Free Split Image by Robert B. Parker

kind of a sleaze. Never got convicted. But a lotta talk about not meeting the specs for his construction deals. Lotta talk about sweetheart deals with the state. Stuff like that. Lotta people say he fooled around."
    "How'd he die?" Jesse said.
    "Heart attack," Mayo said. "On a business trip to Cleveland. I think he was in the saddle at the time."
    "How about the mother?" Jesse said.
    "Mother's still around."
    "Can you take us over there?" Jesse said.
    "Sure," Mayo said.

28

    M RS. BANGSTON WAS a brusque woman, not tall but erect. Her hair was iron-gray. She had pince-nez glasses, and she reminded Jesse of his elementary-school principal. They sat in the living room of her big glass-fronted modern home looking out over Hempstead Bay. It seemed totally out of keeping with the white-clapboard/weathered-shingle look of the town. It was out of keeping with the furnishings as well, which were overstuffed Victorian everywhere that Jesse could see. It was as if her husband had built the outside and she had furnished the inside without regard to each other.
    "I did not know that Roberta's husband had died," she said. "I am sorry to hear it, and sorrier still that he was murdered."
    "No one told you?" Jesse said.
    "No."
    "Perhaps they wanted to spare you," Jesse said.
    "My girls call every Christmas and Easter," Mrs. Bangston said. "I get flowers every Mother's Day. I forward their mail."
    "After all these years?" Jesse said.
    "Yes, they still get mail here."
    "Do you see much of them?" Jesse said.
    "Not very much," she said. "They are dutiful, but nothing more."
    "Do you know their husbands?"
    "I have never met either," Mrs. Bangston said.
    "Not even at the weddings?" Jesse said.
    "No."
    There were some rosary beads on the coffee table in front of where she sat. She looked at them.
    "You weren't at the weddings?" Jesse said.
    "No."
    "Either wedding," Jesse said.
    "No."
    "Were you invited?" Jesse said.
    "Yes."
    "But?"
    "I did not approve of the men they were marrying," Mrs. Bangston said.
    "What did you disapprove of?" Jesse said.
    "They were both criminals," Mrs. Bangston said.
    "How did you know that?" Jesse said.
    "My husband told me."
    "He knew these men?"
    "I don't know," Mrs. Bangston said. "My husband knew a great many people. Business was his sphere; mine was home and family."
    "Your husband did business with the men your daughters married?"
    "I don't know."
    "Do you know how they met their husbands?"
    "I do not," she said.
    She leaned forward and picked up her rosary beads from the coffee table and held them in her left hand.
    "They had the finest religious education we could give them. Holy Spirit High School. Paulus College. They made their First Communion side by side in identical white dresses. They were confirmed together . . . and they married criminals."
    "The Church is important to you," Jesse said.
    Jesse had no idea where he was going. But he wanted to keep her talking.
    "It has been the center of my life," she said. "My late husband and I attended Mass every Sunday. Since he has gone, I attend every morning. It is my consolation."
    "The girls are the most identical twins I've ever seen," Jesse said.
    "Yes. Even I cannot always distinguish them."
    "They dress alike," Jesse said. "They do their hair alike. Makeup, manner, everything."
    "Yes."
    "Did you encourage them in that?" Jesse said.
    "Of course; had God not wanted them to remain identical, he would not have created them identical."
    "Did your husband feel that way, too?" Jesse said.
    She smiled and looked past Jesse out the wide front window at the whitecaps in the bay.
    "My husband used to say he was luckier than other fathers. He had the same daughter twice."
    The room was quiet. Mayo was sitting a little behind Jesse with his arms folded. Suit sat beside Jesse with his hands folded in his lap.
    "You got any questions, Suit?" Jesse said.
    Suit looked startled. Jesse waited.
    "Were your daughters good girls?" he said finally.
    "They were angels when they were