Page 6 of The Gallagher Place
The family wordlessly settled into the available couches and armchairs in the living room, inviting the detectives to have a seat too. Henry carried in two extra chairs from the kitchen and placed them near Stephanie. Frank and Glory were opposite them on one of the tufted leather couches. Kat and Dolly perched on the wide first step of the staircase, and Constance held little Frankie in her arms. Two armchairs had been left empty for Nate and Marlowe.
The man cleared his throat. “I’m Ben Vance, and this is my partner, Ariel Mintz.”
The woman gave a respectful nod.
“We’re up from Poughkeepsie,” Ben said. “Unfortunately, this event has been deemed a homicide.” He let that linger for a moment. It was a shock to no one. Harmon Gallagher hadn’t bashed his own head in. Not inside that tent, anyway.
“Is everyone in the house present here?” Ben asked.
Frank spoke up. “Our longtime caretaker, Enzo, is upstairs in bed. He is suffering from the early stages of dementia, and after yesterday’s Thanksgiving festivities, he’s spent most of the day resting.”
The detectives quickly glanced at each other and nodded.
“Okay, then, we’re here to inform you that we are launching a full investigation. The time of death is yet to be confirmed, but it’s important we have an accurate timeline of your movements last night and this morning,” Ben continued. “I’m going to ask some questions, together at first, and then I’d like to take your individual statements.”
Everyone nodded, and Frank spoke. “We understand. We’ll help in any way we can.”
“At this point, we have an official ID on the body. Mrs. Gallagher was able to come to the station to confirm that the victim is, in fact, her only son, Harmon Gallagher,” Ben said.
Constance’s mouth parted, and she gripped Frankie tighter, her face a crumpled image of maternal pity, but she was the only one who reacted. The rest of the clan sat in silence. Marlowe watched Ben’s hooded eyes flick from person to person. The more she looked at him, the younger he seemed. His black wool coat and stubble along his jawline seemed like carefully curated choices to counteract his youth. The caps of his dress shoes were coated in mud from hiking out to the river, but that was the only hint of anything out of the scope of his control.
Ariel Mintz had a similar pattern on her flat lace-up boots. She barely came up to Ben’s shoulder without a heel. Her plain face and an ill-fitting blazer made her a study in understatement. Marlowe wondered how this unlikely pair had gotten stuck investigating a lone hunter’s death way out in the sticks. Maybe part of an early promotion meant slumming it for a few years in Poughkeepsie before moving on to bigger cases and better pay in the city. She couldpractically read their minds as Ben and Ariel studied them:Stone-cold rich white people.
“Had any of you interacted with the victim before?” Ben asked, scanning the room. “See him in town, conversations at the store—that type of thing.”
“I spoke with him a few times,” Frank said.
Ben turned his head, giving Frank his attention.
“The first time was about three years ago. I couldn’t say the exact date. He called me because he wanted to discuss buying some of our property. He had some relation to the family who used to live across the street from us. A second or third cousin, I think.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him I wasn’t selling. He was pushing for a meeting, but I said it was a hard no.”
Marlowe kept her head down. Until Henry mentioned it a few hours ago, she hadn’t heard about any of this—not about the call, the cousin, or an offer from a Gallagher to buy back some of the land. Then again, it wasn’t unusual. Secrets weren’t premeditated in this family so much as habitual. The conversations left unfinished and details innocently falling through the cracks of their separate, busy lives, though Marlowe always felt slightly less busy than everyone else.
“Did he call just that one time?” Ben asked.
Ben was the one speaking, but Marlowe couldn’t keep from examining his partner instead. Ariel sat with her eyes trained on a blank page in her notepad, pen at the ready, but she wasn’t taking notes.
“No, he called several times.” Frank sighed, his throat pushing against his tight collar. He may have been in the waning years of his life, but he’d left not a single button undone, and his maroonsweater was smooth and spotless. “He called my office in the city every few weeks. I’m semiretired, so I’m not there often, but he kept leaving messages with my secretary. After the fourth or fifth call, he got testy with her. Frightened the poor thing.”
“What did he say?” Ben asked. “Specifics would be helpful.”
Frank’s white eyebrows drew together, a deep line splitting his forehead. Marlowe knew that look. It was the face he gave his children when they interrupted him.
“I couldn’t say word for word,” Frank said. “I believe he raised his voice, accused her of not passing on the message. I figured it was best to give him another call.”
“And you did?”
“Yes,” Frank said. “I once again made it clear that I wasn’t selling. And to be blunt, I doubted he had the money to buy the land in the first place.”
“You think he was just trying to harass you, then? Get a rise out of you?” Ben asked, as if he truly valued Frank’s opinion on the matter, as if Frank’s words would be instrumental.
Frank considered his answer. “I can’t guess at his motives, but it seems his family’s history meant a great deal to him. I didn’t know the man, not really.”
“What made you think he didn’t have the money?” Ben kept his tone upbeat, almost childlike in its curiosity.
