Eyes of a Child (22 page)

‘This is an initial investigation into the death of Ricardo Paul Arias.' Monk's voice was methodical; each word stood alone. ‘It is October twenty-seventh at seven-thirty-five p.m. I am Inspector Charles Monk; with me is Inspector Dennis Lynch. The witness is Teresa Peralta, and we are at the home of Christopher Paget, who is also present.' Monk turned to Paget with a bland expression. ‘Are you representing Ms Peralta?'

It was a game, Paget knew. ‘No,' he said evenly. ‘I was just here with Ms Peralta when you happened to show up. This is, as you point out, where I live.'

Monk looked at him, then turned to Terri as if Paget were not there. He skipped the Miranda warnings; Terri was not in custody, and he could ask whatever he wanted. Within moments, Monk had Tern's age, her work and home addresses and telephone numbers, and enough background information for him to find her at will, subpoena her bank records, and interview her neighbors for the last five years. Then he turned to the subject of Richie.

‘Were you related to Ricardo Arias?'

The question seemed to surprise her. ‘I was his wife,' she answered simply. ‘For over six years.'

‘Do you have children?'

‘A daughter. Elena Rosa.'

‘And she is how old?'

‘Six.' Tern's voice was flat. ‘Also.'

Monk watched her. ‘At the time of Mr Arias's death, were you still living with him?'

‘No.' Quite deliberately, it seemed, Terri did not look at Paget. ‘We were separated.'

‘For how long?'

Terri still gazed at Monk. ‘Since the end of the Carelli trial. However long that's been.'

Paget suppressed a smile; he was certain that Monk remembered the date precisely. Calmly, Monk asked, ‘And where did Elena live? Before your husband died, that is.'

‘Richie had preponderant custody.' Terri's voice had the first tinge of wariness. ‘You've already interviewed my mother. So you know all this.'

Monk did not respond. ‘Was there some question about custody?' he asked.

‘
I
had some questions.' Terri flicked her bangs. ‘I didn't think that Richie should raise her.'

Monk leaned back, hands folded in his lap. The room seemed quieter now. ‘Why not?'

Terri breathed audibly, as if thinking about Richie made her weary. ‘He had emotional problems,' she said at last. ‘I don't think he was stable.'

‘Did you ever go to a counselor? Seek help of some kind?'

Terri hesitated. ‘No.'

Monk glanced at Paget. ‘Why not?'

Terri seemed to draw inward; her gaze became self-questioning. ‘For years,' she said at last, ‘I told myself that Richie was just unusual. At the end, when I saw him more clearly, I thought that nothing would help.'

Monk caught Lynch's eye. In a sympathetic voice, Lynch asked, ‘What did you think was wrong with him, Terri?'

‘People weren't
real
to him.' As if hearing Paget's silent warning, she caught herself, and the vehemence left her voice. ‘However he needed someone to be or feel, that's what he imagined they were.'

Lynch nodded his encouragement. ‘Did he go to a psychiatrist, anyone like that?'

‘No.' Terri gazed down. ‘Richie thought he was fine.'

Lynch paused, blue eyes narrowing slightly, as if sorting something out.
‘Was
he going to a psychiatrist?' Paget asked.

Monk turned to Lynch; Lynch saw this, faced Paget, and shrugged. No one answered.

‘Did
you
ever consult a mental health professional?' Monk asked Terri.

Terri glanced at Paget. ‘Only to talk about Elena.'

‘Concerning what?'

Terri hesitated; Paget watched the thought of Carlo cross her face, and then she answered simply, ‘Emotional problems.'

‘Of what kind?'

Terri folded her hands. ‘Since the separation,' she said slowly, ‘Elena has seemed troubled. I thought it was getting worse.'

Monk leaned forward. ‘Did Mr Arias agree?'

For an instant, Terri looked cornered: as if thinking along with her, Paget imagined the police interviewing Alec Keene and combing through the files of Terri's divorce case. He was glad that Carlo was at a friend's tonight.

‘I don't know whether he agreed or not,' Terri said coolly.

‘There wasn't much about Elena we did agree on.' It was a calculated answer, Paget thought: by conceding the depth of their disagreement, Terri avoided the particulars and thus kept the focus off Paget and Carlo. Yet Monk, he suddenly realized, must have impounded Richie's papers. He watched the same thought come to Terri; she composed herself, waiting for the next question.

But Monk dropped the subject abruptly. ‘Did your husband own a gun?' he asked.

Terri looked down. She shook her head.

‘Is that a “no”?' Monk said. ‘The tape doesn't pick up shakes of the head.'

Terri raised her eyes. ‘It was a “no.”'

‘Did he have any interest in guns?' Here Monk paused. ‘Because the gun we found with him was quite unusual.'

‘How so?' Paget asked.

Monk kept looking at Terri. ‘It was a thirty-two-caliber Smith and Wesson safety model. Five cylinders.' His voice grew more deliberate. ‘The last one was made in 1909, Ms Peralta. It's practically a collector's item.'

Terri looked puzzled. ‘Richie wasn't a collector,' she said.

‘I don't know what he knew about guns. If anything.'

Monk regarded her. ‘Do
you
own a gun?'

‘No.' Her voice was emphatic. ‘And if I'd known Richie had one, I'd have asked him to get rid of it.'

‘Because you thought he was unstable?'

‘Because guns
kill
people. Including children.'

Monk sat back. Softly, he asked, ‘Do you think Richie killed himself?'

Terri rested her head on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Her face looked drawn. ‘I can't imagine
anyone
killing himself,' she said at last. ‘But people do. So I don't know how to answer that.'

‘What about Richie?'

Terri still watched the ceiling. ‘I'm not sure I understood him. Now I'm less sure than ever. But there was something wrong with him.' She paused. ‘Toward the end, he seemed angry and more desperate. His mood swings were wider.'

‘Do you know why?'

Terri lowered her eyes to him. ‘He had lost me,' she said simply. ‘And he had very little money.'

‘Was he employed?'

‘No.' Tern's voice was cool again. ‘Richie didn't like working for people. He liked it better when I worked for him.'

‘Did he ever ask you for money?'

Terri hesitated. Paget saw her flash on the fifty thousand dollars Richie had wanted her to extort from him, to protect Carlo and Paget himself.

‘I
gave
him money,' Terri answered. ‘Nearly twenty-three hundred a month. Much of that was child support.'

Monk adjusted his glass. ‘Are you sorry he's dead?'

His tone was one of mild inquiry. But Lynch had started to fidget; the gestures had the suppressed nervousness of a thwarted smoker. Terri gave them a look that combined tolerance with exhaustion.

‘Not for me,' she said. ‘But for Elena, yes.'

‘How is she?'

Terri gave a shrug of helplessness, as if Elena's reaction defied easy description. ‘You'd have to know her,' she said tiredly. ‘During the separation, Elena imagined she was responsible for him. So if Richie's dead now, in Elena's mind it must be her fault. As if she could have stopped this.'

The words lingered in the room. The lights from the lamp looked pallid now; the large window behind Terri was a black rectangle. It felt too quiet.

Monk leaned forward. ‘Elena was expecting to see him, wasn't she?'

‘Yes. On Sunday evening.'

‘And when did you first know that he hadn't come for her?'

‘When I called my mother from Venice.' Terri glanced at Paget. ‘It was Tuesday, I think. At night.'

‘Did you consider having the police check on him?'

Terri was silent for a moment. ‘Elena was safe at my mother's.' She glanced at Paget. ‘That was all I cared about, really.'

‘Did you discuss that with your mother – the fact that he was missing?'

‘Yes. A few days later. I told her not to call.'

Monk let the answer hang there for a while. His eyes did not leave her face now. ‘Had he ever done that before? Not show up?'

Terri gave him a level gaze. ‘I was in a custody fight,' she said at length. ‘If Richie didn't show, I wasn't going to force him to. I never thought he'd killed himself.'

Monk raised his head a little. ‘When,' he asked slowly, ‘was the last time you spoke with him?'

Terri glanced quickly at Paget. ‘The night before I left for Italy. By telephone.'

Paget was surprised; Terri had not told him this. He wanted to stop the interview. But he could not, and now Terri would not look at him.

‘That reminds me,' he said to Monk. ‘Did you check his answering machine? When Terri tried to call from Italy, it wasn't on.'

Monk turned, annoyed at the interruption. ‘Someone turned it off,' he said tersely. ‘Seems like he erased the tape.'

He faced Terri again. ‘What time did you call him? The night before you left, that is.'

Terri was regarding Paget; she seemed to catch herself and then gave a small shrug. ‘I don't know. Maybe nine or so. It wasn't for long.'

Paget felt himself tense. ‘What did you talk about?' Monk asked.

Terri stared at the tape recorder. ‘I'd been packing. Somehow, it made me think of my honeymoon, how much hope I'd had and how sad things were now.' She looked up. ‘So I called to ask if I could see him.'

Paget felt a surge of anger: this man had threatened to destroy Carlo and smear them all. Even now, that Terri had called him felt like a betrayal.

‘Why did you want to see him?' Monk asked.

Terri looked at Paget again. ‘To beg him,' she said softly. ‘To ask him for Elena. To see if there was something I could give him in return.'

‘Such as?'

‘Money.' She shook her head, as if at her own foolishness. ‘I knew it was hopeless, even then. People like Richie never stay bought.'

Why, Paget asked her silently, didn't you tell me?

‘What did he say?' Monk asked.

Terri turned from Paget. ‘That he had an “appointment” that night.'

Paget watched her, edgy. ‘Did he say who with?' Monk asked.

Terri's expression was one of distaste. ‘No. But I thought it must be a woman – “appointment” had a sniggering sound.' Terri shrugged again. ‘Maybe there was no one. That would be like him: trying to impress me, or to string me out till I got desperate.'

Monk folded his hands. ‘Did he sound like someone about to kill himself?'

‘No.' Once more, Terri seemed to stop herself. ‘But I'm not sure, really. Bravado was something he was good at – Richie needed people to think he was on top.'

Monk was still for a time. ‘What,' he asked then, ‘did you do after you hung up?'

‘Packed. Then I went to bed.'

‘Alone?'

Terri nodded. ‘Alone.'

‘Did anyone see you that evening?'

Terri glanced at Paget. ‘Only my mother and Elena, when I dropped her off. That was around seven.'

‘Did you talk to anyone else?'

Now Terri focused on Monk. ‘Just Chris.'

Monk inclined his head. ‘Do you mean Christopher Paget?'

‘Yes.'

‘And when was that?'

‘I don't know.' Terri hesitated. ‘Before I called Richie.'

‘And did Mr Paget call your or did you call him?'

‘He called me.'

‘Concerning what?'

Terri paused again. ‘Our arrangements. We decided he'd pick me up the next morning.'

‘And that was all?'

Terri glanced at Paget's hand. He raised it slightly, the bruise and swelling had vanished. ‘That's all I remember,' she said.

Monk touched his chin. ‘Your flight,' he said. ‘When did it leave?'

‘Very early. Eight o'clock, I think.'

‘You didn't go to Mr Paget's the night before?'

‘No.'

‘Or to see Mr Arias?'

Terri stared at him. ‘No,' she answered finally.

Monk stood, stretching himself, taking in the art on the walls with a slow sweep of the head. Paget found the gesture oddly territorial, as if Monk had appropriated his library. ‘Did you ever visit Mr Arias's apartment?'

Terri nodded. ‘I found it for him.'

‘Were you there often?'

‘Not often. Sometimes. When I dropped off Elena.'

‘When was the last time you were there?'

Terri seemed to think. ‘The Sunday before I left. Again, taking Elena back.'

‘Did you go inside?'

Terri's eyes narrowed. ‘I really can't remember. But I think so.'

Monk shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Mr Arias had a computer, didn't he?'

‘Yes.' Her tone was flat again. ‘I'm still paying for it.'

‘What did he use it for?'

‘Everything – addresses, recipes, checkbook, business plans. You name it.'

‘Letters?'

Terri looked askance at him. ‘Letters too, I think. Sure.'