Little Deaths(36)

“How about I go and talk to the cops again? See if they got anything . . .”

“You still stuck on this? I told you, we don’t have time. Go talk to Gluckstein about this burglar thing. He was talking to one of the victims this morning. He’ll give you what you need.”

Pete stood. Then with one hand on the door, he said in a rush, “What if I can get an interview with the parents? Mr. and Mrs. Malone. An exclusive.”

Friedmann frowned at him. “You really want this? Okay, you get me an exclusive, we’ll talk. But make it good. I’ll give you twenty-four hours, then I need you back here to pick up whatever comes in.”

Pete called the airport and learned that Frank’s shift ended at seven. He was in the parking lot by six-thirty, watched Frank leave, and followed him to Marty’s.

“Hey, Mr. Malone. How you doing? Can I get you something?”

“Oh, hey, Mr. Wonicke. Uh . . . I’ll take a bacon cheeseburger. Onion rings.”

Pete ordered for them both, then glanced over at Frank. He looked like he’d lost weight in the last week or so. There was a patch of stubble by his ear that he’d missed while shaving.

“How you holding up, Mr. Malone?”

“Okay, I guess. It’s tough, you know.”

Pete nodded. “Sure. I understand. Listen, I’ve been thinking. I’d like to do an interview with you and Mrs. Malone together. That kind of thing always attracts interest, and it’ll keep Cindy and Frank Jr. in everyone’s minds. Might jog a few memories—it might even bring out a few more witnesses. I’ve seen it work before.”

“You have?”

“Oh, sure. People often don’t realize that what they’ve seen is important. They don’t understand that even seeing nothing may be useful information.”

Frank looked confused, so Pete kept talking.

“Would you ask your . . . would you ask Mrs. Malone to talk to me?”

“Well, I’ll try. But she can be awful stubborn.”

Pete held out a dime. “Give her a call. Maybe she can come over now.”

Frank hesitated.

“If we run something with the both of you, it might make a difference. You never know.”

Frank was back from the phone in a couple of minutes. “She’s not home.”

“Okay. Let’s do this without her for now. Why don’t we begin by talking about the days leading up to the . . . to the children’s disappearance. Say the twelfth and thirteenth—what did you do on those days?”

Frank sighed. “I went through all of this already. With the cops.”

“I know, Mr. Malone. But this is background for our readers. It could help.”

“Okay. Well, on the Monday and Tuesday I was off work. Monday, I took the kids to the park. That was the twelfth.”

“Did anything unusual happen while you were there?”

“Well, Frankie fell off the jungle gym, cut his knee. That what you mean?”

“Did you talk to anyone while you were there? Did you see anyone acting strange? Anyone hanging around the kids?”

“No. Nothing like that. I saw Nina Lombardo there with her kids. She lives next door to Ruth. We said hello. And I spoke to the guy with the ice-cream cart. I bought popsicles for Frankie and Cin.”

“And then you took the kids back to Mrs. Malone’s apartment?”

“Well, first we went to my place. I just moved in, wanted the kids to see it. I gave them some milk, let them watch cartoons while I cleaned up. Then I took them over to Ruth’s about six, six-thirty.”

“How did she seem?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, was she in a good mood? Did you talk at all?”

“Not really.”

He swallowed another mouthful of soda. Crunched on the ice. Looked around the diner, then out of the window.

Pete leaned forward.

“I bet she was mad because the kids got dirty playing in the park, right? I was always coming home with mud on my shoes and my clothes. It used to drive my mom crazy.”

Frank gave a sad little smile.

“Ruth hated for the kids to get dirty. I told her, they’re just kids, but it made her real mad.”

He sighed. “She told Frankie to start running a bath. Said she’d have to wash Cin’s hair and clean up Frankie’s knee. She sounded pissed. Like it was more chores.”

“Does she often get mad?”

“You mean, at the kids?”

“Yeah—did she yell at them? Hit them?”

“Sure, when they were outta line. She’s got one of those tempers that flares up, then it’s over real quick.”

Frank frowned. “But I don’t think she’d . . . she wouldn’t hurt them, Mr. Wonicke. I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

But his voice held a note of doubt. The waitress brought their food and as Frank smiled up at her, Pete watched him, thinking about what he’d said. He couldn’t know for sure what Ruth would do.

“And after you left your kids at your wife’s place, then what?”

“I drove around for a while. Thought about the kids. About the custody case. I drove to a bar but then I turned back. Went home instead.”

“Why didn’t you go in?”