“But what would he be doing in a park up there—at nine o’clock at night?” I ask. “When I spoke to him, he said he had an appointment.”
Williams cups a hand over his mouth and then pulls it away. “Okay, I’m going to be perfectly blunt,” he says. “His car was found in a spot known for anonymous gay sex. He might have been targeted by a predator. Or there’s even a chance it was a hate crime.”
“Kurt was gay?”
Williams shrugs. “Maybe bisexual. He certainly wasn’t out, and I know he was married to a woman briefly in his thirties. He told me a few months ago that he was struggling with something and at the time I thought he was referring to depression. I tried to encourage him to open up, but I didn’t have any luck. Now I’m wondering if he was trying to work out his sexuality.”
It’s not making any sense to me.
“But if he was gay and looking for casual sex, there are easier ways to do it. Why not go on an app like Grindr, instead of traveling to a deserted site miles out of town?”
“If he was feeling as conflicted as I think, the internet might not have felt anonymous enough for him,” he says. “This is a spot for someone who is really on the down low. There are married guys who pull up there in their SUVs on their way back to the burbs at the end of the workday. And Jay would have been familiar with it from a job he did a year or two ago. The wife thought the husband was seeing a woman at work, but Kurt tailed him to several parking lots north of the city and discovered he was hooking up with other men.”
“Why bother telling me he had an appointment? He didn’t owe me an explanation.”
“Maybe he was covering up for himself as much as for you.”
I glance off, mulling over his words. For some reason my mind keeps resisting the story.
“Look, I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around this, too,” Williams says, as if reading my thoughts. “He did the same with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“He left a message on my cell saying he had an appointment related to your case.”
“My case? He didn’t say that when we spoke.”
“So maybe it wasn’t true.”
I feel a stab of fear, and instinctively I reach out and grasp Williams’s forearm.
“Do you think there’s any chance Kurt was murdered because of me? Because of something he discovered?”
“Ms. Linden, there’s no reason to go there. Like I said earlier, maybe Kurt needed to tell himself he had a different plan than trolling for anonymous sex.”
“But I was pushed into the street last night at an intersection. Kurt wondered if I might have witnessed something I shouldn’t have.”
“He ran that idea up the flagpole with me, too, but none of the video he obtained of you showed you in any kind of dangerous situation. Of course, there are still blocks of time unaccounted for.”
The waitress returns with our drinks. I take a long sip of my wine and then a second. Williams has assured me there’s no reason to panic and all I can do is take him at his word. Still . . .
“I’m sorry to make this all about me,” I say, setting the glass down. “This is a big loss for you. I take it you guys were friends as well as partners.”
“We were.” He briefly presses a knuckle to his mouth. “This is tough, coming out of nowhere.”
“Did Kurt have any family?”
“A brother he hadn’t heard from in years, but he had a bunch of buddies, some still on the police force. I’m going to do my best to get ahold of people.”
I nod.
“I don’t want you to worry about this,” he adds, picking up the distress I’m unable to tamp down. “And don’t be concerned about the progress of your investigation, either. The cops took Kurt’s computer, but we have a shared server and I’ll start going through your file later tonight.”
I feel grateful, which in turn triggers a flash of guilt. It pains me to think of Mulroney dead, but at the same time, I’m relieved not to lose any ground.
A couple in the booth behind us slide across the vinyl seats, preparing to leave. I glance at my watch and realize I’ve been gone longer than the couple of hours I promised Hugh. I explain the situation to Williams, and he says he has to hustle, too.
After paying the check, we step out onto Broadway, and Williams hands me his own business card, promising to check in tomorrow. Traffic is bumper-to-bumper so I say a rushed good-bye and hurry to the subway station three blocks south, where I can pick up the 1 train. I walk and text at the same time, telling Hugh I’m delayed but on my way.
I live only a few stops south, but this is my first time back on the subway since coming unglued, and as I descend the steps, my dread builds. Once I’m on the platform, I hug the wall, pressing my back tightly against the filthy tiles. The train roars into the station, and though there’s an empty seat, I choose to stand instead, gripping the metal pole with both hands. I force myself to focus on the ads, repeating the words in my head.
Mercifully the entire trip takes barely ten minutes and in five minutes more I’m unlocking the door to the apartment and letting myself in. I’m halfway into the great room when Hugh pads toward me from the bedroom hallway, barefoot, hair wet, and a large white towel wrapped around his waist. I’m surprised—he rarely showers in the evening, except on weekends, after a late tennis game or bike ride.
“What’s going on, Ally?” he asks. I hear a tiny note of irritation entwined with his concern.
“Something awful happened.”
His eyes widen.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to me,” I say. “The detective I was using—the private eye. He was murdered last night.”
“My god.”
I unload the details, catching my breath a few times as I race through the story.
“That’s horrible,” Hugh says.
“It is. He was a nice guy. He seemed to want to help me.”
And in that moment, I can hear Mulroney again in my head. His husky voice, the way he chuckled about me paying him the big bucks.
“Ally, what is it?”
I press my hands hard against my eye sockets, still thinking it through.
“I can’t stop worrying that his death has something to do with my case. He told his partner he was working on it last night.”
“But what about your situation could make someone want to kill him?”
“What if I was witness to a crime during that time, and Mulroney was close to figuring it out?”
“That seems like an awful stretch.”
“Remember the bloody tissues in my pocket?”
“You said those could have been from a nosebleed.”
“But it wasn’t my blood type.”
“Right. But I just don’t see how—”
“Why do you keep dismissing everything I say, Hugh?” I’m practically shouting now. “I feel like I’m sitting on the wrong side of one of your depositions.”
“I’m not dismissing your ideas, Ally. I’m just playing devil’s advocate, as I’m sure you’d do if our roles were reversed.”
“Right, but I also need you to hear my concerns.”
He steps closer, as if he’s about to hug me, but as he does, his towel loosens. Using both hands, he rolls the top of the towel over a couple of times to keep it from sliding. “We can talk more about this after I’m dressed, okay?” he says. “I ordered Japanese takeout. It should be here any minute.”