Cary shrugged, then sighed. There wasn't a trace of defensiveness about him. "We were a team," he said. "That's how we always talked about one another. I don't know what else I can say. We may have had an argument in the past year or so, but if we did, I don't even remember what it was about. We were a team," he repeated. "We just lived a normal life."
Glitsky's original conception of this interview had been that he would start out slow and gradually grill the husband hard on his movements on the night of the murder, and maybe find a hole in the story he'd given to Inspectors Belou and Russell. But now, in the small room, seeing the man in such obvious, all-inclusive pain, he found himself unable to get warm to the idea that Cary was a killer. "I know the inspectors have gone over this with you, sir, but in the past few days, I wonder if something else might have occurred to you- some disagreement your wife might have had with, I don't know, a neighbor, one of your relatives, somebody from your children's school. Maybe even something from a long time ago that you didn't remember in the first days of shock and grief? That you originally didn't see as having any possible connection."
Cary looked down at his dog, stopped petting him and sat back on the couch. He took off his glasses, rubbed them on his pants leg, put them back on. "No," he said, and shook his head.
"What?"
"Nothing, I'm sure." But he went on. "This really isn't possible, I don't think, but Elizabeth does have… I mean she did… I mean he's still alive."
"Who's that?"
"One of her brothers. She's got three of them, but one of them, Ted, is crazy. He lives down south at Lake Elsinore. He didn't make the funeral."
"And he's, what? Institutionalized?"
"No. He's not clinically crazy, I don't think. Just not completely right, you know what I mean?"
"Why don't you tell me." Glitsky had a small notepad out. "Ted. Last name?"
"Reed. R-E-E-D."
"Okay. And how is he crazy?"
"I shouldn't say crazy. That's just how we always refer to him. He was born premature and always had lots of learning problems. His IQ's probably about eighty-five. He's sad more than anything, really. I haven't seen him in, I don't know, five years or more. But Elizabeth tried to stay in touch on his birthday and Christmas, like that. That's the way she was, she wasn't going to abandon her brother." He sighed. "Anyway, I know she talked to him at Christmas because she made the kids say hi to their Uncle Ted."
"He yelled at us, too."
Glitsky looked up in surprise. Ranger ran over to the tall, gangly boy of about fourteen, hands in his pockets, who had appeared in the hallway. Cary stood up. "Scott…" He turned. "Inspector, this is my oldest, Scott. He's sorry that he was eavesdropping. Scott, Inspector… I'm sorry."
"Glitsky." On his feet, shaking the boy's hand.
A good solid grip. The boy even made eye contact. "Nice to meet you, sir."
Cary raised his voice. "You other kids back there, too?"
In a second, the two younger sisters were in the room. Both of them had been crying. Cary introduced them, too, Patricia and Carlene, then apologized to Glitsky again.
He waved it off and looked at the son. "So you were saying, Scott, that your Uncle Ted yelled at you on this phone call?"
"Yes, sir. I finally had to hang up on him."
"What was he yelling about?"
Scott glanced at his father, got a nod and went ahead. "All the presents I got."
"What about them?"
"Well, he asked what I'd got for Christmas and I started to tell him and go down the list, like, you know, and suddenly he's all 'Your mother's got that kind of money?' Really yelling at me. Like if Mom's got all that money, she could send some to him instead of spoiling us…" He turned to his father. "You think it might have been him, Dad?"
"No, I don't know. I can't imagine…" Cary to Glitsky now: "That's just the way he is. He thinks because we have a little money, we… He just doesn't understand. But he's really harmless, I think. Just a little crazy."
"He's a jerk," the son said. "A total jerk."
Cary's face relaxed into something like a smile for the first time. "I can't really argue with that. Even Elizabeth thought he was a pain in the ass. And she liked everybody."
"And he didn't come to the funeral?" Glitsky asked.
"Thank God," Scott said.
"No," Cary answered. "Nobody could reach him."
"So he might not have been down at Lake Elsinore?"
"I don't know. I don't know if the other brothers have reached him yet."
"I bet he did it, the son of a bitch."
"Scott! That's enough. All right." The rebuke's tone wasn't harsh, but it was firm, and effective. The boy still fumed, but in silence. Cary turned to Glitsky. "I've got an address and a phone number down there I can give you, but I'd be very surprised."
Glitsky shrugged. "You never know. It's worth following up."
"I'll go get it."
As Cary went out to the hallway, Glitsky faced the children. "Do any of you guys have any ideas of who might have wanted to hurt your mother?"
The two young girls started crying again, quietly. Ranger started whimpering around them and Scott, repeating over again that he bet it was Uncle Ted, went over to join in the comforting. Glitsky's own emotions began to roil, and incredibly moved, he had to look away for a moment.
Then Cary was back with Ted's numbers on a yellow Post-it. He absently handed it to Glitsky as he gathered his children around him, telling them to go back into the kitchen and finish dinner, then do the dishes and get going on their homework. He'd be in to help in a minute.
When they'd gone, Glitsky said, "You've done well with them. They're good kids."
"All Elizabeth," he said. "I'm only here for decoration." He sighed. "I notice the girls were crying again. Did something happen?"
"I asked if they had any idea of anyone who might have wanted to hurt their mother."
Cary's shoulders sagged. "That's just it. No one could have wanted to hurt her." He seemed to be searching for a way to express it more compellingly. "I mean, she couldn't abide anything even remotely violent, so what reason could anyone have to do this to her? She refused to be in the same room with me when I watched Law & Order because she said it reminded her too much of a murder trial she had to sit on a long time ago before I even knew her. That's how she was. So how could someone hurt a person like her? It makes no sense…"
But suddenly, Cary's explanation had sparked a question. "What was this murder trial?" Glitsky asked.
"The one Elizabeth was on? I don't really know anything about it. She didn't like to talk about it. As I said, it was before we were even together. At least twenty-five years ago. They found the man guilty and he went to jail."
"You remember his name?"
"No. I don't know if I ever knew it." Cary pushed at the bridge of his eyeglasses. "She really wouldn't talk about it at all. It bothered her that she'd been a part of putting this guy away forever. She just felt tremendous guilt about the whole thing."
"Why? Didn't she think they reached the right verdict?"
"No. It wasn't that. Mostly it was she didn't feel like she should have been sitting in judgment of another person. Even if he was guilty. She wished she'd never done it." Cary put his hand to his head and closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them again.
"Was it here in San Francisco?" Glitsky asked.
A shrug. "I don't even know that, for sure. I think it must have been right after she got out of school, college. She went to Santa Clara. She may have still been living down there. Maybe one of her brothers would know." He pointed to the Post-it. "Anyway, I've included them in with Ted's number there. But again," he said, "I can't imagine…" His voice petered out. "It doesn't really matter anyway. It won't bring her back, will it?"
Even though it was a Monday night, by a little after nine-thirty the crowd was four deep at the bar of the Balboa Cafe, at the corner of Greenwich and Divisadero. Although the intersection had four corners and not three, it went by the nickname of "the triangle"- after the Bermuda Triangle- where singles went to disappear for the weekend. By ten o'clock every night of the week, the three major bars and the streets in front of them were clogged mostly with young professionals, but also (what gave the place its uniquely privileged character) with the sons and daughters of the older generation of San Francisco's elite society.