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He stared at them a moment, brow furrowed in confusion. “I mean, I don’t recognize those names, so I’m not sure how I can help you.”
He seemed defensive, and Faith wasn’t sure if that was the typical anxiety citizens felt around law enforcement, or if he had something to hide. She glanced at Turk to see if the dog had any intuition to offer. He watched Fred warily, and Faith decided the jury was still out.
“It’ll only be a few minutes,” Michael said.
He hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged. “Sure. Come on in.”
He led them into a spacious living room that looked bigger than Faith’s entire apartment. The flooring was polished marble, and the furniture was all carved from some dark dense hardwood—mahogany, Faith guessed.
“Do you guys want some coffee?” Fred asked. “Or a smoothie?”
“A smoothie?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, like a protein shake,” he said. “I usually drink a protein shake for breakfast. I’ve already had mine, but I don’t mind making a couple more.”
“Coffee will be fine,” Michael said.
Fred looked at Faith, who shook her head. He shrugged and went to the kitchen, a room as spacious as Faith’s living room and appointed with expensive stainless steel smart appliances with digital touchscreens. She couldn’t find the coffee maker until Fred touched what looked like a cabinet and a screen lit up asking if he would like a drip coffee or a cappuccino.
Faith and Michael shared a glance. This kitchen alone cost more than any life insurance policy Faith knew about, so Faith could rule out the idea that he had used his wife’s life insurance money to finance his life.
Not that it had anything to do with the murder investigation.
Fred handed Michael a cappuccino and made one for himself. Michael took a sip and nodded appreciatively. “This is good.”
“Yeah, the guy who did my kitchen said it’s the new thing in New York,” Fred commented. He offered Michael a smile and added, “I think he was just trying to hype it up, but that’s okay. I was going to buy it anyway.”
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Faith said.
“Thank you,” Fred replied. “Yeah, the investment thing kinda became all I had for a while. My wife died in a car accident ten years ago, and I kinda became a workaholic. Well,shewasn’t in a car. The guy who hit her was, though. He was a drunk driver.” A shadow crossed his face. “Fucking asshole. He didn’t even serve jail time. Didn’t even lose his law license.”
His eyes widened as he realized something. “Hey, you said Hucksley? William Hucksley?”
“Yes,” Faith said.
“Hell yes,” Fred cheered, pumping the fist that wasn’t holding the coffee. Faith saw a flash of vicious triumph cross his face, the first sign of unpleasantness in his otherwise rather mellow demeanor. “That’s the asshole who hit my wife! Ha! Hell yes! Serves that asshole right.”
He caught himself and noticed the agents’ expressions. Turk’s tail was once more switching back and forth like a wolf stalking its prey.
“Hey, do you guys have any ID?” he asked.
Faith and Michael produced their IDs and Fred checked them. He opened his own phone and looked something up. Faith guessed he was looking for a number to call to verify the IDs. In the end, though, he closed his phone and handed the IDs back.
“All right,” he said, “do you guys want to sit?”
The agents joined him in the living room. As soon as he sat, Fred said, “Well, I guess you guys can tell that I’m not broken up about the fact that my wife’s murderer is dead.”
“No one can blame you for that,” Michael said. “Hell, if someone had killed my wife in a drunk driving accident, I would want to kill them myself.”
“Oh, I wanted to,” Fred said. “When I saw the prick standing there with the cops, slurring his words and stumbling like an asshole, I nearly tore his head off. If those cops hadn’t been there, you guys wouldn’t need to be questioning me now because I’d be serving fifteen to twenty-five for murder, second degree.”
“But that’s not how it went down,” Faith said.
“No,” he agreed. “They stopped me, and I ended up… well, cooling off isn’t the right way to say it. Thinking better of my decision would be a better way to say it.”
“Can you elaborate on that?” Michael asked.
Fred sipped his coffee and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, “I guess I just decided that Mandy wouldn’t want me to kill him. She was the kindest person you can imagine.” He looked over at the far wall and got a faraway look in his eye. “She was so beautiful. I remember the first day I saw her. She smiled at me, and I was just… well, let’s just say I believed in love at first sight after that moment. She had this little snaggletooth”—he reached up and tapped his left upper incisor—“right here. She hated it, of course, but I just thought it was the most precious thing I’d ever seen. I asked her to marry me six weeks after I met her. She said no, of course. The first time.” He chuckled. “Actually, the first several times. It wasn’t until our first anniversary that she finally sighed and said, “Well, all right, if you’re not gonna shut up about it.”
