Read (2012) Cross-Border Murder for Free Online

“Really? How odd.” I gave him a puzzled look. He went on, “she always spoke longingly of Paris. I think she did it to annoy her husband who seemed to be content in what she apparently considered the backwater of the universe. We always suspected that she had married Monaghan as a form of rebellion against her family background. The few contacts she had with her family that I was aware of did not seem to be pleasant ones. Professor Monaghan was from a lower stratum of American society. I think his father was a mechanic. Or something like that. Still in Montreal is she? Interesting. But odd.”
    “And my mother?” Gina asked.
    “Ah, yes. Your mother.” He looked at me first unsure of what to tell us. I had the feeling he would have told me something he did not want to reveal to Gina. “Well, she pretty well kept to herself. She was always there but she never seemed to really belong. If one caught her off guard, there always seemed to a hint of unhappiness in her face. When you spoke to her she was always polite. Friendly. What I would have called a true lady.” But in his tone he had hit a false note. I noticed it. I don’t think he did. Gina did. She winced. He went on, “Of course she was very beautiful and there were times when she appeared quite happy, but it seemed to me to be a transient emotion, as if she expected it to disappear at any moment.”
    “It did,” Gina said.
    I pressed on. “At the time, did you think Gina’s father was guilty?”
    As he dragged his glass towards him and lifted it to drink, beads of moisture clung to the table like a trail of unsympathetic tears. He gave Gina an apologetic glance.
    “I guess at the time it was convenient for all of us to think so. But I don’t think many of us really bought it. Convenient because otherwise we had to conclude that a murderer was still at large. And what might the motive have been? Something, maybe, that might prove a danger to our own lives? On the other hand none of us had ever thought of your father as someone capable of that kind of violence. It didn’t really make sense.” He turned to Gina. “I’m no psychologist, but usually a man who is prone to violence shows it in many small ways. Sudden anger at parties. Whatever. That was not your father.”
    “But you didn’t rally to his support,” I said.
    “No.”
    “Not even when he was released.”
    He did not reply. I could see that he was beginning to resent my line of questioning.
    “Did anyone go out of their way to foster the idea that he was guilty even after his release?”
    “Not that I can remember.”
    “Did you?”
    “No. Definitely not!” But again he had struck a false note. There was, I felt, too much umbrage in his voice, and I caught a glint of distinct uneasiness in his eyes as he motioned to the bartender. As we waited for his refill, I asked, “assuming that Frank Montini was not guilty, looking back, who would emerge as your favorite suspect?”
    I did not really expect an answer. I was simply going on a fishing expedition to see what his response might be. He seemed suddenly more comfortable with my line of questioning. In fact, I suspected, he had prepared for it.
    He smiled. “I think I should have insisted before I began that all of this should be off the record. I’m sure I’ve already been too garrulous. It’s a weakness that comes with age, and of course a whiskey or two too many.”
    “I haven’t been taking notes. So let’s consider this first conversation as off the record.” I could sense that he was tired of this conversation, but I also sensed that there was probably something he wanted to tell me. “Even in talking to anyone else,” I added, “I won’t refer to you as the source of anything you tell me now.”
    He nodded gratefully.
    “You asked me if I had a favorite suspect. I certainly won’t be that specific. But about five years ago my mind toyed briefly with a theory. It’s a line of investigation you might want to