He dismissed Drax, who left without a word, aiming another glare at me on his way out. Mathias went around behind his desk, sat down when I did. He placed his hands flat on the desktop and leaned forward slightly, letting me have his full attention, waiting for me to open the conversation.
I said, “My condolences on your loss, Mr. Mathias. How are you bearing up?”
“As well as can be expected, thank you.”
“I won’t keep you long. I just have a few questions.”
“Of course.”
“Were you and your wife having any problems prior to her death?”
Fastball, high and tight. He didn’t even twitch. “Problems?”
“Personal difficulties.”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Part of my job. Do you mind answering?”
“No, of course not. Nancy and I were devoted to each other. Our four years together were the happiest of my life.”
“So you’d say she was happy, too. Content.”
“Very much so.”
First lie. And not a small one.
I said, “I understand she was something of a recluse.”
“Nancy? Lord, no. She was a very warm, outgoing person.”
“But she didn’t go out often, stopped seeing all her friends.”
“Did her sister tell you that? Celeste Ogden?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Well, you really should take anything that woman says with several grains of salt. Mrs. Ogden disapproved of my marriage to Nancy, disapproved of our lifestyle. She made such an intrusive annoyance of herself that Nancy stopped having anything to do with her.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The woman is also a trespasser and a thief.”
“Is that right?”
“Oh yes. After Nancy’s accident, she illegally entered my home and rummaged through my wife’s belongings and removed a number of private papers.”
“How do you know this?”
“I discovered the items missing the following day. Found out later she talked the housekeeper into giving her a key. Simple addition.”
“Did you confront her?”
“No. She would only have denied it.”
“Notify the police?”
“No. It was more an annoyance than anything else and my time is budgeted to the max as it is. The stolen items weren’t important.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Absolutely. Household bills and the like. Nancy kept nothing of value in her office.”
“I think I’ll have a talk with Mrs. Ogden.”
“Do that,” Mathias said. “But remember those grains of salt. And the fact that she’s a thief.”
“Let’s get back to your wife. What was her mental state in the days prior to her death?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Was she worried about anything? Upset, distracted?”
“Not at all.”
“Was she given to mood swings, bouts of depression?”
“Certainly not.”
“You left for Chicago the day before she died,” I said. “Something might have happened that you’re not aware of.”
“I spoke to her on the phone the afternoon of her accident. She would have told me if any problem had come up. She was in very good spirits, looking forward to my return.”
“Was she expecting a visitor that night?”
“Nancy didn’t have nighttime visitors.”
“Would she have told you if she was?”
“Certainly. We had no secrets from each other.”
Smooth, lying bastard. Looking at him, listening to him, made the palms of my hands itch. “Who else has a key to your house, besides you and the housekeeper?”
“No one else.”
“And your wife always kept the doors locked at night when she was alone?”
“Of course she did,” Mathias said. “What is the purpose of all these questions? Do you have reason to suspect that Nancy’s death was anything other than a tragic accident?”
“No concrete reason.”
“But you do suspect it?”
“I suspect the possibility. That’s the nature of my job, Mr. Mathias.”
“Suicide? That’s preposterous, you know. No one in their right mind would attempt suicide by throwing themselves down a flight of stairs-the actuarial probabilties of that happening must be incalculable. My wife was nothing if not sane.”
“Suicide isn’t the only explanation.”
“Foul play? That’s just as preposterous, for heaven’s sake. The doors and windows were locked; there were no signs of an intruder and nothing missing prior to Celeste Ogden’s visit. Nancy would not have opened the door to a stranger or even to someone she knew late at night, and I’ve already told you that all the keys are accounted for. The Palo Alto police were satisfied. Why aren’t you?”
I said nothing. Maybe a silent stare would tweak him a little.
It didn’t. He said, “Is it an attempt on the part of your company to deny the insurance claim? If it is…”
“Pacific Rim doesn’t operate that way. Neither do I.”
“Not that I care if the claim is denied,” he said. “I already have more money than I will ever be able to spend. I might even withdraw it, to save myself any more anguish, but I won’t if you intend to persist in an investigation that has no basis in fact or logic.”
“The decision is Pacific Rim’s, not mine.”
He pretended not to hear that. He was on a roll now. “I’ve just lost my wife, the only woman I ever loved. Is it too much to ask a little human compassion?”
Anything I said to that would have sounded lame or defensive or both. Mathias knew it as well as I did.
“Yes, I thought as much,” he said. He looked pointedly at the slim platinum-gold watch on his wrist. “I have another meeting in five minutes. If you have any more questions, please be brief.”
The only thing I had left was thinly guised accusation, and all that would buy me and Pacific Rim was trouble. Mathias figured to be the litigious type; push him too hard and he’d lawyer up fast and furious. Besides, you could interrogate him for days and he’d never admit to anything that wasn’t in his own best interest. Like a damn modern politician in that sense, too: never admit wrongdoing, never allow yourself to be held accountable, just stonewall and misdirect and obfuscate.
“Nothing further,” I said. “For now.”
He stood up in one fluid motion, came around the desk to stand next to my chair. It wasn’t to offer to shake hands again; it was to look down on me, literally as well as figuratively. He said, with some of the iceman in his voice, “My secretary will take you out,” and left me sitting there as if I were a large piece of trash awaiting removal to the Dumpster.
15
JAKE RUNYON
There wasn’t much left of the abandoned migrant workers’ camp. Scorched earth, the naked black bones of trees, burned-out cinder-block and metal husks. The fire trail extended in a wide swath from the side road deep into the surrounding orchards. Here and there faint wisps of smoke drifted up and faded, like fog dying in the hot morning sunlight. A handful of uniformed firefighters were still on the scene to watch for hot spots, their trucks and equipment strung out along the roadside. The usual rubberneckers were there, too, small knots of them standing off at a distance with looks on their faces that were half-hungry, half-disappointed, because the main show was over.
Joe Rinniak said, “It could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. Not much wind last night. If there had been and the fire had jumped the county road… well, there’s a big farm over there, more than a dozen buildings.”
“No question it was arson?”
“None. First firefighters to get here said you could smell the kerosene. CDF investigator found two gallon cans in the rubble, just before I called you. Remains of a timer, too, the same kind that was used on the other fires.”
“Pretty open out here,” Runyon said. “Not many places for a bug to wait and watch his handiwork. Who turned in the alarm?”