The Helium Murder(22)

“What’s all this?” he asked.

Matt had exercised his way over to my kitchen table, where my Al Gravese research project was spread out. He fingered the articles and looked at me, his tone changing to one of minor disapproval.

“A little investigation of your own, I see,” he said.

I went over to the table and picked up the articles, tapping them on the table to line up the sheets of paper, as if they represented a completed term paper I was about to hand in to the teacher. Is this the moment I’ve been waiting for, I asked myself—do I ask Matt for the help I need from him, or do I cover this up and pretend I’m into nostalgia? One thing I didn’t want was to anger Matt. He’d been angry with me before when I overstepped my “limited basis” contract, and it was not a happy memory.

I remembered an early conversation with Matt and hoped he did, too.

“I think I told you,” I said. “I’ve always wondered whether Al’s crash was really an accident.”

“Yes, you did tell me. And I know there was an inquiry. Were you interviewed at the time?”

“I was. Two detectives came to my home. I was living with my father, on Tuckerman Street. They asked if I’d ever met any of Al’s friends, if I knew how he’d spent the day that Friday, what I knew of his financial situation, that kind of thing. It’s funny how little I remember of it. I guess I was too shocked to realize what was happening. Not to mention dumb and naive.”

“Don’t forget young,” Matt said. “How old were you, about twenty?”

“Is that a guess or a calculation?” I asked, in a attempt to lighten the moment.

“I wasn’t trying to pry.”

“I don’t mind if you do. Yes, I was twenty.”

“At the time, most of us on the force thought there was some connection there.”

“It’s kind of you not to specify the connection. It was only much later when I thought about the detectives’ questions that I saw where they were going with the interview. For the most part, I’m reading these for the first time,” I said, pointing to the neat pile of microfiche copies. “How did I miss what everyone else seemed to know about Al?”

I hadn’t intended to bring Matt in on my quest in such a personal way. I wanted his help with the investigation, not with sorting out my feelings and regrets. At least that’s what I thought.

“Don’t be hard on yourself, Gloria. It was a different era. Especially for women.”

“It certainly was,” I said, surprised and pleased that he noticed.

It was Matt’s turn to clear his throat.

“Now, Gloria,” he started, with a fatherly edge to his voice, “I can see why you’d be curious about your fiancé’s death, but suppose he was connected? It could be dangerous for you to go digging around.”

I wanted to correct him with “late fiancé,” but I thought it would put too much emphasis on my current availability. I wasn’t that much of a feminist, I’d learned, when it came to dating protocol.

“I was hoping to confine my digging to police records,” I said. “Nothing hazardous to my health.”

Matt gave a hearty laugh.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hanging around me just to take advantage of my badge.”

All of my internal organs twitched at “hanging around,” and I desperately wanted his definition of the phrase, but I stopped myself. This is not a physics class, I told myself. We’re not talking about Newton’s laws.

“I hope you do know better,” I said.

Matt’s look and smile told me all was well, and I imagined this to be the point in a romantic comedy where we rushed into each other’s arms.

Not tonight, however, because Matt had made his way to my phone. Al’s little notebook was next to it, open to B.

After a mental gasp, I had what I thought of as a stroke of sheer brilliance.

“I’ve been meaning to show you this,” I said, scooping up the book, closing it at the same time. “It was Al’s. I found it when I was going through his things in the attic.”

“Al’s book? Something the police never saw?”

“That’s right,” I said. “I left some boxes with Rose and Frank when I went to California, and I’m just getting around to sorting through them.”

Matt had resumed his exercise mode, pacing and scratching his head.

“And you had some of Al’s things?” he asked.

“I didn’t know I did, at least I didn’t remember.”

So far, I couldn’t hear any reproach in his voice, and I continued with my very reasonable explanation.