“Of course we’re familiar with it, Mr. Hauck. Everyone in the industry followed it. That was when Jim first started acting a little strangely.”
“How do you mean?”
“He grew agitated. Withdrawn. He stopped sleeping. Got up at night. What is your connection to these murders, Mr. Hauck, if you don’t mind telling me?”
“I was close friends with one of the family who was killed. I’m looking into whether the two incidents might be connected in any way. Two traders, two Wall Street firms collapsed. I just have a few questions.”
“That poor family.” Leslie Donovan sighed, shaking her head. “Terrible. But my husband took his own life, Mr. Hauck. Surely you know that. What do you mean, ‘whether the two incidents might be connected’?”
Hauck removed a photo from an envelope. The photo Merrill had given him. Dani. “I was wondering if you know this person, Ms. Donovan. Or if anyone by the name Thibault had ever come up with your husband. He’s Belgian. Dieter Thibault, or maybe Dani?”
Donovan’s widow took the photo. “No. I don’t recognize him. I don’t know the name at all. Should I?”
“I don’t know.” Hauck shrugged, knowing it was a long shot. “He’s someone who had a connection to Marc Glassman that I came in contact with. Is there any chance his name might be in your husband’s phone log, or maybe somewhere in his records or on his desk? Here, or at work?”
“If you believe there’s some kind of connection between those murders and my husband, why don’t you just tell the police?” Donovan’s widow asked. “Detective Campbell of the local precinct has been very helpful. I’m sure he’d see you.”
“Already had the pleasure,” Hauck said. “But I didn’t mention this man. I’m just not at that stage. And I don’t want to upset you unnecessarily, until I know something more. You said the Glassman murders seemed to agitate your husband. Did he discuss the incident with you in any way? Was he unnaturally focused on it? Any special importance to it you can recall?”
“Of course he was focused on it, Mr. Hauck. They had similar jobs. The same kind of pressure. And now…” She wet her lips, shook her head. “With what’s come out, those losses…It only seems more so.” She took her thumb and forefinger and pressed them into her brow. Her sister sat down beside her on the couch and put her hand on Leslie Donovan’s knee. She drew a deep breath and shook her head, not, it seemed, in response to anything.
“Did your husband seem afraid in any way?” Hauck asked her. “Recently. Did he ever give you the impression someone might be threatening him or out to get him?”
Donovan’s widow stared at him. “You don’t think those poor people were killed in a break-in, do you? Or Jimmy…”
Hauck looked back at her and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“It’s hard enough for me to think that Jim actually could have done these things they’re accusing him of”-she pressed together her lips-“without having to think that maybe he was…” She didn’t finish the phrase. “Just what is it you are trying to say? He wasn’t sleeping. He would sometimes take calls late at night. Anyone who handles money knows what that is like. Of course, he showed a lot of stress. Of course, he wasn’t right. Look at what’s come out, Mr. Hauck. Just the other night…”
She covered her face with her hand. Not crying. Almost hiding. Her sister put her arm around her.
“Just the other night…Jim went downstairs. Took Remi out. At three A.M. I woke up when he came back up. He sat on the bed. He looked like he had seen a ghost. He started to tell me how he was afraid, what the losses he was suffering might mean to his career, to our family. I mean, everyone had losses. What he was hiding, I had no idea…He kept saying he’d seen the same car outside…I saw what he was going through. I wanted to help him in some way. I sat up with him for an hour. Yes, he seemed afraid. Yes, he was worried about things. But now he’s dead. It’s over. What difference does it make now, anyway?”
Hauck asked, “Do you think your husband killed himself, Ms. Donovan?” knowing it was more than he should have said.
Her sister looked up at him like That’s enough now. It’s time. Hauck collected the photo. He put it back in his sport coat. He stood up.
“Do I think he killed himself?” Donovan’s widow shook her head. “I didn’t think Jim was capable of any of the things they say he did. But take his own life? No. I can’t believe that, Mr. Hauck. I don’t think I ever will. He loved us far too much. If not me, then Zachy. His son was everything to him. So, no.”
“Why do you think your husband had a key to the superintendent’s office, Ms. Donovan? Seems to me he could have taken calls from here. It’s private, no matter what time of night.”
“I don’t know.” Leslie Donovan shook her head, tearing up. “I don’t know.”
Hauck figured he’d stayed long enough. “Thanks for your time. If you happen to look through his phone records, or any of his things, and come across that name-Thibault”-he pointed to his card-“you can reach me at that number.”
He went to the door and was about to say “I’m sorry” again, when he turned back. “One more thing…Do you remember what kind of car it was?”
“Excuse me?” Leslie Donovan looked up, surprised.
“What kind of car your husband said he saw. Outside. That he thought might be following him.”
“Some kind of SUV,” Leslie Donovan replied. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was important. Black, I think.”
Hauck nodded. A black Suburban was the vehicle Evan Glassman had snapped a shot of outside his house.
“You know you’re the second person to ask me that question today?” Donovan’s widow looked up. “The make of the car.”
“Who was the first?” Hauck asked. Maybe that’s what Campbell had been hiding. That he knew something he didn’t share.
“A woman,” Leslie Donovan said. “She was up here earlier today. From Washington.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Hauck finally made it home at close to ten. He noticed Annie had let herself in, and it hit him then how he had promised to cook a meal for them tonight, her night off, curl up on the couch, and watch 24.
Soon as he came through the door he knew he was in some trouble.
“Nice meal,” Annie called out from the living room couch, her voice ringing with sarcasm.
Oh shit.
One glance at the kitchen told him she had done her best to resurrect what he was supposed to have put together: the flank steak that had been marinating in the fridge, along with one of her favorite weekday staples, spaghetti in oil and crushed black pepper-corns. He saw that 24 was finishing up on the tube and Annie was in PJ bottoms and a T-shirt with a plate perched on her lap.
“Jeez, I’m sorry,” he muttered, tossing his jacket over a chair. He came over and sat beside her. “Work.”
“I called work,” Annie said. “Brooke said you left early and went into the city.”
“Right.” Hauck cleared his throat contritely. “I left word. Would it make me out to be more or less of a heel if I told you how great everything smells?”
“More,” Annie said, not letting up. “So don’t try.” She put her plate down on the old trunk that doubled as Hauck’s coffee table. “You know, I take one night off a week, Ty, and it’s a night Jared stays up at school, and it would be nice if I was able to maybe spend it with the guy I’m supposedly involved with. Especially when he makes the big hunter-gatherer gesture that he’s going to cook.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “Truth is”-he tried to smile-“I never saw anyone so eager to get themselves poisoned.”
“No humor, Ty, please. That’s not the point.”
“I know it’s not the point.” He squeezed her warmly on her knee, his hand staying there. “I went into the city to follow up on a lead. I guess I just got wrapped up.”