friend of hers introducedthem at a party. He was divorced from his first wife, and there was a child somewhere, a boy. He paid child support, or whatever. Anyway, six months later she married him. She was very happy, I remember. But then we began to see the problems.”
“What problems?” the detective asked.
She sighed. “Well, he drank. A lot . Turns out, that’s what ended the first marriage—I didn’t find that out until later, when I made it my business to find the first Mrs. Marshall and speak with her. He—he got violent with her, and she was afraid for their son. She told me something else: once, shortly after he married my mother, she actually called Mom and told her all about it. Mom hung up on her. Well, she lived to regret it, I suppose. You see, when I was seventeen years old, Brian Marshall tried to—he tried to rape me.”
“I see,” the detective replied, watching her closely.
After a moment, she continued. “I can’t say that it came as a great surprise. I became aware very early that he—he looked at me strangely. I can’t explain it exactly, but even at fourteen, I knew that wasn’t the way grown men were supposed to look at children. I made sure I was never alone with him. Until—well, one day this thing happened.” She bit her lip, recalling the struggle on the kitchen floor of the Central Park West apartment: the torn blouse and the cast-iron skillet and the blood streaming down his face.Finally, she blinked it away and said, “Brian Marshall is the only person I know who’s ever gotten—violent—with me. I want you to find out where he is, and what he’s doing, and whether or not he could have done this.” She waved her hand at the two envelopes that lay atop the pile on his desk.
Barney Fleck picked them up and studied them again. “Yes, I see. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Shortly after the—the incident. Mother threw him out, and she divorced him as soon as she could. I was going to press charges, but she convinced me not to. I’ve always regretted that: it is my greatest regret. Well, I went away to college, and he left New York. I seem to remember Cleveland being mentioned.”
“Can’t you ask your mother where he is?”
She bit her lip again before replying. “No, that would not be convenient.”
He raised his large gray eyebrows. “That’s a strange choice of words.”
She sighed, remembering her promise to be frank with this man. “My mother has Alzheimer’s disease. She’s in a rest home on Long Island. She doesn’t remember where he went. She probably doesn’t even remember who he is.” With a swift gesture, she brushed tears away. “I’m sorry.
He stood up and came around the desk, his eyes twinkling. “S’okay. In my line of work, I see a lot ofit. You just go on home and worry about writing books. Give me a couple of days, and I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at him and rose to leave. His voice stopped her.
“Ms. Talbot—”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t make a mistake in coming here.”
She stared. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what you were thinking, when you first saw me. I guess I don’t look much like what you were expecting. And Verna outside doesn’t look much like Della Street.”
It was the first of several times that he would surprise her with his perception. She smiled as she buttoned her coat. “Betty Hanes assures me that you’re the best person around for—for this particular problem.”
He shrugged. “I guess it’s by way of being a specialty of mine. I was a cop for twenty years. Now I do it privately. I’m good at it.”
She regarded him a moment, curious. “So why did you leave the police force?”
He laughed again. “ You try being a New York cop for twenty years! Besides, my wife had a say in the matter.”
Jill nodded and turned toward the door. His voice halted her again. “And, Ms. Talbot—”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. Whether or not it’s this
“What problems?” the detective asked.
She sighed. “Well, he drank. A lot . Turns out, that’s what ended the first marriage—I didn’t find that out until later, when I made it my business to find the first Mrs. Marshall and speak with her. He—he got violent with her, and she was afraid for their son. She told me something else: once, shortly after he married my mother, she actually called Mom and told her all about it. Mom hung up on her. Well, she lived to regret it, I suppose. You see, when I was seventeen years old, Brian Marshall tried to—he tried to rape me.”
“I see,” the detective replied, watching her closely.
After a moment, she continued. “I can’t say that it came as a great surprise. I became aware very early that he—he looked at me strangely. I can’t explain it exactly, but even at fourteen, I knew that wasn’t the way grown men were supposed to look at children. I made sure I was never alone with him. Until—well, one day this thing happened.” She bit her lip, recalling the struggle on the kitchen floor of the Central Park West apartment: the torn blouse and the cast-iron skillet and the blood streaming down his face.Finally, she blinked it away and said, “Brian Marshall is the only person I know who’s ever gotten—violent—with me. I want you to find out where he is, and what he’s doing, and whether or not he could have done this.” She waved her hand at the two envelopes that lay atop the pile on his desk.
Barney Fleck picked them up and studied them again. “Yes, I see. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Shortly after the—the incident. Mother threw him out, and she divorced him as soon as she could. I was going to press charges, but she convinced me not to. I’ve always regretted that: it is my greatest regret. Well, I went away to college, and he left New York. I seem to remember Cleveland being mentioned.”
“Can’t you ask your mother where he is?”
She bit her lip again before replying. “No, that would not be convenient.”
He raised his large gray eyebrows. “That’s a strange choice of words.”
She sighed, remembering her promise to be frank with this man. “My mother has Alzheimer’s disease. She’s in a rest home on Long Island. She doesn’t remember where he went. She probably doesn’t even remember who he is.” With a swift gesture, she brushed tears away. “I’m sorry.
He stood up and came around the desk, his eyes twinkling. “S’okay. In my line of work, I see a lot ofit. You just go on home and worry about writing books. Give me a couple of days, and I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at him and rose to leave. His voice stopped her.
“Ms. Talbot—”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t make a mistake in coming here.”
She stared. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what you were thinking, when you first saw me. I guess I don’t look much like what you were expecting. And Verna outside doesn’t look much like Della Street.”
It was the first of several times that he would surprise her with his perception. She smiled as she buttoned her coat. “Betty Hanes assures me that you’re the best person around for—for this particular problem.”
He shrugged. “I guess it’s by way of being a specialty of mine. I was a cop for twenty years. Now I do it privately. I’m good at it.”
She regarded him a moment, curious. “So why did you leave the police force?”
He laughed again. “ You try being a New York cop for twenty years! Besides, my wife had a say in the matter.”
Jill nodded and turned toward the door. His voice halted her again. “And, Ms. Talbot—”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. Whether or not it’s this
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