"Mostly he was a financial analyst. He did work for your father sometimes."
"What kind of work?"
"He did a lot of things-research, analyzing various kinds of companies and products. For potential investors. To see what their upside was."
"Or their downside."
"Yes. Of course."
"So if he gave a bad report to an investor, someone could have been unhappy."
She frowned and shook her head. "I suppose. But not really. For one thing, companies don't really know who's checking them out. And it would be hard to pin it on one person if, say, a fund manager decided not to invest in a specific company. A lot of people have input into those decisions."
"Was there a specific area he specialized in?"
"No. Whatever interested him or his clients. He didn't always do research for other people. Lately he'd been investing OPM as well, for his firm." She stopped when she saw the faint smile on his face. "Something funny?"
He wiped the grin away. "No, of course not. It's just that I haven't heard that phrase in a long time. Other people's money. And I guess I'm not totally used to you as a thirty-year-old. So it's odd to me to hear you talk like that. I'm sorry, I'm a little bit stuck in the past up here."
There was no humor in her voice, no easing up on him, when she said, "Well, I'd prefer to stay in the present, if you don't mind." And when he nodded his assent, she continued as if there'd been no interruption. "There were things he was better at, areas he was more knowledgeable about. He was very good at his job; there was nothing he couldn't dig into."
"How about recently? Anything different or interesting going on with his business?"
She shrugged. "He'd spent more time traveling lately."
"How lately?"
"Over the past year, the last six months or so in particular."
"Where was he going?"
"Wherever he had to. California… Europe. He spent some time in South Africa over the past month or so for clients." He saw her eyes water briefly, but she pulled herself together immediately. "I kept telling him he'd better come back with a diamond."
"Would you say he was an honest person?"
He knew as soon as he said it that he should have phrased it better. The water was definitely gone from her eyes now, replaced again by anger. "Are you trying to make him responsible for what happened to him? Is that how you handle things, drag people down into the gutter?"
"No," Justin said. "And I apologize for being so blunt. I know things are raw. But if I'm going to find out what happened, I have to know as much as I can. About Ronald, about his work, about the people he surrounded himself with. And I have to ask questions. I'm not looking for any particular answer-I just need to ask the questions, if for no other reason than just so I can eliminate something. I'm starting with a blank canvas and somehow I've got to come up with a finished picture."
She nodded curtly. Didn't acknowledge his lengthy explanation, just said, "He was honest with me. He was honest about us. That's the only way I knew him, so I'd have to say yes, he was an honest person."
"Did he deal with a lot of powerful people?"
"He dealt with rich people. If money makes them powerful, then, yes, he did." She inhaled deeply. "I know what you're trying to do. See if he crossed a line with someone, see if he did anything foolish or careless. He didn't. Ronald was the least foolish or careless person who ever lived. He didn't drive fast; he always wore a seat belt; he kept an umbrella in the car at all times. He was safe. It's why I married him, because I knew nothing bad could happen around him. And now-now…" The tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Goddammit. I wasn't going to cry."
"There's nothing wrong with crying," he told her.
Her anger and her stiffness and her sorrow now erupted in sudden rage. "Don't tell me how to grieve!" she spat. "Don't tell me about crying and sadness. My sister's dead! My husband's dead! Don't tell me it's okay to cry. Does crying bring them back? Does crying make the rest of my life safe and happy… Does it keep people like you away from me?"
"No," he said quietly. "It doesn't do that." He waited until her tears were done and her breathing was back to normal. "Do you want me to stop?" Justin asked.
She shook her head. "No. I want you to ask what you have to ask."
"Do you have a list of his clients?"
She exhaled deeply, as if frustrated that, now that it was too late, she knew so little about her husband. "His assistant would have that, I'm sure. Or one of the analysts who worked for him. There were a few social occasions where we'd go out with clients-Ron would entertain them-but I never had much contact with them."
"Did he have his own firm?"
"Yes," Victoria said. "For the last year. Maybe a little more."
"All right. I'll get the client information from the people at the company, if that's all right."
"I'll call them, tell them to cooperate with you. Is there anything else?"
"Not right now. If I think of something, is it all right if I call you?"
She nodded and he stood up. As he took his first step toward the entryway, she said, "It's come full circle, hasn't it?"
His foot stopped in midair and he turned back toward her. "What has?"
"Your wife was murdered because of something you did. Now you murder someone's husband-he dies because of something she did. Full circle." When he didn't answer, she said, "Yes, I cry while I'm grieving. But I can also read the paper."
Justin stood there frozen, agonizing for what seemed like hours but was merely seconds. He said, "I'll call you if I need anything." Then he found his own way to the front door, leaving her on the couch, back straight, legs crossed, unbending and not moving. When he stepped outside, for a moment he thought he was going to be sick, and he doubled over. But he wasn't sick. Not physically. So he stood back up, rubbed off the beads of sweat that were soaking his forehead, got in his car, and drove away.
He didn't think he'd be back for quite some time.
16
In keeping with the rest of his day, Justin's conversation with Billy DiPezio did not start out as a raging success.
Billy was not much on exchanging pleasantries-Billy was not much on pleasantries in general-so the first thing he said to Justin was, "You look like shit."
"I can't imagine why," Justin said. "The last few days have been so pleasant and stress free."
"What do you want?" Billy said. Then, "No, never mind. You want whatever the hell I know about Ronnie LaSalle's murder."
"I want a couple of things. But that's a good place to start."
"No problem," Billy said. "Here's every single thing I know." He held up his index finger so it touched his thumb, forming a circle. "Zero. Zilch. Nada. You beginning to understand what I'm saying?"
"Not such a good start then," Justin said.
"I've had better."
"You got a theory?"
"You've known me a long time, Jay," Billy said. "I got theories on everything. On life, on Ronnie LaSalle… you want my theory on why you came up here?"
"No," Justin said.
"'Cause you think if you solve this little crime, then the colder-than-fuckin'-ice Vicky LaSalle is gonna forgive you for something you don't need to be forgiven for."
"What part of 'no' don't you understand?"
"I'm just givin' you some free advice, my friend. Whatever you do, you aren't gonna change the look in Vicky's eyes. You don't deserve that look, and the sooner you accept that, the better. But you ain't gettin' rid of it."
"Victoria."
"What?"
"She calls herself Victoria now. Not Vicky. She's a grown-up."
"But she still thinks like a kid when it comes to you and Alicia."
"Shut up, Billy. I'm not kidding. End of conversation."
"You want to talk about somethin' else, name your subject."
"Let's try to stick to Ron LaSalle. You got any of your famous theories on what happened?"
"Yeah. He was screwin' around and someone thought they could take him for big bucks. His girlfriend, his girlfriend's boyfriend, somebody. Somethin' went wrong somewhere and Ronnie winds up in Drogan's lot."