Authors: Hazel Dawkins
Eye Sleuth (24 page)
“It’s a technical term that simply means the warrant is issued by a judge.”
This was not good news. Matt Wahr was the one chance we had to learn about Lou Kralle.
“Did you ask Wahr’s wife about Lou Kralle?”
“We tried. She won’t go into any more details other than the basics. Said she’d had enough trouble. But you were right, Matt and Lou are related, they’re first cousins, their moms were sisters. Mrs. Wahr told us she’d never wanted anything to do with Lou,” Riley said. “Sounded final. Who knows, there may have been problems with the marriage before the embezzlement charge.”
“Where does she live?”
“Don’t get ideas,” Riley warned. “Leave it to us.”
“I can look for the address without your help.”
“No need to get mad with me. It’s for your own good.”
That was so patronizing I couldn’t stop a sarcastic comment. “I must have jet lag. I haven’t seen anyone die for several days.”
“Okay, okay. The Wahrs are in Brooklyn Heights. Oh, just found this in my notes––They––Lou and Matt were, quote, ‘close, too close,’ according to the wife.”
“Kralle’s address was in New Jersey,” I said. “Twenty minutes from Manhattan. They could easily get together.”
“Wahr’s wife didn’t seem surprised when I told her about Kralle’s death. She was, well, resigned is the word that comes to mind. She did say he was a wild guy with a violent streak.”
“She say anything else?”
“No. I told you, she didn’t want to talk. She couldn’t get us out of the house quickly enough.”
“Us?”
“My partner, Detective Zeissing. Remember him?”
“Oh, right.”
Riley and I agreed to meet at 12:30 the next day for lunch.
As I hung up, I wondered what would happen if I visited Matt Wahr’s wife? Would she speak to me? Was she worried about her husband or glad to see the back of him? What would Dan Riley’s reaction be to my going to see her? Quickly, I decided he need never find out––for sure I wasn’t going to tell him. That’s if I did get to visit and talk with Matt’s wife. I shelved more speculation about visiting Mrs. Wahr in favor of getting ready for bed. The flight back had been smooth but now I was on home turf, I was unwinding from the emotional burden that had accumulated steadily since the day Mary Sakamoto had been shot.
Overriding my feeling of relief was a set of niggling queries I couldn’t get out of my head. Was Matt Wahr also dangerous, like his cousin? Was the fact that he was on the loose an indication of trouble to come? Was I doing the college finance minister a serious injustice? What if the charges of fraud against him were wrong? I wrestled with the possibilities until sleep lulled my mind to silence.
Eleven
The next day dawned tailor-made for picnics. Lars invited me to the consulate’s annual celebration but was totally understanding when I begged off the day’s activities.
“I need to catch up, go in to the office for a bit,” I explained.
“Then come over for an evening meal?” he said. “Lanny’s been asking for you.”
“I’ll be there,” I promised.
At breakfast––ah, the pleasure of sipping a cup of miso as I planned the day––I thought over the puzzling questions I’d had the night before and discarded them. Why anticipate trouble? I indulged in mochi to follow the miso, heating an entire package in the toaster oven. I ate half and wrapped the rest for a snack. The cats graciously accepted the treats I put out and showed I was forgiven by purring and rubbing against my legs. Larissa was home when I called and happy to hear I had the teapot she’d wanted instead of cash for looking after the cats.
“I’ll bring you the teapot on my way to the office.”
“Stop for a cup of tea,” she said. “Help me christen the teapot.”
“Let’s make it another day.”
I stuffed my snack and conference notes in my backpack and tucking the teapot under one arm, set off downstairs. Larissa threw open her door eagerly and beamed as she took the package. Fending off another invitation to have tea, I promised we’d get together soon so I could tell her about the trip and I left for SUNY. My feet registered the familiar hardness of the sidewalk, so different from the shifting texture of Bournemouth’s sandy beaches.
A peaceful silence blanketed the college. I made quick work of the report to the dean, thanks to the daily notes I’d taken at the conference. I sat back, feeling reasonably ready for the coming week. Sun still filled a cloudless sky and I had the rest of the morning before I was due to meet Riley. I chewed on the last of the mochi squares and decided there was nothing like the present to see if I could talk to Wahr’s wife. I needed an address. Riley had deliberately not mentioned it and I hadn’t asked outright, though I’d hinted around. The hell with politically correct games.
Riley had mentioned Brooklyn, and over the years, Matt had talked about riding the subway home to that borough, so I leafed through the Brooklyn phone directory. I didn’t plan any strategy, just jumped in cold and dialed the phone number I found for Matthew and Sylvia Wahr. A woman answered on the second ring. Quickly I introduced myself to reassure her I wasn’t the law or a legal beagle in pursuit of her husband.
“This is Yoko Kamimura. I’m an optometrist at SUNY. Is this Sylvia Wahr?”
A faint gasp was the reply. I waited out a long silence.
“Are you the one who was in England?”
“Yes, I was there.”
“What do you want?”
Ambiguous reply. I’d take it she was Sylvia Wahr.
“Mrs. Wahr, I’d like to come see you to ask you about Lou Kralle.” I paused, not wanting to jeopardize the chance of meeting with her, reluctant to rub salt in the wound by mentioning the fact that her husband had forfeited bail and disappeared.
“I told the police I don’t know what Lou was doing, he was a crazy man.” Her voice broke and I could hear the soft sounds of crying but she didn’t hang up.
“I could be at your place in less than twenty minutes, it doesn’t take long by subway.”
Acid roiled in my gut at another long silence but she doubtfully agreed and gave me directions to her home from the station. The train jolted its way out to Brooklyn and I reviewed my skimpy options. I wanted to know the connection between Matt and Lou. Did they have a business relationship? If so, about what and did it involve SUNY? The only option I had was to ask her. Above all, I wanted time with Matt Wahr. I was kicking myself for not talking to him when he’d barged in to 34 Gramercy Park. I never had asked Mr. Campbell, the super, why Wahr visited him. How I wished I had.
The Wahrs didn’t live in one of Brooklyn’s many apartment buildings as I’d somehow expected. Their home was on State Street, in an elegant and spacious corner brownstone. Wide steps led to an ornately carved front door. An intercom was set in the wall to one side of three mailboxes. I pushed the button for Wahr. The static crackling that came with the answer almost took my ear off and I had to call my name twice before the lock to the massive front door was buzzed open.
A petite woman stood in the doorway of the first-floor apartment. She looked exhausted, her eyes rimmed red. Lack of sleep or crying? She pulled me in to the apartment, pushing the door shut hastily, as if outside threats could be stopped by locking the door. This was one nervous woman.
“Mrs. Wahr, I appreciate you seeing me.”
Matt Wahr’s wife held up her hand commandingly, like a traffic cop.
“The college didn’t send you?” Her voice was low with the trace of a Southern accent like her husband’s.
“No one asked me to come. I’m here because of Lou Kralle. He…”
Again Sylvia held up her hand. It was shaking. Too much coffee or too little sleep, perhaps both.
“Matt said that’s why you wanted to come all the way out here. I don’t know anything about what Lou was involved in or got up to.” Her voice was defiant.
“You spoke with your husband after I called?” I kept my tone low, conversational, but my heart jumped in an excited rat-a-tat-tat.
“On the telephone.” Her lips trembled. “He calls when he can.”
I didn’t comment that the police would want to know about the phone call from a man who’d skipped bail. I tried to bridge the awkward pause.
“I thought he was a Brooklyn boy but sometimes his accent was like yours, not a typical city voice.”
“That’s how we met,” Sylvia said, eyes looking away at happier times. “His mother died when he was little and he lived with his aunt in Virginia. We went to the same college.”
“How long did he live in Virginia?”
“’Until he left for two years in the military.” She slid a sideways look at me. “He’s not in Virginia now. His aunt doesn’t know about this…this trouble.”
“It must be hard, the problems at SUNY.”
Sylvia mopped her eyes with a handful of soggy tissues. Anxious not to outstay my lukewarm welcome, I hurriedly continued my questions.
“I was hoping you could tell me whether Lou Kralle had any business dealings with the college?” I got a blank look. “He sold vision therapy equipment so he had that connection to optometry. I’m wondering if Matt worked with him, like a second job.”
“I told you, I don’t know what Lou got up to, he was a terrible man. I’m sure Matt never worked with him on any second job. SUNY kept Matt busy.”
I nodding understandingly then asked the important question.
“Would you ask Matt if he’d talk with me? Tell him it’s nothing to do with SUNY. I’m trying to find out why Lou Kralle attacked me and the man I was with in England. There was another, a previous attack, a terrible one on….” I stopped. Although I’d seen Kralle at the club and was certain he was Lanny’s attacker, there was only my word and now the man was dead. I had no real proof Lanny had been attacked by him––these days, I knew proof was important. “There was an attack on someone else,” I finished.
Sylvia rubbed her eyes hard again and I bit my lip, not wanting to say anything to irritate her but if she didn’t stop that, she’d hurt her eyes. To my relief, she nodded in agreement.
“Here’s my home and work numbers,” I said.
Sylvia stood. I didn’t need a second hint. I made my escape, exhausted by the tension vibrating from Matt Wahr’s forlorn wife.
I barely made it to the Elephant & Castle by 12:30, reminding myself that I wasn’t planning on mentioning my visit to Brooklyn to Dan Riley. The deliberate omission made me feel just a little guilty but I buried the feeling. The restaurant was quiet and Dan sat at a window table, watching the door. When he saw me, his wide smile reached his eyes, no x-ray stare there. It felt good to see him, more than comforting. This man was someone I could relate to and not in a brotherly way. We both ordered burgers and fries, no picky eaters here.
“Sorry, I can’t stay long,” Dan said after we’d demolished the burgers. “I called in a few favors so I could spring free for lunch but we’re short a couple of guys.”
I was relieved and disappointed all at the same time. My personal space was secure. Darn, what’s a girl to do?
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Dan asked.
“I’m heading home until dinner tonight with Lanny and Lars.”
Dan looked at his watch. “I’ve time to walk you back to your place, okay?”
“Okay.”
We shared the bill, over Dan’s objections.
“I asked you out,” he said. “Next time, no arguments, please?” He smiled disarmingly. My head said Irish blarney, my pheromones circled wildly.
On the walk home, without any prompting, Dan told me he was divorced.
“Aren’t we all?” I said, aiming for the noncommittal. “Do you have kids?”
“No, married young, divorced fairly recently, still fairly young. How about you?”
“No kids and I’m divorced.”
“Here’s your building.”
We came to a standstill on the sidewalk. I held out my hand to establish boundaries.
Dan shook my hand cheerfully then pushed the boundary line and bent to kiss me. The short kiss on my cheek was light but his fingers touched my face gently and lingered intimately. It was sexy and caring and I melted. Larissa came out and caught us standing so close we were touching at all the right places.