Someone Else's Husband(66)
She made a face. “Gee, thanks, Mom.”
“Beyond that, manage your lives, conserve your energy,” Mikey went on. “I know it’s not a satisfying answer, but it’s really the best thing right now. Get ready to deal with the press. They’re already on this, obviously. Get your finances in order, too—no moving or hiding assets. We don’t want even a hint of impropriety.”
“Why would we hide anything?” Becks asked.
“You wouldn’t,” Scotty said. “But the D.A.’s office loves to jump to conclusions. One decimal point out of place, and you’ll never get rid of them.”
“Obviously,” Gretchen said smoothly.
In truth, this complication hadn’t occurred to her. Those men wanted their fifty thousand dollars, and they clearly weren’t going away. And now she couldn’t withdraw that kind of money without raising questions—ones she certainly could not answer.
Richard Falk Police Interview
5:10 a.m., September 12
Q. What did you text to Frankie Callahan the night of September 10th?
A. Something about wanting to see her right away, if I recall. I’m assuming that’s why you came to my apartment so quickly?
Q. We saw that text, yes. You seemed agitated.
A. Hard to tell someone’s mood in a text.
Q. Not that hard. “Frankie, I need to see you right now. Really, please. Answer me.” Seems kind of…intense.
A. Frankie is my friend. I needed to talk to her about a problem she was having.
Q. At 10:37 p.m.? That was the time of the text.
A. Yes.
Q. What was the problem?
A. What?
Q. The problem Frankie needed help with?
A. Oh, some ex-boyfriend. You should be looking into him. Maybe he has something to do with what happened to her?
Q. What was his name?
A. I don’t know. He was someone from her past.
Q. Okay, from where?
A. She didn’t say. Check her phone. He was texting her.
Q. We will, as soon as we can get it unlocked. Your texts were right there on the lock screen.
A. If you say so.
Q. How did your wife feel about this relationship you had with Frankie Callahan?
A. What relationship?
Q. Well, you texted her that you had to see her. You were helping her with problems she was having. Almost sounds like things a husband would do.
A. I wasn’t Frankie’s husband. I was her friend. That’s all.
Q. Someone saw you at her apartment, Mr. Falk. Wednesday night, around the time she was killed.
A. No, they didn’t.
Q. Your photo was subsequently picked out of an array. Can you explain that?
A. No. But whoever said that—they’re wrong.
Before
Frankie
September 8
I’m legitimately drunk by the time Richard and I leave Las Nacionales. It’s not an accident. I noticed I was getting buzzed an hour in and decided to double down. Had that third glass of wine. Maybe I want to lose my grip. Be too drunk to be fully accountable. I trip on the threshold on our way out and almost take a header.
“Whoa! You okay?” Richard reaches back to catch me, his strong hand grabbing my forearm. It’s sudden and forceful.
“Sorry,” I say. “I think I drank too much.” Ugh. I am a car crash in slow motion.
I was drunk that first night with the Senator. Not drunk enough to have been incapacitated. But drunk enough to let myself make decisions I might not otherwise have made.
This time is different, though. What if this is even real—Richard and me? Yes, he’s married. That’s one thing these situations have in common. But love happens. It changes things. People. The curve of the earth.
God, is that what I’m thinking? That he loves me? No. That isn’t it, exactly. I am not that far gone. But there’s a feeling in my body when I’m around Richard—I’m utterly calm and hyperkinetically alive at the same time. It’s a feeling I don’t want to let go of.
We’re halfway down the block before Richard breaks the silence. “I’m sorry if I overreacted back there, grabbing you. When you stumbled, my brain went straight to Van—”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. It really doesn’t take much for me to think about it,” he says. “My mind just inevitably goes to…”
“I’m sorry. It must be so hard,” I say. “And I know I’ve said I’m sorry a million times before, but I don’t know what else to say.”
“I don’t think there is anything else to say.” Richard shrugs. “I was talking to his wife today. She wanted some advice about how to invest, now that the sale has gone through.”
“At least she doesn’t have to worry about money.”
“That’s true,” Richard says. “But she was saying how much she wished she still had the restaurants now. They were such a part of Van, you know. They would have been something of him she had left. It was truly heartbreaking. That’s the thing about being married so long…”
We fall silent then. The talk of marriage has shifted things. Maybe it’s for the best.
“You want to hear something awful?” Richard asks.