There was a question that I kicked myself for not expecting. What was I doing with my mother’s former lawyer? Luckily, Gabriel smoothly covered for me, saying that he was facilitating contact with Pamela Larsen, ensuring that I got everything I needed from my biological mother—medical information and so on. When we finished, the journalist—a freelancer named Martin Lores—exchanged cards with Gabriel and promised to call with publication details.
——
We were in the car before Gabriel spoke.
“You handled yourself very well, Olivia.”
I gazed out the window. “I did adequately.”
I vaguely heard him say something as he backed the car out, but I didn’t quite catch it.
“Olivia?” he prodded.
“Sorry. Just…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “This whole media thing has me feeling … helpless. I was looking forward to taking control of the situation, and I didn’t get the chance.”
A pause. “I see.” Awkward. Damn it. I’d overshared.
I settled into my seat. “Go ahead, set the appointment for seven and dump me at the nearest library.”
“Skip the research. It’s not critical. We’ll get dinner and I’ll distract you with tales of my day in court.”
“The guy who dissolved his victim with quicklime? Or was it chemical hydrolysis?”
“Chemical hydrolysis. Or that’s what he would have used, had he killed the man, which he most certainly did not.”
“Of course.” I smiled. “Okay, take me to dinner and distract me.”
We’d been inside Tim Marlotte’s condo for less than five minutes before we knew exactly what had gone wrong between him and Jan, and why he hadn’t been terribly distraught over their breakup. It wasn’t the tasteful decor that gave it away. This was Wicker Park, a trendy neighborhood filled with wannabe artistic types. According to Anna Gunderson, Marlotte had recently given up a bank job to pursue dreams of being a sculptor. So I wasn’t jumping to any conclusions … until a guy my age slipped into the foyer and gave Marlotte a kiss before leaving the apartment.
As we settled into the living room, I said, “As I’m sure Mr. Walsh explained, we’re here to talk about your breakup with Jan Gunderson. I’m guessing that”—I hooked a finger toward the foyer—“is the reason.”
Gabriel cleared his throat. “What Ms. Jones means is—”
“Yes, I’m not being subtle.” I looked at Marlotte. “But that kiss wasn’t subtle, either. Did you know you were gay when you were engaged to Jan?”
Marlotte scratched his neat beard. Then his ear. I kept waiting for Gabriel to jump in and say something soothing, take the edge off my bluntness, but he stayed silent. After a moment, his gaze flicked my way. Prodding me.
“I take it that’s a yes,” I said. “You knew, but at the time you had no intention of coming out. So you dated the sister of a good friend. You’d known her for years, liked her, could imagine a life with her, if you had to, and you thought you had to. Then she meets Pete Evens and discovers what was missing in your relationship. She breaks it off. You realize you’re relieved. You let her go gracefully.”
“I wasn’t…” His fingers drummed the arm on his chair. “When I was engaged to Jan, I wasn’t using her. I did care for her. I loved her. Just not … not that way.”
“Did Christian know? He was your best friend.”
“My straight best friend. That makes a difference, Ms. Jones. If a gay man confesses to his male best friend that he prefers men, he may very well find himself looking for a new friend.”
“So Christian never suspected anything.”
“I never confirmed anything.”
I glanced at Gabriel. He motioned for me to keep pressing. Apparently, I was playing bad cop tonight.
“That’s not what I asked, Mr. Marlotte. Did Christian suspect you were gay?”
He wriggled in his chair, pretending to just be shifting for comfort, but from his expression, wishing he could disappear into the deep cushions.
Finally he said, “I don’t see what this has to do with—”
“It is important, I’m afraid,” Gabriel said, his voice spiced with apology and regret. “You are aware, I know, that Christian was viewed as a potential suspect in his sister’s death. We have heard that he was very upset about your breakup. Angry with her, which would be very unlikely if he knew you were gay.”
“I … he … I confessed one night, just after I got engaged to Jan. We went out drinking, and I had too much.”
“Before the breakup?” I said.
He nodded.
“And what did he say?”
“That it didn’t matter.”
“What?”
“He said it didn’t matter.” Marlotte spit the words now, old anger and resentment bubbling up. “Jan loved me, and as long as I treated her well, it didn’t matter.” He turned sharply to face me. “I wasn’t really drunk. I pretended to be so I could confess. No one wants his sister marrying a guy who’s gay, right? Maybe Chris wouldn’t talk to me again. Maybe he’d beat the shit out of me. But whatever happened, I’d be free from the lies and maybe, just maybe, it would be the kick in the ass I needed to come out.”
“Only that’s not what happened.”
“No, it’s not.” Bitterness etched lines around Marlotte’s mouth. “I confessed to my best friend, and he told me to keep lying. Keep hiding. Which I did. For nearly twenty years. All because of Christian.”
Chapter Thirty-six
As we were leaving Marlotte’s place, Gabriel checked his e-mail. One so engrossed him that he walked right past the car.
“Everything okay?” I called.
“Hmm.”
I figured that was all I was getting. Not surprising. I’d only asked to be polite. When we got into the car, though, he started it up and said, “You won’t need to worry about Niles Gunderson anymore.”
My heart thudded, and I said nothing. Then he looked over, frowning slightly, and I realized some response was required.
“Been locked up in the psych ward again, has he?” I said, as casually as I could.
Gabriel’s head tilted. A barely perceptible movement, but I noticed it, and I knew what it meant—that behind those dark shades, his eyes were studying mine. I had to force myself not to turn away. After a moment, I said, “Gabriel?”
He put the car into reverse and backed from the spot.
“After the incident at your house, I was concerned that Mr. Gunderson might be a problem for you. I put out a request to various contacts, asking to be alerted if he spoke to the media or issued a threat of any sort.”
Again, silence. Again, a split second too late I realized a response was required.
“Thank you,” I said.
He glanced over at me. Was my tone too casual? As if I’d known that Niles Gunderson wasn’t a threat—and why.
“You are my client,” he said. “As such, I will look after your interests. It seems, though, that it was unnecessary. Niles Gunderson was found dead in his apartment this morning.”
“What?”
Gabriel paused. I was sure I’d sounded shocked enough. Too shocked? Damn it. I should tell him.
Why? To clear my conscience? Leaving Niles dead in his kitchen was wrong, but if I admitted that, I’d only be burdening—and entrusting—Gabriel with my secret.
“He’s been dead a few days, it seems,” Gabriel continued. “Natural causes. It doesn’t affect our investigation, but we will need to temporarily avoid contacting his daughter.”