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“You’ll find that he actually changed it legally years earlier. It was part of the break with his old life. Said he owed Ryan that much for putting up with him being in the closet for fifteen years.”
“Do you know why he returned to San Diego?” Kit asked.
“And when?” Connor added.
“It was for Ryan.” Georgia sighed. “I miss Ryan. And now…” Tears gathering in her eyes, she swallowed hard and whispered, “I’ll have to learn how to miss Frankie, too.”
Kit and Connor waited silently as the older woman visibly pulled herself together. Neither told her that they were sorry for her loss. Kit didn’t think the woman wanted to hear it and it seemed Connor was of the same mind.
“Apologies,” Georgia said briskly. “Ryan’s sister Martha was Benny’s wife. Martha was losing her eyesight, and she and Benny decided that continuing care would be best for them. They sold everything and moved in here about…maybe ten years ago. She and Ryan were close, so Ryan and Frankie followed them here. Frankie said that he always thought that his previous life—that’s what he called his career in SDPD—would catch up to him, but none of his old colleagues ever tracked him down here. He wasn’t ashamed of his years as a cop, but he was resentful of the department. He said that he would have moved in with Ryan years earlier if he hadn’t been afraid of repercussions amongst his colleagues. He’d offered to leave before he retired, but Ryan didn’t want him to walk away from his full pension. They weren’t rich then. Ryan was just a computer programmer. So Frankie stayed with SDPD. When Ryan died, I think Frankie wanted to leave Shady Oaks, but Martha and Benny were still here. So once again, Frankie stayed. Frankie didn’t say much, but he was deeply loyal to the people he loved.”
“What about his son?” Kit asked.
Georgia scowled. “Frankie tried so hard with that boy. Well, he’s no boy. He’s got to be in his midfifties by now. I never met Gerald, but I know Frankie wanted a relationship with him. By the time I met him, though, he’d given up. Frankie, I mean. To my knowledge, they hadn’t seen each other in twenty or thirty years. Maybe more.”
“What about his ex-wife?” Connor asked.
“Sharon. He spoke of her, though infrequently. Always with fondness. I don’t think they had an acrimonious divorce.”
“Do you know of anyone who would have wanted Frankie dead?” Connor asked.
Georgia hesitated for the briefest of moments. “No.”
But she knew something, Kit was certain. “Ma’am, if you know anything, please tell us.”
“I don’t know anything concrete. Something was bothering him in the last week or two, but I don’t know what. We didn’t have that kind of relationship. We were friends. He played a mean game of bridge and a better-than-average game of cribbage, but he didn’t share everything with me.”
“Would he have told Benny?” Connor asked.
“No.”
The finality of the reply had Kit’s suspicions rising. “Benny said that Frankie’s death was all his fault.”
Georgia glared. “Benny is confused. Do not upset him any further. He had a bad heart before his stroke. It’s only gotten worse since. If you upset him, you could kill him.”
“We don’t aim to upset Mr. Dreyfus,” Kit said, “but if we’re going to solve Mr. Flynn’s murder, we need to have all the facts.”
Georgia shook her head. “I don’t know anything that will help you.”
“But you do know something,” Kit pressed.
Georgia stared her straight in the eye. “No. I do not. If I did, I’d tell you, so stop asking me.”
Well. Okay, then. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Flynn?”
“Saturday evening, after sundown. It was Eloise’s birthday party and Frankie came. They were friends, even though Eloise cheats at every card game she ever plays and Frankie called her on it. Eloise and Benny were partners in cribbage and bridge, and Frankie and I were partners.”
“Mr. Dreyfus can still play bridge?” Connor asked.
“Benny’s in the early stages of dementia,” Georgia said quietly. “He forgets where he puts things and forgets to take his medications and occasionally will forget a person he’s recently met, but not only does he remember how to play bridge, he could probably build a particle accelerator out of common household materials. He was a physics professor at UC San Diego for twenty-five years. When he retired, he and Martha moved to San Francisco to live near Frankie and Ryan.”
“Why didn’t they go to a continuing care facility in San Francisco?” Kit asked, because Navarro would want to know. “Why did they come back to San Diego?”
“Benny and Martha have grandchildren and great-grandchildren here in San Diego. The grandchildren are all grown now, but most of them live close by and bring their babies to visit. Someone needs to tell them about Frankie.”
“We’ll check Mr. Dreyfus’s next-of-kin list,” Kit promised. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Flynn died sometime yesterday after ten a.m.,” Connor said, getting them back on track. “That leaves Saturday night and Sunday unaccounted for. Do you know where he was?”
