1958, it failed altogether. By that time, of course, we’d come to Los Angeles. John was selling ‘real estate,’ instead of ‘selling stocks.’” Bitterly she accented the two phrases. “And instead of his parents giving us money ‘until we got on our feet,’ I began working. Full time. I became very good at real estate escrow. And, over the years, I had various affairs with various men. Somehow it was the only thing left.”
“You and John had a child, did you say?”
A brief spasm twitched at her face.
“Yes, Mr. Drake. We had a child. John Hanson the third. He was a beautiful boy. He still is a beautiful boy, only now he’s sixteen. He doesn’t need me anymore. He never did, really. That was my husband’s single virtue, you see: he loved his son. He loved Johnny, and he understood him. I suppose, in many ways, John was really more a boy than a man. He was defenseless, and innocent, and …” She swallowed, then continued in a firmer voice:
“When I had to go to work, my husband looked after Johnny. He’d even pace himself, drinking, to fit Johnny’s schedule.” She paused, staring down at her hands. “I’ve often wondered whether that’s why I started with other men—because my husband, for all his faults and his weakness, really meant more to Johnny than I did. I don’t know. I do know, though, that men became more and more important to me. Wealthy, aggressive men. Men with drive and ambition.”
“And that’s how you met Dominic Vennezio.”
She raised her head in the timeless gesture of the fallen woman, defiant in her fall.
“Yes, Mr. Drake. That’s how I met Dominic.”
“And …” I hesitated. “What happened to your husband, Mrs. Hanson, after you met Vennezio?”
“Shortly after I met Dominic, and began—seeing him, John left.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“I understand he went back to San Francisco.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“Not directly.”
“But you know he’s alive.”
“I’ve heard he’s alive. I don’t know for sure. He has a younger brother living here in Los Angeles. Bruce. If anything had happened to John and Bruce knew about it, I suppose I’d’ve heard.”
I nodded, thinking about it. Finally, I said, “What about the boy? I mean, weren’t you surprised that your husband would’ve left his son if they were so close?”
“Johnny was fourteen by then. They weren’t close any longer.”
“Is he—” Involuntarily I looked around. “Is the boy living with you?”
“He was, until this last year. Now he’s going to Midfield. It’s a boarding school in the Ojai Valley, just forty miles from Los Angeles.”
“I see. And how long has it been since your husband left?”
She thought about it, then said, “Just about two years. I’d been working for Dominic three months, when John left.”
“Were you living here at the time?”
She laughed with brief, bitter humor. “We were living in a one-room apartment. Drinking is an expensive habit, Mr. Drake, especially when there’s only one income.”
“Then …” I hesitated. “Then, if I understand the sequence correctly, first you met Dominic. Then, three months later, your husband moved out. And then, shortly afterward, you moved into this house. Is that right?”
She nodded. Her earlier defiance had gone—dissolved, perhaps, in a wayward moment of disillusioned, self-pitying introspection.
“Did Dominic ever tell you much about his business, Mrs. Hanson?”
“Never. At least, nothing about anything beyond real estate. Dominic had a passion for real estate. He owns—owned—several buildings in town. And he speculated in land, too.”
“But he never mentioned the Outfit.”
“No. Never.”
“Were you aware that he was connected with organized crime?”
“Yes, of course. I read the papers, Mr. Drake.”
“And did you realize that his, ah, affair with you might have caused him trouble?”
“Dominic was used to trouble. That was his business.”
I
“You and John had a child, did you say?”
A brief spasm twitched at her face.
“Yes, Mr. Drake. We had a child. John Hanson the third. He was a beautiful boy. He still is a beautiful boy, only now he’s sixteen. He doesn’t need me anymore. He never did, really. That was my husband’s single virtue, you see: he loved his son. He loved Johnny, and he understood him. I suppose, in many ways, John was really more a boy than a man. He was defenseless, and innocent, and …” She swallowed, then continued in a firmer voice:
“When I had to go to work, my husband looked after Johnny. He’d even pace himself, drinking, to fit Johnny’s schedule.” She paused, staring down at her hands. “I’ve often wondered whether that’s why I started with other men—because my husband, for all his faults and his weakness, really meant more to Johnny than I did. I don’t know. I do know, though, that men became more and more important to me. Wealthy, aggressive men. Men with drive and ambition.”
“And that’s how you met Dominic Vennezio.”
She raised her head in the timeless gesture of the fallen woman, defiant in her fall.
“Yes, Mr. Drake. That’s how I met Dominic.”
“And …” I hesitated. “What happened to your husband, Mrs. Hanson, after you met Vennezio?”
“Shortly after I met Dominic, and began—seeing him, John left.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“I understand he went back to San Francisco.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“Not directly.”
“But you know he’s alive.”
“I’ve heard he’s alive. I don’t know for sure. He has a younger brother living here in Los Angeles. Bruce. If anything had happened to John and Bruce knew about it, I suppose I’d’ve heard.”
I nodded, thinking about it. Finally, I said, “What about the boy? I mean, weren’t you surprised that your husband would’ve left his son if they were so close?”
“Johnny was fourteen by then. They weren’t close any longer.”
“Is he—” Involuntarily I looked around. “Is the boy living with you?”
“He was, until this last year. Now he’s going to Midfield. It’s a boarding school in the Ojai Valley, just forty miles from Los Angeles.”
“I see. And how long has it been since your husband left?”
She thought about it, then said, “Just about two years. I’d been working for Dominic three months, when John left.”
“Were you living here at the time?”
She laughed with brief, bitter humor. “We were living in a one-room apartment. Drinking is an expensive habit, Mr. Drake, especially when there’s only one income.”
“Then …” I hesitated. “Then, if I understand the sequence correctly, first you met Dominic. Then, three months later, your husband moved out. And then, shortly afterward, you moved into this house. Is that right?”
She nodded. Her earlier defiance had gone—dissolved, perhaps, in a wayward moment of disillusioned, self-pitying introspection.
“Did Dominic ever tell you much about his business, Mrs. Hanson?”
“Never. At least, nothing about anything beyond real estate. Dominic had a passion for real estate. He owns—owned—several buildings in town. And he speculated in land, too.”
“But he never mentioned the Outfit.”
“No. Never.”
“Were you aware that he was connected with organized crime?”
“Yes, of course. I read the papers, Mr. Drake.”
“And did you realize that his, ah, affair with you might have caused him trouble?”
“Dominic was used to trouble. That was his business.”
I
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