Wanda Broome, Christine Sullivan’s personal maid and confidante. I
checked. Your father and Wanda Broome had the same parole officer back
in Philly.
According to certain sources, they’ve apparently kept in touch all these
years. My bet is Wanda knew about the safe in the bedroom.”
66SOT9
“So I talked with Wanda Broome. It was obvious she knew more about the
matter than she was letting on.”
“So why aren’t you talking to her instead of sitting here with me? Maybe
she committed the crime herself.”
“She was out of the country at the time, a hundred witnesses to that
effect.” Frank took a moment to clear his throat. “And I can’t talk to
her anymore because she committed suicide. Left behind a note that said
she was sorry.”
Kate stood up and looked blankly out the window. Bands of cold seemed to
close around her.
Frank waited for some minutes, staring at her, wondering how she must
feel, listening to the growing evidence against the man who had helped
create her and then apparently abandoned her. Was there love left there?
The detective hoped not. At least his professional side did. As a father
of three, he wondered if that feeling could ever really be killed,
despite the worst.
“Ms. Whitney, are you all right?vt Kate slowly turned away from the
window. “Can we go out somewhere? I haven’t eaten for a while and
there’s no food here.”
They ended up at the same place Jack and Luther had mel Frank started to
devour his food, but Kate touched nothing.
He looked across at her plate. “You picked the place, I figured you must
like the food. You know, nothing person,* but you could stand to put on
some weight.”
Kate finally looked at him, a half-smile breaking through.
“So you’re a health consultant on the side?”
“I’ve got three daughters. My oldest is sixteen going on forty and she
swears she’s obese. I mean she probably goes one-ten and she’s almost as
tall as me. If she didn’t have such rosy cheeks, I’d think she was
anorexic. And my wife, Jesus, she’s always on some diet or another. I
mean, I think she looks great, but there must be some perfect shape out
there that every woman strives for.”
“Every woman except me.”
“Eat your food. That’s what I tell my daughters every day.
Eat.”
Kate picked up her fork and managed to consume half her meal. As she
sipped her tea and Frank fingered a big trough of coffee, they both
settled themselves in as the discussion wound its way back to Luther
Whitney.
“If you think you have enough to pick him up, why don’t you?”
Frank shook his head, put down his coffee. “You were at his house. He’s
been gone for a while. Probably blew out right after it happened.”
“If he did it. Your party bag is all circumstantial. That doesn’t come
close to being beyond a reasonable doubt, Lieutenant.”
“Can I play straight with you, Kate? Can I call you Kate, by the way?”
She nodded.
Frank put his elbows on the table, stared across at her.
“All bullshit outside, why do you find it so hard to believe that your
old man popped this woman? He’s been convicted of three prior felonies.
The guy’s apparently lived on the edge his whole LIFE. He’s been
questioned in about a dozen other burglaries, but they couldn’t pin
anything on him. He’s a career crim. You know the animal. Human life
doesn’t mean shit to them.”
Kate finished sipping her tea before answering. A career criminal? Of
course her father was that. She had no doubt he had continued to commit
crimes all these years. It was in his damn blood apparently. Like a coke
addict. Incurable.
“He doesn’t kill people,” she said quietly. “He may steal from them, but
he’s never hurt anyone. It’s not the way he does things. What had Jack
said specifically? Her father was scared.
Terrified so badly he was sick to his stomach. The police had never
scared her father. But if he had killed the woman? Perhaps just a
reflex, the gun fired and the bullet ended Christine Sullivan’s LIFE.