Chapter 15
Monday, April 19
8:50 a.m.
In the cafeteria on her coffee break, Nora noticed Roger’s friends at the same four-top table they’d occupied last week—only most of them looked pretty somber this morning. It was hard to miss the one who had asked about her chicken fricassee recipe. The tall, heavyset man wore a flashy red tie almost as loud and flamboyant as he was. He seemed to be holding court, while the others, more subdued, sipped their coffee and smoked their cigarettes.
Nora suddenly felt nervous as she approached their table. They seemed so cliquish. And maybe she was imposing on their grief.
They all looked up at her, the big man rather imperiously.
“Hi, I’m Nora,” she said with a hesitant smile. “We met here last week when I stopped by to talk to Roger.”
They stared at her and said nothing. One of them at least nodded. Unlike last week, without Roger leading them, no one bothered to stand up.
“I’m Connie Wiedrich’s friend,” Nora went on. “I knew Roger through her. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about Roger. I know he was your friend, and I think he got a raw deal.”
One of them stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “I’ve got some stuff to do,” he muttered to his buddies. “See you guys back in the salt mines.” Then he walked off.
A second man quickly got to his feet. “You’ve got the wrong idea, lady. I barely knew the guy outside of work. None of us did.” Then he headed toward the exit, too.
Nora wasn’t sure what she’d said wrong. She’d figured these guys—more than anyone else—would agree with her that Roger had been framed. She looked at the two remaining men: the big one, who curled his lip at her, and a skinny, balding man in his late thirties whose eyes kept darting back and forth from her to the stocky guy.
“I’m sorry,” Nora said. “I got the impression from Connie that you fellas and Roger were all pretty close. She said your little group was almost like a fraternity. And, well, I just wanted to say, it doesn’t make sense to me that Roger would’ve murdered anyone, especially his dear friend. I’m pretty sure that’s what he and Connie were—good friends.”
The two men said nothing. The skinny one rolled his eyes, and the hefty man kept sneering at her.
“Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy or make trouble for anyone,” she explained, exasperated. “It’s just that I couldn’t think of anyone else who might stick up for Roger. You can’t possibly think the police are right about what happened. Roger couldn’t have—”
“Invade my privacy?” the large man interrupted. “You don’t even know me. What are you insinuating?”
“Oh, calm down, Wendell,” the other one said under his breath.
Nora realized she must have crossed a line. Maybe Roger’s friends didn’t want to admit they were close to him because he was an accused murderer and exposed as a homosexual. A follow-up story in the Sunday newspaper actually used the word homosexual. But there were no new developments in the case—beyond the police force’s complete certainty that they’d caught and killed Connie’s murderer just minutes after he’d strangled her and plunged a knife into her chest.
“So you’re trying to tell me that you weren’t friends with Roger Tallant?” she pressed. “The same guy who was sitting at this very table with you last week? This is crazy . . .”
With a theatrical flourish, Wendell stood up, pulled out his wallet and showed Nora a photo. It was of a slightly frumpy woman, seated, and two unsmiling teenage boys standing behind her. “This is my wife, and these are our two sons,” he announced. “The taller one on the left is the star of his high school football team.” He shut the wallet and tucked it into his back pocket. “I don’t associate with perverts—or killers. I have an essential job here. I’m important to this plant. Who are you but some dime-a-dozen riveter? If you want to keep your job, sweetie, you better stop nosing around here, asking people stupid questions. You can start right now by leaving me the hell alone. I barely knew the guy.”
He walked off in a huff.
The skinny man put a hand behind his ear—like he was listening to something. “That’s three denials. I think I just heard a cock crow.” Then he sat back and, once again, rolled his eyes at her. “Lady, you sure know how to break up a party.”
Nora sighed. “I’m sorry. I figured you guys were Roger’s friends—just like I was Connie’s friend. I thought you’d be as upset as I was to hear what happened . . .”
“You meant well,” the man said, frowning.
Nora shrugged. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. It wasn’t a compliment. It’s something you say about someone who’s being a pain in the ass or stupid. Wendell’s right. You shouldn’t be asking about Roger around here. Right now, any one of us could lose his job just for knowing Roger outside of work.”
“I really am sorry,” Nora said, feeling very stupid indeed. “I guess I fouled that up.”
He gave her a sad smile. “I liked Connie a lot. And I agree with you. I think Roger got a bum rap.”
“Does his friend Phil agree with you? What does he think?” Nora asked.
The man’s eyes narrowed at her. “How do you know Phil?”
“I don’t,” Nora answered. “But when Roger was at my house for dinner, he was telling us what his policeman friend, Phil, had found out about the girl who was murdered two weeks ago. She worked at Boeing as well. None of the newspapers have mentioned the other murder. Isn’t it possible they’re connected?”
The man just frowned at her and shifted in his chair.
“Do you know Phil?” Nora pressed. “As I mentioned, he’s on the police force—in the homicide division, I think.”
The man cleared his throat. “Tell you what, if you want to talk about Roger, come by the Double Header in Pioneer Square on Thursday around nine o’clock. Some of his friends will be having a little memorial for him. Phil should be there, too.”
“Thursday, nine o’clock at the Double Header in Pioneer Square,” Nora repeated, nodding. “Thank you . . .” She realized she didn’t know the man’s name.
“Richard,” he said. “The neighborhood’s a little sketchy, so be careful around there. But being a lady, you’ll be absolutely safe with the men once you’re inside the bar. Meanwhile, do me a huge favor—don’t go talking about Roger with people at work anymore. And don’t tell anyone about Phil. That’s very important. Do we understand each other?”
Nora nodded. “Absolutely.”