Free Harry Dolan by Bad Things Happen Page B

friendship.”
    “You were friends.”
    “Yes.”
    “Yet you slept with his wife.”
    Loogan smiled slowly. “You’re very direct.”
    “Some people say I’m artful. Laura was here on Friday. The two of you were together.”
    “Yes,” said Loogan. “She came here around five-thirty. Left around twenty after seven.”
    “Tom Kristoll died around twenty after seven,” Elizabeth said softly. “So you couldn’t have pushed him out his office window.”
    “As it happens, I didn’t.”
    “I know. I wasn’t sure yesterday. I had only Laura’s word then. But we were able to listen to Tom’s voice mail. You called him Friday evening from your home phone. You left him a message at seven twenty-one.”
    Loogan frowned. “I’d forgotten about that.”
    “I believe you. A less innocent man might’ve kept a tighter grip on his alibi.” Elizabeth fanned the pages of her notebook with her thumb. “In your message to Tom, you said you were on your way. You were supposed to meet him?”
    “He had invited me to stop by the office for a drink. I was supposed to meet him at seven.”
    “But you were here at seven, with Laura. Did you know she was going to be here?”
    “No. She just stopped by.”
    “And you lost track of time.”
    “I fell asleep.”
    “Is that right?”
    “We talked, and then we sat for a while on the sofa, and I fell asleep.”
    “And when you woke up?”
    “Laura was leaving. She had her coat on. I intended to drive to Tom’s office, but when I got outside I found my car had been vandalized. Two of the tires were slashed and the driver’s door was keyed—scratched with a key.”
    “I know what ‘keyed’ means, Mr. Loogan,” said Elizabeth. “When you saw the damage to your car, who did you think had done it?”
    “Neighborhood kids, I imagine. Who else?”
    “Keying is what jilted girlfriends do to their boyfriends’ cars,” Elizabeth said. “You had just broken off your affair with Laura. Did you wonder if she was the one who vandalized your car?”
    “I thought about it, for all of ten seconds.”
    “Is it so implausible? She had her coat on when you woke up. She could have gone out and come back in.”
    “If she was eighteen, I might believe it,” Loogan said. “If she was more flighty, less sophisticated. Do you really think she might have done it?”
    “No, but I’m not sure it was neighborhood kids either.” Elizabeth turned to a blank page and made a note. “So, what did you do? Your car was undrivable.”
    “I walked.”
    “You were already late. It was a cold night. For all you knew, Tom had gone home. Why not call it off?”
    “It was only twelve blocks. When I got to Main Street, I could see something was happening. It must have been nearly eight o’clock by then. There were police cars, barricades. I got as close as I could. The body was covered with a blanket, but I think I knew right away. I saw the open window on the sixth floor, and then I was sure.”
    Loogan’s eyes were downcast. “I borrowed someone’s cell phone and tried to call Laura, but got no answer. I found a cab to drive me to their house. But Laura had been notified by then. She’d gone in to identify the body.”
    “So you didn’t see her again that night?”
    “No.”
    “And when you saw her last night and she told you her husband’s death wasn’t a suicide, what was your reaction?”
    “I wasn’t surprised,” Loogan said. “I never thought Tom was suicidal.”
    “Do you think he was happy?”
    “I think he was content. He had a good life. He had work he enjoyed.”
    “And his marriage—was he content with that?”
    “He never gave me reason to think otherwise.”
    “But you wouldn’t have called him happy.”
    Loogan hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Tom had regrets. He told me once that no one sets out to be an editor. That’s what he ended up as, but it’s not what he wanted to be, when he was young. He wanted to be a writer.”
    Loogan fell