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Darla shrugged. “Probably.And, then again,maybe not.”
“Had anyone threatened him? Do you know of anyone who wanted to harm him? Had either of you gotten strange phone calls, seen any strangers or unfamiliar vehicles?”
According to her, he was a good husband with bad habits. He stayed out “working late,” sometimes didn’t come home until morning.
I thought,He’s out gambling, or worse.
Rich said, “I hate to ask, Darla, but it’s standard operating procedure. Do you think Marty may have been seeing someone else?”
Darla said, “An affair? Marty? At his age?”
“What about you?” Richie asked. “Let’s say you were seeing someone who wanted you for himself, see what I mean? A jealous man who thought you deserved better?”
“No, and marriage is a holy sacrament. Marty was faithful. He talked about horses. He talked about his bookie, Jack Robbie. He liked Jack. He talked about food, and Austin and Leo and cash in the bank; spending money so he could get lunch or have his shoes resoled. I’d give our marriage a B+ and I’m proud of that.
“I already miss him so much.” Darla sniffled, then looked up. “You think I could use the washroom?”
Brenda brought Darla to and from the ladies’ room and once Darla was settled in again, we got into round two of the interrogation.
CHAPTER 26
I JUMPED INTO the conversation and asked Darla if Marty had enemies from his work as a PI or if anyone from the bookmaking business had a score to settle.
Darla said, “He didn’t have enemies, Lindsay. He never came home looking beat-up from a fight. No lipstick on his shirt. Not once. There were no angry calls.” She paused. “Oh. There was one call a few years ago that sticks out in my mind. Marty was swearing into the kitchen phone. When he hung up, I asked him. ‘What was that about?’
“He said something like, ‘Oh, that was Billy Tomato. Called me out of the blue. I think he was working up to borrowing some money.’
“I asked for more of the story,” Darla said, “but that’s all he gave me. Billy Tomato. I swear. Can I get a ride home now? I have to be home for my son.”
CHAPTER 27
THE NAME “BILLY Tomato” did sound ridiculous, but it rang a distant bell. I looked around for Cappy McNeil, who had encyclopedic knowledge of all things SFPD. I found him making fresh coffee in the break room and put it to him.
“Does the name ‘Billy Tomato’ mean anything to you?”
“Coffee, dear?”
“I’m caffeinated to the eyeballs, but thanks anyway.”
“Really. Are you doing okay, Lindsay?”
“It only hurts when I laugh.”
“I gotta be careful, then. You say Tomato, I say D’Amato.”
“D’Amato?”
“You got it. Bill D’Amato was Marty’s partner for a while, maybe thirty years back.”
“Marty’s wife says there was a heated phone call some six or seven years ago between Marty and this Tomato D’Amato. Cappy. Can we talk for a moment?”
We took seats in a pair of rickety folding chairs.
I said, “So, what was the Bill and Marty story?”
“Pretty short story,” Cappy said. “I thought D’Amato was a good cop. Marty thought otherwise.”
“Don’t stop now,” I said.
