The Silent Widow

‘Would you mind telling me how you know him?’ said Goodman, ducking the question.

‘Well, I never knew him, as such. I know his mother, Fran. Poor woman,’ Valentina shook her head sadly.

‘Poor in what way?’ Goodman played along.

‘Well, Brandon went missing. That’s how I got to know Fran, through my charity. I assume you’re aware of our work?’

Goodman nodded. ‘I know the basics. You raise awareness of missing person cases?’

‘Oh, we do a lot more than that, Detective,’ Valentina said knowingly.

Is she daring me to ask her about the tax investigation? Goodman wondered. There certainly seemed to be an air of challenge in Mrs Baden’s tone that was borderline flirtatious. But again, he let it go.

‘Tell me more about the Grolsches.’

‘I’m afraid theirs was a familiar story,’ Valentina sighed. ‘Brandon had substance abuse problems. No one takes it seriously when an addict falls off the grid. It happens all the time, right? But we at Missing took his disappearance seriously.’

There was a fierceness in Valentina Baden’s voice and expression that impressed Goodman. This was not your run-of-the-mill rich wife, throwing herself into charity work to stave off boredom between shopping trips. This was a lioness, passionate about her cause. Whether or not she’d fiddled her taxes, this woman cared about Missing like a mother with a child.

‘We helped Fran to search for her son when nobody else would – including your colleagues at the police department, I might add. Even though the outcome was tragic in that case, and not what any mother would hope for, I think Fran appreciated our efforts. Between you and me, Nathan, her husband, is a difficult man. Very cold. I don’t think he loved Brandon, and he couldn’t begin to understand what his wife was going through.’

‘You said the outcome was tragic?’ Goodman coaxed.

Valentina Baden sighed. ‘Yes. We received a letter from a young woman known to my staff: Rachel, someone we’d contacted who’d been close to Brandon. Rachel was a heroin addict herself. She was with Brandon when he died from an overdose. Somebody with him gave him Narcan, but it was too late.’

‘Mmm hmm.’ Goodman sipped his water. ‘Do you know Rachel’s last name?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Valentina, with a smile that clearly implied that she wasn’t about to divulge it to Goodman, whether she knew it or not.

‘Other than this letter, did you find any physical evidence to suggest that Brandon Grolsch had, in fact, died?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Valentina admitted. ‘But then again, we didn’t look for any. Fran did ask us to keep searching for Brandon, but our resources are limited, Detective, and the truth is we had no reason to doubt the story Rachel told us. We already knew from hospital records that Brandon had overdosed before, at least twice. At some point, the heart simply gives out.’

‘Did the letter say where this happened? Or when?’

Valentina shook her head. ‘There were no specifics.’

‘So you don’t know what happened to Brandon’s body?’

The question seemed to surprise her. ‘I assume it was taken away by the police. I’m not sure what the procedure is after that. You’d know better than I would, Detective. If I might ask you – what is all this about? Is there some sort of connection between Brandon Grolsch and my husband’s … and Lisa Flannagan?’

‘There might be,’ Go

odman answered cautiously. ‘We’re not certain about anything at this stage, Mrs Baden. But the information you’ve given me today was very helpful. Just to be clear: do you, personally, believe that Brandon Grolsch is dead?’

‘I’m certain of it,’ Valentina said firmly. ‘I only wish I’d been able to convince his mother. You know, Detective, I watched my own parents waste decades of their lives on false hope for my sister. Since then I’ve seen countless other families do the same. Part of what we do at Missing is searching for lost loved ones. But a bigger part is helping the families to let go, once we know someone isn’t coming back.’ Leaning back in her chair, she looked Goodman square in the eye. ‘You can take my word for it, Detective. Brandon Grolsch is not coming back.’

A few hours later, Goodman and Johnson compared notes over a beer at Murphy’s on Santa Monica Boulevard. Evidently, Willie Baden had been a lot less transparent than his wife, reading from a prepared statement with his attorney by his side and refusing to be drawn a millimeter from his script.

‘I got a timeline of his affair with Lisa, some bank statements showing cash he’d given her and the deeds for her condo, and he volunteered fingerprints and a cheek swab. But that was it. According to him, the only thing they did together was have sex. He claimed not to know any of her friends or family, or how she spent her time when she wasn’t with him. He confirmed Lisa had ended the relationship in the weeks before she died, but he said he was fine with that, it had “run its course”, whatever that means.’

‘Was he believable?’ Goodman asked.

‘Not really,’ admitted Johnson. ‘But his alibi’s rock solid. I don’t know. My gut is he wasn’t involved. I don’t think he cared enough about her to pay someone to cut her up like that.’

‘You call that “caring”?’ Goodman spluttered on his beer.

‘Well, it ain’t exactly detached,’ Johnson replied, deadpan. ‘She wasn’t shot in the head. She was tortured, terrorized, made to suffer. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t see any of that as Willie’s style. What was the wife like?’