forestall a lot of questions and explanations.
The shape of her mouth turned wry and bitter. She leaned forward and said even more softly, “It has to do with a woman, I’ll bet.”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“And not his wife. If he’s still married to number two.”
“He is.”
“Amazing. She must be a saint.”
“Why do you say that?”
“To put up with him this long. I divorced him after ten months, and I was a fool not to have done it sooner.”
“He was unfaithful to you?”
“Oh, yes.” No hesitation, no reticence about discussing personal matters with a stranger. I had the feeling the pump in her was always primed and ready when the subject of Mitchell Krochek came up. “Twice that I know about. Twice in ten months. The first time… well, let’s just say the honeymoon didn’t last very long. If I’d found out about it at the time, I’d have left him then and there.”
“He was pretty young then,” I said. “Young men make mistakes that they don’t always repeat as they grow older.”
“Are you telling me he’s turned into a faithful husband? I don’t believe it.”
“Once a cheat, always a cheat?”
“That’s right. Mitch… well, it isn’t just a roving eye with him. It’s compulsive. He’ll never be satisfied with just one woman. He needs a steady stream of conquests to boost his ego.”
“And he doesn’t really care about any of them, is that it?”
“Well, that’s not exactly true. Give the devil his due. He cares for a while, genuinely, I think, but he just can’t sustain his feelings. He-”
“Mrs. Layne.” That came from the male across the room. “Do you need any assistance?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Tarbell.” She reached down into the display case, brought up a bracelet bristling with diamonds, set it on the glass in front of me. “Pretend you’re interested in buying this,” she whispered to me.
I picked it up, gingerly. A discreet little price tag hung from one clasp. $2,500. Some bracelet. Kerry would love it. She would also give me a swift kick in the hinder if I bought her a piece of jewelry anywhere near that expensive.
“How did Mitch react when you told him you were divorcing him?”
“React?” she said. “I’m not sure I know what you mean?”
“Was he angry, upset over the financial implications?”
“No. He was just starting out at Five States Engineering and we didn’t have much to divide between us, much less get upset about.”
“Was he ever violent?”
“Mitch? Violent? Good Lord, no.”
“Never raised a hand to you?”
“Never. I’ll say this for the man-he was always a gentleman, in and out of bed.”
“How would he handle a major argument?”
“The same way he handled everything else. Yell a little, whine a little, rationalize everything, and never accept responsibility. The two affairs that broke us up… it was the women’s fault, they wouldn’t leave him alone, they seduced him?
All of which pretty much coincided with my take on the man. I still had the diamond bracelet in my hand; it felt cold and hot at the same time and I put it down as gingerly as I’d picked it up. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“Oh, a long time. More than seven years. I ran into him at a party about a year after the divorce. We didn’t have much to say to each other.”
“No contact since then?”
“None.”
“Do you know his second wife?”
“No. When I heard he got married again, I thought about calling her up and sharing some things with her. But I’m not really the vindictive type. And I expected she’d find out for herself soon enough what he’s like.” She leaned forward again, her eyes avid. “Has she, finally?”
I said, “I think they both know each other pretty well after eight years together,” which I thought was a noncommittal response, but the words made her smile anyway. Mary Ellen Layne may not have been a vindictive person, and nine years is a long time, but she was still carrying a grudge. Not that I blamed her, if what she’d told me was an accurate portrait of her ex-husband.