Little Deaths(37)

“I dunno. I was tired, I guess. Sometimes the kids would tire me out. I drove home, drank a couple of beers, watched the Mets on TV. I fell asleep around eleven.”

“What about the next day? The thirteenth. What did you do?”

“I played golf in the morning. I had a tee time at seven, so I got up around six, showered, headed out. It was pretty quiet, I remember. Not much traffic.”

He was talking freely now. Maybe it was easier to talk about himself instead of the kids.

“How come you were playing so early? It was your day off. You could’ve taken it easy.”

“I like to get up early, get a head start on the day. My pop always said early was the best part of the day. And it gets too hot later on. I don’t like to be out in the sun in the afternoon.”

“So you played your round—how was it?”

“It was good to be outside. But the guy I played with, Ed, he said twice my game was shot to hell. Guess he was right.”

“Why was that?”

“Well—the custody thing. It was on my mind a lot. Seeing the kids, it got me thinking. Guess I was upset.”

“I can understand that. It must have been tough on you—that, and the separation.”

Frank nodded. Pushed the food around his plate. Wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Pete leaned in again. “The separation, that was Mrs. Malone’s idea?”

“Yeah. I guess.” He still didn’t look up.

Pete pitched his voice low. “That’s real hard. Did she ever tell you why?”

He shrugged.

“Was there maybe another woman involved?”

Frank’s head whipped around. “You think I was cheating on her? No way. No way! That’s not how it was!”

Pete raised his hands in apology. “So how was it?”

“She was . . . I found her. With someone.”

Pete felt adrenaline surging through him. This hadn’t been in any of the papers. “You found her with another guy?”

Frank’s eyes were wet, his voice almost a whisper. “I came home early one day. I was sick to my stomach and the boss told me to go home. I walked in and I heard noises. In the bedroom. They were . . . they . . .”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malone.”

“The guy just picked up his clothes and ran past me. I wanted to grab him. Wanted to hit him so damn hard he’d never go near my wife or anyone’s wife ever again. But I was so . . . I just . . .”

His voice trailed off and he passed a hand over his face. It was as though he’d forgotten Pete was there.

“She was crying. I thought she was sorry. I went to her—and she screamed at me to leave her alone.”

Now he looked up. “You know, I would have forgiven her. I never wanted us to split. But she . . .”

Tears filled his eyes and he blinked them away. Swallowed.

Pete gave him a moment and then asked, “Is that why you were going for custody? She was seeing other men?”

Frank nodded. “I thought . . . the guy I caught her with, I thought it was a one-time thing. But Frankie told me . . . he used to tell me that they’d wake up and there’d be men in the apartment. Different men.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t have that. Lord knows what it would do to the kids, growing up like that.”

Pete pushed aside their plates, took out his cigarettes, and offered one to Frank, watched him inhale a little shakily.

“So what happened then, on the thirteenth? You played golf in the morning—then what?”

“Uh . . . I had a drink in the clubhouse with Ed. He left around noon. I had a couple more beers, ate a sandwich, watched the game on TV.”

“You see the whole game?”

“No. I left around two.”

“Did you go home?”

Frank sighed. “I feel dumb saying this. I didn’t tell the cops. But I guess it’ll have to come out.”

Pete tried to make his voice calm. “What will? What did you do?”

“I drove out to Huntington.”

“Huntington?”

“Yeah. To Redwood Drive.”

“Why? What’s out there?”

Frank drained his soda, waited until the waitress had taken his glass.

“There’s a guy who lives out there. Salcito. He’s a friend of Ruth’s.”

He sighed.

“I thought they were . . . you know. I thought they had something going on. That he was another one who . . . that she was having an affair with him.”

“So what was on your mind when you drove out there?”

Frank leaned forward, his face flushed.

“She’s my wife. I wanted to . . . I guess I wanted to teach him a lesson about playing around with another guy’s wife.”

“So what happened?”

A sudden, harsh laugh. “The bastard wasn’t home! I parked on the street, psyched myself up. I walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell. Rang it twice. And no one was home! I could hear a dog barking in back, but no one answered.”

“What did you do then?”

“Just turned around. Drove away.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I was pissed at first. Then I thought maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t home. He might’ve had people with him. A gun, maybe. Anything. Anything could have happened.”