The Viper

Her reaction reminded Gurney that the pain of losing a relationship that hadn’t lived up to one’s hopes could be worse than losing a satisfying one. Regret over what might have been was probably the most painful of all emotions.

“Actually,” he said gently, “it’s not Sonny I want to ask you about. I’m sure what happened on Blackmore Mountain is connected to your father’s murder. If I can get to the bottom of what happened to your father at Ziko Slade’s lodge, I think what happened to your brother will be clearer.”

Seeing a hint of curiosity in her sad eyes, he continued. “The prosecutor’s understanding of why your father was at the lodge came mainly from comments he’d made to you and Sonny, along with entries he made in a diary. But the diary only covers the period from his learning about something in Slade’s past to his setting out for the lodge. Had he ever kept a diary before?”

Adrienne shook her head. “I don’t think I ever saw him writing anything except lists of things he wanted me to get at the store.”

“But you’re sure that was his handwriting on the diary pages you saw at the trial?”

She nodded. “That was his messy little scrawl, alright. His writing was like a little kid’s.” Her voice had become shaky. She took a paper napkin from a holder on the table and dabbed at her eyes.

“When we met before, you told me that your father admired gangsters and sometimes hinted at having a connection to a big one.”

She nodded.

“When your brother was trying to scare me off the first time I came here, he claimed to have that same sort of connection. Do you have any idea who that mob figure might be?”

“Not really. I used to wonder if it was all made up. Dad mainly talked about it when he had too much to drink. And Sonny would say it to threaten people.”

“Did either of them ever mention a name?”

She shook her head. “If you want, I could ask some of my cousins. If this person was related to our family, they might know about it.”

“That could be very helpful. Now, there’s one more thing. When we spoke on the phone a few days ago, I asked if you could remember anything unusual about your father’s behavior in the weeks leading up to his trip to the lodge. Has anything come to mind?”

“Not really. He didn’t do anything unusual, nothing I was aware of. But for a while, he did seem depressed. He could be moody, so I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

“But it was noticeable enough that you can still recall it a year later. Why is that?”

“It may have been a little different from his other down moods. I think maybe it lasted longer and ended more abruptly than the others.”

She paused, as if straining to see into a foggy past. “Now that you’re making me think about it, it was like he was hit with some big problem, then a month or so later the idea of getting a load of money from Ziko Slade seemed to solve it. Do you think that’s important?”

“I think it might be.”

Adrienne looked suddenly exhausted, the red blotches on her face more pronounced.

“When will they release Sonny’s body? I have to make arrangements for his funeral.”

“You should hear from them soon. Maybe today or tomorrow.”

She nodded vaguely. “I’m used to people dying. That’s what hospice nursing is all about. Dying is natural. But being killed . . . that’s horrible.”

“Yes,” said Gurney gently, “I know.”

“It makes it worse when the police won’t tell you anything. As if everything about my brother belongs to them, and I have no right to know anything.”

He could see in the movement of her eyes her mind going from frustration to frustration, feelings of fury and sadness contending with each other. His own mind kept returning to her father’s abrupt depression and its later reversal. What sort of problem did Lenny Lerman have that he hoped to solve by blackmailing Ziko Slade?

Gurney had a frisson-producing suspicion that the solution to both Lerman murders would lie in the answer to that question.

42

HE WAS DRIVING THROUGH FROST-COVERED CORNFIELDS a few miles out of Winston when he remembered Kyle’s call. He pulled over into the grassy edge of a pasture.

Checking his phone, he saw that he’d also gotten a call from Kyra Barstow. He chose Barstow first, which said something about his priorities that made him uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to switch the order.

Her message was brief but promising. “I have answers to your questions. Call me.”

Kyle’s message was more substantive. “Hey, Dad. Got a question for you. Kim Corazon is here in the city, visiting her mom. She called me this morning about getting together. I was wondering, would it be okay for me to bring her up to your place on Thanksgiving? If that would stir up ugly memories of the Good Shepherd case, and you’d rather I didn’t bring her, I’d understand completely. If you have any qualms, just say so, and I’ll come alone. Totally up to you. Love you. See you soon.”